Even Better
Something Great
Note: All translations can be found at the bottom of this page.
July 2nd, 2010, 0900
The Republic of South Africa. The place to be this magnificent June; the crux of the ending year of this memorable first decade of the new millennium. Clearly, nothing says ‘FAB!’ like sparkling ocean; perfect white-sand beaches; ample shopping ops and, of course, heaps and heaps of international babes! Naturally, though, this last perk carried rather little weight with someone like myself. You see, I’m the proud bearer of one of the female world’s most coveted titles; a top WAG. And I was here to watch my significant other play in his very first World Cup quarter-final.
Alighting the chauffeured limousine, I descended upon the opulent reception area of one of Durban’s chicest hotels, advancing towards my beaming compatriot in a flurry of immaculate designer apparel to complement the cloud of Chanel No. 5 surrounding me. She returned my smile from across a lobby boasting timeless elegance in muted brocades and rich marble finishings, calling out, once I was within ear-shot, ‘Angie! You’re finally here!’
‘Nagore!’ I returned with equal warmth, sweeping the older woman into a fleeting hug before bending to kiss her adorable children, ‘it’s been ages!
‘Eons,’ she agreed, laughing airily. ‘Come, you have to see Yolanda and Sara.’
Brushing back a stray curl, I followed her to the elevator.
July 2nd, 2010, 1750
I leaned against my suite door, watching a frazzled Nagore as she fought to maintain her grip on a chattering Jonxtu’s hand, hush a wailing Ane up and extricate her key card from her gorgeous Birkin simultaneously, before walking over and taking the crying toddler from my friend’s grasp. It took another half a dozen minutes before – having comfortably installed the gorgeous brood of Spaniards in their suite – I retired to my own room.
The numerous shopping bags thudded mutely to the plush salmon carpeting, soon followed by my shoes as I freed my aching feet of their vise-like confines. Clothes followed the shopping and shoes, marking my path to the bathroom. As the large, pristine bathtub filled, bath crystals and hot water emanating a heavy, lavender-scented steam to diffuse through the spacious chamber, I stood before the mirror, seeing myself, for a timeless, objective moment in time as Evangeline Garcia: not me; not actress and model; not loved and hated; just a woman.
The beeping of my phone from its perch on a pile of towels, beside the sink, on the counter, pulled me out of my reverie. Picking it up and smirking at the name brightening its lighted display, I brought the text message up.
Welcum to SA, babe! B up in a few
Smiling to myself, I tapped out a quick reply, before tossing the phone back on the pile of ebony towels;
Cant wait, luv. Besos...;)
Then, twisting my dark tresses into a knot atop my head, I cast one last glance at the image reflected in the mirror, before walking over to the tub and submerging myself in the warm, perfumed water.
With my body encased in the velvety, lavender foam and the dulcet tones of Enrique Iglesias crooning away over my earphones, I escaped my surroundings for a whisper in time, floating away on my own cloud of possibility without a second thought to the world.
Hence, it caught me completely by unawares when a long, nude body slipped in beside mine, hard, toned muscles rippling under the soapy water as he wrapped strong arms, flaunting a newly acquired, crisp, golden tan, around my petite frame to pull me close. My hand went to the recently shorn hair and pulled his head in for a kiss as my fingers tangled in the cropped, chocolaty tresses. He reciprocated hungrily, making up for the past two months I’d spent working in Germany, and eradicating any space between us as I straddled him and he mercilessly savaged my mouth with his own sinful one.
‘Wait till we’re out,’ I gasped against his shoulder, feeling the tell-tale sign of his arousal against my vagina.
He paused his assault on my neck and chuckled, warm breath fanning out over wet skin and causing goosebumps to erupt. However, he complied, and within moments, I was back to being wrapped in his comforting embrace with my back resting against his chiseled chest and his arms tight around me, as we stared out the bathroom’s stained glass window at the setting sun.
As the immense, glowing orb sank beyond the horizon, leaving behind a sky tinted soft hues of mauve over a coruscating expanse of ocean, I leaned against my boyfriend of a long, enriching year and sighed.
‘I missed you, Nand.’
“Missed you, too, Ev. An unbelievable much.’
July 3rd, 2010, 0800
‘Nand, you can’t go!’ I whined from my spot on the bed in a sea of big, downy pillows and satin sheets.
‘I have to, Ev,’ he muttered for the umpteenth time this morning as he finished painstakingly careful daily ritual of coiffing his hair into the perfect faux-hawk and moved to zip his jacket up.
I sighed and leaned back in bed, pout in place, ever so offhandedly letting the covers slip down just so to reveal the tops of my breasts. It was only when he had finished dressing that he looked up at me.
He groaned. ‘Babe, cover up, I nedd to get to practice.’
‘No.’
‘Evange-‘
He stopped mid-word; I had gotten out of bed, not bothering to disguise my shining glory in the silken wraps of my dressing gown on my way to the bathroom.
‘Evangeline?’
“Whatever, Fernando,’ I tossed over a shoulder, ‘I’m sure you have better things to do.
Before my next breath, I was crushed between a crème, textured wall and his well-toned body, the only thing separating us his training clothes.
‘Fuck it, E,’ he muttered against my warm skin. ‘Juro, lo haré a usted esta noche.’*
A ghost of a smile graced my face. ‘Usted mejor, español.’**
And then, with a last, smouldering kiss and a heated ‘Te amo,’ whispered in my direction, he was gone. I slumped against the intricate filigree on the wall. Separated, once more, by careers that had us running in opposite directions. Whoever said life’s easy was obviously on crack cocaine.
Shaking myself out of my early morning blues, I showered, styled hair, pulled on leather shorts and a silk tank, slicked on mascara and lipstick and was off the second I had the straps on both stiletto-heeled Jimmy Choos fastened.
Taking in stride the many an appreciative glance, I sauntered down to the coffee shop’s service counter, making an immediate beeline for the shortest queue.
‘Extra strong, no milk, no sugar,’ I ordered once I reached the head of the line.
A thickly-accented voice piped up from behind me, ‘Aha! So that’s the secret to your eternal bitterness!’
Whirling around, I came face to face with yet another grinning compatriot – honestly, the city was crawling with them Spaniards! – and lightly punched the offender’s arm.
‘Iker, you twat, I am not bitter!’ I admonished.
He clutched his throat in mock horror, eyes widening dramatically. ‘Oh no, those Scousers have Brit-ised you!’
I giggled. ‘At least they didn’t teach me words like Brit-ised!’ I shot back. ‘Come, sit with me? We should catch up.’
He nodded his assent.
Once cosily ensconced in one of the vintage vinyl booths beside the window, I turned to the heart-breakingly handsome capitán, curiosity finally getting the better of me.
I queried, ‘So what are you doing here, anyway? Fernando said you lot had an early practice.’
‘Eh...si?’ He looked up distractedly from his meticulous scrutinization of the steaming hot brew before him. ‘No, no, there’s no practice today, only warm-up before match tonight,’ he informed me.
Excuse me?
July 4th, 2010, 0200
‘Where’ve you been, Evangeline?’ the hoarse whisper coming out of the dark recesses of the suite scared me out of my wits. I spun around to face the direction of the voice, brandishing my clutch like a weapon.
My boyfriend appeared from the shadows, eyes hollow and sunken with worry and lack of sleep. I returned his unwavering stare.
‘Where’ve you been?’ he repeated. ‘We had a dinner reservation for after the match.’
‘I was out with a friend,’ I retorted coldly.
He wearily ran a hand over his face and sank onto the couch behind him. ‘What are you doing, Ev? There was a reason I insisted you come here! You knew tonight was important,’ he admonished.
‘So was not lying to me, Fernando,’ I seethed.
‘Excuse me?’ He raised an eyebrow expertly.
‘You heard me. You fucking told me you had early bloody practice!’ I hissed, venom dripping from every syllable.
He stood up and advanced towards me. ‘Ev, listen-‘
‘No!’ I cut him off, fury coursing through my veins like the most corrosive of acids. ‘Just go, get out! Go back to whichever fucking whore you were with! I’m sure you’ll find plenty at whatever bar your bloody teammates are all at.’
He opened his mouth to speak again; his face taking on a scarlet hue, a sure sign of rising anger, ‘Eva, I am nmot cheating. Will you just lis-‘
Once again, I cut him off. ‘NO! You fucking lied to me! And for what bloody whore, huh, you bastard?’
‘YOU!’ he roared, flinging something small and black at my feet. ‘I bloody needed this for tonight!’
‘What?!’
‘he ignored my furious question, eyes taking on a deadened quality. ‘Did you cheat, Ev?’
Eyes riveted on the box of onyx velvet at my feet, I whispered, ‘Nand, i...’
‘Did you, or did you not, cheat?’ he pressed.
‘I...I did.’
He was at the door by the time I looked up with a question on my lips. ‘Were you really going to propose, Nand? Tonight?’
‘No shit, Evangeline.’ And then he was gone; out of the door and out of my life. Forever.
* I swear, I’ll make it up to you tonight.
** You better, Spaniard.
♠ ♠ ♠
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