Drunk and confused, I stumbled to the parked Fiesta. Out of my mind, outraged, hard between my legs, beyond pissed, excited. I climbed behind its wheel, started the engine, and zoomed home to safety, to my mini-hacienda, to clarity and aloneness. Just me. My solitary life. Singlehood forever.
What I determined that evening: Donlito Estar was notmy Mr. Right, nor the man of my dreams. Instead, he was a pig, and someone I no longer wanted to deal with.
Sometimes there isn’t a happy ending to a romantic tale. 7: Casper, Are You There?
On Saturday morning Liv couldn’t believe what had happened at Club Sustantivo and gasped when I told her the news. We were drinking Arabian coffee in my sitting room, sunbathing in the August sunrays. She was wearing a cream-colored summer’s dress, flats, and arrived in a broad hat made of straw. The hat sat next to her on a satin settee. Liv sipped at her coffee, relishing the blend. “Who was the guy Donlito was with?”