Isa Oliveira Brandão
I left the kitchen while my heart was ready to burst out of my chest. That was the biggest lie of the century and it was seriously ridiculous to think that Nicolas would fall for that, but I didn't give a fuck about it. I would never, ever admit what had happened last night, the best fuck I ever had. I remembered Nicolas kiss, the hickeys, the way he pulled my hair and kept me under the mercy of his mouth and his thrusts. Oh, good Lord...
I had to get that out of my mind, or working for him would become and unbearable task. I focused all my strength onto cleaning, freshening up every corner in the house, except for on room, the one he denied me from entering. And, as if it all wasn't enough, it was hot as hell and there I was, working hard while wearing a big, loose t-shirt and leggings, so I could hide the marks he made sure to leave on my body.
I went to the garden around 11 a.m., sat on the grass that was everywhere, under the shadow of a huge mango tree, and texted Rico:
"Me: Hey, u free?"
"Rico: What have u done to Nick and where's the body?"
"Me: WTF?"
"Rico: If you're texting me, it must be serious"
"Me: STFU, Rico! Can we have lunch together?"
"Rico: LOLOLOL! Fine, but you're paying, since I know you're getting that good money working for Nick"
"Me: Bullshit! Stop being a cheapass and pay some lunch for your sister! See that?! That's the reason why Bia left you!"
"Rico: BITCH!"
"Me: Cheap ogre!"
Besides the "sweet" manners we treated each other with, Rico was my best friend, right after Bia, of course. I still just couldn't understand why they couldn't just work stuff out already.
***
At the restaurant, Rico glances at the mountain range made out of food I had in my plate. The french fries hill, standing besides the rice and beans hills, and let's not even get started on the half piece of a cow shaped like a steak, almost falling out of the plate.
— Sure you don't want anything else? — More smug than the devil, he cuts a piece off his steak and eats like a beast still laughing at me.
— Eat shit, Rico. Since when exactly do I owe any explanations? — I complain, then sit in front of him. — I need energy: Nick's son comes home today, and have you seen that house, the size of it? It ain't easy at all, taking care of all that.
— And when did you start liking children? — He takes a lettuce leaf with his hand and shoves it into his mouth. Then, he shoves one more forkful of food.
— I've always liked children. My issue is with little devils in training... They scare me, indeed.
His laughter made a couple people on the line for the buffet look at us. I eat a couple mouthfuls, quickly thinking about how I would talk about what was bothering me. I take a gulp of juice.
— Nicolas said his son would be here in a couple days. Does he live with his mother?
— Nope. — He answers, his mouth full of food.
— But what about his wife, where the hell is she? — "Damn Isa, how smooth of you, huh?" I curse myself in my mind. But that was just eating me up inside.
— Why you ask? — Rico leans back on the chair and cleans his mouth with a napkin.
Fuck, he noticed it.
— Oh... for no reason. — I drink a bit of iced Coke, just to look unpretentious. — It's just that he was with a blonde girl in the pool theses days. — I drink a little more and pretend to be indifferent. — What if his wife comes home and sees her husband fucking in the pool? If she's the crazy jealous type, even I can get screwed for it.
— Hum... — He mumbles and fetches a toothpick. — That'd be very unlikely to happen.
— Why? Has she passes?
Is it bad that I laughed like that was great news?
— No. — He chews the toothpick between his teeth.
— Then tell me, dude, why make so much mystery around it?
— Why are you so interested in knowing about who he fucks or doesn't fuck? — Rico gets suspicious again. — Did he try anything with you? That fucker can't even look at girls legs.
Think, think, think!
— Oh, for the love of God, Rico! — I push away my plate and drum my fingers on the table. — I just ate. Don't start saying that type of shit. If Nicolas was the only man left in the world, I'd kill myself. Simple.
— Then why haven't you stopped talking about Nicolas this, Nicolas that, ever since we sat our asses down?
— It's just that Bia found him attractive, so I told her I would do some research. — Bia will fucking kill me when she hears about this, but it was a lie told in good faith.
Rico's smirk vanishes and his face becomes a sullen frown. He brushes his index finger over the scar on his eyebrow.
— Well, you can tell that bitch Nick is happily married. His wife is an absolutely stunning woman: blonde, tall and hot as hell. Plus, Nick would never fool around with Beatriz, since she's my ex, so tell that shameless bitch to not even think about it.
— Wow, wow, wow! — I cry. — Fine, I'll stop talking.
— I know exactly why she's doing that. — He strokes his dark goatee this time. — She's just trying to torture me for not going after her. But it's still to be born a woman who can tie me up, and I wouldn't get inside a plane for nobody, not even for her.
I laugh at his anger, which just makes it worse.
— A grown man like you should ashamed of being scared of planes — I mock.
— I'm not scared of them, it's just there will be way too many girls in grief If I die inside it. And I'll say it now: when I die, I don't want no tears being shed at my funeral. — Rico empties his beer glass and leans his boots over the chair. — After all, whether I go up or down, it will be a party all day and all night.
I laugh and talk back.
— Oh, no, at my funeral, I want people crying, screaming, passing out, even. If you're not going to put on a show, don't even show up.
***
When Rico drops me home, it's almost 1 p.m. Even if my body was begging me to take a break, I get my phone, put on my earbuds and start blasting "Drop It Low" out loud. I put the device on the tight waistline of my pants and pass the earbuds under my shirt. I put my hair in a high ponytail, leave my sneakers and socks behind the bedroom's door, and go back to cleaning the house.
I like to do my chores feeling free and comfy, barefoot and loud music playing. With a bucket full of a water and soap, I start washing up Nicolas' office.
I wet the floor and start scrubbing it.
"Drop it, drop it low, girl; drop it, drop it low, girl"
I shake make ass and scrub the floor. I shake a bit more and go on:
"Yeah boy, you love it when my booty goes boom, ba-ba-boom, ba-boom, ba-boom, boom"
I drop it low, supporting myself on the broom handle, and get up again, singing and dancing.
I finish cleaning the office, wipe away the sweat from my forehead and, when i get up, holding the bucket on one hand the broom on the other, I realize Nicolas is standing at the door.
He's wearing a black suit and a white dress shirt. His hair is up on a slightly loose high bun. Right as I see him, I remember the feeling of having my fingers buried in his thick, soft hair.
Focus yourself, Isa. Remember what Rico told you: he is married.
I take off my earbuds.
— So, are you all happy and stuff because of yesterday? — He smirks and crosses his arms.
— I'm working right now. — I answer, breathing heavily. I walk cautiously, as to not slip on the wet floor.
— I want to talk to you.
— I got nothing to talk with you, Nicolas. — I pass him and stop at the hall.
— What, Nicolas, what's the deal now?
— I want to know what the fuck your ex was doing in your room yesterday?
I puff before answering.
— Little Carol died down at the parking lot when I was leaving the grocery store.
— And in all Rio de Janeiro you went shopping right where he was too?
— Oh, for the love of God, are you kidding me?! — I complain. — Why? You think I went hunting after my ex just to shove your mansion at his face? Spare me, Nicolas. Now, let me get back to work, 'cause this place is huge.
I turn my back to him, but he grabs my arms and closes the distance between us, holding me against the well.
— You can't deny what happened yesterday. What do you think I am, an idiot?
— Let me go, Nicolas — I demand, staring right back at him. — I don't care what happens inside your perverted little head. I don't fuck around with married men. Now, take your hands off me, cause I got stuff to do. I you are this needy, call your friend Diana so you can finally conclude that aquatic fuck session. I promise I won't bother you this time.
— Can you stop being so hard-headed? I know you liked it.
— I have no idea what you're talking about. — I push him away and retrieve the bucket and broom. I get in Nicolas' son's room and put my earbuds on one more time.
When I'm done cleaning the second floor, I go down the stairs and store everything away in the laundry room. It's just my third day here and I don't feel like I'll be able to endure the months I need here. I need a good, filling snack to refill my batteries.
I take my earbuds off and leave them hanging around my neck. Through the windows that showed the backyard of the mansion, I could see it was night already. I heard a couple playful screams and laughed coming from the poolside.
— C'mon, Nick, catch her! — Says a woman's voice.
I tiptoed towards the door and took a look outside. That's when I say Nicolas running around the pool, and guess what, he was wearing nothing but swimming trunks. He ran after two blonde girls while two redheads cheered, rooting for him from inside the pool.
Watching that scene made me feel much lighter for lying about the day before. Nicolas' side chick line what endless, and the motherfucker was damn proud of it.
After taking a deep breath, I walked towards him to show that I wasn't bothered my that, at all.
— Mr. Reis, — I call him right as he throws one of the blondes over his shoulder. — sorry to interrupt your game, — I say in a calm, polite manner, — I'll be retiring to my quarters soon. May I fix some juice or maybe a little sandwich for your guests first?
Oh, yeah, a nice sandwich, like only I can do: freshwater straight from the throne and some nice spit mixed with the mayo.
— No. I am well provided here already. — Nicolas points to a table filled with coolers filled with ice and drinks. — Feel free to rest. Have a good night.
Die, Nicolas, die, motherfucker! And take those plastic bitches with you! I hope you all get too drunk and end up drowning to death!
Nicolas slaps the model leaning over his shoulder on the ass.
— Thank you, Mr. Reis. Good night.
I leave the pool foaming up with anger.
***
I take a shower to chill a bit and leave the shower wrapped in a towel. I jump on the bed and turn on the TV, putting on "Fifty Shades of Grey". Grey is always good to soothe my nerves, but today is a specially hard day.
— Oooh, Nick. — One of the girls cries. — Don't bite me like that.
I mute the TV so I can hear them talking. The voices seem to come from the hall.
— Want me to stop? — He asks.
More giggles come from the other side of the door.
— Of course not. — The girl answers.
I put on a bra and panties set and lock the door. I jump back on the bed and put on my earbuds. I start looking through my phone's until I find his number. I send him text on Whatsapp.
"Me: Hey, you still remember me?"
A couple minutes go by until he reads it.
"Logan: Isa, how could I ever forget?"
I giggle.
"Logan: Are you in Corumbá?"
"Me: No. Rio."
"Logan: Then we need to meet up one of these days, to chat about the last years!
"Me: I'd love that"
"Logan: You know what'd be cool? You could come to my restaurant, the opening will be on Saturday"
"Me: Wow, that's great! Congrats!!"
Fuck, if the place is too fancy, I'll have nothing to wear.
"Me: What's the address?"
I'll take a look at the front of the place tomorrow and, if it's too upper class, I'll resort to my credit card as a last option.
"Logan: Don't worry, I'll pick you up."
Wow, what a gentleman.
"Logan: There's one condition, though"
Oh, no... I roll my eyes. It was all just too good to be true.
"Me: Which is?"
"Logan: It's a themed night. Would be nice if you came wearing a costume..."
"Me Ok! I'll come up with something. XOXO"
I send one last text with Nicolas address
"Logan: XOXO"
I shut my eyes, still wearing my earbuds and blasting music at maximum sound. I keep trying to imagine what Logan would look like after all these years.
When I woke up the next morning, I threw on a loose tee and some jean shorts, put on my flip-flops and went down the stairs. Everything was silent.
I made coffee for myself and Nicola's shake and omelete. He comes down before I am able to season his breakfast with my special touch.
— Morning. — I smile as if nothing had ever happened, even if my true wish was throwing the freshly-made shake right at his face.
— Morning. Sleep well? — He asks.
— Marvelously.
I lean against the counter and start messing with my hair strands.
— I'll be out, tomorrow afternoon.
Nicolas stops, his fork holding a piece of omelette mid-air.
— Why?
— It's personal.
— Personal my ass. — he snarls, vexed. — While you're working to me, you damn owe me explanations about where you're going.
— I stopped owning explanations to my parents at eighteen, so, to you, I owe nothing. And stop screaming at me like I'm one of your bitched, okay?
He drops the fork back on his plate and burns me with his glare.
— First of all, you owe me respect, I'm your boss. Second, Monday to Saturday, I want to know exactly where you're at. Your free days are on Sundays.
— Oh, good lord! Just go and eat already, you must be sour like that 'cause you got no food on your stomach. I need this Saturday afternoon, take the hours off my paycheck, okay? If I'm not up to your expectations from a maid, it's simple, fire me, goddamit!
When I pass besides him to store away the egg in the fridge, he hold my arm.
— You should stop cursing so much.
I pull my arm free harshly.
— And you should take care of your own life.
I look away from him and put the eggs in the fridge.
I feel his eyes on my neck, but a brush it off and stop at the sink so I can finish cleaning the breakfast plates. My phone rings, and I dry my hands on my own clothes before answering it.
— Hello. — I say, pissed off.
But my tone soon changes when I hear the masculine voice on the other end of the line.
— Hi, Isa, did I wake you?
— Oh, It's you. — I smile. — No, Logan, not at all, I've been awake for a while.
— I wanted to invite you to help me choose a couple paintings from an art exposition that will happen today at a friend's gallery. What you think? I'm in need of a feminina opinion.
— Oh, Logan...
I hear Nicolas clear his throat and ignore him.
— I can't today, but I'll be waiting for you at 8 o'clock, okay? Kisses.
— Kiss.
I end the call, smiling, and start singing: "Who's afraid of the big bad wolf, the big bad wolf, the big bad wolf; who's afraid of the big bad wolf? I'm not!"
I hear Nicolas getting up from his chair. He drops the plate on the sink, his omelette barely even touched, as was the shake.
— You need to pay more attention. For a girl who wants to be a bakers, the omelette was burnt and the shake was slimy. I hope the next one is better.
I narrow my eyes. What a fucking liar. He obviously just said that to piss me off.
— Got it. Don't worry, I'll have a couple private classes with Logan, then I'll make if perfectly! — I blink, then smirk.
And the final score for today's game is: Isa 1 X 0 Nicolas.
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