Lovers and Gamblers (58 page)

‘Ah, Cristina, Cristina,’ he sighed when they were in his room, ‘what a baby you are, what a little innocent.’ He was undressing her as he spoke.

‘Do you
love
me?’ she blurted out, unable to hold back any longer.

‘I love you as I love the stars, the sky, the beach, the ocean.’

It was no real answer, but she was satisfied. It was more than he had said before.

‘I love
you
,’ she crooned. ‘Oh how I love you, Nino.’

He did not reply. He silenced her with his mouth.

Later, when Cristina had left, he lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling. The paint was cracking and peeling, sometimes little flakes would fall down onto him whilst he slept. He never slept well. He was always restless. His dreams were always full of nightmares. He craved for some action. He craved for his organization to start its reign of terror. The preparatory work was boring – at least the work he was stuck with was. ‘You’re the good-looking one, Nino,’ his leaders had told him. ‘You’re the one who will be able to captivate the ladies – the
rich
ladies.’

Fund-raising was his job – whilst the others were out buying arms, making stockpiles of bombs – and compiling lists of victims for Operation Kidnap –
he
was satisfying women in bed. It was not a job he enjoyed. He had a girlfriend – Talia – a tough, intelligent twenty-three-year-old, who worked in the smuggling side of the operation. For the last few months he had hardly seen her at all. It was a most unsatisfactory situation. When he made love to Cristina he shut his eyes and tried to pretend it was Talia. It never worked. Talia was a woman of fire, whilst Cristina was just a silly little rich girl.

Cristina Maraco. Just how useful could she be? Her father was a very rich man… Blackmail or kidnap had been discussed, unless she could be used in some other way. Her mother’s jewellery would be a help. Perhaps she would be able to supply more information on families such as the Von Cougats and the Bogatos. ‘String her along some more’ were Nino’s instructions. At least she was better than the Americans. He shuddered at the thought of the American women he had serviced. Big women with big demands. ‘Do this, Nino, baby.’ ‘Do that, Nino, sweetheart.’ ‘Just there, don’t stop.’ ‘One more time, Nino.’ Ugh! How he hated them. Capitalist pigs from the worst capitalistic country of all.

His eyes were closing. Sleep was coming. The nightmares were coming. No use fighting it. He succumbed.

* * *

‘Where have you been all day, Cristina?’

Wide-eyed and innocent. ‘Just to the beach, Mama. I
told
you I was going to the beach.’

‘You look so… flushed.’

‘I have a headache, Mama, I think I will go and lie down.’

Evita nodded. She didn’t know what it was, but she just had a feeling that Cristina was up to something. When Jorge returned home late in the evening she tried to explain her feelings to him.

‘Up to
what?
’ He laughed.

‘I don’t know. I can’t explain.’ She paused thoughtfully. ‘I think she has a boyfriend.’

Jorge grimaced. ‘According to her, she has a lot of new friends. And after what Louis tried on I don’t blame her.’

‘I think,’ Evita said hesitantly, ‘that she is sleeping with someone.’

‘Impossible!’ Jorge shouted, his complexion turning a dull red. ‘How can you say such a thing?’

Evita shrugged. ‘It’s just a feeling I have.’

‘You’re wrong. She’s a good girl, that much I know about my own daughter.’

‘We’ve allowed her too much freedom. How do we know what sort of people her new friends are? At least with Louis we knew his family. Do you know that she never even has time to see Maria Therese – her best friend.’

Jorge frowned. ‘On Sunday I will tell her to bring some of her new friends to lunch. We will meet them and make our own judgement.’

Evita nodded. ‘Yes, I think that would be a good idea.
You
ask her, she will only find some excuse for me.’

Jorge kissed his beautiful wife lightly on the lips. ‘Problems, problems, as if I don’t have enough all day! But you are wrong, my darling, I know you are wrong. Cristina is a good girl. I would bet my life on that!’

* * *

Evita took one look at Nino and saw immediately the
favelas
in his eyes. She knew without doubt that here was a boy who came from exactly the same background as she did.

He was good-looking, marvellous-looking in fact, with his wild curly hair, and intense jet eyes. Evita could certainly see what attracted her daughter physically. But he was obviously a boy who lived on his wits. His clothes were the standard dress of the young – a uniform almost. The tight faded jeans, a collarless shirt, old tennis shoes. But round his neck hung an expensive gold chain with some sort of religious medallion, and Evita couldn’t help thinking it was a present from a rich female. His kind always had rich women – she had seen so many boys like him who would sell their bodies to the tourists for whatever they could get out of it.

All these thoughts were churning quickly through her head as Cristina introduced him. Jorge had requested that Cristina bring her new friends home – but she had turned up with only one – this boy – and Evita could understand why. Her daughter was in love. It was quite obvious as she gazed at Nino with naked admiration shining from her eyes.

Jorge shook Nino firmly by the hand. ‘Do you two youngsters want to swim before lunch?’ he asked.

Cristina looked quickly at Nino, questioning him with her eyes.

Nino nodded, glancing around at his luxurious surroundings with a mixture of contempt and envy.

‘Go ahead,’ offered Jorge. ‘Cristina, show your friend to the changing room.’

‘Not necessary,’ said Nino, unzipping his jeans and fixing Evita with a sudden moody stare.

‘Don’t do that here,’ Cristina said quickly. ‘Poppa doesn’t like a mess of clothes round the pool – come on, I’ll show you where to change.’

Nino zipped his jeans up again. ‘Sure,’ he said, still staring at Evita.

She returned his stare with a polite smile. She hated him on sight. He represented a certain type of male she loathed. Arrogant. Mean. Conceited. A sexual aggressor. Young as he was, his character was quite clear to her.

Cristina grabbed Nino by the hand and led him off down the gardens towards the changing rooms.

Jorge turned to his wife, a complacent smile suffusing his face. ‘You see,’ he said triumphantly. ‘He seems like a nice enough boy.’

‘Don’t be a fool,’ snapped Evita in reply. ‘You haven’t said two words to him. Who is he? Where does he come from? What does he do?’

Jorge frowned. ‘Give me time. I can’t start questioning him the moment he walks in our house.’

‘He’s from the
favelas.’

‘How do you know?’

‘It’s in his eyes, it’s in his smell.’

‘Evita. Don’t condemn him before we even know him. He’s Cristina’s friend, she likes him.’

‘She more than likes him.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Your daughter is a woman – she likes this boy as a woman would like him. Did you see the way she looks at him?’

‘No, I didn’t,’ replied Jorge irritably. ‘I wish you wouldn’t always jump to conclusions and make hasty decisions about people.’

‘I have an instinct for knowing things. This boy is no good.’

Jorge turned away from his wife. Sometimes she could be very annoying with her ‘instincts’. A year previously he had been forced to terminate a lucrative business deal because Evita didn’t like the man he was dealing with.

‘You will be fair,’ Jorge insisted. ‘You will not judge this boy on two minutes – you will judge him after we have spent the day in his company. I am sure if he is a friend of Cristina’s he will turn out to be nice, polite and respectful.’

* * *

‘Hold this,’ urged Nino.

‘I can’t, not here!’

‘Hold it. Stroke it.’

‘Nino. My parents are just down the garden. They’ll wonder what we are doing in here.’

‘Put it in your mouth.’

‘Nino!’

‘Do it. I command you. Get down on your knees and put it in your mouth.’

‘No!’

‘If you love me, you will.’

Her eyes were filling with tears. They stood in the changing room close together. She in her tanga. He with his jeans around his ankles, his brief swim suit around his knees, and his penis swollen and distended.

‘If you loved me, you wouldn’t ask,’ said Cristina miserably.

‘I
have
to ask. I can’t go out like this. It’s
your
fault I’m like this.’

Reluctantly she sunk to her knees. ‘But if they come looking for us…’

He grabbed her head and guided himself into her mouth. ‘Ah!’ he sighed. ‘That’s good, that’s very good.’ Slowly he rocked back and forth. It was the first time she had allowed him into her mouth, although she wasn’t averse to the feel of
his
tongue.

He was excited because of the woman. The beautiful woman with the glacial features and white-blond hair.
She
was the kind of woman he had always dreamed of having. A madonna in a white bathing suit, with the body of a lush peasant girl. The combination was irresistible.

The joke was that she was Cristina’s mother. A woman Cristina had called a bitch and a hag, and God knows what he had expected – some sort of old, jewel-ridden bag! The joke was on him. Cristina’s mother was cool, ladylike, and so young.

‘Aaach!’ He climaxed quickly, pushing himself deep into Cristina’s mouth. She gagged and tried to push away. He wouldn’t allow her to until he was finished. Then he withdrew, satisfied – doubly satisfied because of where the event had taken place.

Evita watched the young couple emerge from the changing rooms, and turn towards the pool. She had known he would wear the smallest of swimsuits. She had known his body would be deeply suntanned, finely muscled and hard. After all he probably lived by his body, therefore it had to be in perfect condition.

What did he want with Cristina? Did he want to marry her? Was he foolish enough to believe that they would allow it?

Cristina was no great beauty. Oh, she was pretty enough, attractive, but she was not the sort of girl that would have a boy like that running around after her unless there was something in it for him – something more than just sleeping with her, because as she watched them cavorting in the pool, she was sure that he was indeed sleeping with Cristina. When you started life living in a shack amidst a sea of other shacks, you developed an antenna for sexual knowledge. Evita knew at a glance.

She sipped slowly the glass of chilled white wine Jorge had poured for her. How lucky she had been to meet him. What a miraculous escape it had been for her. If not for Jorge…

‘So this is how my little rich girl lives,’ breathed Nino, surfacing behind Cristina and grabbing her round the waist. ‘Your own swimming pool, all the luxuries. I never even knew what a
bath
looked like until I was fourteen years old.’

‘That’s not
my
fault,’ objected Cristina, wriggling free and striking off down the pool.

He swam after her, keeping his voice low so that her parents couldn’t hear him.

‘Do
you
think it’s fair? Do you?’

‘You know I don’t, but there’s nothing I can do about it.’

‘But there is.’

‘Please don’t let’s discuss it here.’

He placed his leg between hers under the water.

‘Don’t!’

‘Why not?’

‘You
know
why not.
Please
behave yourself, Nino.’

‘And if I do, will you promise to do something for me?’

‘I thought I just did!’

‘Not that. Something important. Something that will help the organization.’

‘If I can… You know I’ll help if I can…’

Jorge was clapping his hands together beside the pool to attract their attention.

‘Have you two had enough yet? Lunch is ready and I am hungry.’ He glanced quickly at his watch. He had a schedule to adhere to. He didn’t want to miss his afternoon siesta with his wife. It was all very well Evita wanting to meet Cristina’s friends, but if it was going to interfere with his schedule…

Cristina swam to the edge of the pool and hauled herself out. ‘I’ll have to change, Poppa, I’ll be as quick as I can.’ She threw Nino a towel, ‘You can use the changing room, I’m just going into the house.’

Nino caught the towel, smiled politely at Jorge, and glanced covertly at Evita. She wasn’t kidding
him
with that glacial expression, she had noticed his body, she had noticed how great it was. Young, hard, virile. He strolled with deliberate slowness to the changing room.

Cristina ran into the house and up to her room. She had not wanted to tell Nino, but the thing he had made her do to him before they swam had made her feel sick. She rushed into her bathroom and rinsed her mouth out with strong mouthwash, then she cleaned her teeth. It had been mean of him to force her to do
that
. Especially in the changing room, within earshot of her parents. He had known she would not dare to object too strongly. He was so wonderful, and yet at times he could be so mean. He teased her a lot. He said her legs were too short – her breasts too flat – her ass too low. Then, just when she would be near to tears, he would kiss her, and laugh, and insist that he wouldn’t want her any other way.

There were times when she wished that she had never set eyes on him. There were also times when she did not know how she had ever managed to exist without him.

If he asked her to marry him she would. Whatever her parents said.

She was amazed that he had agreed to come and meet them. ‘If it will help you out,’ he had shrugged. ‘We don’t want them locking you away ’cos they think you are mixing with undesirables. We’ll show them what a fine upstanding guy I am.’

* * *

‘What do you do, Nino?’ asked Evita.

She and Jorge sat at the luncheon table with him, waiting for Cristina.

‘I study,’ replied Nino, trying to engage her in a moody stare, but not succeeding.

‘Oh yes, and what do you study?’ Her tone was ever so faintly mocking.

‘Politics.’