Page 64 of The Virgin's Dance
“Enormous,” Donna said between bites of Spanish donut as she fiddled with her phone.
“I thought so … How much weight do you think I should lose before the wedding?”
José pulled up his T-shirt to reveal his perfectly toned abs, sucking in his non-existent stomach.
“Oh, maybe 100 pounds or so. Have you thought about purging? I hear it’s all the rage …”
“Hey, okay, best man. Be serious now. Concentrate! This is the suit I’m getting married in, remember. I need to get it right.”
He made a grab at her donut and broke off half, quickly shoving it in his mouth before she had a chance of saving her stolen sweet.
“Who are you texting, anyway? Have you found a Spanish man already? You don’t waste any time,” he tutted loudly, teasing, until she reached out and thumped his arm. He giggled at her attempt at a punch, which did no damage whatsoever to his muscular bicep.
“No, actually I’m looking for an address. But it’s not coming up on Google Maps,” she said in annoyance.
“What’s the name?”
She pulled out the ticket and read the address on the back.
“Calle De Los Tristes y Diablo,” she answered.
“Ah, no … you won’t find it on Google Maps.”
“Why not?”
“It’s arriba,” he motioned with his hand, “up. Far up in the mountains.” He waved to some imagined scenery beyond the shopping mall they were currently sitting in.
“People don’t go up there. It’s not for tourists—or anyone really—just the old gypsy community that lives there. It’s barely a road, just some paths along the hillside, with dug-out caves where the gypsies live. Why are you trying to find it, anyway?”
“Have you been there?”
“Not for many years. Not since I was a niño. Very young, seven or eight. I had a playmate who came from the community. He took me up there a few times …” He broke off, a smile coming over his face at the memory. “My mamá almost had a heart attack when she found out! But I wouldn’t go up there now, not without an invitation.”
“Why not? Is the path dangerous?”
“No, but the people are. Gypsy people here are … unpredictable. Dangerous.” He paused, taking in Donna’s disapproving face. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s true. I know you think I am being irrational and racist, but you don’t know. You don’t know Spain. It’s different for you. America doesn’t have the gypsies.”
She ignored him, but clocked the narrowmindedness. She had found that the easiest way to cope with her disappointment so far was to find reasons as to why she didn’t mind him marrying another woman.
The list was building quicker than she’d expected, but she found that she couldn’t dislike him—not that she really wanted to. He had been right; they were best friends. She had resigned herself to being happy for him and to dying alone surrounded by cats and comfortable sneakers that she’d never sprain her ankle in.
Besides not being able to hate her best friend, Maria was too nice to dislike too. She was that most annoying combination of heart-stopping beauty and ridiculously caring nature. The kind of woman who was so perfect that you kind of wanted to hate her at first, but quickly ended up loving her. She had checked on Donna every day to make sure she was okay and to dress her wound. She couldn’t blame anyone for wanting to marry a girl like Maria.
“Why are you looking up that address, anyway?” José asked, bringing Donna back to the conversation.
He was looking over her shoulders at the ticket, which she quickly stashed away inside her coat.
“Just a silly leaflet I picked up,” Donna said, not entirely sure why she was lying. “Okay, José, we have about ten more stores to look at and only five hours before closing time.”
“Donna, I’m a man. We go to one or two shops at most, buy the suit, and wham bam! We’re done. That’s an hour, tops, and then we go get tapas for the remaining four hours.”
“Tapas? I thought you were on a wedding diet …”
The ticket sat on her dressing room table for the next week. Sometimes she’d wake up in the middle of the night and instinctually look at the table, making sure that it was still there.
During the week she had finally found the path leading up to Calle De Los Tristes y Diablo. It was behind the tourist center and a good half an hour walk off the main road. It was a bit out of the city, past olive groves and commercial greenhouses with tomatoes ripening from green to red.
The path itself was so overgrown with weeds and branches that it didn’t look like a path at all. She was only able to find the entrance when she spotted a man emerging from between two lemon trees, pulling back the branches as he went.
