Plaza del Sol
by Julian Gallo
It was a hard day on the set. Lots of technical issues, too many to deal with for something that is only going to run thirty seconds or so. He never imagined it would take so much work, but he’s enjoying every moment of it. Working with Camila every day is a plus, and he’s purposely shooting more footage than he knows he needs just as an excuse to keep her around the set. She nailed her performance on the first try, the professional she is. He had more than enough footage of her in the first two hours of the shoot, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her, nor resist being near her. He looked for any reason to keep shooting — having her do multiple takes, feigning unhappiness with her performance in order to have her do it again. Still, she carried on like a trooper, never complaining, and thoroughly enjoying herself, for this was the first and only time she ever appeared in anything like a film, though it was only a commercial. She was well paid too, and the folks at Mandar were happy to have her, for they knew of her, had seen her perform numerous times around Madrid. To them, scoring Camila for the spot was striking gold. What better endorsement for their product?
Since coming back to the hotel room, he’s done nothing but sit there and think of her, which distracts him from the work he needs to do. From the bed, he eyes the paperwork scattered on the desk. Accounting matters mostly. Isn’t there someone else to handle all this? He forces himself off the bed and begins going through it, then decides he doesn’t want to bother, stacking it and setting it aside. He wants to call Camila, talk to her, try to get her to go out for a drink or perhaps dinner somewhere. By Madrid standards, it’s still early. Surely, she must be busy or perhaps out with someone, or maybe even working. He reaches for his cellphone and contemplates calling her, then decides against that too. No, what he needs is to get out of that room, walk around, think. He’s going to see her in the morning anyway, for more shooting. Unnecessary shooting, of course
He gathers his wallet, room key, and cellphone and leaves the room.
He walks without any particular destination in mind, towards the Plaza del Sol, which buzzes with activity. He watches some street musicians for a while, then an amateur magician doing card tricks. A gaggle of pretty, young girls, obviously tourists from America, are a little too impressed with the magician’s basic tricks. He knows they’re Americans by how they dress, how immature they act, their incessant juvenile giggling. How different Camila is from them, though not much older. A woman of class — elegant, poised, sexy in a way most young women aren’t anymore, at least not the women he knows from home. He’s noticed a marked difference between the American women and those in Madrid. How they carry themselves, the way they present themselves to the world. He moves on, along Calle del Carmen towards the Gran Vía.
Along the way he passes a small café and decides to stop in for a quick espresso, then carries his order to the tables outside. He feels like a cigarette, but he’d given them up years ago. Where is Camila right now, he wonders? What is she doing? Who is she with? Then he checks himself. He’s thinking like a high school kid with a crush, not the grown man he is, and he is ashamed of himself. To anyone else, however, he’s just a fifty-something man quietly sipping his coffee on a beautiful summer evening. That softens things a bit. He misses Patricia, even though they are in constant contact. He worries about his son Nicholas but is more worried about how Patricia is worried about the boy. He imagines Camila in her flamenco dress, performing for the camera, her inherent sultriness, her elegance, those dark eyes, that raven black hair whirling around her face. The passion. The duende. God, he can only imagine what it would be like to be with her. Again, he contemplates calling her, on the off chance she’ll want to meet, but he knows this isn’t going to happen. She’s a professional and wants to keep things above board. He’s a non-entity otherwise. He can’t remember the last time he was so smitten.
There’s always Lorelei, of course, who he had met just a week earlier. No, she’s too young, too troubled, but she was fun to be around, fun to fuck around with, but that’s all it is and that’s all it will ever be. He could use the company, though.
He sends a text to Lorelei.
Moments later, she responds, and agrees to meet him in the Plaza del Sol in a half hour.
Why not? What else does he have to do with himself for the evening?
He finishes his coffee and heads back to meet her.
Lorelei arrives a little more than a half hour later. She’s dressed the same, in that 1980s gutter-punk fashion, only this time it’s a Misfits t-shirt, another band she’s too young to remember. He watches her walk towards him, her skinny white legs in stark contrast to the deep black of her Doc Martin high tops, her hair looking matted and filthy, though by design as he learned the last time he saw her. No make up, her skinny, gangly arms like white marble against the black of her T-shirt. She looks like a mess, a junky, but he now knows she’s nothing of the sort. He’s a little embarrassed by his first impressions of her and how she chided him for it when he last saw her, but he’ll get over it. She sees him and flashes a smile, and when she does it only reenforces how much older he is. What am I doing? She’s just a kid. But that bridge has already been crossed, and he’s feeling lonely. Perhaps, if he just lightens up a bit and allows himself to have some fun, he won’t think of Camila, Patricia, Nicholas, the shoot, or anything else. Live in the present. Isn’t that what all the self-help gurus advise?
She greets him with a warm kiss, and she smells of airy perfume. She looks up at him with those pitifully sad eyes as she parts her hair away from them, again revealing how young this girl is. What am I doing?
They spend the night walking around aimlessly, talking about films and her latest project ideas. He talks about the commercial shoot, though not emphasizing Camila too much, just general things about production and the ideas behind it, despite her chiding him again, only this time over using his talents to make product commercials rather than the films he wants to make in his heart. She doesn’t understand the realities of the business, but she’s young, idealistic, full of dreams, but he doesn’t tell her that. She makes nothing from what she does. At least he’s getting paid and paid rather well. But she has a point. Why not just make the film he always wanted to make? What’s stopping him? Nothing stops her. He admires that in her. It reminds him of his own youth when he was still full of unbridled ambition, when the world was his for the taking, where nothing was impossible. Marriage and children change all that. One has to be more practical. One has to provide for their family. Even so, it has always been an embarrassment that this is what his dreams amounted to, making commercials, shit he tosses off as one does a quick sketch on a napkin. His clients never know the difference, impressed by anything that even remotely seems ‘professional’. The Mandar commercial is his first chance to utilize his talents, to have free rein, to create. He’s proud of the work he’s doing, even if it’s just another commercial. “You take the work you can get,” he tells her, but she’s too young to understand, for she is an ‘artist’ and doesn’t care about the commerce, the business, the contracts, and all the rest of the annoyances that come along with making a professional product. But he knows she also has a point. Where did that fire go? When did it begin to burn out?
A few hours later, they find themselves at Lorelei’s apartment. She has the place to herself now. Alejandro is out and about with his friends, like most Madrileños his age. When they walk through the door and pass by Alejandro’s bedroom, Victor spies the neatly folded suit of lights on the bed. The last time he saw it is an image he’ll never erase from his memory. Lorelei closes the door and takes him by the hand, leading him down the hall to her bedroom.
They’re finished talking, or at least Lorelei is. She lays on the bed and pulls Victor down towards her. She’s no longer this young kid but a woman, and he decides to live in the present. As he makes love to her, he’s not thinking of Camila, Patricia, or the work he still needs to do. He’s lost in her, enjoying the moment, her breathy sighs, the scent of her perfume and the product she uses in her hair to make it look unkempt. He tries to ignore the large scar across her abdomen, for it will give him pause. This poor girl. What is he doing? Stop overthinking things and just enjoy yourself. She wouldn’t be doing this if she didn’t want to do it. Live a little.
Afterwards, they lie in bed. Lorelei smokes a cigarette. Victor badly wants a drag, but he doesn’t want to risk starting that habit again. In the dark, she appears even younger, making him uncomfortable. How can she not care how much older he is? Perhaps she’s one of those young girls with daddy issues, he muses, but he doesn’t want to think about that either. His discomfort continues. Just enjoy the moment. In a few weeks’ time, you’ll be back in New York and she will be nothing more than a pleasant memory…though maybe we’ll keep in touch through text messages and social media. She’s carefree, loose. She can enjoy the moment without thinking about things too much. He envies her for that. But that’s what youth is, isn’t it? She’s barely old enough to have fully formed frontal lobes. She acts on impulse. He should know better. There’s no good reason for him to even be there, but he stops himself from overthinking the situation again. What would Patricia think? What would Nicholas think? She’s not much older than he is. She’s just a troubled young woman, with a good heart, a kind soul. That should be enough. He almost feels a bit protective of her, in that fatherly way, but he doesn’t want to go down that rabbit hole, either. It’s too disturbing. He can’t imagine how such a young woman would find a man his age so attractive? She hardly knows him. What is she thinking?
New York City, Summer 2023
BIO: Julian Gallo is the author of 'Existential Labyrinths', 'Last Tondero in Paris', 'The Penguin and The Bird' and other novels. His short fiction has appeared in The Sultan's Seal (Cairo), Exit Strata, Budget Press Review, Indie Ink, Short Fiction UK, P.S. I Love You, The Dope Fiend Daily, The Rye Whiskey Review, Latinoture, Angles, Verdad, Modern Literature (India), Mediterranean Poetry (St. Pierre and Miquelon), Borderless Journal (Singapore), Woven Tales, Wilderness House, Egophobia (Romania), Plato’s Caves, Avalon Literary Review, VIA: Voices in Italian Americana, The Argyle, Doublespeak Magazine (India), Bardics Anonymous, Tones of Citrus, The Cry Lounge (Germany), Deal Jam, 22/28, Active Muse (India), Zero Readers, Write Now Lit (Nigeria), Hominum Journal, MiniMAG, Paradox Magazine, Penman Review, and Flora Fauna (Upcoming).