Part 3 "Celos"

Tiffanie and I went to the Las Fallas festival in Valencia. The townsfolk would spend all year building huge papier-mache floats and parade them around the third largest city in Spain. Each major district would crown a princess and on the final day of the festival, the princesses would light a string of fireworks and in spectacular fashion, burn the floats to the ground. As the intense heat washed over us, I realized that a princess had a lit a fire in my heart.

Her name was Tiffanie.

A Falla

A Princess after lighting a Falla

A year in Madrid had come and gone. My Spanish had improved drastically and I was certified as a moderate Spanish speaker by the Spanish government. Much of this was owed to Tiffanie as she would help me with my homework and she forced me to read the newspaper and watch Spanish television.

Spanish women would approach me when I went out with her. "De donde eres?" (Where are you from) they would ask me and I would see the fascination grow on there faces as I told them the answer. Tiffanie wouldn't mind, because she knew that I was coming home with her at the end of the night. As people started to remember me around town, their approaches became more aggressive. "Toma un chupito de tequila!" (Take a shot of tequila!). "Tienes miedo?" (Are you scared?) After I was good and drunk, they would whisper things about how much fun we could have together. Ask me questions like why I had a girlfriend when I can have any woman in the city. 

I stopped going out with Tiffanie. It was too risky. Tiffanie was young. Some 19 years old and she didn't like spending weekends indoors. She would go out with her friends and when I knew it was safe, I would slide out to the city and see what I could get into. After a while, the whispers that the girls would tell me turned into a constant shout in my head.

You can have any girl you want. You may never have this opportunity again. 

Tiffanie was visibly unhappy. I knew what the problem was but I didn't care to fix it. She came by less and less. Called even fewer times. And finally, the fire between us had extinguished. I was free to do what I wanted to do from the very start.

Bang hot chicks...

I began to go out every night. I changed the hours of the day that I would operate in order to accommodate my Rock Star lifestyle. I would go to work every morning at 7, workout and take a shower. I would then work until 5 and go home. I would go to sleep immediately. Wake up at 1 or 2 in the morning and hit the streets. I would leave the club or bar at 6 or 7 in the morning and catch a train to work to repeat the cycle.

Madrid did not lack for something to do and every night a different club was open. La Fontana de Oro on Monday's, Joy Eslava on Tuesday's, Orange Cafe on Wednesday's, Kapital on Thursday's, bar hopping on Friday's, Pacha and Lokua on Saturday's, and Serrano 41 on Sunday's. I became popular around town with other party goers. I gained Spanish friends and would also frequented house parties. 

Since my apartment was in the center of Madrid, I was always in walking distance from my house. After a few shots of tequila, women were more inclined to see the American who lived in  a very expensive part of the city. I can't even remember their names. Who's-her-face, What's-her-name, Mami were all too common of names. 

This was awesome.

One day I received a message from a girl on Myspace. She said that she seen me around town and she wanted to go out with me tonight. I agreed to meet her in Plaza Mayor in the district of Sol. 

Plaza Mayor was one of my favorite places in Madrid. It was a huge square in the center of the city with many street performers and restaurants. Almost 500 years ago, the Spanish Inquisition would march people in the center of the square and give them two choices. Catholicism or death. Those who chose the former would be able to leave. Those who chose the latter would be killed right there on the spot. Hundreds of thousands of people died here. They say if you look close enough, you can still see the blood of those who stood by their faith.

That's when I saw her. Long, curly, brown hair, Light-skinned, and the body of an athlete. 

Her name was Emma.

Emma

We spoke in English and I was surprised by how good her English was. She said that since she was Armenian (the same race as Kim K.), languages came easy to her because her language had a lot of sounds. She was also a dancer. Not a stripper, but a dancer who would dance in theatre shows, hip-hop music videos, and sometimes go-go at clubs. I soon realized that music was her life. 

We went to Joy Eslava that night. I was immediately approached by a group of Spanish groupies (I started calling them that) and they invited me for shots. I looked at Emma and saw a look of anger flash on her face. I told the girls no thanks.

I asked her what was the problem. She said that I could go have fun with those girls and that she would go home. I told her not to be silly and that I came with her and I'll leave with her. She said that she had a boyfriend and I didn't have to worry about her.

I convinced her to stay and we had a great time enjoying each other's company. She went home and I went to work after it was all said and done. On the train ride to work, some questions were on my mind.

Why would she contact me if she had a boyfriend? And what right does she have to get jealous of me when she's fucking someone else? 

I didn't call Emma for a while. I liked how I was living and the last thing I needed was a jealous girl messing up a good thing. I still couldn't get her out of my mind though. It felt good to speak in English. I had become so emerged in Spanish culture, that I was forgetting how my own language sounded on my tongue. I should call her.

She beat me to it. She said she was in the mall by my house and wanted to see me. I gave her directions and soon she was buzzing at the door. She was beautiful. she was wearing a tight black tank top, some Timberland boots, and jeans that made me take a double take as I led her through the front door. 

In my living room, I asked about her boyfriend. She said that he was her soon to be ex-boyfriend. When I asked her why, she said that he wasn't a good man and that he physically abused her sometimes. I told her that I would never abuse her as I moved closer to her. She leaned in and asked, "Really?" 

"Of course not," I responded as I tasted her lips for the first time. Her lip gloss was sweet. I grabbed her hand and led her to the bedroom. She showed a slight hint of reluctance. I caressed her and told her that everything would be Ok. She followed suit after that. 

There is nothing like sleeping with a cheating woman. I never knew if it was conviction that I felt for sleeping with her or pride that I was able to. It didn't matter anyway.

A week later Emma invited me to one of her performances. It was amazing. Male and female dancers pulling off amazing feats and movements. I couldn't take my eyes off Emma. I was in the front row, and she was spectacular. Sexy and rhythmic.  I remember feeling a pang of jealousy as her and a well-sculpted male dancer had a sexy dance scene. Why do I feel this way, it's not real. And I don't want to be her man.

She finally broke up with her boyfriend and I became more infatuated with her. I liked spending time with her. I quickly learned not to take her to the clubs I frequented because she would be blinded by rage at the slightest hint of flirting by me or another woman. She would attempt to walk out or turn her back to me. I would always run up and try to assure her that I was there for her and not the groupies. 

After a month of shacking up, we decided to put a title on our relationship. We survived for months and were fairly happy. It would be difficult at times because she was always accusing me of cheating. One time she found an empty condom wrapper under my bed. I explained to her that it was from before I met her and I didn't know it was there. We argued all night with her constantly threatening to leave. It was frustrating being with a woman who constantly accused me of cheating when I honestly wasn't.

For Valentines day, we went to the town of Jaca in the Pyrenees Mountains on the border of France. We skied for the first time in our lives. She was so cute in her makeshift ski outfit that I had thrown together for us. That night we went to the town to find a nice romantic dinner. The town of Jaca was very small but it had a nice feel about it. It was like one giant castle because all the streets were cobblestone. We were disappointed that all the restaurants were sold out for Vday. We managed to find one restaurant that looked like a small tavern. They cooked the meat halfway and brought it out  fresh off the grill on a cast-iron skillet. We were given utensils and we cooked the rest of the meat to our liking. It was the best Valentines day dinner I ever had.

After the meal we decided to go out for drinks. We found a club and we drank multiple shots of tequila. There was a beautiful girl working at the bar and Emma saw me looking at her. She immediately stormed out. Here we go again.

"Baby where are you going?"

"You go back and get your blond with long legs and big breasts!"

"If I wanted that bitch, I wouldn't come all the way to Jaca Fucking Spain with you! Can we have one night without you doing this?"

"You can have every night because this is the last time I go through this with you!"

We argued all the way back to the hotel. The tequila shots fueled our rage. She slapped me and I opened the door and tossed her out the hotel room. She fell on her stomach and started crying.

What have I done. You never get this mad at women Gavin. Normally you can ignore them.

I picked her up in my arms and carried her back inside while telling her how sorry I was. We kissed and I can taste the salt of her tears. I felt so bad. I promised her that I would never get that angry again. She told me she loved me and I repeated the words. 

Happy Valentines Day.

Once back in Madrid, we were back to business as usual. She continued to be jealous but I made sure never to let my temper get the best of me. I started find myself getting jealous of her. I mean she met me when she had a boyfriend, so she might seek someone else out again like she did with me. I started going through her phone and checking her Myspace when she left it up while she used the bathroom. We had been together for some 9 months and we didn't trust each other.

One night, Emma and I went to a bar with my American military friend Chuck. Chuck was a big guy to say the least. We were drinking and I went to the bar to get another round. At the bar, I found myself next to a woman and I realized she was struggling with her drink order. I asked her, "What do you want?"

"Just two beers and a shot of vodka," she said in perfect American English.

An American

"Dos cerveza y un chupito de vodka por favor."

The bartender returned with the drinks and the American girl thanked me. All I could remember after that was the blinding pain that followed the beer bottle exploding on my head. I went to the ground and I realized that I was being kicked. I got up quickly to defend myself. I grabbed my assailant by the neck and pushed the the perpetrator to the wall.

Her name was Emma..

She kicked and screamed and next thing I know, Chuck was grabbing me and pushing me against the wall. Yelling at me to never hit a female. I told him to get off me and I grabbed Emma and left. We argued all the way home. I told her to leave. That I never wanted to see her again. She left.

Emma, Chuck, and I at Emma's Birthday dinner

Chuck told people about the incident and rumors were circulating at my job that I was some kind of woman-beater. I tried my best to denounce these rumors but it was too little, too late.

I don't care what they think. I only care about Emma. I wonder if she wasn't completely honest about how her ex-boyfriend was abusive and she brought that part out of him like she brought it out of me. Where is she?

I moped around feeling sorry for myself and was constantly thinking about Emma. I started going by places that she frequented, hoping to see her. I sent her emails apologizing, but she never responded. She was gone. 

Alcohol became my best friend. Jack Daniels understood what I was going through and would always listen to me. Jim Bean would get me worked up and would remind me that I didn't need her. Jose would make me forget about her, but when he left, the girl returned to my mind. 

Her name was Emma.

Emma