I Confess What the Three of Us Lived in Toronto

We left Miami with our bodies heavy and our spirits even worse. Camila hadn’t spoken a single word to me since we left Bruno at the airport, and I knew exactly how she felt, because I felt the same way every time I had to say goodbye to him. We had nearly seven hours of flight ahead of us to Toronto, where Andrés, my husband, was waiting for me.

—Do you think he stayed sad? —she asked me at last, her forehead against the window.

—Of course he did. Didn’t you see the way he looks at us? But he has his life, his business. I assure you he’ll write you before a month is out.

Camila tightened in her fingers the bracelet Bruno had given her when they said goodbye, a fine chain engraved with the date of that encounter. The same one he gave me.

She’s still so young. She doesn’t know this is only just beginning.

—It’s not his body I’m going to miss —she said, as if she could read my thoughts—. It’s the way he treated me.

—I know. It’s the same for me. And distance doesn’t change that.

She stayed quiet for a long while, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye, calculating how far she could go with her questions.

—Do you feel the same with your husband as you did with Bruno?

I thought it through carefully before answering, because I didn’t want to diminish either of them by comparing them.

—When I have Andrés inside me, a joy rises up through my chest. I don’t compare him to anyone. With both of them I lose myself. I love them equally, Camila. They’re my two men.

Her eyes went wide.

—Have you been with both of them at the same time?

—More than once —I told her, and let her imagination do the rest.

***

Andrés was waiting for us as soon as we got through immigration. I dropped the suitcases without looking where they landed and threw myself into his arms; we kissed, forgetting the world, until I heard Camila struggling on her own with three bags at once. Andrés ran to help her, lifted her off the floor laughing, and only then did I introduce them.

—This is Andrés, the one I’ve told you so much about —I said—. I already warned you I’ll never forget him.

In the car, on the way home, Andrés told us that an old friend of his, Sergio, ran a nightclub and that there would be a couple of special nights that same week.

—It’s like a bar, men and women go —he explained—. On Thursdays more women come. There are people who get up onstage and perform, if they feel like it.

—Perform? —Camila straightened abruptly, curious—. And could we?

—Of course. I’d die to go —I admitted—. Let’s leave it for Saturday, today we’re dead.

***

On Saturday we arrived at the club early. The entrance for women was a narrow corridor, with loose little stones on the floor and railings on both sides; every so often, a gust of air rose from the ground and lifted the skirts. We let Camila go in front. She was wearing a loose dress, and after only two steps the wind caught her by surprise: she had to grip the railings with both hands while the fabric covered her face. Andrés and the others, on the other side of the glass, got the best show of the night.

—You bastards! —she laughed, red-faced, without letting go of the handrail.

They seated us in front of the stage. Bianca, the makeup artist, fixed us up with a heavy hand and dressed us in minimal, glittering garments made to fly off with one yank. We went on in the second number. Camila was magnificent; she had a natural talent she hadn’t even known she had. We followed her steps as if we’d rehearsed them a thousand times. The crowd shouted, stuffed bills into us, and for a moment I felt twenty years old again.

When we got offstage, Sergio congratulated us and announced that the following night there would be a surprise prepared just for us.

***

We went home still with adrenaline in our blood. The three of us sat on Camila’s bed, and she, who had been quiet all along, finally let out what had her like that.

—I miss him —she murmured, leaning against my shoulder—. It’s not just his body. It’s him.

—Come with us —Andrés told her, drawing her close gently—. Lorena adores you, and I’m going to learn to love you too.

She accepted the gesture and curled up between the two of us. I stroked her thighs, moving slowly upward, and when I reached the edge of her underwear she clamped her legs shut, trapping my hand. Her skin was warm, soft, and the air left me when I touched her. I kissed her, and she kissed me back with a hunger I didn’t know she had, slipping her hand into my cleavage and undoing my blouse.

—Will you let me, Lorena? —she whispered against my mouth—. Please. You said your husband is like Bruno. Let me.

I understood her. I kissed her in answer and moved aside. Before giving her my place, I let Andrés brush against me just enough, just enough to calm me, and then I watched them find each other. He lifted her and set her down again, marking a slow rhythm that drove her mad, until the two of them came at the same time. I watched them from the side, burning, happy to see them like that.

—Don’t you feel like killing me? —she asked afterward, kissing me gratefully.

—Of course I do —I laughed—. And then I’ll get my revenge.

***

The next morning, while Andrés was showering, Camila sat at the foot of my bed, curiosity lit up in her eyes.

—Does he know when you’re with other men? Has he seen it?

—Yes. Several times. And I’ve seen him too. We never went looking for it; things just happened on their own. The first time I let myself go with a stranger was in Lisbon, many years ago now. That man fell in love with me; he still sends me gifts from time to time, and Andrés too.

—So it’s as if you were married to both of them?

—In a way, yes. Andrés and Bruno treat each other like brothers. Both of them can handle me, and I can handle them. It’s strange, I know, but it works because nobody lies.

Camila stayed lost in thought for a long while, and I could see on her face that she wasn’t judging me: she was a little envious.

***

The night of the surprise, Bianca asked us not to put cream on our bodies so the makeup would hold. We went onstage after the second act, just as we’d planned with Sergio. The lights went out, a sharp thud sounded, and three men in black hoods appeared, dragging us to the center amid the audience’s uproar. It was theater, everything was arranged, but people screamed as if it were real.

One of them lifted me into the air and held me against his chest. I was about to scream, as part of the number, when he spoke in my ear.

—I love you, Lorena.

I pulled off his hood and my breath caught. It was Marcos. I had met him on the previous trip and thought I’d lost him forever; I didn’t even have his phone number. I kissed him in front of everyone, and the whole club exploded.

—Camila! —I called, laughing—. They’re the friends I told you about!

The other one, Tobías, was flinging Camila through the air while she laughed her head off. We finished the number exhausted and euphoric, tips poured down on us, and Sergio had to turn off the lights so we could get offstage.

—It wasn’t a coincidence —Marcos confessed to me in the dressing room—. Your husband was the one who found us and talked to Sergio to give you this surprise.

I turned toward Andrés. He was smiling at me from the door, proud of what he had put together for me. I kissed him without caring who was watching.

***

It was after three in the morning when all of us got home. Andrés ordered pizzas and drinks, and little by little the gathering turned into something else. The couples settled each into their own corner. Tobías and Camila laughed together on the sofa; Marcos and I, on the floor, recovering a whole year of absence.

—Take good care of her for me —I asked Marcos about Camila—. And help me give her everything she likes.

I watched him go over to her, lift her in his arms and carry her to my room. Camila had talked to me so much about those men’s reputation that curiosity had her trembling. We followed them without their noticing, just to watch. Marcos laid her down with a patience I hadn’t expected, kissed every inch of her before making her his, and she clung to him with all her strength.

—Harder —she asked—. Don’t be afraid, I can take anything.

She took it, and a lot of it. When they finished, she turned toward me with her face wet from pleasure and kissed me, smiling.

—I could feel it all the way to my soul —she said—. Thank you, Lorena. Thank you for all of this.

Tobías was claiming me on the other side of the bed. He’s a big, generous man, and I let myself go with him for a good while, both of us laughing and thanking each other for how good we were having it. I never decided which came first. I always loved both of them.

***

The days that followed were a whirlwind. We went out on motorcycles with them, ate in places only locals know, came home to lose ourselves until dawn. Andrés joined in when he could and, when he couldn’t, he went to sleep at a friend’s house with an understanding smile.

—Have fun while you’re here —he told us—. Everything in this house belongs to the two of you.

We spent the last night together, the three of us, like at the beginning. Andrés admired us in silence for a long while, then kissed each of us in turn, and the two of us fell asleep at his sides, exhausted and complete. In one week Camila had learned what it took me years to understand: that desire, when it’s lived without lies and without guilt, doesn’t take anything from anyone. It multiplies it.

***

At the airport, Marcos and Tobías were waiting beside their motorcycles to say goodbye. Each of them gave us a small wooden figurine, the kind that dances on a car dashboard, with a bill hidden inside and a promise: that we would see each other again before a year was out.

Goodbye hurt less than it did in Miami, though the feeling was the same. Camila pressed her bracelet against her chest as we took off, and this time she didn’t cry. She looked at me, smiled, and I knew she would never be the same again. Neither was I, after the first time. And I don’t regret a thing.