Three Strangers and a Seat at the Back of the Cinema

Marcos had learned to read glances in the dimness of lobbies. He posted himself at the entrance to downtown cinemas, pretended to check his phone or wait for someone who wasn’t going to show, and let chance do its part. A sign, a gesture that lasted too long, a smile that lingered longer than normal: that was enough for him. Whoever was looking for him paid for the ticket and, once inside the auditorium, he took care of the rest.

That night three women arrived before the last screening. They were laughing about something they’d told each other in the street, with that slightly clumsy euphoria of people who’d started drinking early. One of them wore a sash across her dress. Bachelorette party, Marcos deduced without effort.

The one with the sash was called Lorena. She was dark-haired, with her hair tied up in fine braids, average height, short skirt and a light blouse. Beside her was Eva, tall, blonde, stuffed into a long red dress that outlined every line of her body. The third, Patricia, was shorter and full-figured, in tight jeans and a laugh you could hear half a block away before you saw her.

The three of them noticed him almost at once. Marcos felt it: the top-to-bottom once-over, the elbow between them, the whispered exchange. He was wearing a light gray suit and his shirt open at the neck, no tie. He knew the effect he had, and that was why he held their gaze a second longer than necessary.

Lorena broke away from the group and came over.

—Are you waiting for someone? —she asked, chin lifted a little.

—For you, apparently —he replied.

—Then the wait is over —Patricia cut in, she being the boldest of the three—. Come in with us. We have plans.

They paid for his ticket without asking the price. Marcos followed them to the back row, the corner seat against the wall, where the screen was far away and the darkness was nearly total. They chose that area with the ease of people who had already thought it through.

While the lights were still on, they introduced themselves in whispers. Marcos didn’t pretend to be anything other than what he was: he told them what he did and under what conditions he worked. He wasn’t surprised that Patricia nodded.

—I’d seen you before —she said—. A friend sent me your profile months ago. Today seemed like the perfect day to see whether the reviews were lying.

—They never lie —Marcos answered.

—We’ll decide that —Eva cut in, without losing her smile.

The three of them laughed, and at that moment the room went dark. The trailers started, way too loud, and the screen washed the row in a blue flicker. Lorena, the guest of honor, leaned toward his ear.

—The movie lasts two hours —she told him softly—. I don’t want to see your face until it’s over. Start with me.

***

Marcos slipped down to the floor, into the narrow gap between the seats. The space was awkward, his knees against the cold concrete, but discomfort was part of the game and by now he didn’t feel it anymore. He positioned himself in front of Lorena, whose short skirt made the way easier.

He lifted the fabric to her waist, slowly, with the calm of someone who knows that haste ruins everything. He rested his hands on her thighs and waited a second, just one second, until he felt her open her legs of her own accord. Then he leaned in.

He started far from the center. He traced the inside of her thighs with his lips, not touching where she wanted yet, letting anticipation do the preliminary work. Lorena held her breath. Her fingers searched for the back of the seat and clutched it.

When he finally kissed her where it mattered, he did it only lightly, brushing, measuring each reaction. He increased the pressure little by little, alternating the flat of his tongue with the tip, reading in her small hip movements what she liked and what she didn’t. Lorena’s breathing was broken, uneven, as if a current ran up her spine every time he changed rhythm.

—Like that —she whispered, more to herself than to him—. Just like that, don’t stop.

He didn’t stop. He kept up the building rhythm until he felt her whole body go tight. Lorena grabbed his head with one hand and bit the back of the other to keep from crying out. The blast of the soundtrack drowned out any sound that escaped her. She trembled for a good while, and when she let go of him, she did it with an almost grateful caress on the nape of his neck.

—My God —she gasped—. The girls didn’t believe me when I said I wanted this. They’d better start learning.

***

Patricia was next. With jeans that tight, Marcos had to struggle a little to get access, and she laughed under her breath at his effort, amused to see him work. When he finally managed it, he wasted no time.

Patricia was direct, with none of Lorena’s shyness. She set the pace with her hips, told him in half-words what she wanted, and Marcos followed without arguing. He’d been doing this long enough to know every woman was a different language, and Patricia liked feeling in control.

—Slower —she ordered—. Make it last. The night is long.

He obeyed. He lowered the pace until it was almost unbearable, until she dug her nails into his shoulder asking for the opposite. Then he tightened it up, and Patricia had to cover her mouth with her forearm so her pleasure wouldn’t reach the rows in front.

She came with a long shudder, biting her lips, and took a while to recover. When she did, she brought her mouth to his ear.

—The reviews were too short —she admitted—. Now fix up the one over there, the one who’s been watching us with envy for a while.

***

Eva was the quietest and the most impatient. Her long, fitted red dress was the real obstacle of the night: there was no way to lift it without risking tearing it. He gathered it up as best he could, fold by fold, until her lap was free.

Eva’s body looked like it had been lifted from a magazine. Narrow waist, endless legs, an elegance that didn’t disappear even in the dimness of a neighborhood cinema. She’d been waiting her turn for quite a while, watching her two friends come undone one after the other, and that wait had pushed her to the edge before Marcos even touched her.

—You don’t need to put in that much effort —she murmured—. I’ve been ready since we walked in.

—All the more reason to take my time —he replied.

And he did. He worked her with a mix of patience and firmness, alternating calm with sudden bursts of intensity that made her hold back a cry. Eva clung to the armrests of the two adjacent seats, one hand on each, and threw her head back.

—My husband hasn’t come near me for weeks —she confessed, panting—. I’d forgotten what this was like.

—Then remember it well —Marcos said, before going back to work.

Eva reached the end with a yell the movie devoured just in time, during a scene of explosions. She was left without strength, melted into the seat, laughing to herself at her own breathlessness.

***

The movie still wasn’t over, so there was a second round. Marcos went over all three again, this time more slowly, without the urgency of the first turn, letting them give themselves over however they liked. By then he already knew each woman’s language, and they, freed from their initial shyness, let themselves go without restraint.

Lorena came a second time with Patricia’s hand entwined with her own. Eva needed only a few minutes. Patricia, the most demanding, was also the one who took the longest, but she made it to the end with an ear-to-ear smile that could be made out even in the dark.

When the credits started climbing up the screen and the first courtesy lights came on, the three of them had already pulled themselves together and were running their fingers through their hair as if nothing had happened. Marcos got up from the floor with numb legs and finally sat down in his seat, exhausted in a way he rarely ever was.

—Here —said Lorena, sliding an envelope into the pocket of his suit—. And a tip. You earned it.

—We’ll call you again —Patricia added—. And next time, somewhere with more room.

Eva said nothing. She only gave him one last look, the very same one she’d given him at the entrance, and left the auditorium with her elegance intact.

***

Marcos stayed a few more minutes in the seat, letting the room empty out. Work doesn’t always look this much like a good story to tell, he thought. His lips burned from all the contact, his knees were marked, and the next day a sore jaw awaited him that would take a while to forget the strain.

But when he stepped out onto the street, with the fresh air of dawn and the envelope weighing in his pocket, he couldn’t help smiling. Three strangers, a bachelorette party, and the last row of a cinema. Of all the strange nights his line of work had given him, this one went straight to number one. And something told him that, as they had promised, it wouldn’t be the last.