She Was Seventy Years Old and Had Asked Me to Her House That Afternoon

I arrived a few minutes early and chose a table by the window, where the afternoon light fell cleanly over the marble. I was restless, more than I wanted to admit. I kept looking at my watch, then at the door, and starting the sequence over again without even realizing how many times I had repeated it.

—Here she comes —I murmured to myself.

But Pilar wasn’t coming alone. Another woman was walking beside her, and for a second I didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry that the afternoon had changed plans before it had even begun.

The companion must have been a little over five foot three. She was slim, well proportioned, with not an ounce to suggest neglect. Her shoulders, narrow and soft, moved effortlessly, as if every gesture had its exact appointed place. Her arms were slender but firm. She didn’t seem like a woman of gyms or artifice, but of the kind of years that teach you how to move without ostentation.

Her breasts were small and harmonious, almost flat, with slight ripples that spoke more of the passing of time than of any lack of care. Her narrow hips and legs traced a fluid line as she walked, precise, elegant. Fine knees and ankles completed the impression of a balance that is not forced, that simply is. She was, without question, very attractive.

—Hello! —Pilar greeted first—. I hope you don’t mind that I came accompanied by my friend Amparo.

—Not at all. Nice to meet you —I said, looking at the newcomer—. I suppose you’re very good friends with Pilar.

—We’ve known each other for years —she replied, offering me her hand.

—Nice to meet you, Amparo —I answered, shaking it—. I’m Andrés.

Once the three of us were seated, I took advantage of the moment to break the ice.

—So… do you usually come here together for coffee?

—More or less —Pilar said with a knowing smile—. I wanted to come alone, but Amparo insisted. This café’s pastries are her weakness.

Amparo laughed softly.

—It’s not that I insisted that much… well, maybe a little —she admitted, winking at her friend.

—I can see that —I replied, smiling—. Then how about you tell me a little about the two of you while we wait for them to take our order?

The conversation opened up naturally. Pilar asked me about the book I’d told her the day before, when we’d run into each other on the subway, that I was thinking of buying. From there, the two of them began sharing anecdotes about their yoga classes. I was pleasantly surprised: although the date had changed in form, my connection with Pilar remained intact. And yet, her friend was starting to appeal to me too.

—So you do yoga too —Amparo remarked—. I wouldn’t have pictured you like that.

—Thursday evenings —I replied—. Though I think this chat with the two of you is going to easily beat this week’s class.

Amparo shot me a quick, amused look, as if to say, “and I agree.” The afternoon went by amid laughter and confidences.

The waitress came over to the table.

—What will you have? —she asked.

—A cappuccino for me —Pilar ordered calmly.

—I’ll have a coffee with caramel and a slice of carrot cake —Amparo added, winking again—. Today I’m allowing myself a little indulgence.

—A coffee with milk for me, thanks —I said, simple and direct.

—Perfect. I’ll bring it right away.

While we waited, we kept talking, and I was amazed by how easy everything felt, even with Amparo openly watching me. Every now and then she smiled at me, curious but without the slightest awkwardness. The afternoon promised to be more interesting than I had imagined.

At one point, Pilar excused herself to go to the restroom. Amparo took the opportunity to lean a little toward me.

—It looks like someone has taken a shine to you —she said, with half a smile, elegant and direct—. I don’t mean to pry, but I get the impression my friend really likes your conversations.

I was surprised by her frankness, and I smiled.

—Well, I wasn’t expecting that.

—Don’t be alarmed —she went on, lowering her voice just a little—. I’m not one to keep things to myself. I think you should know she likes you. I’m telling you because that’s how it is… and because I understand perfectly. I like you too.

I smiled, a little flushed, but flattered.

—Then I suppose I should make the most of your compliments while Pilar isn’t back.

—Exactly —Amparo replied, in a light but confident tone.

***

When Pilar came back, the conversation continued as if nothing had happened, but the air between us had changed density. There was a new note, a complicity and an attraction that neither of us intended to ignore. In a careless moment, Amparo handed her friend a bill and asked her to go over to the counter to pay. Then she took a napkin from the dispenser, wrote something on it with a measured gesture, and slid it toward me across the marble.

—Call me when you get home —she said, looking me straight in the eye.

I took the napkin with a slight tremor in my fingers, delighted by the clarity of the gesture.

—I will, for sure —I replied, carefully putting it away.

We looked at each other for a moment. We didn’t say it out loud, but we both felt that something was about to begin.

Coffee came to an end and the conversation began to soften. I stood up first, picking up my jacket.

—It’s been a very nice while —I said, smiling at both of them—. Thanks for the company.

—Thank you, Andrés —Pilar replied—. I had a really good time.

—We’ll see each other again soon, all three of us, right? —Amparo added, giving her friend another wink.

—Of course —Pilar answered, smiling at me knowingly.

We said goodbye with two kisses and a light hug, without losing either elegance or closeness. I stayed there watching them walk away together toward the door, chatting and laughing, until they disappeared into the street. I headed the other way, took a deep breath, and smiled to myself.

Before turning the corner, I looked back once more at Amparo. She was seventy years old and walked with the same natural grace with which she had sat down at the table. She needed no poses or studied gestures; every movement was conscious, measured, and yet light. Her fine skin showed wrinkles and expression lines, signs of years lived without exaggeration, and her long hands spoke of experience, not fragility. She moved with dignity, like someone who knows that time changes the flesh but does not erase the force of presence.

I took out the napkin and looked at the number. I put it away again, already thinking of calling her as soon as I crossed my front door.

What a curious Saturday of hers, I thought. It had started with the café’s pastries and, apparently, it wasn’t going to end with coffee exactly.

***

I hung up my coat and left the napkin on the hall table. I sighed for a moment, looking at Amparo’s neat handwriting, and dialed.

—Hello? —her voice, soft, filled the receiver.

—Hi, Amparo. It’s me… Andrés —I said, trying to sound casual.

—I was waiting for you —she replied, with a light laugh.

There were a couple of seconds of silence, as if we were both measuring how to continue.

—Did you get home all right? —she asked.

—Yes, everything’s fine. Thanks for the coffee. It was a wonderful afternoon.

—I’m glad. I had a really good time too. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting an afternoon like this.

—It surprised me too —I admitted—. Do you think we like each other?

—Maybe —she said, teasingly—. Though I must confess that a presence like yours doesn’t go unnoticed.

I blushed a little.

—Well… even though I was with your friend, I couldn’t help noticing yours.

—Then we’re even —she replied, in a conspiratorial tone—. I like that feeling of not expecting something to happen, and it happening anyway, and being very pleasant.

—I’d love to do it again —I said—. No rush, no interference. No friends.

Amparo paused.

—Me too. Just you and me, a conversation and a coffee… or something more.

—Perfect. Then we have to plan it.

—If you want, you can come to my house right now —she said decisively, lowering her voice slightly—. There’s only one condition: be discreet. Make sure no one sees you come in. My neighbors are terribly nosy.

—Absolute discretion —I replied—. Don’t worry.

***

Her building was fifteen minutes away on foot. I took the stairs, avoiding the elevator as she’d asked me to, and before I could ring the bell the door was already opening a crack. Amparo was waiting on the other side, wearing an ivory silk blouse and her hair arranged differently, looser than at the café.

—Come in, quickly —she whispered, tugging my arm inside.

The apartment smelled of freshly made coffee and something floral, subtle. She closed the door carefully, turned the key, and when she turned back toward me there was no trace left of the shyness from our first encounter. She looked me up and down slowly, like someone who had all the time in the world.

—You have no idea how badly I wanted to have you here —she said.

I took a step closer and used two fingers to brush away the lock of hair falling over her cheek. She didn’t pull away. On the contrary, she tilted her face toward my hand, and I felt the warmth of her skin, fine and warm. I touched her neck, the edge of her jaw, and heard her breathe in deeper.

—You’ve been playing elegant all afternoon —I murmured—. And look at you now.

—One thing doesn’t cancel out the other —she replied, with half a smile.

I kissed her. It was not a cautious kiss. It was long, open, and she answered with a confidence that disarmed me, her hands already searching for the buttons of my shirt. There was nothing hesitant in her fingers; they knew exactly what they wanted. I held her waist, so narrow I could almost encircle it completely, and gently pushed her against the hallway wall.

—Slowly —she said against my mouth, though her hands were saying the opposite—. The bedroom is at the back.

We walked there without fully separating, laughing under our breath every time we bumped into a piece of furniture. Amparo sat on the edge of the bed and drew me toward her by the belt buckle, looking at me with those eyes that didn’t ask permission because they already took everything for granted.

—Seventy years old —she said, reading my thoughts—. Does that scare you?

—It scares me more that you hadn’t told me that number —I answered.

She laughed, satisfied, and pulled me down with her until we were lying there. What came after had no rush at all: it was slow, attentive, each gesture measured with the same elegance with which she had moved all afternoon. Amparo knew her body and knew mine without having seen it before, and she guided me with soft, almost confidential words until I stopped thinking about her age, about Pilar, about the napkin, about anything that wasn’t the warm skin under my hands.

Much later, when the afternoon light had already turned orange against the curtains, she propped herself up on one elbow and watched me with amused calm.

—My friend is never going to find out about this, is she? —she said.

—Not a thing —I replied.

—Good. Because Pilar really does like you —she added, stroking my chest with the tips of her fingers—. And I like having my own secrets.

I looked at her, still breathless, thinking that this had been the strangest and most perfect Saturday I could remember. I had gone to a café looking for one woman and ended up in the bed of another: older, calmer, infinitely more certain of what she wanted.

—Again? —I asked.

Amparo smiled, stretched like a cat in the sun, and rested her head on my shoulder.

—Call me next Saturday —she said—. And remember: absolute discretion.