Free Dark Plums by Maria Espinosa

mixture of attraction and distrust.
    â€œThat’s all right. I’ll just have a drink.”
    â€œYou might as well order something to eat. It’s my husband’s money. We’re getting divorced, and the faster I can spend that bastard’s money the better.”
    â€œI’m sorry to hear that,” he said.
    â€œWhat the hell do you care?” Lucille said, gazing up at him.
    â€œGod, you’re gorgeous,” he said. He sat down between the two women. “Adrianne, didn’t prepare me … I think I will have lunch, after all.” Apparently, he was no longer in a rush to get to his appointment.
    Lucille took out a cigarette from her gold-tipped case, and Alfredo lit it for her, cradling her hand in his. He gazed into her eyes.
    â€œHow could he divorce a woman as beautiful as you are?”
    â€œOh, come on!” said Lucille with annoyance.
    Taken aback, Alfredo began to talk about contemporary art, and for a while he draped his arm around Adrianne.
    Lucille and Alfredo discussed the work of contemporary artists, weighing the merits of painters such as Kline and Rothko. Lucille knew more about the subject of art than Adrianne had imagined.
    Alfredo told Lucille about his up-coming show while Adrianne, ravenous, cut her steak into small pieces. The other two had ordered veal parmigiano, and the waiter had refilled the carafe with wine.
    She was feeling left out. The attraction between those two created such a current that Adrianne could almost touch it. She began to feel as if she were living through a bad dream. There had been a hint of this on that first night when Alfredo had whispered and flirted with the waitress. God, please don’t let him be like Gerald, she prayed.
    The waiter brought the check, and Lucille paid. While waiting for her change, she took out another cigarette, and again Alfredo lit it, leaning very close to her. Adrianne thought there was a similarity in the cast of their features.
    â€œLet me see your palm,” said Alfredo, taking hold of Lucille’s hand again. He examined her palm, stroking the lines lightly with his fingers.
    â€œYou had a difficult childhood,” he said. “You’ve been abused. I see violence. You’ve done things you’d like to keep hidden.”
    She wrenched away, “Get your goddamn gigolo hands off me!”
    Alfredo’s expression so frightened Adrianne that, in a panic, she flung her arms around him crying, “Stop!”
    He pushed her away and spoke to Lucille in a voice bristling with offended pride. “Lady, I can see why your husband wants out! You have no idea who I am.”
    â€œAdrianne, come on, let’s leave,” said Lucille.
    Adrianne looked at Alfredo, silently begging forgiveness for what had just happened.
    â€œGet out,” he said, his voice as cold as ice.
    â€œI love you,” she whispered, but he was like stone.
    â€œCome on,” Lucille insisted. “Let’s go.”

C hapter 11
    Inside the taxi, Lucille shivered despite the heat. “Your guy is a would-be gigolo.”
    â€œYou were attracted,” whispered Adrianne.
    â€œNo, I wasn’t,” said Lucille furiously.
    The taxi driver braked suddenly as a car cut in front of them. The street was jammed with traffic. Adrianne became aware of the driver looking at the two of them in the rear view mirror. She wondered what he must think of the two women sitting so close to each other.
    â€œI love him,” murmured Adrianne.
    â€œAsk yourself what he wants from you,” said Lucille in a low voice. “He’s an opportunist. I used to work the casinos in Vegas, and I met dozens of s.o.b.’s who came onto rich women the way Alfredo did to me. You have no money, and what have you got to offer? Is he with you for your brains? Your looks? Honey, be careful!”
    â€œHe loves me!” cried Adrianne. She was so offended that she was on the point of opening the