A Collector of
Affections
By Judith Glynn
The bucolic and
pastoral scenes
en route to
Madrid blurred
as Leah’s eyes
drooped and
finally closed
after the
exhausting visit with Javier combined
with her lingering jet lag. When the
bus jerked to a stop at the AutoRes
station, she rubbed her eyes awake
and was the last person to get off.
Just being in the city again gave her
an adrenaline high to walk the few
blocks to the subway station where
she swiped her multi-ride ticket at
the turnstile. Tirso de Molina was her
stop, close to the center of Madrid.
Although familiar with the area, she
still ran her finger over the subway
platform map and counted the
number of stations before she’d get
off the train.
1500s, which some interpreted as a
depiction of the perils of life’s
temptations. Leah drew inspiration
from the creativity of others,
especially insightful paintings that
told a larger story. She hoped to
create equally beautiful scenes in her
novels where exquisite surroundings,
combined with challenges for her
characters, filled page after page.
Checking the caller ID, no name
appeared, only a sequence of nine
numbers. She hesitated, trying to
remember the last four digits of
Javier’s phone. When she was
convinced it wasn’t a call from him,
she answered.
But as she neared her apartment
building, she became increasingly
despondent about being alone. Once
inside the slow birdcage-elevator
that inched upward, she was
disgusted with herself over the
Javier reunion. She flipped open her
cell phone and scrolled to his name.
“Well hello, seatmate Miguel,” she
said, trying not to gush and reveal
her delight. What a wonderful
surprise to hear your voice. So you
didn’t forget me?”
She exited the subway and walked
the few blocks to her apartment
building. She planned a good night’s
sleep. The next day she’d stroll her
favorite streets. Fresh thinking and a
much-needed sea change in her life
were on the agenda. Leah adored
Madrid. She acclimated quickly
whenever she arrived; the city had
remained in her heart long after her
feet first touched its soil. First stop
would be the Museo del Jamon
restaurant for a bocadillo doble with
Jamon Serrano and a beer. It wasn’t a
fancy place with hundreds of cured
ham legs dangling from the ceiling
but she liked mingling with the standup patrons. A visit to the Prado
Museum was obligatory to view her
favorite painting – Bosch’s The
Garden of Earthly Delights triptych.
A small crowd usually formed in front
of the oil masterpiece painted in the
Leah went straight to the bedroom
when she entered the apartment and
pulled at an overhead chain to light
the ceiling fixture. Her large suitcase
was on the bed with the airline’s
luggage tag still looped around the
handle. Many older Madrid
apartments didn’t have closets.
Instead, an ornate walnut armoire
stood across the room, sturdy on its
clawed wrought-iron feet. She turned
the antique key and the doors
squeaked open. She hung up what she
could and crammed smaller items into
the bottom drawer.
When it finally occurred to her that
the bedroom was too dark for the
bright Spanish morning, she opened
the red velvet drapes and rolled up
the outside metal shutter. She didn’t
hear her cell phone ring until the
room had brightened. How odd. Not
many people had her Spanish number.
“Welcome back, Leah. Recognize this
voice?” the male caller asked.
“Forget you? Never. I’ve thought
about you ever since you left for
Salamanca. How’d it go, by the way?”
he said but didn’t wait for her
response. Instead, he continued about
his day at the Prado Museum, made all
the more wonderful with a personal
guide who highlighted the fourteen
must-see masterpieces. Miguel then
paused, leaving Leah to anticipate his
next sentence. “You up for a flamenco
show with me tonight?”
“Here’s to the death of good
intentions,” she said and deleted his
number, pressing harder than
necessary.
If she told the truth, she wasn’t up
for anything but a slow walk around
Madrid, a solitary dinner at a
restaurant with an outside terrace,
people watching, some fine Spanish
wine and a good night’s sleep.
“Of course I’ll go. I love flamenco. It
will be great to see you again.”
Leah remembered how he had
intrigued her on the plane – enough
to keep her talking until the Spanish
dawn. He made her feel alive. She
became a young girl enchanted with
his flirting despite their middle-aged
hearts. Well, maybe it wasn’t flirting.
She wanted it to be. Whatever it was,
72
it was magic. She wanted more. He’d
be a fun distraction after the brutal
reality of Javier.
~~~~
It was a short walk from her
apartment to the Puerta del Sol
where she’d meet Miguel under the
clock tower. Should she tell him about
Javier? Probably not since she might
cry. Maybe he’d forget to ask her
again. Leah was a strong woman and
could discuss practically anything
with anybody but she preferred to
forget the Salamanca event.
“There you are. You look wonderful,”
Miguel said after he maneuvered
through a small crowd to greet Leah.
His hug thrilled her. A whiff of cologne
trailed as he brushed his smooth
cheeks against hers with two kisses
that escaped into the air. What an
infectious and upbeat attitude he had.
“Before we go to the tablao, let’s
have a quick bite. I discovered a
terrific tapas place on my way to
meet you.”
“How about we go to the Museo del
Jamon? It’s a block away. I’m due for
my first bocadillo in Madrid. Agree?”
He did.
“You seem a little off,” Miguel said as
they walked along. “Is everything
okay?”
“I’m fine. Just pensive, which I can be
sometimes,” she said and led him into
the restaurant, pointing out the deli
selections and dangling cured ham legs.
Leah loved flamenco. Miguel hadn’t
seen the dance performed live nor did
he know much about its origin. As they
sat at a small table close to the stage,