tired. And yet I know I shouldn’t pass up this opportunity. It would be good to talk to Mateo without being in a work environment, plus I know I need to meet other people, like his wife. I’ll admit, I don’t know that much about him off the field, just that he went through a bitter divorce maybe five years ago and remarried, but it would be nice to have friends.
I message him back and ask where and when.
9pm (ish?) at Bar Cock.
I hesitate for a moment, so close to texting him: Is it hard to get in?
But I manage to keep my giggles away and professionalism intact and tell him I’ll be there.
I pour myself a glass of Tempranillo that I’ve had sitting on the table all week and haven’t had a chance to dip into yet, and proceed to get ready. I’ve been living in the tracksuit uniform, so I decide to put on something more sexy. Not that I have anyone to impress (certainly not Mateo or his wife) but I know from personal experience that with this job taking over my life, my femininity will get buried if I don’t make an effort.
I put on skinny jeans and a simple silky white tank top and silver jewelry, blow drying my highlighted hair straight. I go heavy on the eyeshadow and light on the lip, and when I’m done, I don’t look half bad. A lot of women often ask me what my secrets are for looking young but honestly it’s just a good diet, lots of exercise, and I wear sunscreen every single day (and yes, a hit of Botox every four months, but that’s par for the course at this point).
Then I’m grabbing my purse and heading out the door and into the hot and humid Madrid air.
I can already feel my hair starting to frizz and poof out. Oh well.
Since I’m running a little late (not sure how much leeway I have with “nine pm-ish”), I opt to get an Uber instead of the metro, which is just as well since the last time I attempted to take it I got lost and flustered. I honestly can’t learn Spanish fast enough.
Bar Cock is actually styled more like a swanky English pub with wood beams and tables and at 9:20 p.m. (ish) the place isn’t all that busy. I spot Mateo tucked away at the back at a four-person table.
“Thalia,” he says to me, walking over. “Como esta? You look hermosa.”
“Gracias,” I tell him.
Like me, he seems to be relishing being out of his coach’s uniform, dressed in a sharp grey suit and black shirt. Suddenly I feel underdressed.
He leans in and kisses me on both cheeks, the standard greeting here between friends, and then grabs my arm, bringing me over to the table.
“Thalia, this is my wife Vera,” he says proudly.
A girl (and I mean, she has to be in her mid-to-late twenties) stands up and gives me a big smile before pulling me into a light embrace. She kisses me on both cheeks, my nose filling with the scent of some sweet, heady perfume.
“So happy I finally got to meet you,” she says. She’s not even Spanish — she’s American or Canadian according to her accent.
But that’s not the only surprise. She’s curvy plus-size, with boobs and hips perfectly displayed in an off-the-shoulder purple dress, her wavy, shiny hair down to her ass and dyed blonde with rose-gold ombre. On her feet, she has Golden Goose high-top sneakers in black sequins, and every single inch of her seems to be covered in tattoos.
This is totally not who I saw being married to Mateo. That said, it makes me admire Mateo a little more because his wife already seems like a lot of fun.
“Nice to meet you too,” I tell her, taking a seat beside them.
“What do you want to drink?” Mateo asks me.
“A glass of red wine would be fine,” I tell him, thinking it best to just stick to one thing tonight.
“And you, Estrella?” he asks Vera.
“Surprise me,” she says, beaming at him.
He walks off and I look at her. “Estrella?” I question. “Doesn’t that mean star?”
She raises her arm and shows off a constellation tattooed there. “Astronomy is a hobby of mine. Mateo gave me that nickname pretty early on.”
I have a lot of questions for her. I want to know how on earth they met and how long have they been married. But it seems too personal for now so