Audrey Hepburn's Pearls: Volume 1

Chapter 26.2: 1994, Ruiz

"She looks so pretty."

The TV glowed on us, the room completely dark otherwise, the curtains drawn. It felt like only the two of us existed, a feeling I was having more and more often. Ambrose had wrapped us in a blanket since I was still recovering from the flu, totally disregarding his own health for mine. It comforted my soul.

"That blonde hair. I want a wig like that. I wonder if the shop has anything like it. I could style it. You think so?"

I was listening to Ambrose talking about the Madonna video on TV more than I was watching it. It was a new one, released just this month, Take a Bow. It had become Ambrose's new favorite song overnight.

"We could do a toreador theme together, eh? Something. We could be two Spanish beauties. We could perform this." His voice was excitedly flowing into my ear, so close. It felt like warm hot chocolate entering my body.

"Dios mío, look at him, though? That body...those abs..."

The toreador in the video appeared on screen, getting dressed, his abs flat as a board. Something inside of me turned on like a switch, filling me with a strange feeling which I couldn't quite put a finger on. A burning.

"Ay! The blood part!" Ambrose breathed, burying his face into my long, milk chocolate colored wig. I could feel his face pressed beyond the curls and it made my body flush as it burned, something he couldn't see in the darkness, with such small light.

"It's okay," I assured him. His face popped out of my hair and I missed it already.

Put it back.

"That outfit," Ambrose sighed, "it's timeless." He was babbling like a school boy in love at his idol, the great Madonna. I just wanted him to go on like this about me. But as he babbled on more, now talking about the toreador, saying how sexy he was, I began to have my doubts. These clouded me like dark storms.

"That body," Ambrose sighed, "isn't he sexy, Ruiz?"

I sighed inside of myself, not saying a word, but he was too distracted anyway. Then the part of the video I hated the most came on and though I wanted to close my eyes, I couldn't. My thoughts were too strong, the opinion too in pain.

My heart writhed like Madonna writhed on screen, nearly naked and exposed for all. As she turned on the bed, feeling her love, I felt my longing and screaming agony. Everything collapsed in a soup of swirling misery, anguished love and yearning for things I could never have.

The truth, so often hurt and always in my face, was I wished I had Madonna's body. I wished I had her beautiful breasts, and so much more. I wished the boy behind me could be attracted to that, wanting me.

As the toreador and Madonna started to make out, I broke down. My heart sobbed for it, sobbed for Ambrose to love me like that, kissing my womanly body, loving me as a woman. Loving me, needing me, wanting to make love to me.

"...Ruiz?"

I didn't respond.

"Ruiz? Que...estás bien?"

He was asking me in Spanish, scared. Why did he have to ask me in Spanish? Using this language which had been only used in my pain, reminding me of awful things?

"Hey," he said very gently. I closed my eyes, and the light from the TV was gone, the glow from beyond my eyelids disappearing at the same time. Darkness enveloped us, silence.

Reality settled in. We were in his bed. Surrounded by pillows, stuffed animals, familiar things. He was behind me, warm, solid, beautiful. Too real.

"Are you okay?" he asked in English this time, and in the darkness I felt his hot thumb, pressing to my face and wiping away the tears I didn't even know I had cried. No wonder he was asking me if I was okay.