The Shadow of the Cake novel · Chapter 1 of 12
Chapter 1: Twenty-Two Candles
On the day I turned twenty-two, I asked my stepfather to take me to see an adult movie.
It happened on the balcony of his house, in El Paraíso, at ten at night, with the chocolate cake on the table and twenty-two candles lit.
Gustavo Arismendi had just finished singing me happy birthday.
He sang it off-key, with that deep voice that made the glasses vibrate, and I laughed until my stomach hurt.
"Make a wish," he said.
"Already did."
"Blow them out."
"First I want my gift."
"I gave it to you. It's the watch."
"It's a beautiful watch."
"Then."
"But it's not what I want."
He leaned back in his chair, linen sleeves rolled up, forearms resting on the table.
He was forty-one, with black hair graying at the temples, a short beard, and enormous hands that I'd spent a year and a half trying not to look at.
He'd married my mom when I was twenty.
My mom had left fourteen months ago, for Panama, with a man who owned a yacht.
And Gustavo had let me stay.
"And what do you want?" he asked.
"I want to watch an adult movie."
His gaze went still.
"What?"
"An adult movie. The kind they don't show at the movie theater."
"Andreina."
"And I want to watch it in your screening room."
"Andreina."
"With you."
Gustavo ran a hand over his face.
He rested his elbows on his knees.
The candlelight gave his eyes a coppery gleam.
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm your stepfather."
"You're my mom's abandoned husband. And I'm twenty-two."
"That doesn't change..."
"It changes everything. I'm of age. You're an adult. I've worked at your movie theater for a year. I know the projection booth better than you do."
"I'm still..."
"Gustavo."
I leaned over the table.
"At university I saw a movie like that at a film club. With twenty people. And I left with my hands trembling, not knowing why."
I said it with a steady voice, looking him in the eye.
"I want to watch it with someone who can explain it to me. And I don't want it to be anyone else."
A very long silence fell.
A dog barked out on the street.
Gustavo closed his eyes for a second.
When he opened them, his jaw was tight.
"Blow out the candles."
"So?"
"Blow."
I blew.
All twenty-two flames went out at once.
The balcony went dark.
I heard his chair creak as he stood up.
"I'll wait for you in screening room two," he said, from the darkness. "At midnight."
My heart leaped.
"Really?"
"And bring the cake."
I heard him go inside the house, with slow, heavy steps.
I stayed alone on the balcony, my hands trembling on the tablecloth.
Cine Alameda occupied a corner of Avenida Urdaneta, in a 1952 building with a stone facade and a neon marquee.
It had one large theater with four hundred seats, and a second, smaller one that Gustavo had restored for private screenings.
Twelve red velvet seats, its own projector, and a screen the size of a wall.
At five to midnight I opened the side door with my key.
I crossed the dark lobby, carrying the cake on a tray and wearing the green dress I'd put on for dinner.
Short, with thin straps, ending mid-thigh.
My knees were shaking.
In screening room two, the projector light was already on.
Gustavo was sitting in the third row, in the center seat, with his back to me.
He'd taken off his jacket.
His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar.
I set the cake down on the seat next to him.
I sat down to his right.
We stayed in silence.
The screen was a white rectangle, empty.
"There's one condition," he said.
"Tell me."
"That after this, you never tell me again that you don't know what you want."
"I've always known."
He nodded.
He raised his hand and signaled toward the booth.
I knew there was nobody there.
He'd loaded the film himself.
Before it started, I lit a single candle from the cake with the lighter from the concession stand.
The flame trembled in the dimness.
The projector beam crossed the cake, and its enormous shadow fell on the edge of the screen, like a black mountain.
The projector hummed.
The screen filled with light.
The movie began.
I won't say the title.
It was an old film, from the seventies, in faded colors, shot in a beach house.
A man and a woman, on a bed, under a white sheet.
At first they only kissed.
Then he slid the strap of her shirt down.
Then she arched her back, eyes closed.
I felt a tingling rise up my legs.
I crossed my ankles.
I pressed my thighs together.
The woman on the screen moaned.
That sound ran down my spine like an electric wire.
I was soaked.
I didn't want to be, but I was.
My thighs were burning, and I pressed them together harder, trying to hold back that current that wouldn't let me think.
Gustavo didn't move.
He kept his eyes on the screen, jaw rigid.
His breathing was deeper than before.
I brought my hand to my face.
It was burning.
"Andreina."
"Tell me."
"Look at me."
I turned my head.
He was a hand's breadth away, the movie light dancing across his face.
His eyes were dark and fixed on me.
"Tell me what you feel."
"Heat."
"Where?"
I swallowed.
"Here."
I took his hand, which was resting on the armrest, and placed it on my bare thigh.
His jaw tightened.
His palm covered almost my entire leg.
It was hot, rough, huge.
He left his hand still for a second.
Then he started to move it up, very slowly.
Along the edge of my dress, along the inside of my thigh.
I opened my legs without thinking.
I held my breath.
His fingers reached the lace of my underwear and stopped.
"Are you going to behave?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
I looked at him.
I smiled, and tears glistened in my eyes.
"No."
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