Coyoacan Mi Amor Ch. 02

Coyoacan Mi Amor Ch. 2

The story so far: Online lovers Dan Lissner and Dafna Greenbaum finally have a chance to meet while Dan is on a business trip to Mexico City, where Dafna lives and works as a math teacher at an exclusive private school. This is a big step for a couple wondering how to take a fulfilling but sometimes frustrating virtual relationship to the next level of intimacy. They learn to their dismay that works sometimes gets in the way of pleasure. However, Dafna has her own way of coping.

Some vocabulary notes: The word “dayanu” is Hebrew. It is the title of a beloved song sung at Passover. It means “enough for us.” In the context of the song, it refers to the mighty deeds God did for His people. For Dan and Dafna, it connotes something like, you have done so much for me. I am satisfied, although I know more is to come.

The reference to the actress Lauren Bacall followed by the phrase “Bacall b’seder” is a Hebrew-English pun. “Kol b’seder” is a Hebrew phrase for “everything is OK.”

“Oy vey” is a Yiddish that means “good grief!” more or less.

“Lilith,” in medieval Jewish mythology, was Adam’s first wife, before Eve. Lilith demanded equality and represented the feminine dark side of divinity. Dan uses the name as a symbol of female sexual aggressiveness.
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Dafna Greenbaum raced back to her apartment after dropping the surprise package off at the Hotel Maria Cristina for her online lover, Dan Lissner. She felt elated, confident, scared, naughty. She was sure Dan would go crazy over the package, a pair of freshly worn panties. She knew her Dan.

The panties were the easy part, however. For all her bravado, Dafna wondered if she were heading for heartbreak. She had become intimate with men online before. Sometimes it became raunchy, sometimes frightening; in the case of the San Diego computer marketer, Rafael Bocanegra, both. Until Dan, he was the only online lover to visit Dafna. A suave, aggressively romantic and possessive man, Rafael was passionate in his assertions of love and utterly false in the details of his marital status. The phone call from his wife shattered her dreams then. She threw him out the door as soon as he got dressed. She alerted the tough Israeli security guards who protected her apartment building, to ensure Rafael entertained no hopes of returning, then or ever. Oh that night, her tears, the fury, the lover’s corruption like a bleak dawn vaporizing the hopes of the night.

And so, Dan. Their online passion bloomed so quickly, after she read his profile and hit the chat button on the dating site to which they both belonged. After preliminary throat-clearing they switched to Yahoo instant messaging, and four amazing, orgasm-drenched hours later they signed off. Sunday morning was near in Connecticut, Mexico City remained in sultry spring night. Neither, they admitted later, slept much after those hours of confessions, linguistic puns criss-crossing English, Spanish and Hebrew, past lovers, their faith, Zoloft vs. Wellbutrin, secret desires, her abortion after Rafael left, travels around the world. Only after two weeks of almost daily electronic conversations did Dafna pause.

“What do you know about him? He talks a good game, but that’s what men do,” warned her friend Velma Rodriguez, an English teacher at the Anglo-American School in Mexico City, where Dafna was a highly regarded math teacher and faculty sponsor of the film society.

“I know what his profile says. Divorced, one kid, interested in music, film, volunteer work,” said Dafna. “His profile doesn’t say he is VERY interested in sex, but he is.”

“Every man is. That’s a given. Look, I just want you to be safe,” said Velma, the faculty sponsor of the computer club and webmaster of the school’s website. “Let me check him out. Give me his address and full name and let me do some Internet searches. Maybe he’s a saint or maybe he’s . . . what’s that Yiddish word you like to use for a pendejo? A smock?”

Dafna smiled. “A shmuck, not a smock.”

“Whatever. Before you get too deep, I’ll see what I can find.”

Dafna looked teary. “Velma, I am in deep, already.”

“I’ll run some checks today.”

True to her word, Velma ran Dan’s name through Nexis, US Search, Factiva, KnowX, Switchboard, and Google, cross-referencing the results to uncover discrepancies and the little lies that lie coiled in the shadows of a bright new romance. Nexis showed him still living in Fairfield, Connecticut rather than Stamford, but Velma knew address updates took months to show up on Nexis. She ran down the facts Dafna provided. Princeton – check. Forty-five years old – check. Divorced – check and double check on that detail. Previously wrote for a music industry magazine – check, with lots of concert reviews and marketing articles bearing his by-line available on line. She even searched the weblog www.littlegreenfootballs.com, where, Dan had said, he often posted acerbic political comments under the nom de web “kibitzer.” He did.

She even searched on the name “Laurie Warshaver,” Dan’s Princeton classmate whom Dafna said had made “love eyes” at Dan at a breakfast they had shared in New York in November. Yes, she went to Princeton and was a top executive at a foundation in Philadelphia. Photos from the foundation’s online magazine showed a woman who bore a surprising resemblance to Dafna, younger and taller, but with the same broad shoulders, excellent posture, prominent bust, and poise. A shadow around Laurie’s eyes hinted at quiet sadness. Still, Laurie was very fashionable and attractive; Velma thought, “I wonder if Dan made love eyes back.” Velma bookmarked the pages, but decided to say nothing to Dafna.

After her last class, Dafna checked her mailbox in the administrative offices. She found a note from Velma: “Dafna, super news! Dan is a total honesty machine. I’m impressed! Full speed ahead!”
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Dafna mentioned Dan to Velma a few more times, but then became quiet about the relationship. Dafna feared to speak too joyously of the e-affair, given Velma’s own struggles with romance. And, she had grown tired of friends warning her about online affairs, carping about their supposed shallowness, the dead end of distance, and whether true love and intimacy could blossom and lead to anything substantial in such an environment. Rather than explain and argue, Dafna either kept quiet or simply said she had no complaints. True, she still enjoyed coffee or dinner with other men, and swatted down the rare pleading phone call from the infuriating Rafael, but she found emotional and intellectual satisfaction in her chats with Dan.

She only lacked the physical component. True to their frankness, she spoke about this with Dan.

DAN: What’s cookin good lookin?

DAFNA: Hard day at school. Training session after classes. Lots of traffic. Tired.

DAN: Pobrecita! Can I help you relax?

DAFNA: OK. Sure.

DAN: That did not sound like a very enthusiastic OK.

DAFNA: U know me too well.

DAN: Digame, amiga. Tell me my friend. Is something on your mind?

DAFNA: OK. I will be honest with you.

DAFNA: We are not any other way, right, honney?

DAN: Absolutely.

DAFNA: Our lovemaking is grrrreat. You make me feel so good.

DAN: I feel the same.

DAFNA: I close my eyes and I can feel U Hear U taste U.

DAFNA: But sometimes

DAFNA: Sometimes I get frustrated.

DAFNA: We not together. We have everything but we are so far apart.

DAN: Not the same as a real warm body.

DAFNA: Right.

DAN: We’re masturbating with words on a screen to help us. On some level we are just imaginary images to each other. Fucking with phantoms. It’s sex in the brain, not in the body.

DAN: I guess that sounds harsh.

DAFNA: Is true. I want U so much. Is a problem with Internet romance.

DAN: We have an intense but in some ways superficial relationship. Not real. It’s easy to form friendships with people all over the world. But very hard to take them to the next level if that feels right.

DAN: And this feels right. To me.

DAFNA: I very happy to hear that. But what to do?

DAN: Here’s how I look at this. Forgive me for sounding too much like a management consultant. That’s what happens when you work in professional services. I’ve thought of the same stuff.

DAN: I’m really glad we’re talking about this.

DAFNA: Me too.

DAN: Option one. Realize the sex is a dead end and agree to be friends.

DAN: Option two: Keep the sex, keep the friendship, keep looking for other relationships closer to home. Possible, complicated when other people get in the act. Psychodrama city.

DAN: Option three: Stop all communications and say it was great fun but it was just one of those things. Not meant to be, can’t have friendship after sex, even non-physical. Down the memory hole.

DAN: I’m listing that just for argument’s sake. I don’t want to look behind door number 3.

DAFNA: Good!

DAFNA: That’s it?

DAN: OK, deep breath time. Option four: Do what big people do and get together.

DAFNA: Oh, Dan. WAAWWWW.

DAN: There, I’ve said it. Still want to talk to me?

DAFNA: Mas, mas, mas. More!

DAN: The question is, how do we make it happen.

DAN: Dafna, you know how limited my budget is. 75 percent of my pay goes to apartment, child support, credit card debt. My life is not as expensive as when I was married, but I don’t have much wiggle room. Vacation time yes, money for expensive vacations, no.

DAFNA: I don’t make much money as a teacher. Meet in the middle? I got my passport. Always curious to see Arkansas.

DAN: Let’s hold off on Arkansas for the moment. I’ve got a better idea. You need to understand my firm a little better. OK?

DAFNA: I like whatever you say.

DAN: Our firm has struggled in Mexico City. Layoffs, looking high and low for new clients. Things are stabilizing a little. Problem: the firm laid off too many people. Not enough are left to do proposals.

DAFNA: Which bring in the new business.

DAN: Exactamente. Now, we have a new system in the firm, the way people like me get assignment. Open market staffing.

DAFNA: ?????

DAN: Hard to understand, I know. Basically, proposal writers like me have some choices in the projects they work on. Once we get assigned work done, we can choose to work on other projects that are unstaffed. Teams can do proposals on their own, but it’s always better to have a writer involved.

DAFNA: Still not clear.

DAN: Put the Mexico situation together with open market staffing. It means I have opportunities to pick up assignments in Mexico, and Central America, even, since everything down through Panama is handled out of MC. I see what’s available, and if I have the time, I come down to do the work. That’s how I got the assignment in Hong Kong.

DAN: This just became a work option in MC. Nobody else really wants to go there. I do. I guess I’ve got reasons.

DAFNA: Come here at company expense?

DAN: Nice hotels, expense account. Not a bad way to do things. Possibility of charming company.

DAFNA: U really want to come here, not find somebody to fuck in New York? I understand if U do.

DAN: Not so easy for a man with high standards (like me). If I do you’ll be the first to know. YOU want to find somebody in MC to fuck? Big Mexican stud on a burro? Somebody to whack your sweet little piñata with his love stick, make the candy cum out?? Hey, I’d understand if YOU find somebody to fuck. You’ve got needs I’m not meeting.

DAFNA: My heart broken too many times. Sex one thing, love harder to find. Hombre like you es imposible.

DAN: Y la misma por una mujer como ti. Same for a woman like you. Sounds like we’re on the same page.

DAFNA: U are frustrated?

DAN: VERY. That’s why I would jump at the chance to work down there. I mean, we need to do something.

DAFNA: When could it happen?

DAN: Don’t know. Sorry.

DAFNA: Xciting.

DAN: I check our proposal database every day. It’ll happen fast when it does.

DAN: Notice I said “when” not “if.”

DAN: Because it WILL happen. Otherwise my cock will shrivel and die. It needs to meet its long distance friend.

DAFNA: Oh no no no. Must not happen. Ur cock too precious to me.

DAN: Maybe my heart would shrivel too.

DAFNA: Mi amor!!!!!!!!

DAFNA: !!!!!

DAN: But one thing at a time.

DAFNA: U naked?

DAN: I thought you’d never ask. Only from the waist down.

DAFNA: Dayanu. That is enuf for me.
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The office managing partner, Hector Izaguirre, shook hands with Dan and had his secretary bring coffee. “I am very pleased you are here, Dan. We have little time. We must make a strong argument and win,” he said, formal in a pinstriped suit. “If we win this audit, it will ensure the health of this office for years to come. And we will have the stature in the marketplace to win other clients.” Hector’s corner office, high over Paseo de la Reforma, reminded Dan of partners’ offices on Park Avenue in New York, Younge Street in Toronto, Biscayne Boulevard in Miami, Public Square in Cleveland, Peachtree Street in Atlanta, Wacker Drive in Chicago, Crescent Court in Dallas, and on and on. Locations changed; partner perks were eternal.

In a glass enclosed conference room, Dan plugged in his Dell laptop and had a technician connect him to the local network. Hector and other partners and senior managers, the select few supporting him at the Audit Committee presentation, gathered to discuss key messages in light of what they were learning every day about the committee and its members. Who supported the incumbent auditor, who wanted a fresh look, what they thought about fees. The presentation would have only a dozen slides, but each word, each supporting comment from Hector and the team, had to be prepared with excruciating care. Their jobs depended on it.

Hector took a phone call while Dan mapped out the script and timing of the presentation. His Yahoo messenger screen popped up.

DAFNA: U exhausted honney? Niiice flight?

DAN: Good flight, in the office. Shouldn’t be too late. I had a surprise waiting at the hotel. Now where did THAT cum from?

DAFNA: U like?

DAN: I am walking around with a u-know-what. But I’m at the office, they can monitor my IM conversations, got to keep it clean and short.

DAN: Back at the hotel by 9. Call you then? Unmonitored conversation?

DAFNA: Goooood. Byeeeeee.
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Through the plate glass windows fronting the second floor of Dafna’s health club, she had a wonderful view of Mexico City. Pounding away on an elliptical walker, her CD player spinning early James Taylor, Dafna could see her 20-story apartment building across the street. The name, Casa de Palmas, was apt, since spindly, 40-foot high palm trees lined the driveway and dotted the grounds. Orange trees, bougainvillas, and other plants lent Casa de Palmas a lush tropical look. When she felt romantic, Dafna fantasized about slipping a flower behind her ear and strolling the grounds with a lover, a silk sarong hugging her curves.

While it looked tropical, Casa de Palmas could also sound Mediterranean. Israeli businessmen assigned to Mexico City liked the building’s security, location in the fresh-air hills overlooking the city, and the excellent private schools in the area. The building’s management even used Israeli security guards, no-nonsense army veterans who made the building the safest in the entire area. The hallways echoed with as much Hebrew as Spanish.

Down the hills from the building Dafna could see the twinkling lights of the city, endless rolling waves of blinks and flashes spilling down the hills and across the great bowl of Mexico City. It reminded her of Los Angeles, city without end, patchwork of fortresses and refugee camps, knit together and always fraying, yet alluring and full of surprises and pleasure for those who could navigate its sunny and menacing streets.

For the moment, Dafna saw only ceiling tiles. On her back on a padded bench, she pushed 15-pound hand weights up in a crisp set of presses. She could feel her pectoral muscles under her breasts tightening under her sports bra and Hebrew University sweatshirt. The slight burning felt good as she expanded her physical limits. One more set and then she would stretch and cool down, followed by a shower, and then a quick walk across the street to her apartment and then Dan should be in his hotel . . .

“Shalom, Dafna,” said a voice to her side. Dafna blinked and turned her head. Upside down, she saw a face she recognized.

“Hola, Amit,” she said to the person, Amit Shemtov, a wiry security guard from the building. “Have the evening shift off?”

“Yes, I switched shifts with Shlomo. I don’t mind working days sometimes. So, I came here,” said Amit. He wore a sweaty t-shirt bearing the shield of the tank corps of the Israel Defense Forces, or IDF. With his Yemenite olive skin and black hair, Amit could pass for a Mexican, particular an Indian. His flawless Spanish made him a natural choice for work in Mexico and Latin America. He would be an excellent spy, she thought.

“That’s good. I like variety in life. Sometimes I do the machines, sometimes the weights. Too much of one thing gets boring,” said Dafna, mopping her face with a small towel. She felt damp all over.

They chatted about work, the building upgrades, nothing important. They had an easy, friendly relationship, although Amit was 20 years younger than Dafna. Among friends, he said, what does age matter?

“Oh, Amit, I’m glad I saw you,” said Dafna before she headed for the cool-down mats. “I have a friend visiting from the United States. He’s staying at a hotel, but he may come to visit. His name is Dan Lissner. Just so you can have him on the guest list.”

“Good, Dafna. Your friend is my friend. He will be welcome,” said Amit. He paused. His brow furrowed slightly. “Speaking of people who are not our friends, have you had more calls from, what’s his name?”

“Rafael?” said Dafna, frowning herself. “Yes, a few days ago. I hung up on him.”

“Is he dangerous? Do you feel threatened?”

“No, just aggravated. He is a jerk. Harmless.”

“We still have his picture and name on the watch list, so he won’t disturb you here.”

“Thank you so much. He is not a good man.”

“I will talk to him if he is a problem. I know where he can be reached.”

“Thank you, but he is not a problem.”

“Forgive me for asking, but Dan, he is a good man? Not like Rafael?” Amit had been on duty the terrible night Dafna, screaming and shoving, threw Rafael out of the apartment. Dafna later confided the whole sorry story to her young friend.

“Yes, he is a friend.”

To Dafna’s ears, Amit paused a beat too long before responding.

“I am glad Dafna. You deserve happiness.”

“We all do, Amit. Well, time to shower.”

“Lila tov. Good night.”

Sitting on the padded bench, Amit watched Dafna walk away, her full hips swaying beneath her sweat pants. He liked what he saw. And he liked Dafna.
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Dafna stepped onto the balcony of her 15th floor apartment. She loved the view, the serene quiet of the height and the slight aroma of evening flowers drifting far up from the gardens and paths below. Lights twinkled in the distance. A warm breeze ruffled the blinds. She heard kids playing on the swings and slides. Children, she sighed, always children . . .

The chirruping of the telephone broke her reverie. She glanced at a clock: 8:45 pm.

DAFNA: Hola, quien habla? Hi, who’s speaking?

DAN: I’ll give you one guess.

DAFNA: Honey! You’re a little early to your room.

DAN: If you’re busy I can call back.

DAFNA: I want to talk now. Just a second. Let me close the drapes. Privacy, no?

DAN: Privacy is a good thing.

DAFNA: OK. You are comfortable?

DAN: In the living room, got a soda. God it was good to get out of my suit and shoes. I’m not used to this formal way of dressing. Your voice sounds so sexy to hear from close. It’s been a long time since we talked.