6 PARAGRAPHS/2 PAGES THEME PAPER

Virtual bitch—Cristina Civale

[From Perra virtual. (Buenos Aires: Seix Barral, 1998): 11-25. trans. Martha J. Manier]

It no longer paid to go out on the street. Luz — that was the name she adopted when she entered the profession at fourteen after her physical education teacher had taken her virginity and she knew, once and for all that making love was what she liked best and that she would charge to do it — made sure her clients inhabited invisible spaces, hunkered down in their houses before their terminals, in search of sex, in search of relief. They made their connections through the computer.

If, when she was a girl, they had told her she would raffle off the last days of her youth getting clients through cyber chats, it would have seem like a poorly formulated dream. But that’s how it was: young rugby players, businessmen with laptops, up and coming politicians, architects and graphic designers, brokers with little time, liberals down on their luck, nerds with no experience, were all here, at the reach of a few computer keys, and in less than two minutes, a meeting was arranged, followed later by exhaustion, and finally payment in cash.

Luz could barely believe it. Every afternoon between five and seven she turned on the computer and logged in — the modem had been programmed to connect to a number belonging to a prestigious service provider. After a few seconds she would see on the screen the program through which she accessed her clients, who on their machine had identically configured access. Then she only had to move the mouse, select option in the menu, and immediately know which ones were trying to contact her.

Luz selected a name and invited that man to chat. Before a minute had passed that client was dialing up his virtual date who would soon become real and tireless. The chat was sensual and provocative; she promised lust and ephemeral bliss in exchange for a reasonable fee, no payment by the installment plan. Every day Luz’s bank account increased more and more until she received a gold card from the very bank where her clients paid. They entered their credit card number into the computer, and she received her money every week. She did not want to be paid directly by them: contact with that dirty, well-fingered paper, exasperated her. That’s how Luz was: sometimes reserved, other times cheeky. More importantly, now she was happy.

She had been able to abandon that non-productive wandering to which she had to resort in the beginning of the 90’s when the economic depression seemed to threaten everything from the fulfillment of the most primitive desire to the exercise of prostitution. Luz found herself among the privileged who found a solution to guarantee their survival: her fabulous and clandestine chain of amorous conquests on the web.

A young and very real client spent a long night with her. It marked his last day in the country. He had decided to emigrate to San Francisco in search of a more honorable and, above all, a more prosperous life. The young man — Luz finally remembered his name was Geronimo — sent her by way of a door to door delivery the following day his computer, the modem, and all the cables. Through trial and error and manuals, Luz

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spent three days trying to figure it all out; but when she succeeded, she was able to reap rich rewards. She subscribed to a service provider for those with high purchasing power, and after paying an even higher fee she too became a privileged member in a limited news group from which she extracted the cream of her clientele.

Luz was a prostitute with very fastidious habits, which at times bordered on ritual. She devoured detective novels and, this may sound odd, read Chandler. She loved to go to the movies in the afternoon, especially to the half-price shows. She detested Quentin Tarantino but saw without any discernment all John Travolta movies as well as those with Michel Pfeiffer whom she unconditionally admired. That was all there was to it; she never tried to imitate her. Luz had her own style. Her hair was black, straight and fell to her shoulders in a shag cut. Her eyes reflected her mood: she collected contact lenses. She was so thin that sometimes she seemed transparent and at other times ethereal. She always wore black and had a mole tattooed where her breast first became evident. Her only colorful detail was a ring: a fake ruby set in gold and worn on her left pinkie. She seemed anorexic but could allow herself the luxury of eating without getting fat. Her daily diet consisted of four slices of warm, thick-crust pizza topped with gruyere, arrugula, and raw salmon. She used creams that promised to retard the effects of aging, shaved her legs and under her arms with a little machine that respected the contours of her body, and liked music, always playing Sarah Vaughn and Billy Holiday on her walkman. Every time you say good-bye, even made her cry until she was exhausted, because when all is said and done, Luz was a romantic.

The greatest risk she ran with each of her clients was not that of contracting some disease. The strict use of condoms put her out of such danger. After each client, Luz thought she found, always for a second, the man of her life, but the best was that in the next second she forgot him. It was not suitable, nor respectable for her to fall in love with a client and Luz knew that and more: love and money could not mix and many times amidst the perspiration and heavy breathing she could smell or hear the secretions of love. This was something she had to worry about because, for Luz, love ranked above all else, sex was down on the list. She could not become confused. Therefore, she worked with such gravity that it seemed an exaggeration. Each time she performed an insignificant yet meticulous ritual: she made her clients be quiet and then sprinkled them with her own perfume so that no word or foreign smell could bother her. That’s how she was: intense and cautious at the same time. The one moment she felt love she was capable of giving everything for nothing; the next moment she forgot, and measured her caresses in dollars and cents. She didn’t even give away an innocent kiss on the cheek. It made her uncomfortable to be generous and, under no circumstances, to lose money..

The arrival of a new subscriber to the news group was a bit unexpected. His double surname impressed her. Not for the reason there were two surnames but rather for the sound. Those two names made her think of a character in Chandler and a theme in Billy Holiday. These really did not have one thing to do with the name, but Luz was used to living in a state of disorder. In the midst of the sounds and the muddle, she believed she was catching of glimmer of love, more than a moment of love, a lasting love. From the time when she read it, she knew she would fall in love with both the name and the man who had that name. The arrival of Aquiles García de Andina to her life and to her

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computer disturbed her in a way that was unpredictable and strangely inoffensive. Luz could feel petite even though she might proceed with the ruthless steps of a giant.

Luz always saved the chats. For her they were like life insurance. From the onset her attitude toward those of García de Andina was quite different. The copies of their two conversations ranked among with her dearest possessions along with the photo of her dead mother and an inherited reliquary. When García de Andina had become a dusty memory, she printed the conversations and dedicated many of her days devoutly reading them, each time searching for new meaning and, especially, some veiled declaration of love.

The first contact was more or less as follows. Luz logged onto her usual program, and with the mouse reviewed the names of users on the list serve and there read that Aquiles García de Andina was on line. She dialed his number and invited him to chat. Aquiles accepted at once, and Luz felt very emotional but he, of course, never knew. It was summer 1996. It was January. The chat was babbling and unorganized, like any other. Nevertheless, for Luz these words sealed the beginning of something that, she imagined, would be fabulous.

Luz: It’s an honor. García de Andina: The honor is mine. Luz: I ‘d like to know who you are. García de Andina: Who? Luz: I’m over doing… Luz: You. García de Andina: Aquiles, 33, a lawyer… Luz: What else? García de Andina: 5’8”, 165lbs, bachelor… Luz: 165! Luz: Where do you live? What part of town? García de Andina: …a hermit, Arroyo y Suipacha. Luz: Nice neighborhood. García de Andina: Lots of nightlife… Luz: Are you a hermit out of choice or desperation? García de Andina: Choice Luz: Mmmmm García de Andina; Mmmmm? Luz: Do you look at yourself in the mirror and like what you see? García de Andina: Yes. Luz: I’ m not at all subtle. García de Andina: It doesn’t matter. Read… it’s how I am: authoritarian, egotistic,

and a bit monarchist. Luz: Interesting when it comes to war. García de Andina: War? Luz: Yes: a non-pacific interchange over differing points of view etc. García de Andina: With no weapons? Luz: Using the most caustic words in our negotiations. García de Andina, Yes, I like that.

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Luz: Shall we fight? García de Andina: I hate communism… I like Coca Cola and Burger King

hamburgers. Luz: I like gin and tonic, don’t eat meat, subscribe to no ideology, and I want to meet

you… García de Andina: Whenever you like. Luz: I’m free now. García de Andina: Your house or mine? Luz: You choose. Going to your home I charge $300; in mine $250, no drinks. García de Andino: Excuse me… Luz: Read it again… take your time and you’ll understand. Anything else? I’m going

to sign off. García de Andina: Luz: ???? García de Andina: Suipacha 1132 8º 19. I’ll see you in an hour. Luz: I’ll be there. One last thing… García de Andina: Yes. Luz: I only accept credit cards. Luz set the screen saver, some stars that gave the feeling of traveling through

infinite space. She began to prepare for her big date. She chose a black dress with a high neck and long skirt that outlined her bony figure but especially the prodigious size of her breasts. She put on a pair of white platform sandals. She slicked back her hair and spent a long time outlining her lips, trying to convert her mouth into a delicious pulp. She put exactly two drops of a acidic, manly perfume on her neck, picked up her car keys, and left without a purse.

Aquiles García de Andina seemed to live in the former Bencich building. Luz managed to park the car in front of the door and got out. She smoothed down her dress and calmed her nerves by taking a swig of gin from a flask she always kept in the glove compartment. She went over a million plans before she rang the bell and even thought she might not charge García de Andina. Her entire hand leaned upon the bell and she rang it with fury and desire. No one answered. Without showing any sign of being perturbed, Luz rang again. Once again, no response. She made one last attempt. She refused to think of bad omens. The sky was clear and the moon full. Nothing bad could be happening. She reviewed the address and time; she checked her watch. She waited a few seconds without knowing what to do, then knowing she kicked the door until her knees hurt.

The doorman appeared and assured her no Aquiles García de Andina lived there nor had he ever lived there. Luz had not counted on that and crumbled. However her love — arbitrary and at that moment not at all fugitive, — did not die just then. It grew greater until it became a full-blown obsession.

Luz sped home and when she got there threw herself at the computer. She connected and waited, like an unhappy girl in love, for any appearance of García de Andina. She waited a long time. Day was breaking. When the first of the sun’s rays was about to appear over the horizon. García de Andina went on line. This time he was the one who invited her to chat. Luz, looking for any sign of an apology, accepted.

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García de Andina: What happened? Luz: You weren’t there… the doorman told me… you didn’t live there. García de Andina: Where? Luz: At the address you gave me. García de Andina: Yes, I do live there. Luz: I don’t understand… García de Andina: The doorman is an idiot. Luz: Aha! García de Andina: Come back. I can’t wait… Luz: Okay. Wait for me at the front door. Not for one second did Luz doubt that Aquiles García de Andina was telling her the

truth. She did not look in mirror, again picked up her keys, and drove through the streets that were now beginning to fill with busses, taxis, and people going to real jobs. She parked in the same spot. A fifteen-year-old boy was waiting in the doorway. Luz hesitated a second before she realized and fearfully asked if he were Aquiles García de Andina. The boy shook his head no. Not speaking he guided her toward the elevator and they rode up in unperturbed silence. Luz did not want to imagine anything, not even draw conclusions. She only wanted to meet once and for all her beloved Aquiles García de Andina and make love to him as she had never done to anyone else. Her underpants grew moist. The elevator stopped and the boy guided her in silence toward the apartment

With what appeared to be his own key, he opened the door. Luz did not understand what she saw. Four other boys as old as the first one were waiting for her. She had barely stepped into the apartment when one of then, with the whitest of skin and golden hair that fell to his waist, came to within a centimeter of her mouth and said: We are Aquiles García de Andina. Then he withdrew and lined up with the others, all so similar that they could have been clones. The only thing they did was look at her, not saying a word, as if the few words they uttered came from typing on their computers. They were virgins. Luz could smell it and her sense of smell never failed her. Then she confirmed it. They were standing and Luz approached and sized them up. She looked for a secluded spot and had them enter one by one. With eyes closed she made love to each one of them. She made an effort to hide from them the fact that a single tear rolled down her cheek in a perfect line ending at her chin, now quivering. Luz didn’t know if it was from fear or grief. There was no noise. No one whimpered or shouted. Their orgasms were silent, cautious, and, of course, protected by a skin colored latex condom. The boys paid her the agreed upon price and all maintained their silent ritual until Luz was on the other side of the door. She closed it and waited for the elevator. Only then did hyena-like laughs hurt her ears. By the time the boys stopped laughing, choking on the floor, Luz was already home, naked and depressed, tearing her computer monitor apart, searching for the man she had lost. Somewhere she would find Aquiles García de Andina. He had not been a dream. He had existed.

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