Page 61 of The Secret Dinner

“Fine.” Hugo nodded, picked up his sandwich, now cold, and took his first bite. “I’m doing this with or without you.”

“Good luck.”

I turned my back. Incredible. It was like Hugo was on the bottom bunk, with his ego on top. Cannibal dinners! Though I was running late, I hopped in the shower to try to relax. The truth is, I was scared to death. Scared to say yes to Umberto, scared of saying no and regretting it. The certainty with which Hugo had agreed outraged me, not just because the idea was absurd, but because I’d been entertaining it ever since my conversation with Umberto and I still hadn’t been able to make a decision.

Once, on the wall of a public restroom, I saw a poem:

WHEN YOU’RE IN DEEP SHIT

SWIM IN IT

4

The nearest bank was on Avenida Atlântica, two blocks away. It was already eleven and I was supposed to start my shift at the bookstore at noon, but I didn’t want to put this off any longer. Luckily, the line was short. In less than ten minutes, I got authorization to transfer the R$25,974.38 we owed to the property management’s account. Receipt in hand, I called the agent to say that we had paid in full. I could sense his shock from halfway across town.

“How did you get the money?” he wanted to know.

“None of your business,” I replied, and then chuckled to make up for my rudeness. “From now on, I’ll make the deposits. Have a good week, sweetheart.”

He wished me a good week and hung up. I should have been relieved to finally have dealt with that problem, but instead a vast, empty feeling overtook me. As I sat at the bus stop, with things finally starting to feel normal again, I realized that normal was actually no fun at all. The thought of my dull home-work-study routine just depressed me now. Having strangers over for bizarre dinner parties at least gave me a bit of an adrenaline rush.

Before the bus reached the stop, my phone rang. It was Miguel.

“We need to talk,” he said, his voice heavy with grief.

“I was calling you all weekend and you didn’t answer.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I didn’t want to talk to anyone.”

“I was worried.”

“I’m almost home. Are you there?”

“I’m going to work, I’m running late.”

He was silent on the other end, and I could tell he was crying.

“Please, Dante…” He sighed. “I need to talk to you now.”

My bus pulled up. I got in line, but then I turned around.

“Meet me by the beach in five minutes. In front of the Copacabana Palace.”

Fuck work. I had to take care of my friend first.

5

I arrived at our meeting spot soon after. Miguel was sitting on a bench, shoulders hunched, his head buried in his hands and his glasses hanging from his shirt collar. That sight reminded me of the first time I saw Cora, sitting on a similar bench, puffing her cigarette like a goddess of the sea.

When he saw me, Miguel collapsed onto me in a tearful embrace. With puffy eyes, an unshaven face, and smelly scrubs, he was a man who had undergone a drastic transformation in the past few days. He’d always been so meticulous about his appearance. Seeing him like this broke me.

“It’s too much, everything’s going wrong at once,” he said finally. “I need help, man!”

“Hey, don’t be like that. Where have you been?”

“I … I couldn’t stand being in that apartment. That body Hugo got … I just can’t stop thinking about how he killed that man. Did the dinner really happen?”

I hugged his neck, stroking the top of his head. I always thought Miguel was interesting, handsome, even sexy in a nerdy way, but at that moment, all I could see was a shattered man in desperate need of help.