Rob nodded. “Did our friend make the trip?”
“Yeah. He’s here.”
Cherries brought the beer and placed the bottles in the center of the table. Rob waited until she was out of earshot before he spoke. “He’s not watching any volleyball neither, I’ll reckon.” Rob picked up a bottle and drank heavily.
“How’s that?” Jack asked.
Rob set the bottle down and twirled it in his fingers. “Word is he has some high level meetings scheduled with the Colombians. He’s on the hot seat. Has a lot of explaining to do.”
Jack reached into his jacket pocket and placed an envelope on the table. “Can you elaborate?”
Rob eyed the envelop. “Seems there is a discrepancy with the weigh scales, Jack. The Colombians are being shortchanged and they don’t much appreciate it. Someone’s skimming, I’ll wager. But who? –That’s anybody’s guess. The plane leaves here loaded, according to the Colombians, and lands light, according to our friend. You figure it.”
Jack slipped the envelop across. “You’ve just confirmed a hunch. Always a pleasure.”
“Not at all, dear boy,” Rob picked up the envelop. “You and the missus here, you enjoy the hospitality. Tip Cherries if you will, but everything else has been taken care of.” Rob tapped the envelop he held and slid his chair back. “‘Til next time, mi amigo.” And taking his beer, Rob made a quick move toward the backroom.
Irene watched him go. “Real estate?” she pondered out loud. “What kind of real estate was that about? And who’s our friend?”
Jack was contemplating the far wall and playing with a fish finger. It took him a moment to pull himself into the here and now. “A developer.” He looked down at his plate and dragged a piece of cold fish through a puddle of ketchup. “A guy with a pile of dough who wants to build a resort complex but he needs approval from the local Colombian bureaucrats. It will be a tough sell but if it goes through I might get some of the spillover. You done?”
“Just about.”
Jack slid the plate across. “Here, take this to the dog. I’ll take care of our waitress.”
Out on the deck, Irene sat on the steps with the leftovers. Stubby came over to sit beside her and delicately accepted fish from Irene’s fingertips. She was a lovely dog with brown expressive eyes. “If I came to live on the island, you’d have a home,” Irene told Stubby. Stubby thumped her bit of tail on the boards and accepted another sliver of fish.
Back inside, Jack pulled a five dollar bill from his wallet and passed it across to Cherries. She dried her hands on a towel and accepted the money with a soft smile. When Jack turned away, Cherries placed a hand on his arm and pulled him back. As Jack watched, she lifted first one breast and then the other from within the confines of her bra. Her smooth skin was brown and supple. She gave Jack her shy smile again.
Aw shit, Jack thought, glancing over his shoulder toward the open doorway where he knew Irene was feeding the dog. Jack pulled a twenty from his wallet and placed it on the bar. He quickly squeezed each little titty and ran his fingers across the nipples. “Now I know why they call you Cherries,” he said to the girl, before making a hasty retreat.
Later, that same day, Brad English sat alone at a table in the Grand Ballroom of the Cartagena Hilton. A sea of black dinner jackets and sequined cocktail dresses swirled around him and the sounds of the social occasion were boisterous. The home team had trounced the Americans twice in a row and Colombian high society had turned out to celebrate. But the gaiety was lost on Brad English. He could only dwell on the fact that he had wasted an entire week chasing after Melissa’s skirts, like some lovesick puppy-dog. With all the available pussy around, he had foolishly fixated on Melissa. And she in turn, had made an ass of him.
Melissa had pointedly dumped the flowers he sent into the nearest garbage receptacle and the chocolates followed suit. She had laughed at his dinner proposals and refused to return his telephone messages. It was humiliating. Brad hammered the top of the table with a fist. Well fuck Melissa and all her wobbly bits. He needed to get laid and tonight would be his last chance.
From across the room a girl watched nervously as Brad beat himself up. She stood quietly against the wall wearing a slinky blue dress and wondered what she would say if she happened to run into Irene and Jack Namath. But she needn’t have worried. Irene and Jack were busily celebrating each other, seated side by side at a corner table in Pichichi’s Café.
Jack had the menu open in front. “What do you feel like tonight?”
Irene snuggled in close so she could read over his arm. “I think I’ll start with a bowl of the chowder and maybe the tuna steak.”
“You think you’ll have room for desert?” he joked.
“Always room for desert,” and she dropped a hand below the table cloth, “just have to learn to pace yourself, Jack.”
“Yikes,” he said as her fingers closed around the tip of his penis.
“Yikes?”
“Give me a moment to come up with something more romantic. You took me by surprise.”
Irene leaned in and whispered in his ear. “You might call it your surprise but I call in a big dick and I know where I want you to put it.” She nibbled the lobe.
Jack pulled back and rubbed his ear. “That tickles.”
“I’ll bet.” She was working the zipper of his khaki slacks down.
Jack reached for his duffle bag. “Hey. I brought you something.”
“You mean like a present?”
“Naw. Think of it more as a memento of the time we spent here in Cartagena.” Jack handed her an empty wine bottle.”
Irene took the bottle in her free hand. “Jack, darling. I hate to break it to you but it is customary to give a full bottle of wine.”
“Oh there’s something in it,” Jack replied.
Irene pulled her other hand out from under the table and studied the bottle more closely. She recognized it as the bottle they had shared the evening before as they explored the ramparts of the Old City. Jack had carefully cleaned and polished the glass. And turning the bottle in her hands, she saw what he meant.
Inside the glass there was a five-by-seven portrait of her standing naked by the wall. It was a full frontal.
The color came up in her cheeks. “Christ Jack. You shouldn’t have.”
“Oh, it’s nothing.”
“No Jack. I meant you really shouldn’t have.”
“You folks ready to order?”
Irene almost dropped the bottle.
Her voice cracked. “Do you serve this b-brand?” she asked the waiter, holding the bottle up with the label facing out. From inside the glass, her reflection looked back, her breasts and trimmed vagina clearly visible. She felt beads of perspiration forming. The waiter stooped to study the label and Irene prayed he wouldn’t pluck the bottle from her fingers.
“I’m sure we can accommodate you.” The waiter finally straightened. “That’s a cheeky little vintage; a bit fruity but somewhat understated.”
You have no idea, Irene thought, discretely placing the bottle on the floor by her foot.
“I’ll have the tuna,” she said.
“And the chowder?” Jack asked.
“Never mind the bloody chowder,” Irene shot back.
“I’ll have the same,” Jack told the waiter and watched as the man hurried toward the kitchen. “Well wasn’t that fun?”
Irene reached back under the table. “Shut up or I’ll tie a knot in it!”
“You’re a pilot?”
Brad looked up from the bubbles that spiraled in his beer and his mood improved instantly. She was nice, and very young. “Why yes, I am,” Brad straightened in his chair. “Flew both teams down from Florida, in fact.”
The girl was eyeing the three bars on his epaulets. “I’ve always wanted to fly,” her wistful whisper was touched with envy.
The short dress she wore was made from some stretchy blue fabric and looked to have been put on wet. It wasn’t marred by lines from underthings and Brad’s loins pinched when he realized she must be naked beneath. The dress did a lot to emphasis a slim figure with nice breasts. Her nipples were large, he noted, the size of cherries and protruded sinfully either side of a tempting neckline. Below, long narrow thighs promised a delightfully tight treat. One that was outlined in bold relief just above her hemline.
“Please, sit,” Brad pulled out the chair next to his, “what can I get you?”
“A little white wine, if it’s okay.” The girl smiled shyly and looked up at him, flashing long dark lashes. Her eyes were deep pools of chocolate that a man could get lost in.
Brad snagged a roving waiter and lifted a flute of champagne from his tray. “I’m sure you’ll like this.”
The girl took a tentative sip, then giggled. “It went right up my nose,” she said, her eyes dancing.
Brad laughed. She seemed delightfully innocent. A girl on the threshold of becoming a woman and Brad was wondering if he might help her step across.
“Where’s your plane,” she asked, sounding all inquisitive again.
“Parked on the apron at the airport, for the photographers.”
“I’ve never been on an airplane before,” she glanced down, took a breath. “I’d love to see one up close…”
Her words hung in the air. Tempting.
Jack swallowed hard. “Damn, I’d love to show you but I fly out tomorrow morning.”
The girl looked up. “We could go now. It’s a short cab ride.”
“What, now? Tonight?” Brad looked about the room wondering who might be watching. She was guileless in her youth and he had to wonder what people would say if they saw him leaving with her. “Geez, I don’t know.”
She looked up as if she was about to cry. “Oh please, this might be my only chance.”
And mine, Brad thought, studying the pretty eyes. When he saw the moisture forming he made up his mind. Fuck what people think. “C’mon,” he said grabbing her by the hand, “let’s find a cab.”
The security guard at the airport eyed Brad’s ID first, then the girl.
“She wants to see the plane.” Brad shrugged and slipped the man twenty bucks.
“I see.” The guard gave Brad a man-to-man smile. “The shift-change is in an hour.”
“It won’t take that long,” Brad assured him.
The guard ran his eyes over the blue dress. “I don’t imagine it will,” he concluded and stepped aside to let them pass.
The Bikini-Bus was just beyond and Brad guided the girl up the boarding-steps with a hand low on her back. Her skin was smooth beneath the fabric and Brad could feel her muscle ripple as she mounted the stairs. Inside the plane, he showed her the bar area first, before walking her along the center aisle, through the service area and into the cockpit. He sat her in Irene’s seat and gave her a brief idea how things worked. She placed her hands on the yoke and took in the instrumentation, the computers, the levers and knobs. She was breathless.
On the way out she turned and was suddenly in his arms. In the darkness of the passenger compartment she came up on her toes and placed a cheek on his shoulder. “You can have me, if you want.”