What that meant had me puzzled, but I was content to continue our flirting ways. I was distraught when Pablo sidled up behind her, much closer than I would have normally expected, but this was Madrid. “We are moving on, time for the dinner and the dance!”
We walked the few blocks to the restaurant, and made our way through the crowded entrance to our reserved table. We were seated right up front, and Chris and I were both seated almost on the stage. Only Ana Isabel was between me and the raised dance area, and on the opposite side of the table, Chris was wedged in tightly between the Colonel and the General, whose name I’d already forgotten.
Pablo leaned in, reading my mind. “General Castillo.” Then he put his hand on my arm, “Thank you much, Jack, for this opportunity. It is very good for me to be here.”
I laughed and gave him an abrazo – “You earned it Pablo. You’re good.”
He smiled, “You know and I know, you left those problems for me to find. You would not miss something like that. I now know that.”
“Ah, but you knew enough to find it. I didn’t have to lead you or anything!”
We laughed, and toasted our mutual success. I turned my attention back to the lovely Ana Isabel, who was grinning at us.
“What you did was nice for him. To give him the opportunity to find your flaws, and to let him run the show,” she told me, as they brought us our opening salvo, a glass of dry sherry, and some paper thin sliced ham, jamon serrano, and fois-gras salad. She sipped her sherry. “I think you are a nice man.”
I leaned in, putting my arm around her shoulders, and pressed my lips against her ear. “I can be naughty too.”
She turned and looked at me, curious. “Naughty?”
“Not nice, but in a fun way,” I explained.
“Mmm. Naughty. I like that.”
Across from us, I could see that Chris was feeling no pain, and was being openly fondled by both men. Their hands seemed to never leave her body, touching her arms, her shoulders, her side, her leg. She caught my eye and smiled, seemingly content to be given so much attention.
I tasted the ham, then offered a bite to Ana Isabel, who ate it daintily from my fingers. The hand behind her back I moved to her neck, under her long raven hair, gently stroking the hairline.
“It is as I said: you are no American. An American would be way too polite, or if he was forward, he might try to kiss me, here in public. But you are romantic. The touching, the tasting, the feeding. The intimacy with delicacy. You belong here.”
Looking around the table, I saw what she meant. The women were given inordinate attention, openly admired and caressed, but nothing overtly sexual. It was exciting.
I turned to Pablo, and saw his attention was to his other side, and the attractive young woman laughing with him.
I turned back to Ana Isabel who was watching me like a hawk. A hungry hawk.
“You don’t miss anything, do you?”
“Ah! So you are getting to know me. That is good,” she laughed reaching up and brushing my hair back. “I love your hair. So curly, so full. In this way you are not American either.”
I smiled. “Very American. More American than most American’s. My father is Hawaiian.”
“True?” she asked, sounding intrigued.
“True. My great-great grandmother had a single name. One of the Kamehameha blood-line. Very long, very American bloodlines. Just as you are very, very Spanish, no?”
She smiled. “It is my burden. It brings too much attention,” she confessed.
“I think it is your beauty that brings so much attention,” I told her.
“No. Most men are frightened of me, and of my family. The Military is a very good place for me,” she explained.
I had only finished half of my first course, when it was being whisked away, replaced with a small portion of lobster and scallops. A bottle of wine was placed between us.
“Ah, langosta, my favorite,” Ana Isabel sighed, taking her fork and spearing a chunk of the lobster.
I reached up to catch a drop of butter from the bottom of her lip. I pressed my finger against her lips and she opened her lips a hair and sucked it softly. I pulled away, my blood boiling, and poured our wine, before trying the scallops.
“Tell me more of your heritage,” she asked.
“Not too much to tell. My father’s family traces back to the early 1800’s before the records die out. One of Kamehameha II’s daughter’s, an Infanta in your country, married a westerner. My surname is surprisingly common among the Hawaiian’s even now. You’ll see many of us on the board of the Kamehameha school, and even in local politics.”
“What happened to the Kamehameha bloodline?” she asked.
It figured that royal lines and ascension would be interesting to her. I explained about Kamehameha V’s untimely death, and failure to appoint a living successor. One of my great-great-aunts was asked to take the role, but turned it down. With the influx of US ways, and a concerted effort to stamp out the Hawaiian language and much of our culture, we lost much of our history.
“Is there no effort to re-establish yourselves, your own sovereignty?” she asked.
“None sufficient to ever go anywhere. Dole took much of my family’s land at my great-grandfather’s death bed. We’ve tried for years to reclaim it, but no success. My grandfather joined the military, World War II, and my father joined and fought in Korea and Vietnam. A retired Air Force Colonel now. I’ve never lived in Hawaii, but I’ve been back several times, and my family is very open to us. Each time I return there are great parties and it as if we never left. In the northern islands, family is very important.”
“As it should be. You are an interesting man, Jack,” she said with a smile. I was really growing to like that smile.
We made our way through another entree, accompanied by another bottle of wine, two desserts and a glass of sherry. Before the dancer’s arrived, I was feeling no pain, and was daring more, caressing her side, stroking her leg, and feeding her ice cream from my spoon.