Fly Me to Brazil
A Sequel to "Summer Samba"
by Nancy Kaminski
(c) August 1997
This story was
written as a birthday present for Kathy Whelton. She received
her present at the Gerthering (along with hugs from the Real
Article! Lucky girl!) and has given me permission to post it
to the list.
A note of explanation:
For those of you who didn't read "Summer Samba," Natalie
finds that Nick likes samba music; he dances her into a daze
in the loft to the songs of Astrud Gilberto, and then invites
her to a nice place where they play live samba music under the
stars. Does she want to go there? Of course she does-only hitch
being is that the nice place is in Rio de Janiero
Warning! Unmitigated
mush and romance worthy of a 1930s musical ahead! Also a kiss,
an embrace, a little singing
but no sex. Darn.
Silver jet
take me
I'm all set, take me
Through the sky
Fly me to his side
Fly me where the air of Rio sings
All my hopes ride on your wings.
Make this
trip nonstop
Like my heart, nonstop
Bring me where he is
Help my heart be his
Help us find what waits at the end of the sky
So fly me to Brazil.
When Natalie
got back to her apartment from Nick's loft, she dialed his number.
She was filled with sudden doubts. Did she really want to fly
off with him on the spur of the moment? Had their relationship
progressed that far, after being stalled for so long? She nervously
twisted the phone cord while she waited for him to answer.
"It's your
nickel!"
Natalie burst
out laughing at the unexpected greeting. "Nick! What's gotten
into you? You sound like Schanke!"
He chuckled.
"Maybe it's because I'm going on vacation." His voice
turned serious. "Unless you're having second thoughts, that
is." His disappointment was palpable.
"I guess
I was just checking to make sure you were serious," she
answered. "I mean, it's just so crazy, running off to Rio
de Janeiro on a whim."
"Well, maybe
I'm feeling a little whimsical. I want to go, do you?" he
asked cautiously.
She blew out
a breath and made up her mind. "Yes, I guess I'm feeling
a little whimsical, too. When do we leave?"
She could hear
the smile in his voice. "This afternoon, at five o'clock.
Meet me at Pierson International-go to the business jet gate,
and find the Silver Sky Air hangar."
"Were you
serious about me buying stuff down there? I don't really have
any samba dresses."
"I'll turn
you loose with a credit card---do as much damage as you want.
How's that?"
Natalie put aside
her misgivings for the moment and sighed. "A material girl's
dream come true. Okay, even though Grandma warned me about accepting
expensive gifts from men, she never mentioned anything about
accepting them from undead patients. I'm going to consider this
a research fee."
"Deal. See
you this afternoon. Bye." He hung up before she could ask
him how he was going to get to the airport in the daytime. Even
though it was January, and the sun set at four-thirty, he would
still have to cope with waning daylight.
Oh, well. She
gave a mental shrug. He's a big boy, and knows how to avoid spontaneous
combustion. With that thought, Natalie set about packing the
barest minimum in a carryall. Nick said she could do some damage,
and she was determined to do her best.
Promptly at quarter
to five that afternoon Natalie parked her car next to a large
aluminum-sided hangar with the words 'Silver Sky Air' painted
in a dramatic white and blue swoosh on the side. She could see
men bundled up in snowmobile suits doing mysterious things to
a sleek bizjet parked on the apron outside the big hangar doors.
She rushed through
the sub-zero air to the relative warmth of the tiny office and
looked around quickly---no Nick.
A woman at a
battered desk looked up inquiringly. "Yes? Can I help you?"
"Yes,"
Natalie answered. "I'm Natalie Lambert-I'm supposed to meet
Nick---"
"Oh, Mr.
de Brabant isn't here yet, but he phoned from his car,"
the woman interrupted her. "He said you were to get on board
the plane when you arrived. He'll be here in," she consulted
her watch, "about five minutes."
De Brabant? she
wondered. Well, I suppose a police detective wouldn't be able
to do this sort of thing, so it's up to one of his other identities
to charter a plane. Natalie glanced out the frosted window. "Is
that the plane?" she asked. It was so small...
"Oh, no.
Yours is in the hangar. Come this way." She opened a steel
door and led Natalie into the cavernous hangar.
Gleaming under
the fluorescent lighting was a silver Learjet with the letters
'DBF' in an elegant script emblazoned on the fuselage. The hatch
was open, with the retractable steps down and waiting for her.
Natalie allowed herself to be led across the concrete floor towards
the stairs, then into the tiny, expensively appointed jet that
apparently belonged to the de Brabant Foundation.
The interior
didn't look like a jet; it looked like a living room-a low, narrow
one. There was a small sofa and two armchairs around a coffee
table, a bar, an alcove she assumed was a galley, and a door
at the rear that could only be a bathroom. The floor was covered
with rich, maroon Berber carpeting, and the windows were covered
with curtains in a thick nubby fabric. The gleam of brass and
crystal was everywhere. It was amazing.
"Mr. de
Brabant will be here shortly," the woman repeated, then
left Natalie alone.
She put down
her carryall, then seated herself in one of the armchairs, bouncing
experimentally a few times. It was wonderfully comfortable---not
at all like a regular airline seat. She found the only clue she
was on a plane: there was a seat belt buried in the depths of
the chair.
She got up and
started snooping around, poking through the well-stocked galley,
even daring to peek into the forbidden territory of the curtained-off
cockpit.
She was looking
over the liquors in the small bar when she heard a rumbling sound.
Looking out one of the windows she saw the hangar door was opening.
She watched as a limousine drove in and parked next to the plane.
The back windows were completely dark---aha, the mystery of how
Nick was getting to the airport was solved.
Nick got out
of the limo and accepted the small suitcase from the driver.
Some money changed hands, and then he headed for the plane.
Natalie quickly
sat down in one of the chairs, crossed her legs, and tried to
look like traveling on a private jet was an everyday occurrence.
She looked up when Nick appeared in the doorway. "Hi, 'Mr.
de Brabant.'" She quirked an eyebrow at him. "Traveling
incognito today, are we?"
He smiled and
said, "Well, the jet belongs to the Foundation, and the
Chairman of the Board gets to use it whenever he wants. Since
the chairman's name is Nicolas de Brabant, that's who I am today."
He reached into
his inside breast pocket, produced a Belgian passport and waved
it in the air. "I have the papers to prove it, too. Got
yours?"
Natalie patted
her purse. "Yep."
"Oh, and
here's your visa. You need one."
She accepted
the visa (how had he gotten that so fast?) and tucked it in her
passport, then indicated the carryall. "And here's my luggage."
Nick eyed the
canvas satchel and groaned theatrically. "I think my credit
card is smoking already."
Natalie looked
innocent. "I was just taking you at your word."
Nick glanced
out the window. "Here comes the crew. We'll be taking off
in about fifteen minutes."
Two men and a
woman got on board. Nick introduced the pilots--- "Natalie
Lambert, this is the pilot, Al Campion, and the copilot, Dave
Moore." They shook hands. "And this is our attendant,
Florence Robesh." The women smiled at each other. "Florence
has been taking care of people on this plane for the last ten
years."
Florence, a motherly
woman in her fifties dressed in a neat blazer, pleated slacks
and sensible shoes, protested good-naturedly. "Oh, now,
Nick. Don't make me sound older than I am."
"But Florence,
it's true. You've been spoiling me at least that long. And I've
enjoyed every minute of it." Nick kissed her hand.
Florence laughed
and made shooing motions. "Get buckled in, now---Al will
be taking off in a minute." She looked at Natalie. "You
know the drill, don't you?" Natalie nodded. "Good.
Dinner in an hour, then." She bustled off to the galley.
Two hours later,
the Learjet was cruising southward at an altitude of 28,000 feet
at 450 miles per hour. Natalie had just finished a simple but
elegant dinner that definitely didn't come from the usual airline
catering service. Nick, as usual, sat back and watched her eat
while he sipped at his glass of blood mixed with wine.
"Okay, so
tell me," Natalie sat back and sighed contentedly. "You
don't keep this jet on hand just so you can fly down to Rio whenever
you want to, do you?"
Nick shook his
head. "It belongs to the Foundation, like I said. It's usually
used for mercy flights, transporting donated organs, that sort
of thing. Just once in a while, I pull rank and go somewhere."
He smiled somewhat sadly. "My schedule needs don't usually
jibe with regular airline timetables."
Natalie was determined
not to let him dive into one of his moods. "Well, now that
I've got you alone for what, twelve hours? will you let me ask
you some questions?"
He said guardedly,
"What kind of questions?"
In answer she
turned to her carryall and retrieved a book. "These kinds
of questions-what was it like, way back when you were a kid?"
She showed him the title---it was a Time-Life book, one of a
series on the topic of everyday life in various periods of history.
This one was 'Everyday Life in Medieval Europe.' She grinned.
"I subscribed to this series just to get this book-and now
I want a reality check! How close did they get?"
Nick looked a
bit relieved that the questioning was on a safe topic---even
though it was one that he usually avoided. He took the book and
started flipping through the pages. "Let's sit on the sofa,
and you can interrogate me all you want," he suggested.
The next two
hours passed with Nick and Nat seated companionably next to each
other, slowly turning the pages of the book and discussing clothing,
food, bathrooms, and all the other features of Nick's mortal
life.
Finally, the
constant muted roaring of the jet engines combined with the dinner
and wine lulled Natalie into drowsiness, and she found herself
leaning on Nick's shoulder, fighting to stay awake.
"Get some
rest," Nick finally said, and he stood up to let Natalie
stretch out on the sofa. Florence materialized with a blanket,
and soon she had drifted off into sleep, Nick watching her from
across the coffee table.
Natalie awoke
when Nick gently shook her. "Wake up, Nat, we're almost
there."
"Whaa?"
she mumbled.
"Rio. We're
just about there. Time to sit up and get strapped in for the
landing."
She sat up and
stretched. Good grief, she had slept the entire night away. "What
time is it?" she asked.
Nick looked at
his watch. "Five in the morning. We'll be at the hotel by
six thirty. It depends on how Customs goes."
"Did you
sleep?" she asked, eyeing Nick's uncrumpled clothes.
"No, you
know me---I'm a night person."
Shaking her head,
she prepared for the landing.
A little over
an hour later, she shook her head again, amazed at the power
of a little money and a personal jet. A Customs official had
met the airplane, made a perfunctory check of their few belongings,
stamped their passports, and effusively welcomed Senhor de Brabant
and his charming lady to Brazil. He then ushered them to the
limousine waiting next to the plane, the identical twin to the
Toronto limo Nick had taken to the airport.
Natalie paused
a moment before getting in and inhaled deeply. Even through the
sharp smell of aviation fuel and rubber that characterized every
airport on earth, she could detect a hint of ocean and the spicy
scent of tropical plants in the soft, balmy air. Involuntarily
she smiled, and a knot of tension she didn't even know was there
relaxed. It was going to be a great weekend.
"Well, what
do you think?" Nick asked.
Natalie plunked
down her carryall on the deeply carpeted floor and surveyed the
room, hands on her hips. "It'll do." She relented at
his worried look and added, "It's fabulous, Nick. I feel
like royalty, staying in a place like this."
They were in
the Presidential Suite of the Hotel Aruanda, located on the most
exclusive beach on Guanabara Bay. The spacious living room was
a symphony of understated elegance. There were two equally elegant
bedrooms and baths at either end of the living room, and a balcony
facing the bay that ran the full length of the suite. The management
had thoughtfully provided an expensive bottle of wine and an
enormous fruit basket, now waiting for them on the coffee table
in front of the fireplace.
Nick yawned.
"Well, it's time for me to turn in for the day." He
opened his wallet and fished out a credit card and a folded piece
of paper. "Here. Why don't you go shopping later on today?
The shops on the ground floor of the hotel should be perfect
for what you need-I think they open at nine." He thought
a minute. "Go see Senhora Gonzalez at 'Mirador.' She'll
take care of you. Oh, and tell her we're going to Club Corcovado."
He smiled. "That's the samba place. She'll know."
At the sight
of the proffered credit card Natalie hesitated. "Nick, I
know you said you'd buy me stuff, and I really didn't bring anything
with me
but I have my own card, you know. I'll pay for a
dress, and whatever. The flight and the hotel is more than enough
it's
really more than I should accept."
He pressed the
card and note into her hand. "Nat, please, let me do this
for you. It's a research fee, remember? And I really owe you
so much. You've worked so hard, and even had to compromise your
job for me." He held her hands, clasped over the card. "It's
a small way for me to show you how much I appreciate you. Please?"
He smiled winningly.
She sighed. "Welll,"
she hesitated another second, then nodded reluctantly. "All
right, but don't make it a habit. This is just this once."
Natalie looked at the card---it was a platinum Visa in his real
name. "Sounds like you've had ladies go on shopping sprees
here before. What's the note?" She looked at it quickly,
but it was written in Portuguese in Nick's deceptively tidy hand.
"It just
lets them know you can use the card. And the reason I know about
Senhora Gonzalez is because Janette recommends her highly, and
she should know."
He went over
to Nat and embraced her. Holding her close, he smiled into her
eyes and said, "Thank you for coming with me. And thank
you for accepting this gift. It means a lot." He kissed
her lightly. "I'll see you late this evening, okay? Do you
want to go for a moonlight swim?"
She hugged him
back, enjoying being so close to him. "Oh, yes, if only
to see you in swim trunks." She grinned mischievously. "Or
do you favor the French slingshot approach to swim wear?"
"You'll
have to wait until this evening to find out." He kissed
her again and disappeared into his bedroom for the day.
Nat moved her
scanty belongings into her bedroom. She felt grimy after the
long flight and decided to take a bath and rest a bit before
venturing out on her shopping trip. She found that the bath attached
to her room opulent, like the rest of the suite. It looked like
someone had ordered every possible fixture from a plumber's dream
book. She sighed with pleasure and started the bath. Yes, it
was going to be a great weekend.
Senhora Gonzalez
regarded Natalie thoughtfully, her hand on her chin. "So
you go to Corcovado tonight? You need a dress, or two, yes? Let
me see what is good for you
" The elegant, black-haired
woman started purposefully going through a rack of dresses, murmuring
a commentary to herself as she discarded one after another. "No
no
hmmmm,
perhaps
no
.no
.yes!"
She held up a
dress for Natalie's inspection. It was a rich, jade green with
a faint pattern in a lighter shade, just enough to give depth
to the fine raw silk. It was strapless, with subtle gathers at
the bodice, knee length, with a skirt just full enough to be
comfortable to dance in. There was nothing trendy about it, the
design was as timeless as a Chanel 'little black dress.'
Natalie held
the dress before her in front of the full-length mirror. The
color complimented her chestnut hair and fair skin, and brought
a green tint to her eyes. "Oh, my," she murmured. She
didn't dare look at the price tag, even though the price was
in reals, not dollars, she knew it would be a large number.
"Go try
it on," Senhora Gonzalez urged.
Five minutes
later Natalie emerged from the dressing room and presented herself.
"Is perfect-almost," Senhora Gonzalez announced. She
fussed with the fit-shorten here, take in thereuntil Natalie
could see the effect in the mirror. "Do you like it, Madame?"
It was perfect,
she thought. She had never owned anything so beautiful. "Yes,
very much."
"We will
fix and send to your room by four," Senhora Gonzalez said.
"Now you need shoes, jewelry, handbag, and a wrap. Everything
must be right with such a dress."
Before she knew
it, Natalie had a complete ensemble. The imperious saleslady
had swept around the shop, recommending these shoes, that necklace,
the cream shawl, that purse
Natalie's head swam with the
choices and she was hard-pressed to ignore the costs. She put
her foot down at the necklace Senhora Gonzalez chose---a 24-karat
gold chain set with a square-cut emerald---and opted instead
for a handsome, but much cheaper, costume piece.
Somehow she also
ended up with a bathing suit and casual slacks and top. The saleslady
gave her a knowing look when she handed over Nick's credit card
and the note. "It is so nice to have an understanding gentleman
friend, no?" she said, with a delicately arched eyebrow.
Natalie became
uncomfortably aware of how it looked---her rich lover giving
her carte blanche for a weekend spree---and blushed. "It's
not like that," she began, then stopped when she saw Senhora
Gonzalez' smile widen. How could she explain her relationship
with Nick in one sentence? And then she reflected, why should
she bother? She would never be here again, and what the shopkeepers
or the hotel staff thought didn't matter. Let them speculate.
She left the
shop clutching three parcels and headed back to the suite. In
spite of her resolution to ignore what Senhora Gonzalez thought,
she imagined she could feel those knowing dark eyes burn into
her back as she walked across the lobby. She squared her shoulders
and strode briskly to the elevators. Who cared if her reputation
was ruined in Rio? It was time to explore.
Natalie spent
several hours investigating the hotel and the area surrounding
it. She walked down the beach, savoring the warm air and the
hypnotic rhythm of the waves, envying the lithe, tanned twenty-year-olds
playing the age-old game of flirtation and seduction in the sand.
She settled finally
on the vast patio area just above the beach, finding a comfortable
chaise longue, and a convenient umbrella table for shade. She
fished a paperback thriller out of her purse, ordered a salad
and drink from the ever-present but unobtrusive waiters, and
sank back into the cushions with a happy sigh. I feel like
some sort of celebrity on vacation, she thought. I've
got everything except the paparazzi. I could get used to this
real fast.
With that she
dived into John Grisham's latest legal thriller and forgot about
autopsies, snow, and real life in general.
At five o'clock
she awoke with a start and glanced at her watch. "Ohmigosh,"
she exclaimed out loud. "I should be upstairs." Nick
should be up by now, she thought as she glanced towards the west.
The sun was sinking behind the mountains, casting long shadows
across the city, its white buildings gleaming gold in the mellow
afternoon light. She gathered up her things and headed inside.
Once in the suite,
she put her purse down on the living room table and called, "Nick?
You up yet?"
A muffled voice
answered from behind the closed bedroom door. "Yeah, I'll
be out in a minute."
While she waited
she noticed a large Coleman cooler next to the bar. Curious,
she investigated and found it contained a dozen familiar green
wine bottles. There was a note balanced on the bottle tops, which
said, 'Nicholas, you SOB, welcome back! Here's your usual swill.
Drop by if you get a chance. My best to J and the General. Raoul.'
She dropped the lid closed. Obviously the vampire welcome wagon
had arrived, in the form of a supply of blood, Nick's 'usual
swill,' from a local resident of the night. Interesting. She
wondered who Raoul was, and how long they had known each other.
Nick's voice
sounded from behind her. "Looks like room service has arrived."
Natalie turned
around and gasped in spite of herself. Nick was wearing shorts.
No, not shorts---blue
swim trunks and a white short sleeved Sea Island cotton shirt,
and honest-to-God sandals. And he was vastly enjoying her reaction,
judging by the laughter in his face.
"Nick,"
she stuttered, "you've got legs!"
"Always
have," he replied complacently. "Want to go for that
swim?" He consulted his internal clock and continued, "The
sun will be down far enough for me to stand it in about ten minutes."
His voice took on a hopeful tone. "It would be nice to catch
the tail end of the sunset with you."
She stopped gawping
and said, "Sure. I'll just be a minute," and rushed
off to her bedroom to change into her new swimsuit.
She emerged five
minutes later in swimsuit, beach coverup and her old Teva sandals.
"I'm ready," she announced.
"Let's go,
then," Nick said, and ushered her out the door to the elevator.
Natalie couldn't
resist commenting. "You know, Nick, you do stick out a bit
here in the Land of Perpetual Suntan."
"One of
the reasons there aren't many of us here," he replied. "People
this pale are just too noticeable." He gave a slight laugh.
"You should have seen me when I returned from the Holy Land
after two years there. The bits of me that were uncovered were
brown, and my hair was bleached almost white. Of course, it wasn't
fashionable then-dark skin was a sign of manual labor and we
avoided it as much as possible."
"A regular
beach boy in chain mail, huh?" she joked.
"Yeah,"
he said ruefully, "but I didn't get too much surfing in."
The elevator door opened on the ground floor, and they walked
back to the beach doors. Nick peered somewhat cautiously outside.
"C'mon, it's okay now."
They went down
to the practically deserted beach and found a place to leave
their belongings. As Natalie took off the beach coverup she became
acutely aware of Nick's interested gaze. She was thankful she
had bought what was, for Rio, a relatively modest swimsuit, a
one-piece navy blue and white tank suit with a medium neckline
and a deeply scooped back. The legs were cut high enough to make
her legs seem longer than they really were.
Nick's trunks
were brief, but not the minuscule slingshot favored by the bravos
on the Copacabana. When he removed the soft cotton shirt his
pale skin was startlingly white in the dim twilight. His physique
was lean and hard-muscled, the kind earned through long physical
labor and not created in a gym. Natalie tried to picture him
as he had described himself, with dark skin and bleached hair,
and simply couldn't. I have to admit, she thought to herself,
outside of looking even paler than a typical winter-vacationing
Canadian, he's pretty damn attractive.
"Well, do
we pass muster?" Nick joked, aware of the mutual examination.
"We are
definitely two pasty white Northerners," she replied firmly.
"No one will ever mistake us for anything but tourists."
She kicked off her sandals. "Last one in is a rotten egg."
With that she dashed down the beach into the warm water.
Nick was right
behind her. They splashed out as far as they could run, then
flopped forward into the gentle waves. The water was warm and
soothing, the sharp tang of salt and ozone freshening the breeze.
As one they both
stood up and turned towards the remains of the sunset. The cobalt
western sky was streaked with reds, pinks, and purples, the mountains
black silhouettes against it. Behind them the moon was rising,
and the first stars were shining brightly in the east. Silently
they stood side by side and watched the colors fade and die.
Nick sighed and
murmured longingly, "Some day
"
"None of
that, now, we're on vacation, and you promised me a moonlight
swim, not a moonlight angst session." She splashed water
on him, then turned and started swimming into deeper water.
"Uh, Nat,"
Nick called after her.
She stopped and
stood up in the chest-deep water. "What?"
"One small
thing. I can't swim."
"Get outta
here! You can't swim?!?"
He cleared his
throat in embarrassment and said, "No. I never learned,
and after, well you know, it really wasn't necessary. When you
don't have to breathe, you can't drown. And the flying thing
works in water as well as air."
Nat found this
supremely funny. The incredibly competent, able-to-do-anything
Nick couldn't swim. She started laughing.
He made a great
show of being affronted. "I may not be able to swim, but
I can do---" and he disappeared under the water.
Natalie felt
arms snake around her knees, and then she was boosted out of
the water like a human submarine-launched missile. She shot eight
feet into the air and described a mostly-graceful arc, plummeting
headfirst back into the sea. Her scream, "Nick, you bast---"
was abruptly cut off by the enormous splash.
"---this,"
Nick finished.
Natalie came
up spluttering. Nick was grinning at her, his back to the bay
as she continued to describe his ancestry in excruciating detail
after clearing the stinging salt water from her nasal passages.
"Just for that," she threatened, "I won't warn
you about---"
The unusually
large wave she had spotted rolling silently towards Nick's turned
back crested and dumped over directly on his head. He disappeared
from view again.
"---the
really big wave that's coming." Yes, there really was justice
in the world.
It was Nick's
turn to surface spluttering. "Truce, okay?" He swam
awkwardly to stand next to her. He put his arms around her waist.
"Truce, okay?" he repeated in a soft voice, and then
kissed her.
Natalie smiled
and tentatively put her arms around his neck. His cool body felt
oddly refreshing in the warm water as it pressed against hers.
She kissed him back, and found herself twining her leg around
his.
The rising moonlight
glinted and shattered on the restless water and bathed them in
white light. Nick's hands roamed lightly over her back as he
continued to shower her mouth and neck with soft, urgent kisses.
Natalie barely dared to move, unable to believe this was happening.
She felt herself relaxing into his embrace, a tiny fire bursting
into life within her.
"Truce,"
she whispered, and found herself pressing even closer to him.
His knee went between her legs, and his hands slowly moved downward,
caressing and stroking her skin in sensuous circles.
"Oh, Nat,"
he murmured, and regretfully disengaged himself from her to put
a safe six inches between them. "It's too much too soon
"
She captured
his hands in hers and pulled herself close to him for a final
kiss. "It's a start, though, isn't it?"
He grasped her
hand as if it were a lifeline. "Yes, it's a start."
His voice was a combination of hope and regret.
They stared into
each other's eyes for a long minute, the wish plain on their
faces. The moment passed. "Oh, well," Natalie finally
said, "We've swum. Now, shall we dance?"
Nick nodded in
agreement, and hand in hand they headed into shore. The samba
and an evening of allowable togetherness beckoned.
They returned
to their suite and retired to their respective bedrooms and baths.
After an hour, each had showered and dressed for the evening.
Once again they met in the living room to offer themselves for
inspection.
Natalie voiced
the only conclusion possible. "We're gorgeous," she
announced. "We should be in movies. A James Bond movie,
to be precise."
Her new dress
had arrived as promised, and it fit her like a second skin, falling
softly over her hips to just above her knees. The cream open
toed Italian leather shoes added three inches to her height,
so she was almost eye to eye with Nick. The faux gold and green
enamel necklace shone against her skin, and the thin cashmere
shawl draped becomingly around her shoulders. Her chestnut wavy
hair cascaded unimpeded down her back, free for once of its constraining
ties and combs.
Nick for his
part was all tropical elegance in a white tuxedo jacket, black
dress pants and black bow tie. Black onyx cufflinks showed at
his wrists; his only other jewelry was a thin gold Patek Phillipe
watch, old enough to actually need winding by hand. "A Sean
Connery one, I hope," he said. "I never cared for Roger
Moore."
"Definitely
Sean Connery," she agreed. "One with a casino in it,
and lots of gambling, and maybe a car chase through Monaco."
"Okay, I'll
see what I can do." He arranged his features in a Connery-esque
sneer, and said, "My name's Knight. Nick Knight," in
a Scottish accent. "Shall we go, Miss Moneypenny?"
"Oh, no,
not Moneypenny-she never had any fun. How about Honeychile Riderafter
all, she knew how to swim."
"Ouch,"
he said amiably. "Our limo awaits. I'll keep an eye out
for large Japanese gentlemen with steel bowler hats."
"Wrong movie.
Honeychile was in 'Thunderball
'"
They continued
arguing about what characters were in which James Bond movies
until they arrived at the club. A discreet sign announced 'Corcovado'
in brass letters. It was a in a lovely old Portuguese style villa
close to the bay, surrounded by manicured grounds. The scent
of tropical flowers was heavy in the air, and faintly from within
Natalie could here the cool, insistent sounds of the samba.
Nick handed Natalie
out of the limo and offered her his arm. As they walked in, Natalie
felt absurdly on display although Nick looked like he went out
in evening clothes every other night as a matter of course. Which
he probably did at some time or another, she thought.
They were greeted
at the door by the maitre de, and he and Nick had a brief conversation
in fluid Portuguese. He then led them to a table in a small alcove.
The table was set with snowy linens, sterling silverware and
bone china decorated with a single silver band. Candles flickered
on the table on either side of a discreet riot of tropical flowers.
"Dinner
first, Nat," Nick said as the maitre de seated her. "I'm
told the chef here is excellent."
"Nick, this
is gorgeous." She gave in to her urge and unashamedly turned
the dinner plate over to read the manufacturer's mark. "Royal
Doulton! Wow!"
"I can't
take you anywhere, can I?" Nick said, covering his face
with his hands in mock embarrassment.
A wine steward
glided up just then with the wine list and handed it to Nick.
He glanced over it and ordered a bottle of burgundy for himself
and looked inquiringly across the table. "Would you like
the burgundy, or something else?"
"I'll defer
to your judgment on wine. I'll probably have beef for dinner,
so a red will do well."
The wine duly
arrived and was pronounced drinkable, Nick going through the
wine-tasting motions in fine form. Natalie watched him with amusement
as he inhaled the bouquet after swirling it around in his glass,
then sampled a small amount with concentration. "Does it
really taste good to you?" She had always wondered how his
kind could drink wine, considering their dislike for all mortal
foods.
"Well, it's
not great, but it's less offensive than anything else for some
reason. And the alcohol gives it a bit of a kick." He produced
a silver flask. "I brought my dinner with me. Excuse me."
He drank half the glass the steward had poured, then topped it
off with the contents of the flask. "Sorry," he said
apologetically. He knew she didn't care to watch him drink blood.
"It's all
right, Nick. If I get to eat, so should you. I promise, no garlic
in whatever I order."
The waiter arrived
with the menus, and Natalie was amused to see hers had no prices
listed. After some consideration, she ordered a salad, beef rouladen,
asparagus, and new potatoes.
As she worked
on her salad, she asked, "So who's Raoul?"
"Raoul?
Oh, he's an old friend. We met in the mid-1800s here in Brazil,
when I was doing some archaeological work in Central and South
America. He owns cattle ranches here in Brazil and Argentina.
Don't laugh," he added, as he watched the grin spread over
her face.
"Very convenient
for you, though."
"Well, yes,
but he's the local supplier here in Rio, much like Janette is
back home. It's much easier to have these kinds of contacts than
taking blood through Customs when we travel."
The conversation
wandered away from supernatural grocery purveyors. Natalie savored
her meal, which she assured Nick was more than five star quality,
while Nick sipped slowly from his glass.
When Natalie refused a dessert and was sipping her own glass
of raspberry liqueur, Nick stood and held out his hand. "Would
you care to dance?"
She put down
her glass and took his hand. "Yes." She smiled up at
him and felt suddenly shy. "I hope I don't embarrass you."
He drew her to
her feet. "You could never embarrass me, Natalie. Not in
a million years." He led her to the dance floor.
Couples were
dancing both indoors on the polished parquet dance floor, and
outside the wall of open French doors on a large, smoothly flagged
patio. There were beautiful wrought-iron lanterns scattered throughout
the gardens surrounding the patio, shedding dim golden light
on the dancers.
Nick led her outside. "I promised sambas under the stars,"
he murmured in her ear as her took her in his arms and began
to move to the strains of the music drifting out the French doors.
Just as had happened
at Nick's loft not two days ago, Natalie fell under the spell
of the insistent rhythms of the samba and Nick's strong arms.
They glided among the other dancers, lost in each other's eyes.
The evening drifted
by as the would-be lovers danced the movements of almost-innocent
seduction. They both knew they couldn't bring the evening to
the conclusion that anyone watching them would assume. The closeness
of the dance, the movement of the hips, the slightly desperate
clasp of arms and nearness of face and heart, the occasional
kiss and caress, would have to suffice. It was all they had;
it was all they could have, at least for the moment.
At two in the
morning the evening was waning to a close. A final melody floated
on the air, Nick and Natalie the last dancers on the patio. Nick
quietly sang the song in his light baritone, the lyrics meant
for Natalie's ears alone:
Quiet nights
of quiet stars
Quiet chords from my guitar
Floating on the silence that surrounds us
Quiet thoughts and quiet dreams
Quiet walks by quiet streams
And the window that looks out on Corcovado
Oh, how lovely.
This is where
I want to be
Here with you so close to me
Until the final flicker of life's ember.
I, who was lost and lonely
Believing life was only
A bitter, tragic joke have found with you
The meaning of existence, Oh my love.
Silence fell.
Nick held Natalie gently and kissed her once again, and said,
"Don't cry. I'm so happy to be here with you, to grasp whatever
joy we can. For now this is enough-it's more than enough."
"I'm happy,
too, Nick." She wiped the traitorous tear that had trickled
from her eye. "I just wish that---"
He placed a finger
on her lips. "Shhh. Don't wish, just let's live for the
moment this weekend. And we have another evening before we have
to go home. Please?"
She smiled tremulously.
"One more night. Let's come back here."
He gazed around
the now-deserted patio, the staff discreetly waiting for them
to leave. "Yes, let's come back to this magical place, and
make some more dreams to keep." He slipped his arm around
her waist and they went back through the darkened restaurant
to their waiting limousine. The quiet stars looked down and smiled.
Fin.
Comments
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Yes, Astrud Gilberto
strikes again! Music credits: "Non-Stop to Brazil"
by Luiz Bonfa-M. Duby-Normal Gimbel. "Corcovado (Quiet Night
of Quiet Stars)" by Antonio Carlos Jobim-Gene Lees. |