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 there—until 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 Rider—after 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 | Fiction Page | Home Page


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.