Revenge of the Black Virgin

by Serena Janes

  Jo was still a bit groggy the next morning when Brenda came rushing into their room with a goofy grin plastered onto her face.

  “You’re going to be muy feliz when you see what I’ve got up my sleeve, Joey. Are you all packed?”

  “What’s going to make me very happy? What?” Brenda had been going out of her way to make her forget the terrible past few months. She wondered what kind of a surprise she had up her sleeve this time. “A Corvette? A Mustang convertible?” She grinned as she slung her pack over her shoulder and wheeled her suitcase to the door. “Whatever it is, can I drive it?”

  “No!” Brenda flung at her. “Neither of us is going to be driving. Our new hire will look after all of that. Come on. You’ve got to see this!”

  Brenda’s enthusiasm was contagious and Jo laughed as her friend lead her out onto the blazing sunshine of the street to a nondescript silver SUV.

  “What? Is this it?” As she turned to Brenda in disappointment Jo saw someone inside the vehicle, stacking boxes in the cargo space. When he spied them, the young man unfolded himself and sprang onto the pavement, smiling so sweetly that Jo couldn’t help an answering smile of her own. Brenda giggled as she grabbed Jo’s hand and introduced her.

  “Joanna, sweetheart, this is Danny, our travel guide, photographer, driver, GPS reader, menu translator and all round protector for the next five days.”

  Jo held her hand out to the beautiful young Spaniard, who took it with an exaggerated flourish. “I am honored, Joanna, to make your acquaintance.” Deep dimples played in his cheeks as his smile widened, showing strong white teeth.

  Two bright pinks spots glowed on his smooth, brown cheeks, and Joanna laughed as she realized that, under his bravado, he was nervous. His dark eyes sparkled at her and she knew she was blushing as well. He was irresistibly attractive.

  Young. Too damned young. But so cute!

  She turned to Brenda, still grinning. “Very good idea, Bren. Who’s going to sit up front first?” she asked innocently as she deftly threw her bag onto the floor of the front seat.

  Danny, not missing a beat, stowed Jo’s other bag, said everything was ready, and off they went.

  As Brenda promised, Jo felt happy as she found herself being chauffeured through orange and olive groves on a clear, blue summer’s day. Brenda read from a travel guide as their handsome young driver told them what he knew about the White Hill Towns of Andalusia. They were heading for Ronda, the largest, using it as a home base for day trips to the smaller towns.

  When they left the flat fields and began to climb into the green mountains, Jo was struck by the beauty of the landscape. This trip, she realized, was exactly what she needed to stop dwelling about the past. And to help her forget about Luc.

  Danny spoke very good English, having studied it in school. Not only was it easy to talk to him about the practical aspects of their trip, it was soon clear that his grasp of the vernacular was good enough to understand slang, jokes and other subtle aspects of the language.

  He was fun, Jo thought. And very charming, too.

  At a rest stop, when Danny was out of earshot, Brenda hugged her friend and said, laughing, “Did I do good, or what? Isn’t he just what you need, sweetheart? He’s perfect! Don’t you just want to lick him all over, and then eat him up?”

  “He’s just a kid, Bren. It wouldn’t be right!” Jo protested as a rush of saliva filled her mouth.

  “He’s not, really. He’s twenty-four. And you’re thirty. No biggie.”

  Jo looked at her friend’s grinning face. Then they both burst into peals of laughter.

  Brenda knew her too well, Jo thought, and she was too kind.

  He was adorable. And Jo needed to have sex. Danny, even if all she did was look at him, would be like a restorative tonic.

  For the rest of the drive she tried to keep her gaze off the driver and on the landscape. Most of the time that wasn’t too difficult. As they began to climb higher, the rugged hills and brilliant green fields grew more and more picturesque. But whenever she snuck a peek at Danny, she felt a little anticipatory flutter in her chest.

  Yes. He’s exactly what the doctor would order for me.

  They reached Ronda by mid afternoon. It was one of the most charming towns she’d ever seen, Jo thought, as she and Brenda strolled over the jaw-dropping New Bridge that connected the old town to the new. Now that they were in the mountains, they enjoyed cooler temperatures, but the sun was still strong and Jo was glad she’d remembered to bring her straw hat.

  The two women toured the bullring, the second oldest in Spain, and the curved museum housed behind. Jo studied the heads of the particularly fierce bulls mounted behind glass walls. Then she looked at the fine embroidery on the lavish matadors’ suits.

  Danny was made for one of these outfits. It would fit him perfectly.

  She smiled to herself as she realized she hadn’t thought of Luc for at least an hour.

  Yes. Coming here was a very good idea.

  Chapter Seven

  Luc took his ex-wife’s advice. Whatever their marital problems had been, lack of communication hadn’t been one of them. He hauled his BMW touring bike out of storage, gave it a tune-up, threw a few essentials in a bag and prepared to head south. Before he left, he made a point of spending as much time as he could with his son. It couldn’t compensate for the hurt he’d caused the boy, but it was all he could manage.

  He intended to travel down through Spain, maybe as far as Morocco, and set off on a direct route through Toulouse toward the Spanish border. In the pilgrimage city of Lourdes he spent an evening watching the procession of wheelchairs, walkers, and hospital beds snake its way to the famous grotto, everyone hoping for a cure.

  All these people praying for a miracle. My wounds don’t show, but I’m no different.

  He knew it would take a miracle for him to stop longing for Joanna. But he had to push on.

  The next day he veered north to cross into the Basque Country at San Sebastian. Except for a brief visit to the Guggenheim Art Gallery at Bilbao, he spent long days on the road, stopping only to eat and sleep. He veered east through Zaragoza, where, because Joanna never left him in peace, he indulged himself by visiting a few of the many shrines to the Black Madonna.

  He remembered that day in the little church in Rocamadour, when he’d introduced her to the Black Virgin. That was when everything changed. She’d seemed so different after that encounter. That was when he knew she was ripe for plucking—all of her former uncertainty gone. But thinking about that day—any part of it—filled him with agonizing pain, and he chastised himself for being a self-indulgent fool as he fired up the bike again and drove out of the city.

  He headed down to the coast and Valencia, grinding his teeth, telling himself over and over to stop thinking about her. It would do him no good.

  Seeing the sea gladdened him, but by the time he passed through the throngs of northerners baking themselves crisp on the Costa del Sol he was getting weary of his own company. Nowhere held any interest for him, and it wasn’t until he hit Gibraltar that he awoke from his road warrior state of mind.

  Before he hit Algeciras, where he planned to catch a boat to Tangier, he’d decided to pay a quick visit to the tiny British colony and its famous rock. He hadn’t been there since he was a boy, on a school outing. Riding a motorcycle gave him an advantage in the steep, narrow streets full of shoppers and sight-seers and he headed out to Europa Point. He parked the bike, took a jambon sandwich and a can of warm beer out of his saddlebag, and sat down on a rock overlooking the blue Strait. Riding all day under a fierce summer sun had overheated him, so he shed his heavy jacket and T-shirt to let the sea breezes dry his sweat.

  As he ate he looked around at the vista. He saw fish teeming in the sea below his feet. The skies were full of white sea birds, some flying so high they were little more than specks above his head. The wind was gentle on his face, the sun warm on his bare back, and after eating he began to feel that maybe he could buck
up and stop feeling sorry for himself. Life was rich and full and he would enjoy it again.

  So I’ve made a mistake. Everyone does. It’s not the end of the fucking world. I’ll live.

  It wasn’t an earth-shattering revelation, but just enough to make him start to think about moving on. Joanna was behind him, now. And he’d get over her.

  He pulled his shirt back on and got up to put his trash in a bin, passing a playground full of young mothers and toddlers. Seeing them, he felt a sadness wash over him. He had no wife. No girlfriend, anymore. And he missed his son.

  Daniel was just about past the playground stage, but he remembered what it felt like to push him on a swing, balance him on a teeter-totter. Most of the mothers were staring at him, one smiling and stroking her hair. He smiled back benignly. Letting out a deep sigh, he climbed onto his bike, resolving to try harder to enjoy his trip. It would be a long while before he’d get this much unstructured time again.

  But as he drove off the ferry at Tangier Med and sped along the new freeway into the city, he began to doubt that Morocco was going to give him the novelty he needed. He’d already spent time there when he was young. It was too familiar to him—the language, the culture, the patisseries.

  If it wasn’t for meeting Hilda, he’d probably have turned around and headed home the next day.

  * * * *

  After their tour of Ronda’s bullring, Jo and Brenda returned to their two-bedroom suite to finish unpacking and take a late-afternoon siesta. Hoping for a breeze, Jo opened the double doors of their small balcony. The sky was a brilliant blue, emphasizing the surrounding mountains with their sharp peaks. There was almost no vegetation at the higher levels. She looked down into the fabulous gorge spanned by the massive stone bridge. It reminded her of Rocamadour, and for a moment she flushed at her memories of her first secret meeting with Luc in her hotel room there. But then she thought of Danny, whose room was just down the hall, and her heart began to thrum in excitement.

  She was happy to think she’d be seeing him again at dinner time. It had been agreed that he’d work for the two women during the day, then accompany them each evening to a restaurant for dinner, after which he would be free for the rest of the night.

  After showering in the beautiful marble and oak bathroom, Jo chose her outfit carefully. She wanted to look appealing to Daniel, but not obviously so. It was still very warm, so she finally decided on a plain linen sheath in cream, with flat sandals and a light silk throw patterned with Moorish motifs. Appropriate, she thought, as she fastened gold hoops to her ears. After all, the Moors had controlled this area for centuries, leaving impressive stone fortifications as their legacy. Even though they used hundreds of slaves to do their grunt work, Jo appreciated their skill. Ronda was a beautiful city.

  When Brenda saw Jo walk out of her bedroom, she smiled broadly and said, “Wow. You really do like him don’t you? You look more than great.”

  “Thanks, Bren,” Jo said, blushing furiously. “But it was your idea, remember?”

  Giggling like a couple of conspirators, the two of them made their way downstairs to the dining room. Danny was waiting for them at a table set for three, elegant in dark pants and a simple white shirt, open at the neck. Jo thought he looked even better than she remembered.

  At first he seemed shy of her, like he’d been earlier that morning. But after he translated the menu for them and helped them ordered their food and wine, she watched his confidence grow. While she ate, Jo gave him her full attention, and prodded by Brenda, she began to flirt a little, enjoying herself more than she’d expected. When he responded with his sparkling eyes and seductive smiles made bold by the wine, Jo could feel arousal building within her body. It felt good.

  After Brenda paid the bill, she told Danny he was free to go.

  “I’m very sorry to leave two such beautiful women alone,” he said with a trace of amusement in his voice. “But I understand my services are no longer required this evening?” Brenda nodded briefly at him in response.

  “Then I will wish you a buenos noches, my dear ladies.” He stood and gave them a little bow of respect, flashing Jo a suggestive look as he turned away.

  She wondered what he thought of the two of them going off alone tonight. Did he know Brenda was gay? Brenda’s outward behavior to Jo wouldn’t indicate they were lovers, even though she did look a little butch. No makeup or jewelry. Elegant yet simple pants and shirt.

  Does he think we’re a couple? If he does, I don’t think it’s going to bother him, she decided with a little grin. Or maybe he’s looking for a little ménage.

  After releasing Danny, the two friends decided to take a walk through the old town. It was a clear, warm night, lit by thousands of stars. Romantic, isolated, quiet now, Ronda was perfect for strolling. As they walked, Jo and Brenda talked about the magazine, and the visions they shared for their baby.

  They turned a corner and heard music coming from a narrow street. Following it, they came upon a crowded outdoor dance floor, part of a busy restaurant. A four-piece band was playing Latin music, and couples dipped and swirled through the warm night air. But in the middle of this mass of bodies, one stood out. He was as graceful as anything Jo had ever seen. Straight, strong, lithe and excruciatingly precise in his movement, it was Danny. With a girl.

  Jo grabbed Brenda’s arm in excitement. “Look at him! He’s amazing.”

  “That little devil,” Brenda smirked. “He’s been holding out on us. He didn’t tell us he can dance like that. Oh baby, you’re going to have some fun!”

  Jo nodded silently, watching Danny drag the awkward young woman around the floor. She didn’t know what she was doing, and seemed embarrassed at her partner’s attempts to get her to swing her hips.

  He needs a woman out there with him. Not a girl.

  Just as she formed the thought, Danny spotted her and his face lit up. Jo felt a little tremor of excitement, despite herself. He was so handsome. Those dimples. That straight back, those square shoulders. The little curls that fell over his forehead as he moved his head back and forth in time to the music.

  The song over, he walked his partner back to her friends and quickly made his way to Jo and Brenda. Another song began and all of a sudden Jo found herself pulled onto the floor, into his competent arms, then flung away again, as they moved together to a jive tune. She was glad she’d worn flat shoes.

  Jo could jive. Even in Spain. It was the one of the dances her father had taught her. Everything else she messed up, but she could jive, and she loved it. Danny was by far the best partner she’d danced with, his strength and grace making her feel she was feather-light. Within seconds she was laughing in pure joy. When she looked at him, she saw his sparkling dark eyes on hers, and her head grew as light as her feet.

  When the music stopped he took her arm in his and gallantly walked her back to Brenda, who was applauding enthusiastically. “Fabulous! You two are made to dance together,” she exclaimed as she hugged each of them in turn.

  “Come on. Another one!” Brenda demanded.

  “Yes, please! Another one,” Danny said to Jo, eyes alight.

  She looked at his smooth brown face, handsome, shiny with his exertion, and thought she should stop right there. This was too tempting. “No, no. That’s enough. Thank you, Danny. I have to get some sleep.”

  “There’s always tomorrow night,” he said playfully.

  “Yes,” said Brenda. “Maybe you can take us both dancing tomorrow night.”

  She meant it too, Jo knew, as she steered her friend in the direction of their hotel, grinning like a fool.

  * * * *

  Luc had found Hilda just as she needed saving, mostly from herself, he soon found out. And for awhile it seemed her antics were amusing enough to jolly him out of his funk.

  At first she reminded him a little of Marta. That threatened to put him off. But as soon as she spoke all resemblance to the disturbed young intern vanished, and Luc could see her for the independent spirit that
she was.

  A few years earlier, Luc had been assigned a post-doctoral student specializing in his field—Roman fortifications. Marta was intelligent enough, but emotionally unstable. At first, she developed a crush on her mentor. But that soon blossomed into a full-fledged obsession.

  He had to remove her from his office, but that did little to discourage her. Between her stalking, messaging, telephone calls and hysterical threats, Luc had no option but to sue her for harassment. It was an unfortunate and messy business, resulting in Luc having to change his email addresses and contact numbers. Then he had his name placed on a list that prevented public access to his personal information. On paper, and in cyberspace, he was invisible to anyone searching for him without his permission.

  Hilda was a different story. She seemed the epitome of self-assurance and control. From Delft, she was tall and beautiful, as Dutch women often were. She had a slim, athletic body, a pretty oval face, and bright yellow pigtails that hung halfway down her back. With her khaki-colored clothes and backpack, she looked like a sexy adventurer, Luc thought.

  The problem was, the Moroccans thought so, too.

  When he arrived in Tangiers, he checked into a riad, or guesthouse, inside the casbah walls. After washing off the road grime, he indulged in a long nap on the sunny rooftop garden overlooking the Atlantic. As he dozed he listened to the adhan, or call to prayer, snake across the city. He’d always loved the sound, each man’s voice slightly different, but all evocative and moving.

  Now the sound made him think of Joanna—that first time they were together in her stifling room in Rocamadour. How the church bells rang out the first few notes of Ave Maria four times each hour. How he’d fucked her so hard she could barely walk the next day.