Chunky rhinestone bracelets and dangling earrings added to the sparkle. Then I caught sight of her footwear. She was sporting a pair of sneakers that had been spray painted gold and covered with sequins.
“What’s with the shoes?” I asked.
“You’ve gotta be crazy to try and walk in those things you’re wearing,” she declared. “Don’t you know you could end up with bunions, hammertoes, and tendinitis, not to mention a charley horse or shooting pains in your lower back, from prancing around in those heels?”
Yeah. But the bottom line was that they made me look really terrific. I’d seen my silhouette in the mirror. What these heels did for the line of my butt and my breasts was nearly as good as having plastic surgery.
“They’re perfectly fine.” I smiled as I headed for the nearest chair. I suspected that by the end of the evening, though, I’d be wrestling Sophie to the ground for her sneakers.
She watched as I lowered myself with a sigh. “Good idea. Rest your tootsies while I check on how Lucinda and Terri are doing.”
I resisted the temptation to kick my shoes off, knowing I’d never be able to get them back on, and I focused my attention on my surroundings as a distraction.
I’d always known both women were major collectors, with the number of kitschy tchotchkes cluttering their place. There were the usual last minute souvenirs from airports, interspersed with rescued treasures from flea markets and garage sales. They even had a glass menagerie of critters. But I’d never taken notice of the flags that Terri had spoken of. Nearly hidden in the mix, they now seemed to pop up like bouquets of colorful flowers.
“So, what do you think?” asked a lilting Cuban voice.
Lucinda stood in the doorway looking like a twenty-five-year-old model. She was elegantly attired in a white, off-the-shoulder slip of a dress that accentuated her shape and played up her tan. I noticed that she had been smart enough to put on a pair of stylish yet comfortable sandals.
“You look amazing,” I said, and wholeheartedly meant it. Terri had done a bang-up job on both women’s makeup. They’d never looked better.
I got up and hobbled over to their collection of souvenirs. “So, where did you get all these flags?”
“Aren’t they unique?” Lucinda bubbled. “No one else that we know collects them.”
I plucked one out that bore the initials ED and gave it a swirl.
“I’m especially fond of that one,” Sophie commented, slipping her arm through Lucinda’s.
“What’s the ED stand for?” I asked.
Sophie gave me a wink. “Eccentric dyke,” she wisecracked.
Lying next to the flags was a pair of round-trip bus ticket stubs to Tallahassee, from one of their weekend jaunts out of town. Lucinda and Sophie caught me eyeballing them.
“Pro-abortion rally,” Lucinda explained.
“Gay rights march,” Sophie chirped at the same time.
I gave them a quizzical look. “So, which one was it?”
“It was one of those blowout, hit-em-where-it-hurts weekends,” Sophie replied.
“One rally was on Saturday and the other on Sunday,” Lucinda added.
Terri breezed into the room in a pair of flowing apricot pants and a matching billowy shirt. A tasteful pair of sunglasses covered his black-and-blue eye. “My God, Rach—so there really is a body under all those shmattes you usually wear. Congratulations!”
I arched an eyebrow. “Since when did you begin speaking Yiddish?”
Terri flashed me a mega-watt smile. “Sophie’s been broadening my vocabulary. You’re going to be impressed with the other words I’ve learned.”
I could hardly wait.
I’d heard the Havana Club was the hottest spot in town, evidenced by the velvet rope guarded by an impenetrable wall of solid Latin muscle. Oh no! It was the fashion police!
“Don’t worry,” Lucinda purred in a low, sexy whisper. “I’ll take care of this.”
A swish of hips, a flexed bicep, a palmed tenspot, and we were through the rope and in the door, hobnobbing with a crowd of the most beautiful people on the planet.
“Have you ever seen so many fake boob jobs all in one place in your life?” Sophie observed.
She was right. Even worse was the fact that I was envious. Not only was almost every ounce of female skin in the room tightly pulled back and standing at attention, but most of it was garbed in thong-flashing microminiskirts and the teensiest tightest of braless T-shirts. Suddenly my little blue dress didn’t seem quite so daring.
The dance floor resembled a Roman bacchanalia, Miami style, replete with flashing laser lights and gleaming flesh. Salsa undulated through the air like a maddening temptress, whipping the dancers into a frenzy of swinging hips and gyrating pelvises, making it hard to tell where bodies began and ended. The insistent throb of the music seeped into my skin and my stiletto heels insisted on dancing to our table, where I sank down into the softest of red leather banquettes. Even the seats in this place were hedonistic.
“This makes the Kit Kat Club look tame,” Terri remarked, eyeing a couple of barely dressed babes. “God, I’d love to know who did their plastic surgery,” he sighed longingly.
“Yeah. Isn’t this place great?” Sophie rasped. “I swear that couple over there looks like they’re shtupping right on the dance floor.”
“Mojitos all around!” Lucinda placed the order with a hunky waiter who was “shoulda been a model/coulda been an actor” gorgeous.
“I think it’s love at first sight,” Terri whispered to me, catching his eye. “It’s that hot Latin blood, Rach. It drives me absolutely crazy.”
But our waiter wasn’t playing favorites tonight. He gave me a wink as he squeezed Lucinda’s arm, and wiggled his fanny at Sophie.
“Should I break the news to him that shaking his booty won’t influence his tip? Or are the two of you enjoying it?” Sophie asked us.
“Don’t you dare say a word!” Terri warned her.
The mojitos arrived with neon pink flamingo stirrers. I took a sip and felt certain I had landed in heaven.
“What is this stuff?” I asked, wondering how I’d survived up to now without it.
Lucinda laughed. “It’s Cuban white rum, mint, soda, lemon, and sugar.”
In no time flat, a second round magically appeared at our table. All around us, people puffed up a storm on their cigars while gorging themselves on thick slabs of rare steak. Men knocked back scotches served neat; the women sipped gin martinis straight up with olives. The atmosphere was pure, pleasure-loving decadence.
I decided to skip a full meal, and picked at an order of tapas instead. I hadn’t squeezed into this dress just to risk unsightly bulges. Sophie and Lucinda took a different approach. Jumping up on their feet, they danced off their dinner. My feet tapped along with them as they laughed and swirled away, swallowed up in the infectious music and the heady mosaic of other happy cha-cha-chaing couples.
“Why do I feel like I’ve died and surfaced in Ricky Ricardo’s Copacabana Club?” Terri asked.
“Oh, I don’t know—I suppose it might have something to do with the music, and the fact that there are so many great looking guys here.”
A Miami Vice wanna-be clad in a pastel linen suit, sans socks, seductively wiggled a ring-laden finger at me, followed by a roll of his hips. I shook my head and waved him away, not wishing to tempt fate by trying to dance in my stilettos. His reaction was blocked when a bronzed Antonio Banderas lookalike rhumbaed past, and smiled at Terri.
“I’d say Mr. Wonderful there is interested in making your acquaintance.”
Terri’s blonde curls shook as he slid his sunglasses down his nose. “Look at me, Rach. When it comes to sane, normal relationships, I don’t seem to have much of a knack, do I?” The blotchy colors beneath his eyes had settled into a muddy reservoir of bad memories and pain. When it came to failed romantic involvements, I’d felt the same way myself too many times.
“Like hell you’ll sit back,” I scolded him
. “You remember the old adage about falling off a horse, don’t you?”
The ghost of a smile flitted across his lips. “If you’re referring to my last amore as a horse’s ass, I’d have to say you were correct.”
“More to the point, we’ve all gone through our fair share of louses. But you know what?” I wiped a trace of Sophie’s lipstick off his cheek. “I also don’t think we really have much choice in the matter. Not unless we’re willing to bow out of life—and neither one of us is ready for that yet.”
A couple that were clenched lip-to-lip danced by, prompting a sigh from the two of us.
I looked at Terri and laughed. “That proves we’re still in the race. Besides, Ter—it’s just a dance. Get a grip!”
“All right, already. Enough.” Terri struck an elegant pose. “I’ll be brave and see what happens.”
“That’s the spirit. Have a good time—just take it nice and slow.”
Terri gave me an affectionate hug. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll try to remember that.”
I watched as he headed in Antonio’s direction. Then I turned my attention back to the couples burning up the dance floor.
I enjoy playing the role of observer and being swallowed up by the crowd. That’s the best time to discover secrets. That’s when people relax and let down their guard. I motioned to the waiter, determined to work on my own relaxation with yet another mojito.
But all thoughts of mojitos drifted right out of my head, replaced by a sizzling sensation, as ten beguiling fingers began to massage their way down my back, where they burned through my dress and set my skin on fire.
“Raquel. What a pleasure it is to see you.” Ramon hovered tantalizingly above me, his hips swaying hypnotically to the sensual beat. “Come, you must dance with me!” He pulled me out of my chair and onto the floor, holding me tightly against him.
“I don’t know how to salsa,” I gasped, trying to remember how to breathe, let alone dance. My head swam to the music, and my feet tapped out the rhythm.
“It doesn’t matter. A woman like you shouldn’t be sitting. Just stay close to me, and soon your body will be making love to the music.”
I hoped that was all I’d be making love to, by dancing this close. I felt fairly sure the throbbing heat coming from Ramon was due to more than the music.
“Just relax and let me lead. I’ll do the rest,” he murmured.
He was doing plenty already.
“Your dancing is absolutely perrrrfect,” he purred. “But there’s something else I’ve been wanting to teach you—the fine art of cigars.”
Uh oh. I thought I’d already had that lesson, learning everything there was about taste, shape, and size. “You did a great job of covering that topic the other day,” I reminded him.
He initiated a heated round of eye-lock foreplay. “But now I must teach you how to smoke them. After tonight, you’ll no longer be a virgin.”
My reply was placed on hold as my senses shifted into high gear. Ooh… what was that? The titillated nerve endings in my ear reeled with joy. Tiny electrical sparks of blissful pleasure sped through every vein, every cell. My better judgment ordered an immediate APB as Ramon continued to nibble away on my ear. I could feel myself going down for the count, and I was thoroughly enjoying it. This guy should have been running a school for seduction.
“Don’t be afraid, Raquel. I promise the cigar will be most gentle.” The words spilled from lips that beguilingly beckoned me to him. “Are you ready for your lesson?” Ramon’s voice teased. He placed his hands on my hips, matching the sensuous rhythm.
“Why not?” I managed to gasp.
“Good. We’ll start by learning some basic anatomy.” He slid his fingers up my spine, nearly melting my lingerie off me. “The first thing to remember is that the open end of the cigar is referred to as the foot.”
Oh, God. Was that the tip of his tongue barely touching the nape of my neck?
“It is the cigar’s head which you clip with the utmost tender precision.” Ramon’s voice was muffled, due to his lips exploring my throat.
God, the guy smelled terrific. I took another whiff. “I’ve got it,” I said breathily. “First you clip the cigar, then you smoke it.”
The beat quickened, and colors pulsated to highlight legs wrapped around thighs in a hot, sensual lambada. Ramon slid his hand to my tush.
“But you mustn’t be too anxious. It’s all a matter of… timing.” Ramon brushed his hand along the curve of my hip. “Next, you must learn how to light it.”
He pressed his hips so tightly against mine that I nearly leaped out of my stilettos.
“First you turn the cigar’s foot above a long, hot, burning flame.” Ramon’s voice caressed each separate word, as he slowly licked all ten of my fingers. “Only then, when the end of the cigar is brightly glowing, do you place it between your lips… pull in gently with your cheeks… and wet the head—as you suck it.”
The very room seemed to vibrate with white-hot stogie lust around me. Macanudo-clutching babes intently eyed the guys at every table, gauging which men held the biggest cigars. Even I was beginning to be curious. Ramon bent me back in a low, steamy dip, where I found myself gazing upside down at a guy talking into a cell phone while smoking a cigar the size of a big-ass Caddy.
Ramon leaned over me, his mustache tickling my throat, his voice low and husky. “This is when you surrender yourself to the cigar, Raquel, allowing its essence to overtake you. You pull on the tip, as you swirl the smoke lusciously in your mouth. Then you pucker your lips… and exhale.”
I looked up as Ramon descended toward me with teeth bared, like a cigar-chomping Dracula.
His teeth skillfully grabbed the pin which held up my hair, and one swift jerk sent my curls tumbling down. I struggled to catch my breath, ready to explode. If this was the lambada, I planned on signing up for nightly sessions.
Ramon’s voice was heavy with passion as he pulled me close, and the fire in his eyes consumed me. “Once your cigar is properly lit it will burn evenly all the way down, with its ash staying long… to give enjoyment for hours. Since the objective is to experience as much sensual pleasure as possible, it’s wise to choose one that’s firm—and resilient. Don’t you agree?” he whispered into my ear.
It took all my strength just to nod.
Ramon moved in for the kill. “After all, if you’re going to put something in your mouth—you want to make sure to enjoy it.”
My body went limp as I tried to decide whether to slap the man or jump on him.
“I think we’d better sit down,” I moaned.
“Of course, Raquel,” Ramon graciously murmured.
We arrived at the table to find Elena perched in my seat. She was rhapsodizing to Sophie and Lucinda, who watched her with gazes that were utterly transfixed. My eyes were drawn to her Cinderella knockoff glass slippers, complete with five-inch stiletto heels. The rest of her spilled out of a tight leopard-print bodice, with a matching feline skirt that couldn’t have been larger than a napkin. Gone was her usual tiny cigar; tonight her lips were wrapped around an eight-inch Cohiba. If Freud were alive, he’d have had a field day in this place.
“How come you never introduced us to your friends before?” Sophie asked. Her hand furiously rummaged inside her purse and she whipped out a cigar, stuck it in her mouth, bit off the end, and set the thing on fire.
“I only recently met them,” I informed her.
“That’s right,” Elena purred, in a voice thick as cigar smoke. “She led me to believe she was with the police. I could have had her arrested.”
I would have come up with a good retort if I’d been able to think above the fiery pounding of my feet. Ramon slipped a chair behind my legs as a waitress with a body the width of a toothpick appeared. In her hand was a tray with a bottle of Cristal champagne and five glasses.
“We must toast to the evening,” Ramon announced.
He popped the cork, filled the glass flutes, and pulled two cigars from his pocket.
“First you sip the champagne. Then you smoke a cigar,” he said, angling one in my direction.
And all this time, I’d thought his spiel was merely a ruse to seduce me. “I think I’ll pass.”
“Don’t be such a wuss,” Sophie bit down on her stogie as if it were a piece of beef jerky. “Live it up—women smoking cigars are very sexy.” She gazed at Catwoman with open admiration.
Elena handed Sophie her stogie, and reached inside her bodice. “Absolutely! Men come and go, but a woman never forgets her first cigar,” she remarked, adjusting her breasts to exhibit as much cleavage as possible.
“You gotta learn to relax,” Sophie continued. “That’s your biggest problem.” She shook her head in resignation.
Elena’s pouty red lips parted in an amused smile. “She must not be involved with a man who knows how to lambada. Otherwise she’d be more relaxed and satisfied. In cases like that, a cigar can be a good substitute.”
“Judging from the size of the one you’re smoking, I’d say you had a rough day yourself,” I replied smartly.
“Not at all—my taste in cigars matches my taste in men. I like them to be big and potent.” She balanced her cigar wantonly between her teeth.
“It would give me great pleasure if you would try one of mine, Raquel,” Ramon softly murmured in my ear.
I glanced at the man and decided two could play the game of seduction. “In that case, how can I refuse?” I let my hand wander to the neck of my dress and discreetly readjusted my own chest for maximum cleavage.
Ramon smiled as he held out a cigar. “Then this is the one you must smoke. I make it only for our most special customers.”
Elena flashed me a look to kill, and gave Ramon a slow, lingering kiss. “As usual, my brother is overly generous.”
Hmm. Just how close-knit was this family? I reached for the proffered stogie, letting my fingers run seductively along its length as I tried to recall each step of his highly charged lesson. Ramon played tug of war, and I felt the sting of a stiletto heel nip my leg. Elena carefully kept her eyes averted, chatting with Sophie. Damn the woman! I was determined to smoke this cigar perfectly, even if it killed me.
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