Caribbean Passion

“So, you’re leaving,” remarked Jorge, gazing blankly at Lucia.

“Yes.” Lucia could see he was sad, confused, unsure what to say. She didn’t want to do this to him, but she needed to live, travel, explore the world…

“Hmph. I guess it’s for the best.”

“I won’t be gone forever, Jorge,” Lucia continued. “It’ll only be for a couple of years, maybe three.”

“I thought you would study a degree, attend university or whatever, here in Rio,” commented Jorge. “What about your parents?”

“They’re happy I’ve got a job abroad,” said Lucia, somewhat annoyed that Jorge was talking to her like a teacher at school or something. “You know how things are in Rio — it’s overcrowded, there are not enough jobs for everyone. If I go to university here, sure I could get a job but will it be as well-paid as this one? On a cruise ship, everything’s paid for — no rent, no food, no bills, you wear your own clothes, so you just keep all your salary.”

Jorge brightened. “I guess that’s pretty decent. Do you think I could do it? I could apply.”

Lucia smiled. “Sure, why not? I can’t guarantee you’ll be on the same ship as me or even the same cruise line. Costa Ramirez have a lot of clients.”

Jorge thought. “I don’t know, though. My parents are not like yours. They’ve always considered my dancing to be a hobby. They expect me to get a ‘proper job’ — you know, doctor, lawyer — the usual suspects.”

Lucia laughed.

“Hey,” said Jorge. “Would you actually do dancing as a career? Would this be something new, a way into the industry, do you think?”

“They have dancers on cruise ships. I think you’ll need to have an agent and do auditions and have a portfolio of prior dance work, though. I don’t suppose they’ll just grab anyone who wants to be a dancer, even if the dancer’s won prizes like we have.”

“So how did you get in?”

“I’m not applying to be a dancer, that’s why,” reminded Lucia. “I’m going to be the Social Hostess. I get to host parties, attend the Captain’s Table, do a bit of emceeing or whatever. The qualifications are not high — you just have to be outgoing and social, have half a brain and have a super-sexy hot bod.”

They both laughed. “Well, you’ve certainly got that. I can’t compete,” said Jorge, smiling.

“Too right.” She thought. “Look, about you and me — we’ve split up before, you know that.”

Jorge stopped smiling. “Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

“So have I,” continued Lucia. “We’ve always managed to hook up again. I’ve had my share of deadbeat boyfriends, and I daresay you can say the same for your partners.”

“Hmmm, sure,” said Jorge, remembering some embarrassing scenes he’d had to endure over the past 5 years. It was true. However, he had always returned to Lucia, secretly hoping she might take him more seriously. He could see being together with her long-term but there was an issue driving him crazy. He decided to mention it. “Er, Lucia,” he began.

“What?”

“It’s just that I’ve often thought that you and I always got back together again — and that’s great — but, well, it’s always been something that’s occurred to me that — well, the reason why we always got back together was because we were partners — in dancing, I mean.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’ve been thinking.”

“Really, You, too?”

“Sure, lots of times.” Lucia turned to Jorge. “Look, this is too early. Neither of us have ever done anything with our lives. We’ve never been outside Rio. We’ve never been abroad. We haven’t been to college, we’re 20 years old — and here we are, contemplating long-term junk like being together forever, dedicating our lives to each other, I don’t know what — shall we get married and have six kids or what?”

Jorge laughed at that. Lucia always had a way of getting to the heart of things and she was right. It was a little too early.

“I mean, what about you, Jorge? Am I the one for you? Now I know some of those girls you went with were just not my type and stuff…”

More laughter from Jorge.

“Take it seriously, though. The fact is, dancing is the number one reason why we always got back together; but we’re not going to be dancing forever. Eventually, we’ll have to go to work or study or else just get too old, with creaky knees and bad backs, to do any more dancing. What are we going to do without it? Can you seriously tell me that, if it wasn’t for dancing, you and I would always have got back together?”

“Hmmm.”

“What if we never danced again? If your parents want you to go to university, you should have started two years ago at 18, so you’re late. We need to face it. We’ve had a great time together and you’re my first serious love, first serious boyfriend, first everything.”

“Well, what do you think?”

“Let’s stay apart for a bit. This is a new opportunity for me. I get to work in the USA! You should be happy for me!”

“I am! It’s just that -”

“You don’t like it? You’re scared?”

“No!” replied Jorge. “I’ll just — miss you.”

Lucia paused for a moment. Yeah, she would miss him, too. “I’ll miss you, too,” she said, admitting her thoughts exactly. “If we spend a few years apart, we’ll find out if we can survive without dancing. If we still want each other, we’ll find a way to get back together. I’ll call you. You’ll call me. We did it before. We can do it again. Just like the dancing.”

Jorge looked at her. She was right. Who knows whether their relationship would survive. He didn’t want to admit it but everything was too early. He knew that. It made sense. Yet the fact remained that, without her, everything would really suck. He would have to get new dance partner. He would have to date other women. They might be better — but he doubted. They could be worse than Lucia. They had been so far. He sighed. “OK, I guess.”

Lucia stood up. The coffee shop where they had met was a hangout they had been to often. The samba music was playing, the tables were crowded, the place was buzzing. The leant over and kissed him on the forehead. “Listen, don’t worry. I’ll call you. We’ll keep in touch. It’s not the end of everything. We can talk on the phone. It’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,” remarked Jorge, with s wry smile. “Well, good luck, and I hope it all goes well for you.”

Good, thought Lucia. He was going to be OK. “Thanks, Jorge. I know you’ve always got my back.” She smiled. “Plus you’re great in bed.”

“Haha, thanks!” exclaimed Jorge.

They said their goodbyes, embraced, then Lucia walked out. Jorge went to pay the bill. Standing at the counter, he hoped this wasn’t the end. “So long, Lucia,” he said quietly to himself. “While it lasted, it was great”. He smiled, in spite of himself, put his wallet in his pocket, then walked out.

Five days passed. Dawn broke over Copacabana, the outline of Sugarloaf Mountain stark against the light reds and pinks of the brightening sky. The outstretched arms of Christ the Redeemer formed a man-made, human outline against the otherwise natural scene.

At the check-in desk at the airport, Lucia Gonzalez stood in line behind a disorderly queue of tourists. She was nervous. Her thick, black hair was scraped back into a loose ponytail, her fresh, olive-skinned face lightly made-up with minimal eyeliner, lipstick and eyeshadow. She wore a light, cotton jacket tied across the fullness of her breasts, her bare abdomen exposing her tanned, toned flesh, which met a pair of dark blue cotton culottes, slung low on her ample hips. She turned.

Juan and Dolores, her parents, had come to see her off, lingering at the entrance door. Dolores, in particular, felt a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Her baby was leaving home! She nervously held the door frame and yelled to Lucia, “Take care!”

Lucia waved. “Thanks, Mama! I will!”

Juan waved. Well, this was sudden, he thought. He had spent the last few days on a whirlwind ride of US consulates, shopping trips and all kinds of other things to get ready for Lucia’s departure and now, here he was, waving off his daughter as she was about to embark on this new chapter of her life — a chapter which, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t going to be a part of. He felt a mixture of pride and apprehension at he departure.

Lucia turned back as the check-in clerk asked for her passport. She checked in her luggage — a large suitcase and a smaller holdall. She also had a large pink handbag with a long, wide strap, casually hanging from her right shoulder.

Finally, formalities completed, she gave her parents one last wave. She bit her lower lip. Suddenly overcome with emotion, she ran back to them for a last embrace. Flinging her arms around her mother, she cried, “Mama! I’ll miss you!”

“Have a great time and don’t forget to call us, email or message,” smiled Dolores, secretly glad that Lucia had rushed back.

“Look after yourself, love,” said Juan, suddenly feeling a pang of missing, even though she was, as yet, still there. “I’ll be thinking of you!”

Lucia turned and embraced her father. “Thanks, Dad! I’ll keep in touch!”

These final goodbyes completed, she turned back, waved and cantered off to the X-ray machines to go through customs. Dolores and Juan watched her until she had moved through the scanner and out of sight.

“Well, that’s that,” remarked Dolores.

“I guess so,” replied Juan, looking at her ruefully.

“I hope she’ll be OK. Come on, let’s go.”

An hour later, Lucia sat in her seat on the plane. During her wait in the departure lounge, she had grown impatient to get on and get moving but now, sitting here, she realised this was it — she was leaving home. She bit her lip and looked out the window. No going back now, she thought. A new adventure was about to begin.

The sun was rising as the Boeing jet plane approached Orlando International Airport. Codenamed MCO, a legacy from its origins as McCoy Airfield in the days before Disney World was built, the arrivals lounge was abuzz with families, many of them British or from Europe, most with little kids in tow and a sprinkling of gangly, sullen-looking teenagers more interested in their smartphones than in their imminent transit to whatever 3- or 4-star hotel their parents had booked for their two-week vacation in sunny Florida. Most of them were planning to do the triad of theme parks known as Disney World, Universal Studios Florida and the water park Sea World, so probably wouldn’t be moving too far from the airport.

Not for Lucia Gonzalez, though. Pulling the strap attached to her wheeled suitcase, her pink handbag still on her right shoulder and carrying the holdall in her left hand, the curvy, statuesque, dark-haired beauty made her way towards the exit.

Just then, an elderly man in a security guard’s uniform and a baseball cap held up a sign saying, “Welcome LUCIA GONZALEZ — Florida Tropical Cruise Line”.

Wow, that’s me, thought Lucia. The security guard looked extremely old. He must have been pushing 70, perhaps semi-retired. His face was lined and wrinkled, jowly, with pockmarked skin and several moles, with hairs protruding from them. Was this the guy? Lucia walked up to him. “Hi, I’m Lucia,” she stated, worried if this was not a good sign.

“Duke,” said the old man in a Southern drawl. “I’m here to take you to your hotel for you to front up at the ship early tomorrow morning,” he explained. “Is this all your stuff?” he asked, looking down at her bags.

“Er, yeah, this is it,” remarked Lucia. Well, she wasn’t sure if she could trust Duke but he was so old and decrepit that she felt she could easily outrun him if anything bad happened.

“Right, the station wagon’s outside,” Duke went on. “Follow me.”

She did so and he led her through the exit of the arrivals area, turned right and headed past the taxi rank. Around the corner, in the corner of a covered car park was a “station wagon” – the American term for an estate car. It looked in reasonable shape, perhaps a few years old, and brown in colour. Duke helped her to put her bags in the back, then she hopped into the passenger seat and Duke drove off.

Leaving the airport, they headed for the main route from Orlando to Cape Canaveral. “It’ll be about an hour, so relax,” said Duke. The old man drove safely and Lucia busied her time looking out the window at the passing traffic. A typical American landscape of drive-thru restaurants, an assortment of local businesses, covered shopping malls, out-of-town Home Depot stores with US flags flying on top could be seen but Lucia was interested, having never seen the USA before. Her eyes drank it all in and she began to feel excited about the future.

The hour passed uneventfully and they pulled up at a Holiday Inn. “We’re here,” announced Duke. He pointed at a door outside. “That’s reception,” he explained. We’ll have to take out your bags to check in. You’ll stay here overnight and join the ship tomorrow morning. I’ll pick you up at reception around 7:30am.”

“Can I join the ship today?” asked Lucia. “It’s kind of a long time to wait.”

“No, you can’t,” answered Duke, flatly.

“Why not?” retorted Lucia, a little annoyed at his manner.

“Because it’s not here. It’s in the Bahamas. It’ll come into Port Canaveral tomorrow.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Lucia. “I see.”

Duke seemed unaffected by her answer. He pulled up on the handbrake. “Right, let’s get your bags.” He flung the driver’s door open and got out. Lucia opened her door and went around the back of the station wagon, where Duke was unloading her bags. That done, they walked through the double doors of the Holiday Inn and up to the reception desk.

An older woman of about 35 ran the desk. She was white, American, in a uniform and her hair tied up in a bun under a regulation uniform hat. “Good afternoon. Welcome to Holiday Inn.”

Lucia was about to speak when Duke interjected. “Got a reservation for Gonzalez, L, staying one night — gonna join the ship tomorrow.”

The receptionist looked at Lucia. “Oh, nice — what ship?”

“The Oceanwave,” said Duke.

OCEANWAVE! What a great name, thought Lucia.

“That’s nice,” the receptionist went on. “It’s small but really nice — goes to Freeport.”

“And Key West,” added Duke.

Cool, thought Lucia. She gave the woman her passport. The woman typed some information in a computer, printed out a piece of paper and placed it on the counter.

“Sign here,” she requested.

Lucia signed her name with the pen on the counter, then looked up at the woman and smiled. She took the paper and smiled back. “Is this your luggage?” she asked.

“Yeah, just these two, plus my handbag.”

“That’s fine. Right, you’re all set. Here’s your key. Room 103. Go out the door and turn left and it’s on the left. Have a great stay.” She smiled again.

“Thanks,” answered Lucia. Duke and her took the bags out through the double doors once more.

“I’ll drive you to your door if you like,” offered Duke.

“Oh, cool, that’ll be great,” remarked Lucia. They bundled the bags in the back and got in the station wagon once more. Duke started the engine, then rolled the car forward about six feet. Then he stopped.

What’s up, thought Lucia.

“Right, here we are,” said Duke. “There’s your door.”

What, that’s it, thought Lucia, incredulously.

“I’ll get your bags.” Duke flung his door open and went around the back.

What on Earth, thought Lucia. Huh! Welcome to America, she thought. The country where nobody walks anywhere if they can drive. She got out with a sigh as Duke huffed and puffed to get her bags out of the car.

“Thanks,” she smiled at the old man. “I’ll be OK now.”

“OK!” replied Duke. “See you in the morning. Don’t forget — 7:30!”

“I won’t!” replied Lucia, waving him off. She watched as the old man got back in the station wagon. The engine turned over once, then he put it in drive and moved off. She watched him turn out of the hotel’s car park and turn left, near a sign pointing to Cape Canaveral.

Lucia looked down at her hotel door key. She put it in the lock. It opened easily. She went inside. Dumping her bags against the wall, she found herself in a spacious, air-conditioned room, with a large double bed taking pride of place in the middle of the room. A large wooden cabinet was opposite with a built-in TV. The remote control was on the bed. Further back against the en-suite bathroom was a sideboard with kettle, tea and coffee supplies and all the usual features that marked it as the typical four-star hotel room one would expect. She approached the bathroom. Switching on the light, she viewed the toilet, sink, plus bath-cum-shower unit. Great, she thought. Turning back to the bedroom, she flung herself down on the bed happily. “Woohoo!” she cried. “I’m here! In America!”

The next day, Lucia rose bright and early, at the (to her) unearthly hour of 6:30am. She wasn’t used to early mornings, thanks to spending so much time dancing at events and concerts late at night. Now she showered, fulling enjoying the warm water and the rich, foamy bubbles of the shower gel she brought from Brazil gently caressing her body with a feminine fragrance. She would have liked to have spent a little longer and thought about whether she should use the privacy and time to get herself off but felt perhaps she shouldn’t on her first day full day in a new country and a new life. There would be plenty of time for that later, once she was safely ensconced on the ship and well-acquainted with how life was there. She made do with running her fingers through her hair, smoothing the creamy lather across her luscious curves with her hands, enjoying the sensuality and imagining Jorge’s hands roaming across her body.

Having dried herself off, she got out her large cosmetics bag from her voluminous handbag and did her face. Her olive skin, dark and glowing with youth, looked best with just lipstick and a touch of eyeshadow and not much else. Dressed in her dark grey loose pants, figure-hugging waistcoat and a silk scarf around her neck, plus a floppy hat, she decided to go for a Bohemian look, although her midriff was on display, revealing toned, feminine abs that went well with her long, elegant legs. Grabbing her stuff and putting everything in her bags, she wheeled them over to the side by the wall while she decided to go outside to see what was around for breakfast. Locking the door behind her, she stepped out confidently into the bright Florida sunshine to look for something to eat.

There was an American diner on the opposite side of the road, which after spending more than five minutes trying to cross the wide, busy road, she managed to reach. It was open for breakfast. Inside, she quickly availed herself of hash browns, toast, bacon, eggs and a mug of hot, black coffee. Might as well do things American-style, thought Lucia with a smile.

Breakfast done, she returned to her hotel room to grab her bags, then headed off for reception. The same woman she had seen the day before was on duty. “Good morning!” she said, brightly. “Sleep well?”

“Yes, thanks,” said Lucia, the Brazilian lilt in her voice dancing through the air. “Have you been on duty all night, or -”

“No, not at all!” replied the receptionist, with a laugh. “We’re on shifts — we take it in turns — I did afternoon shift yesterday, then morning today. The other receptionist does the opposite.”

“Oh, right, ” replied Lucia. She flumped down in a soft, easy armchair next to a small coffee table and waited.

Sure enough, just after 7:30am, the station wagon pulled up outside. There was a heavy clang as the driver’s door open and shut and Duke appeared.

“That’s your ride, I think,” smiled the receptionist.

“I guess so,” said Lucia, one eyebrow raised. Well, it was kind of strange being taxied around by this elderly old guy and she wasn’t sure whether he was cramping her style, but she was grateful for the ride nonetheless. The fact was, she had no idea where she was or how far she had to go to get to the ship, all alone in a new country, with new language, new food, new people…