Back to The seventy-five year old virgin.

                                               

pg. 4

Later on, he became the perfect host. Served coffee and muffins which filled the room with their delicious aroma. Alba also noticed how comfortable the place was. And how the bathroom was spotless and smelled of, cinnamon? Well, most pleasant. They talked. He took the lead putting her at ease. He told her about his business, real state. The work? She didn’t have to concern herself about it. And he made a gesture with his hand to indicate that it was of no importance. He took her to lunch. The  street, filled her senses with contrasting colors, noise, people, smells agitated by the gentle breeze blowing from the Pacific. Blue skies. Sunshine.  The kind of day that movies are made of so the world will think, Oh yes, San Francisco, always sunny in California. What a  contrast with the quiet little island they had been in all morning.   In the afternoon he initiated their love making again. Let’s climaxed together, he whispered. They didn’t. But, no matter, it was good. No, better than the morning. They fell asleep in each other’s arms. At five o’clock, they were ready to leave, smiling he handed her an envelope.

She opened it at home. It contained the full day’s pay.

Alba’s friends were delighted, a small part-time, and the room rented! Encouraged, decided to set up job interviews for her. She met several interesting persons. Men. They praised her being fluent in English and Spanish. But when they found out the salary she expected, they had only promises, If this or that position opens. We will keep you in mind. Meantime the balance in her savings account was dwindling. However she did get invited to lunch, dinner and parties. So it was at a loud, colorful house party that she heard a long ago known voice whisper in her ear, Alba, how are you?

She turned ‘round to face him. Oscar!

Can I get you a drink?

A Coke, no ice, she smiled.

They sat and talked. Well, Oscar said, the girl I brought here tonight

pg. 5

works as interpreter-translator….

But that doesn’t pay any…

He interrupted. It pays very well, minimum twenty five an hour.

Her eyes got big in delighted surprise.

I’ll introduce you. She owes me a couple of favors.  She’ll help you. Talk to her. Ask her how to get into that field. Now let’s dance. And at the sound of a cumbria, they joined the others in the middle of the room.

MONDAY, ALBA AND Renne, met in San Francisco for lunch. Renee was a delightful woman, very much in love with Oscar and eager to help Alba. Don’t forget your resume, were Renee’s last words as they embraced good bye.

Renee introduced her to the manager of the Costas Institute in San Francisco that had among many services, an interpreter-translators department.

The manager, Ina, perhaps mid thirties. Probably British, assumed Alba. Long blonde hair. In each of her arms wore at least twenty bracelets, of different materials and colors. Does she take them off? When she makes love? To sleep at night? When she showers, bathe? Does she leave them on?  Alba stared, smiling.

Ina caught her look. Amused. Anticipating the question, suddenly spoke to Alba in Spanish, No. Nunca me los saco!!

Alba, blurted out, You are Peruvian!

Yes. Miraflores. We can always tell, ha? The accent gives us away, smiled Ina, Yeah of British parents. I grew up with English and Spanish, like you.

Can there b any more …….? Both r Peruvians…..Miraflores? Is there a deeper meaning here.  & the bracelets………….We r about  2 find……….