Chapter 3: Charity Tennis and Clubbing

I SHOWED UP for the charity tennis tournament right on time. Every seat was filled, but with Alejandra’s invitation I was in one of the VIP boxes high in the stands. Groundskeepers were finishing their grooming of the scuffed red clay as I found the party.

“Michael!”

Alejandra waved when I entered a “box” the size of my apartment living room, and rose to greet me with a hug and kisses on both cheeks. I held her at arms length afterwards and looked her up and down.

“You look fantastic, Alex.”

She smiled.

“Thank you, Michael. Let me introduce you to the others.”

The assembled group included their opponents, but except for Alejandra’s doubles partner Aída, a stunner in her own right, I didn’t remember the others.

“How’d you all meet?”

Aída laughed.

“We’ve known each other since grade school. We’ve played against each other ever since we started playing tennis seriously.”

“And we’ve beaten you two every year,” said the dark-haired member of the opposing team.

“Nonsense,” replied Alejandra. “You didn’t beat us. We let you win.”

The second member of the opposition snickered.

“If you say so, sweetie. Watch what happens this afternoon.”

It was great tennis even if it was exhausting. It was a single set, not a full match, thank god, or we’d have been there all night. As it was, they slugged it out to an 8-6 victory by Aída and Alejandra.

“You were great, Alex.”

I could smell her sweat. A little bit of perfume lingered, I think. She was busily wiping her face and neck with a towel, but sweat soaked her top and her chest. She radiated heat and her skin was hot to my fingers.

She managed a smile.

“I’m dead.” She gestured to Aída beside her. “Anyway, Aída did most of the work. Did you see her serves?”

I turned to Aída. She matched Alejandra sweat drop for sweat drop. I didn’t let that stop me from hugging her gently and kissing the side of her cheek and inhaling her sweat and hot skin.

Aída shrugged. “It was a joint effort.”

At that point the other two joined us, making it a foursome of sweat.

“You guys going out afterwards?” asked the dark-haired opponent.

“Yeah, you?” answered Aída.

“Not this time. We need to go to her house,” pointing at her partner. “Her mother has something planned for us, win or lose.”

It dawned on me their opponents were more than a tennis team. Without making a public display of it, they were partners in other parts of their lives. I wondered if Aída or Alejandra knew. They probably did. I said earlier this society put a premium on discretion, but like other societies in other places, everyone in the social circle seemed to know a lot about each other, and gossip was as prized here as it is anywhere else.

I looked at Alejandra and telegraphed my question. She nodded ever-so-slightly. Not slightly enough to escape the notice of the brunette opponent, who was apparently the spokeswoman for her team.

“Yeah, Michael.” Her look asked as clearly as it could if I had a problem with that.

“Congratulations.” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Besides, it was easy to say because I meant it. At my response she softened.

“Thanks,” she said. Her partner remained silent, but she smiled.

“OK, guys, showers then we,” Alejandra pointed at Aída and me, “have plans.”

Probably a half-hour or maybe forty-five minutes later four clean and shining tennis players emerged from the women’s wing of the club. After the four hugged and kissed their good-byes, Alejandra walked up to me and hugged me again and kissed me, this time on the lips. Aída was right behind her, and to my surprise Aída kissed me on the lips as well. She released me but took my hand and headed for the car park.

Carlos, Monsieur M’s personal driver, was waiting for us. The first place we went was Secrets. To judge by the screened booths along one side of the main room facing the stage, the name was apt. However, the only actual secret seemed to be the menu, since Alejandra stayed behind after we were seated to consult with the headwaiter. My puzzlement was obvious, and Aída laughed and took my hand in hers.

“Don’t worry, Michael. You’ll like what she chooses, believe me.”

“Isn’t there a menu?”

“Of course there is,” Aída squeezed my hand, “but we never bother with it because M. David, the headwaiter, always knows what’s the best thing on the menu and he’s never steered us wrong. He and Chef Mario are a great team.”

At about that time the Alejandra slid into the booth opposite us and pulled the curtain closed behind her. She had a big smile.

“You’re going to love it.”

It turned out Alejandra was right. The capital was mad for seafood, I already said that, and Chef Mario turned out perfectly grilled red snapper accompanied by crisp French fries and an excellent salad. It was hearty enough to set us up for the evening, which if I was reading the girls’ intentions correctly had barely begun. We put away two bottles of wine with dinner. Driving would have been problematic, except that we had Carlos waiting for us outside.

I wondered exactly what Alejandra’s plan was. What I mean is, she seemed to be offering me to Aída, at least to share, and Aída seemed to be amenable to that. I don’t have a swelled head, I really don’t, and my instincts are pretty well honed especially as regards the visa issue.

I mean, I’m not a bad-looking guy, and I’m reasonably pleasant to be around. I listen, and I’m very cognizant of what a girl I dated a long time ago said when she pointed out how sexy it is to have a man listen instead of talk. Besides, I like women. I like the locker room and talk among guys, too, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t hide there or in a titty bar.

At the end of the meal Alejandra exchanged a look with Aída. Getting a nod, apparently, Alejandra announced our next stop: the Zero Zero, a combination bar and music hall. I found out what the Zero Zero name meant when we got there. Styled as an ice floe of some sort, there were holes in the “ice” where we could sit uncomfortably and be served. I’m not sure, in the end, how anyone was really going to get amorous there given that they’d kept the temperature somewhere in the mid-60s. If you were a woman lightly dressed for a summer evening this was not going to be a terribly pleasant experience.

That’s why the girls had brought wraps. There were a couple of bad musical acts and after only a single drink we took off. Carlos was waiting outside with the vehicle.

“Where to, Mlle Alejandra?”

Alejandra and Aída consulted in whispers.