Nick surveyed his company. Every forehead around the table had beads of sweat. He couldn't help but notice that Miss Satcha was, without doubt, the most uncomfortable and he felt a measure of pity for the young woman. As she was making her notes, her hand, damp with perspiration, would stick to the pad of paper. She often brushed the curls at her temples, crossed and uncrossed her legs, and wriggled and fidgeted in her seat. Nick perceived that her stockings were certainly clinging irritably to her legs. Oppressive mid-day heat and humidity is something that a person either grows accustomed to or suffers through it.
A not-to-distant conversation brought a provocative paradox to mind. The previous year while in the Dominican Republic, he was sharing cigarettes, rum and stories with an attractive, intriguing local contact inside a sleazy Santo Domingo hotel bar. Under the table, he stealthily put a hand on her thigh. As if she expected his touch, she calmly told him, "I'm bare underneath. Only whores and American tourists wear panties and nylons in this heat". The dilemma was that Satcha was neither American nor a tourist. Nick clearly remembered that General Knudsen had introduced Satcha to him as a Panamanian.
¤¤ copyrighted material¤¤
YOU ARE READING
Sangria Sunsets
Historical Fiction"Sangria Sunsets" is historical fiction that follows the lives of six main characters from 1937 through 1955. Within the pages, the reader will find mystery, romance and suspense directly linked to events in South and Central America and the Caribbe...
