The Flamenco Dancer and the Biker

'Scoring with the girls is nothing. I'm tired of these girls who put out. I want someone with a little class, a little mystery, a mystique. A little self-respect. I'd like a Spanish girl, someone like Norma, who grew up chaperoned. I'd follow a woman like that to the ends of the earth.'

Brian laughed and shook his head. 'Almgren, the romantic! A woman like Norma would give you your walking papers the minute you looked at another woman....Note, I didn't say do anything; I said looked. You wouldn't last very long.'

Eric measured his words: 'I'd last a lifetime.'

'You're serious?' Disbelief appeared on Brian's face. Then, 'You are!' Then he thought for a moment. 'Maybe I shouldn't say this, but there is such a girl on this campus. She's taken, but maybe, just maybe, you can win her. The odds are against it.'

'She can't be much if she goes for anyone at State.'

'She's a Spanish flamenco dancer. She's the girl of a matador. I don't know what she's doing at State unless she's been scared by stories of crime in American cities and so she decided it's safer in the boon docks. But I don't think Elena is scared of anything.'

'Elena? '

'Yes, Elena. She got to know Norma, and she comes here to talk Spanish, eat Spanish, sometimes. Both Norma and Elena miss Spain.'

Eric's mind was on matador. The word meant a killer. 'A real matador? The ones with balls? The ones that face charging bulls? The killers of bulls? '

'A real matador. From Madrid. If you were in Spain and you made a move on Elena, he'd cut your balls off and hang them with the ears and tails he collects. He's not only good at what he does, but he's good-looking. Elena carries his picture in her wallet.'

Eric felt the blood rushing to his temples. He put his hand up to touch his forehead. With an effort he calmed himself. 'I'd like to keep my balls. On the other hand, I won't need a cod piece, and I can sing soprano. What's Elena's last name? Where can I see her? I'd like to get a look at her, and if she's what I fancy, matador or no matador, I'll go after her.'

'Her name's Elena Diaz. That's what she says it is. With all the illegal aliens in this country, you can't take anything at face value. She's here to learn English, or so she says. There's something mysterious, something fishy about her. She's crazier than you are, Eric. More romantic. You ought to hear her recite Spanish poetry. She's all green eyes. All passion.

'Where can I see her? When?'

'Right here in this living room, the next time she visits. If she visits, before she goes back to Spain.' A worried look came over Brian's patrician face. ' You can't make her, Eric. You don't have a chance. Even if you infatuate her with your good-looks, she won't come near you. She's a one-man woman. She has a man. For her, one man is enough for a lifetime.'

'Is she good-looking? '

'She's a beauty of the first rank.'

'What does that mean? '

'She's beautiful. They don't come any more beautiful.'

'Is she built? 'Eric wasn't worried about bull fighters. She was here and he was here. Absence made most women's hearts grow fonder for someone else. It had happened to him with Lillian. They belonged to each other body and soul before Vietnam. After Vietnam, he was Uncle Eric to Lillian's toddler. He couldn't blame her.

'She's built. As I said, she's a flamenco dancer. A castanet-clicking, shoulder-twisting, foot-stamping flamenco dancer.' Now Brian was glorying in his knowing Elena.

'How come you didn't go after her? Did she put you down? '

'No point to it. She didn't give me any signals. Besides she's a dominadora just like Norma. I have had a lifetime of it. No, thank you.'

(144 pages)