"Then I'd like to go to that little club Jake and Linda were telling us about. I think it's just what I'm looking for."
"You do, eh? Okay, baby, we'll do it!"
They, had dinner in an expensive Spanish restaurant with an authentic old-country atmosphere. They ate paella and drank lots of good Spanish red. Both were tipsy and excited by the time they left the restaurant.
Their cab driver raised his eyebrows knowingly when they gave him the address of the club they wanted to go to.
"You know it?" Tom asked.
"Yes, sir. I know it. I think you will find it very interesting."
Tom had to give the doorman a twenty-dollar tip before they could get in the front door. Then they were led to a semi-enclosed booth at the edge of a dance floor. The central area was surrounded by such booths, just dark enough that it was impossible to make out the features of any of the other clients.
Tom ordered a bottle of champagne. "When does the floor show start?" he asked the pretty waitress.
"In a few minutes, sir."
"You like the looks of our waitress, eh, Casanova?" Heather asked when the girl had left.
"She's a dish! Jeez, Heather, I'm sure glad I talked you out of that job of yours. I don't mind your fucking around, but I like to be there when you're doing it. You're too damned good-looking to be serving a bunch of horny bastards like me."
Heather giggled. "Darling, you're funny. Let's have a toast. To a long and captivating sex life!"
They clinked glasses and entwined arms to drink. "Gee, I feel like a new bride, darling. I'm so glad to be with you."
"Me, too, honey!"
Suddenly the lights died, and a spotlight appeared in the center of the dance floor. A young woman in a simple red dress ran into the center of the stage. She was barefoot. She moved with the grace of a fleeing antelope. She began to dance a wild, suggestive dance that told of anguish and fear and flight.
"Why, Tom, do you recognize her?" Heather whispered. "It's the Cuban girl from the hotel. My God, she really is beautiful. She's a good dancer, too."
"Mmm-hmm."
Heather looked at her husband. She could catch only a faint glimpse of his silhouette in the light of the small candle on their table. He was watching the girl attentively, leaning forward for a closer look.
Hether's attention was arrested by a loud cracking sound. She looked at the stage. A tall handsome man carrying a whip strode into the spotlight, followed by two strong men, obviously his servants. They wore the costumes of buccaneers. The servants grabbed hold of the girl, who was cowering on the floor. They pulled her, protesting, to her feet.