aperitif

        They found her seated in the back yard. Shaded by an ancient avocado tree and listening to a transistor radio. The station played Cugat and Desi Arnez oldies. She often said she wished the station could find something by Jose Melis. Today she wore a red polka dot shirt tied calypso-fashion in front. And a pair of rose-pink Bermuda shorts. The attire heightened the silkiness of her Caribbean skin. Her casual decolletage set the stage for the drama to come.
        She was sipping a rum-and-coke with a twist of lemon. Tomas found it odd that she was observing happy hour.
        They sat on the grass beside her lawn chair. 
        "Mami," Tomas said. "This is my new friend. Kit Pico. We share a philosophy class. Ethics, with Professor Egner. Kit can deliniate Kant and Spinoza in the clearest terms."
        "Howdy, Ma'am." There was a mischievous crinkle at the corner of each eye.
        Teresa perspired grievously. The mild autumn breeze came as a blessing. She raised her slim arms and clasped he back of her head, cradling her thoughts. Thoughts of her estranged husband somewhere in Cuba. Thoughts of the Russian missles and the American blockade. As her armpits cooled she arched her spine, releasing a megaton of tension. She felt the eyes of the young stranger play a strange magic.
        "Would you care to stay for dinner, Mister Pico?"
        "I'd love to. Please call me Kit."


                                                                                       *


        Before preparing the meal Teresa refreshed herself with a sponge bath and a dusting of rose-scented talc. Then she selected a lapis-lazuli caftan with a hint of Byzantium. Without undergarments she felt outrageous!
        Tomas and Kit were seated on the livingroom sofa and watching Huntley and Brinkley.
        When she entered like Loretta Young at the opening of her TV show,  Kit whispered to Tomas, "Wow--"


                                                                                       *


        "May I offer you gentlemen a touch of wine?"
        Tomas' eyes bugged out. "Que pasa, Mami?"
        She exhaled cigarette smoke with a knowing smile. "Oh don't act so shocked.  I know from Father Ambrose that you were caught sampling his altar wine."
        "Si--"
        Dinner was Portobello mushroom with penne pasta, garlic and grated parmesan. A meatless repast, devoured heartily.
        Teresa's choice of red wine was a hit.


                                                                                       *


        The house rule of turning off the TV during table meals was rescinded. They watched footage of Adlai Stevenson tell the Cuban envoy that he was prepared to wait until hell freezes over for an answer.
        "So, Senor Kit. What is your take on Fidel Castro's Revolution?"
        "Ma'am, it's a matter of faith. The true believer surrenders his or her individuality to a higher power, be it God or the Common Good. With religious fervor, I might add. Instead of the Second Coming of Christ, in this case the awaited event is the Coming of the Ideal State."
        "How glib you are."
        "Well, Ma'am, I know something of utopian thinking. My Granddaddy was an idealist, a progressive for his day. He celebrated May Day at the Llano del Rio Cooperative colony back in 1914."
        "You are speaking of California."
        "Yes. Granddaddy was mighty fond of Jack London and Upton Sinclair. Call him a Red if you want to. But never a Bolshevik. The cooperative was working to create a socialist paradise in the desert. Unfortunately it went the way of most of our homegrown utopias. Rot at the top."