The Ambassador to Brazil. Peter Hornbostel
was little Carter liked less about his job than hosting visiting dignitaries. Like the governor of the state of Nebraska, who was, at that moment, regaling him about his own importance at the restaurant of the Ouro Verde Hotel. The hotel was on the Avenida Atlantica, near the opposite end of Copacabana Beach from the Bar Atlantico, but he could see its red neon sign flickering in the distance. Priscilla was in Sao Paulo presiding over the annual meeting of the Brazil-American Literary Society. Maybe this would be a good night to stop by the bar just for a nightcap after he got rid of the governor.
The dinner dragged on until midnight, and it wasn’t until 12:30 a.m. that Carter arrived at the bar. He found a seat near the back and ordered a caipirinha. It’s too late, he said to himself. By now she was sure to be in bed, with one of her johns, or without one.
“Welcome back, Mr. Ambassador,” Marina said from behind him. “I’ve missed you. Are you taking a little night air?”
He could feel his breathing speeding up already. “Hello Marina.” He tried to sound casual. “What a coincidence that we meet again.”
Marina walked around to the front of the table and sat down next to him. She wore a tight pair of low-waisted jeans, a wide leather belt, a navy blue low-cut blouse, and platform shoes. She was not wearing a brassiere, and he could see the shape of her breasts and her dark nipples through her blouse.
“Don’t stare, Tony,” she said. “It’s not polite.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s just that … well, you are very pretty.” His attempt at sounding casual totally failed. “How’s the factory?” he asked.
Marina ignored the question. “You’re not bad looking yourself,” she said. She ran her fingers through his hair. “Buy me a caipirinha?”
“Sure,” he said.
The waiter came over. “Another caipirinha,” Carter said. The waiter went away.
“Can I drink some of yours until mine comes?” she asked.
“Sure,” he said again. He watched her put his glass to her lips and take a small sip. A smudge of her scarlet lipstick stayed on the glass. She passed it back to him, the lipstick on his side.
“Thanks,” she said.
Carter took the next sip. The sweet taste of her lipstick blended in his mouth with the lemon-sour of the drink.
“Did you know it would taste like that?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “But it’s even better without the caipirinha.” She leaned over next to him, resting her hand gently on his thigh. He could see down her blouse. “Want a taste?” she asked, her hand moving up his thigh.
Carter moved her hand away. “No,” he meant to say. But his lips were now covered by hers, and her tongue was moving into his mouth.
Marina drew her lips away. “Let’s go,” she said.
One kiss, Carter thought, and he had already gotten hard. His heart was racing. “Alright,” he stammered.
He paid the bill and the two of them strolled along the beach toward Rua Siqueira Campos. It was after 1 a.m. and the traffic on the Avenue had died away. The waves crashing ashore left little pools and streams in the sand. Suddenly Marina scooped off her platform sandals and raced out toward the water.
“Come on,” she shouted to him. He struggled to take off his wing tips and black socks, then followed her down to the water’s edge. The water washed warm over his toes. Then her feet were between his, and her breasts were pressed up against his chest. Another wave came ashore and soaked them both to their knees.
Marina pulled her body away from his and unbuttoned her blouse.
“Last time I kissed you. Now it’s your turn,” she said.
God, he thought, maybe she’s a streetwalker, but she’s walking with me. He put his arms around her and pulled her toward him. He could feel her arms moving up around his neck. He kissed her, long and hard.
“Let’s go to my house,” Marina said, when he finally pulled away. “Maybe we’ll play house … or maybe school. Maybe you can learn a thing or two.”
School was fantastic, like nothing he had ever done before. Marina taught him things Priscilla would not even dream of doing. She actually got him to come three times, twice in her vagina, once between her lips, each time better than the last. Finally, near five in the morning, Marina looked at him all over and gave his penis a French kiss. “School’s over.” She said. “You’re a good student. You get an A.”
“That was amazing,” Carter said.
He reached for his trousers and took out a $100 bill. “That’s not tuition,” he said. “It’s an investment in the factory.”
Marina smiled. “You’re a sweet man,” she said.
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