Short Story: Cuban Heels

Part One

Creative Commons –

It was now my first whole day on my holiday and I was in the holiday mood. Totally relaxed, knowing my days were totally mine, to do with as I chose over the next month.

The hotel itself was beautiful. I was very happy with my choice, given, I had done the minimum amount of research.  It was simple location, cost and a vague recollection I had, of a conversation I had with a past client.  Thinking,  “hmmm one day I must go myself.”

It had a grand entrance, which was spacious with a beautifully marbled floor throughout its reception area and corridors. There were two ornately designed staircases, one on the left, the other on the right, that swanned upwards to the upper floor. The ceiling was a high dome, with swarovski crystal chandeliers hanging strategically from it, in order to give the best lighting in the evening to all who entered or were fortunate to be its guest.

My room was stunning. With a view to die for.  It had a small balcony that faced the sea, that reflected the most amazing shades of blue, that at times seemed a cobalt blue, and another time almost teal, trimmed by the finest white sand along its beaches. If the sunrise was anything to go by, I think seeing the sunset from this vantage point is a must, at least for one evening.

The air conditioning meant the hotel was always cool. Which was most appreciated, for outside it was already 28 degrees and it was only a little after 9 am.

I decided to explore the hotel for a bit and find out what trips and excursions there were to choose from. Not that I was in any rush, but I just like to plan.  I walked along one of its many corridors, which had been immaculately decorated with stunning mirrors, colourful flowers and the odd vase, statue, or abstract oil painting perfectly placed.  Offering great locations for souvenir photos to be taken capturing the memories of its visitors.

After speaking to the hotel concierge,  I picked up a few brochures and made my way to one of their comfy seating areas in order to have a coffee and think through my plans for the week. My sister had said earlier she would meet me there at some point.

Ally, was my only sibling, five years my junior. We got on well together now we were adults.  But she was a pain in the ass when I was around eleven and she was an inquisitive six-year-old. There was nothing sacred then. She touched everything and moved everything. But now we were a lot older and wiser, and those days are remembered with laughter to the point of tears now.  We now have no problems sharing a room together and have learnt to respect each others space and preferences.

We are both pretty fussy, and we laugh about things we know we could never do. Like backpacking or going camping. We simply liked our luxuries too much, and for us the whole point and purpose for a holiday was about being pampered and the events that you just couldn’t do on a daily basis at home. Backpacking and camping simply didn’t cut it.

As I walked along the corridor or hallway, I became aware of the sound of the sharp heels on marble. I knew it wasn’t me because I had donned a pair of my favourite black Ted Baker flip-flops, which I totally loved.   As I followed the sound, my eyes beheld the back of a very tall and jealously slim female who had joined the hallway slightly ahead of me. Her steps were strong, and precise. Like a models or dancers. Her stiletto black heels must have been at least  six inches and I could see she knew how to walk in them. Placing her heel down first and each step firmly crossed as it was placed one in front of the other, and she simply oozed femininity and confidence. She sported an untamed afro, that bounced softly above her shoulders and she wore a light floaty dark blue dress with a slim silver chained belt around her tiny waist. I would say she was a size ten at most. The dress swayed teasingly with every step around her thighs, due to the gentle role of her hips as she walked. There was an understood protocol for how women dressed in this hotel and her rebellious style said “I am women here me roar!” Ha, I so admired her for that.

I would later get to know this fem fatal quite well eventually. Her name was Evalise Monero? And she was a singer from Cuba. This was her first big venture and she was here for around six months. Her wonderful afro and molato skin added to her uniqueness, as there were very few people of colour here.

Everyone knew her or recognised her for this reason. Heads always turned when she entered a room or as she moved through the reception area.  She loved the interaction of people  and she knew how to play with the interests of men. She laughed , and smiled. She would lean in during conversations, always in control.

She sang in both English and Spanish. There was a warm huskiness to her voice, making her easy to listen to. Evalise sang a wide range of music.  From the contemporary soulful ballads to traditional and less recognised Cuban songs with a bit of jazz thrown into the mix. All beautifully accompanied on the piano which she played very well.

She turned gently to the right, as she continued to walk making her way to the restaurant area. I continued as planned and found a sumptuous chair to sink in myself, in order to order my coffee and read through the brochures I had just picked-up.

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