Flamenco Serenade

Flamenco Serenade

Jane had always longed to see Barcelona, the architecture fascinated
her, an amazing city
with so many cultural divides and mergings. The business sector with
it's grid work of
identical streets, precision built, in geometric, angular lines, tall
ram rod straight buildings.
So many roads all secting and intersecting upon each other. Then in
complete contrast the
tourist sector, with street cafe's and restaurants, pavement artists,
and portrait pencilers.
So many gift shops each vying with the next for the brighter display
with which to lure the
holiday makers in to spending their money. The Harbor with it's
beautiful luxury yaughts,
and oil tankers living harmoniously in the calm waters, tall, rickety
cable car running over
head. Then there's the castle built high above the city, way up on the
hill, overlooking
Barcelona with a guardians air. The focal point of Barcelona, a
beautiful circular center
piece to the city, As large as a football pitch inlaid with marble, and
with a constant lining
of recumbent hippie students working in the blazing sun, as the pigeons
swoop down to
beg what food the tourists throw. Two beautiful, be-cherubed water
fountains lining the
steps leading up to the marble circle. This city had been everything
she had hoped of it,
and now nearing the end of the wonderful holiday, she was
exhausted.

Jane was awoken from her siesta, by the light strains of soft guitar
music, that floated in
through the window, riding on the back, of the scent of bougainvillea.
She lay for a second
and listened to the beautiful music, and then a rich, sensual tenor
voice joined it, singing of
"amour" in Spanish.

The voice, and the song, had a hypnotic effect on her, as she rose from
her bed, fastening
a sarong quickly around herself and walked barefoot over the cool
marble of the floor to
the french windows, where the sounds were pouring in from the street
below. She felt
drawn by the melody of love. Jane moved through the window onto the
balcony, the heat
and the smells of wonderful Barcelona, rushed forward to greet her when
she leant over
the railing to look down upon the scene below.

The city was just beginning to wake, after the quiet lull of the
siesta hours. The street
below was cobbled, away from both the business and the tourist sector
of the city, it was a
quaint little piece of Spain, close enough to the harbour to be able to
smell the sea. Yet far
enough away to avoid the bustle. The vendors were reassembling, to sell
their wares, the
smell of street food, and flowers tantalizing the senses with just the
right blend, of the
aroma of beauty and the aroma of sustenance.

Jane looked down in to the upturned face of the singer. The man was no
more than
twenty five or six, half her age. He had the rich, dark skin of the
Mediterranean, a wild and
unruly shock of jet black hair, not yet touched by the tintage of time,
and the grey eyes of
an angel, cast from heaven, for habouring impure thoughts. Oh how those
eyes told of the
passion the man kept tethered to the walls of his heart by a thick,
strong rope. Jane was
transfixed by the power within his eyes. They were the most beautiful,
she had ever seen,
full of laughter, and kindness and of course love.

He had such a sense of power about him, an aura of knowing what he
wanted and
exactly how to get it, Jane felt weakened by the immense being of the
much younger man.
The vendors had stopped their activities to watch the "Fool of a boy"
shouting his love for
all to hear, but their eyes were kindly, as each of the men remembered
the times when they
too in, typical Spanish tradition, sang of their feelings, to lure the
woman of their dreams,
and each of the women remembered that special feeling of being wooed so
publicly. How
the Spanish love to love.

The man drew the music out of the guitar with the tender and practiced
hands of a lover.
The wood and string melted to his will, the acoustics rich and
melodious resonating from
the instrument, as his fingers flew lightly along the frets, teasing
the Music gently from the
guitar with a seemingly effortless grace. Jane was mesmerized by this
tall, dark force of
nature, In his immaculately pressed black, pants, and maroon silk
shirt. She wondered
what it would be like to be loved by such a man.

She had first seen him the day before when she had gone to, a secluded
little harbor
restaurant for lunch. He had breezed in like a wave of static. He was a
man who was used
to being noticed. At first, as Jane watched him from the corner table
of the room, she had
thought him conceited and egotistical, but as she had watched his
pleasant way with
people, and the way his smile reached all the way up to his eyes as he
spoke, she came to
the conclusion that he was a man of confidence, who was happy and at
peace with who
and what he was. Only he knew weather his ambitions and aspirations
would one day take
him away from being a waiter in a harbourside restaurant, She rather
suspected this man
had much to achieve, but for the time being he had seemed happy in his
work and did it
well.

At that moment the door to the hotel room was thrown open, and Steve
came into the
room with a rose between his teeth and a tray, with two Margaritas on
it. He was wearing
those awful day glo orange shorts, and the flip flops that made him
walk like a duck. His
middle age spread, had done just that, right over the front of his
shorts, as his rather over
stretched vest T-shirt, strained to keep his tummy from spilling out of
the bottom. His
Grey peppered hair looked rather greasy at the edges, because of all
the sun tan lotion he
had smothered over himself from head to toe. This was a rather belated
gesture, because
at the start of the holiday he had flatly refused to use any, saying
that it was for "Girlies".
He had subsequently spent two days, flat on his back and unable to bend
any part of his
body, as he lay morose on the bed, whimpering for sympathy, and looking
as well cooked
though perhaps not as appetizing, as a choice lobster. After twenty two
years of marriage
Steve didn't much resemble the man she had married all those years ago,
but he had been a
good husband and father to their three kids, she was a lucky woman, who
was still very
much in love with her husband, for all his odd little ways. She could
even forgive him for
murdering "Love me tender" at the Kareoke the previous evening, though
wether the rest
of the audience would be so kind, is quite another matter.

He walked through to the balcony, placed the tray on the table, and
presented the rose to
Jane with a flourish, "For you, sen-your-a, may you always be as happy
as you look, at
this moment with the beautiful Barcelona as your backdrop"
Jane smiled lovingly at the big lummox "Come on over here love and look
at this" As
Steve walked over their arms so naturally entwined as they had done
every single day for
the last twenty two years, and she leant her head on her husbands
shoulder as they stood
to look at the young man serenading his sweetheart.

The man looked up at them as he finished his song. "Aaahh bella Senora,
and Senor,
Please be witness to my love, for this beautiful Senorita, who I hope
will one day be my
wife, pour favor."

The young girl looked radiant, and her eyes shone with love,as she
gazed at her man. She
wore a white crinkly cotton, simple, long line dress, which
complimented her dark skin,
and her hair was long, and black with soft curls, that framed her pixie
face beautifully.
They made a handsome pair.

Jane and Steve picked up their glasses and raised them in salute to
the young couple so
much in love, and wished them all the happiness that they themselves
had had. Jane
thought that if the girl got half the man that she had, then she was
indeed a very lucky
young Lady.