MIAMI BEACH

Ah... Miami Beach! The principal destination of the tourists from the North who are looking for the pleasant climate of its golden beaches. It is safe to say that Miami Beach was created from nothing.  Before the 1900's, two thirds of what it is today a fascinating metropolis, were only mangroves and almost all the little islands disappeared with the tide.  Big canals were then made through intensive drainage and the sand from these canals were utilized to raise the level of the land.  Soon they started building houses, roads and bridges to the main land.  The fame about the place where "the sun shines 360 days a year" reached the rest of the nation and the immigration from the cold areas was fast and contagious.

In 1960, when I arrived at the Florida shores, Miami Beach was still a quiet, unimpressive town, full of old Jewish people.  You couldn't see anybody after ten o'clock at night.  Today, at three in the morning there are still cars full of young people arriving to enjoy the innumerable amount of restaurants and night clubs.
Working as a bus boy at the Deauville hotel, I finally could save enough money to buy my first small car, a 52' Ford that couldn't run faster than 50 miles an hour.
One day, returning from my job, I was driving through Collins Avenue and when I stopped at the red light I noticed that next to me was a brand-new red Cadillac convertible and I couldn't control my jaw drooping with envy.  When I looked at the driver, then my jaw hit the floor.  The Cadillac was driven by a gorgeous blonde with an angelic face; really the most beautiful woman I had seen in mny life.  I suspected, immediately, that it was probably a movie star or a famous singer that was staying at the Fontainebleau.
I noticed that the light had changed when the Cadillac sped from the corner and I stayed there static, watching the long dazzling blonde hair waving in the air like a magic flame.  I was in shock!
I stepped on the gas pedal of my little Ford, who forgot his limitations, and sped in pursuit of the irresistible mirage.
When it reached the next light it had turned green and the Cadillac took advantage again; but my Ford had gathered momentum and soon reached the red colossus.  The blonde model turned instinctively toward me and I could have sworn that she had smiled a little.  We reached the next light side by side.
Now the most incredible thing happened.  The stunning model looked straight at me and gave me a coquettish smile and then said "My name is Jill, what's yours?"  In spite that my name is very short, I stuttered it in three syllables, which made her flash another wide, happy smile.
We kept driving slowly and close to each other and, before the next light, the Cadillac and the Ford seemed like old friends.  She stretched to the right side of her car and offered me a little card, which I promptly grabbed.  "Call me when you have time..." she told me.  She also gave me some instructions in that strange language that was so difficult for me at that time and I didn't understand a bit...but I answered "yes" to each question.
I called her early next morning and a very sleepy voice answered.  I was ready to hang up when she said "Eres tú, Jay?"  She spoke Spanish!  With just two words in my own tongue, the blonde monument was automatically elevated to a pedestal!
We agreed that I was going to pick her up at her house in Coral Gables at eight o'clock and then we would decide where to go.  That was a very long day for me and the waiting seem interminable, perhaps because of the intense heat of Miami.
I took a bath, shaved and put talc and perfume all over my body, just in case.  And, also just in case, I took with me a couple of Trojan parachutes.
I rang the bell and a humongous, ugly, hairy man, without a shirt, opened the door.  His voice sounded like a derailed thunder, and he used it to ask what the heck I wanted.  I didn't know if I should tell him that I had the wrong address or if I should start running.  Then I heard Jill's voice: "It's for me, daddy."
I started to breathe again and my face recuperated its normal color, which was red like a tomato.  What happened next make me blush again.  Luckily, the porch was dark and nobody could notice it.
Jill came out of her room and reached the door...sitting on a wheel chair!  Before I could mutter any silly expression, Thundervoice  shouted again: "If you're going to take my little girl out, I want her back before ten...And take very good care of her, because she's my only treasure."
What else could I do but to push the wheel chair to my car and put it in the trunk?  I helped Jill to the front seat.
I must confess that my sexual impetus suffered an abrupt slide and the illusion that I had been fomenting all day long was instantly torn apart.   But I was, at that time in my life, a decent boy and was not going to insult her with a snubbing rejection.  She had, after all, too many problems already.
She started to talk about her miserable life, because her mother had abandoned her after birth but, luckily, her father was like a saint to her.  She didn't mention, however, her physical condition.  Hypnotized by her very romantic smile I also gave that predicament little importance.
She asked me to take her to the beach, but not to Miami Beach but to a another secluded one called Matheson-Hammock.  When we arrived, the place was desolated.  Then she begged me to carry her to one of the trees there, that was a few feet inside the water.  With a lot of effort I could deposit her lovely body on top of a thick branch.  The sky was densely freckled with stars and the full moon was trying to peek behind a curtain of clouds, like a nosy gossiper.
Then Jill startled me with the biggest surprise: "I want you to make love to me now."  "Let's lay down on the sand," I suggested.  "No," she sort of ordered, "it has to be here."
When we finished, we sat down on my car and she lit a cigarette and, like an explanation, she made an impressive observation. "I have to do it where "normal" women won't."
We talked for a while about Cuba, Miami Beach and other inconsequential things.  About everything except her physical problem.  After all, that had not prevented her to act like a very passionate woman.  When she finished the third cigarette, she looked at her watch and exclaimed: "Oh, mother!  It´s eleven thirty!"
"¿Your mother?," I thought, "what I'm afraid of is your father!"
We returned to her house in silence, so not to awake the ogre.  But that was not my lucky day.  The gargantuan beast opened the door and stayed there staring at me, but didn't say a word.  Like waiting to hear my excuse before dropping his bulky hands on my head.
But I couldn't talk.  My mind was occupied revising all the events of my short life up to that moment.  His words put my feet back on the ground. "Thanks for bringing her back," he said in an inconceivable tender voice, "last time I had to go myself and lift her from the branch!"

This is a translated article from my book PARA MATAR EL TIEMPO.  To inquire about my books, contact me at alvarcorp@msn.com. Thanks.