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When they reached Bridgetown, it was absolutely sweltering. They climbed into a cab and gave the driver the address. ***** They unloaded their bags at her empty, cool flat. Phoebe changed into a sundress and Chris exchanged his grimy shirt for a fresh one. They went downtown for something to eat. No meat, because they were both vegetarians. They settled for some salads and then ice cream. They walked around, refreshed and invigorated. Phoebe’s flat was located in a better part of the capital, where there were no real rich people but more artists and nice local families. The sun beat on them, but they were draining the Costa Rican humidity from their bones and didn’t care. When dusk began to fall, they went back to the dim apartment and sat on the porch, where there was a straw mat, quietly talking. In the flat below them, they could hear the strains of a guitar, which began to play a strange, romantic melody that sounded familiar but not quite there. Chris slipped his arm around. " She stood so I did too and she stepped over to me. She held the towel with her left hand and reached her right up behind my head, pulling me down and giving me a soft kiss. "Thank you, I don't want to be alone either. And Bill said it was okay." Then she went back in the bathroom. Five minutes and she was put together and said, "I'll go change and call you. Fifteen minutes, max." And she left. I brushed my teeth and washed up, getting out a dress Gordon kilt and put it on. Eleven minutes after she left she called me. She liked the kilt. I wore the gillie shirt, socks with tabs and sgian dubh, a small knife worn in the hose. A tasseled sporran and a diced Glengarry too. She hooked her arm in mine and walked next to me like she was proud. I tried to strut a little but just walked and enjoyed the feel of her arm and an occasional hip brush. Her breast now and again too. Once I looked down at her after a nice push with her right breast and she was grinning up at me then pulled my arm.
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