Revenge of the Black Virgin (8 page)

There was no question that she would travel
with Luc from now on. She didn’t care where he was going—she didn’t
even ask. She just climbed onto the back of his bike and let him
take her wherever he wanted to go.

As far as Luc was concerned, it didn’t make
much difference to him whether or not he had a traveling companion.
Or where they went. It was an adventure, the diversion he so badly
needed. She traveled light, and she was hot.

She was also surprisingly easy to be with.
She never talked about anything serious, she didn’t drink, and she
was completely uninhibited about all things sexual. As a bonus, she
seemed to have limitless amounts of money.

Chapter Eight

After their first breakfast in Ronda, Jo,
Brenda and Danny piled into the car—Jo taking the back seat this
time—to follow the winding
Ruta de Los Pueblos Blanchos.
Their destination for the day was the second largest of the Hill
towns,
Arcos de la Frontera
. The road was tortuous, and Jo
had to ask Danny to slow down on the curves and switchbacks because
she was prone to carsickness. Brenda, with a constitution tough as
any seasoned sailor, traded seats with her, but that didn’t help
much. Jo didn’t want to take any Gravol, as it made her dull and
sleepy. Danny was too good to miss, she figured. Being half
unconscious in his presence wouldn’t be as much fun, so she
willingly suffered nausea for the duration of the ride.

“All the towns with the name
Frontera,”
Brenda read from her guide as Danny navigated
narrow roads searching for a parking space, “were important
outposts protecting Spain from the encroaching Moors.”

“So that’s why they built on the very top of
the mountain,” Jo said as she tumbled out of the car. “It’s so
beautiful.” She looked up at the picturesque cluster of
white-washed buildings perched high above the new town at the
bottom of the hill. It was a photographer’s dream, she realized,
watching Danny pull his cases of equipment out of the car. He had
the roundest buttocks she’d ever seen on a man. A dancer’s butt,
she knew now. It looked like Brenda had hired the right man.

In more ways than one. But can he take
photos?

Laden down with various cases and bags, Danny
followed the two women up through the sun-drenched old town towards
the bullring. To their disappointment, it was closed, so all they
could see was the exterior.

Danny got busy setting up his tripod and
adjusting his unwieldy large format camera. Every time they changed
location he had to go through the setting up process all over
again. Jo thought it all seemed like an awful lot of work and hoped
it would be worth it. She and Brenda just snapped away with their
little digital cameras while Danny worked.

Then they headed for the churches, and Danny
had to change his equipment again for the dim interiors. According
to Brenda’s Internet search, Arcos boasted only one Black Virgin—a
small painting. But scholarly research was incomplete, she’d read,
and there could be more tucked away waiting to be catalogued. She
told Jo and Danny she wanted to visit every church, and inspect
every nook and cranny.

So they did just that, but were rewarded with
no great discoveries. The lone painting was disappointingly small
and faded, but in the tiny Madonna’s eyes Jo instantly recognized
that same powerful gaze, the same strength of insistence that
female sexual power was unconquerable.

As she squinted at the wise virgin’s face, Jo
felt she was being watched. She turned around and saw Danny
studying her carefully. He smiled widely, oh so sweetly, and she
felt a rush of excitement, aware of a sexuality she’d all but
buried over the last month. Then he turned back to his camera. He
was a professional, it seemed, and Brenda, hovering over his
shoulder, was satisfied with his work ethic so far.

It was very hot by the time they walked out
of the Church of
Santa Maria
, and Jo was glad for her light
cotton dress and her straw hat, made pretty by a white silk bow.
They headed for the
Plaza del Cabildo,
and sat down for
coffee in a shaded cafe.

Spanish coffee was excellent, Jo thought. And
always served with a glass of water, which she appreciated on this
warm day. She sighed contentedly and looked at the beautiful scene
spread out before her, like a tempting smorgasbord of life.

Yes, Brenda was right. It was a very good
idea to come here. I need to enjoy life again, not pine for what
I’ve lost.

She glanced at her oldest friend, who was
gazing at the view and smiling that furtive little smile she wore
when things were going her way. She wasn’t exactly a control freak,
like James, Jo thought, but it sure did make Brenda happy when she
got her way.

Brenda, as usual, looked sophisticated and
cool in her hot-weather uniform of white cotton shirt, pale linen
pants, and sturdy sandals. Fair-skinned, she tried to protect
herself from the sun whenever she went outdoors. Her short dark
hair peeked out from under a wide-brimmed man’s hat, and her
over-large sunglasses hid much of her face. But she was attractive,
Jo thought, even to men.

Then Jo looked at Danny, brown-skinned and
heedless of the sun’s burning rays. He was wearing pale lightweight
pants, and a golf shirt that lay taut and flat against his belly.
No hat, and he’d removed his dark glasses as soon as he’d sat town
at the table. His eyes were surrounded by incredibly long lashes.
Just like a girl’s. But there was nothing girlish about the rest of
him. She could see that quite clearly, and felt herself blushing a
little as she forced herself to stop staring at his biceps.

He was smiling too. But it wasn’t a subtle
smile—it was large, joyful and outrageously appealing. And it was
seductive, even at this hour of the morning in a bustling town
centre.

“About last night, Danny,” said Brenda
interrupting the chemical reaction building at the table. “Where’d
you learn to dance like that? You’re excellent.”

“
Gracias,”
he said, turning that
radiant smile to Brenda. “I come from a family of dancers. My
parents are dancing instructors, and when I’m not taking
photographs I too give lessons now and then.”

Jo and Brenda grinned at each other, then
Brenda said, “Well, you’re very good. Do you like teaching?”

“A little. But it’s not my passion,” he added
emphatically. “Pictures are. Trying to capture a perfect image of
beauty, whether it be the light in the sky, or a shadow in a church
nave, or the fleeting expression of a beautiful woman as she teases
the camera.” With this he gave Jo such a meaningful smile that she
almost choked on her coffee, setting the three of them into a fit
of laughter.

Jo drained her coffee and changed the
subject. “How did you get started in photography?”

Danny said, “Ever since I can remember I
wanted to be an architect. But my parents could never afford to
send me to university. It takes a long time, and a lot of money. As
you know.”

Jo and Brenda nodded.

“So I decided that taking pictures of
beautiful buildings would be a reasonable substitute for designing
my own. I enrolled in art school and took a photography
program.”

“Can you make a living taking pictures in
this part of the world?” Brenda asked.

“No. Spain is, of course, suffering a deep
financial depression. Nobody has any money. So when I received your
telephone call,” he solemnly nodded his head at Brenda, “I was very
happy.”

“And when I met you two lovely ladies,” he
added with a wide smile, “I became even happier.”

He seemed so sincere, Jo thought, as she and
Brenda exchanged meaningful glances. And so full of life.

After their rest they got back to the serious
business of sightseeing. Jo knew she and Brenda looked like
tourists, but as the morning wore on she was having so much fun she
didn’t care what the locals thought of them as they helped Danny
set up his equipment and photograph everything they saw—crooked
little side streets snaking up the hill, flower-laden window boxes,
cats dozing in the sun, children running back to school after
lunch, and everywhere the magnificent views against a dark blue
sky.

They wandered through the ruins of an
eleventh-century Moorish castle and Danny told them about the
running of the bull each year during Holy Week.

“It’s only one bull, and they tie ropes to
each horn so it doesn’t do too much damage. But people can run
through the streets alongside and pretend they’re in Pamplona,” he
said with a laugh.

“Did you run with it?” asked Jo, running her
gaze up and down the length of his lithe body. She saw that Brenda
was doing the same thing.

“Once. When I was young.”

Both women broke into laughter at the idea
that he considered himself anything but young. He was growing more
delightful with every passing hour.

They spent quite a lot of time photographing
the town’s fifteenth-century
magic
circle, made of twelve
red and twelve white stones, and then it was time to eat.

For lunch, Danny chose a pretty restaurant
overlooking the hills below. They sat outside under an arbor of
ripening grapes and enjoyed plates of tapas and cool, white wine.
Jo particularly liked the little croquettes filled with thickened
Béchamel sauce and chopped ham, but then everything in Spain tasted
so good compared to what she’d been eating at home over the last
month. Never much of a cook, she’d survived on reheated pre-packed
dinners and her mother’s half-hearted attempts at recreating family
favorites.

Fortified by the food and made merry by the
wine, Jo gazed over the beautiful views and, for the first time,
thought about Luc without feeling any pain.

There’s still a chance he wants me. There’s
still a chance he’ll get my letter and respond. But even if he
doesn’t, life will go on. And it will be good.

With this realization in mind, she looked at
Danny, who said, “Forgive me for being so bold, but you look very
happy right now. I think you like Andalusia?”

“I love Andalusia!” And turning her smile to
Brenda she said, “Thanks so much for this. I won’t forget what
you’ve done for me.” She reached across the table and gave her
friend’s hand a little squeeze.

Brenda beamed back at her. “You’re worth it,
sweetie.”

Jo watched Danny jump to his feet and pull
out their chairs as she and Brenda got up. She wondered what he
made of the little exchange he’d just witnessed. But he said only,
“As you know, Arcos is the biggest of the Hill towns. I’m so glad
you like it. But tomorrow we will go to Zahara and Grazalema which,
in my opinion, are even more beautiful.”

“And maybe we’ll find some more virgins,”
Brenda said with a chuckle.

“Is the road just as bad?” Jo asked with a
frown.

He laughed. “Worse, I’m afraid. But perhaps
you can sit in the front with me again?” He slid a look at Brenda,
who gave him an indulgent smile.

“Sure thing.”

“And I assure you the unpleasant ride with be
worth it.”

After their meal they strolled through the
deserted streets of the little town, knowing that only stupid
gringos wandered out in the heat of a July afternoon. The light was
too harsh for good photographs, Danny explained, and soon they
packed up the cameras, loaded the car and headed back.

By the time they got to Ronda, Jo was
overheated and tired. Her head ached so she went to bed for a late
siesta before the sun began to set.

Jo woke from her nap with a pounding head,
her entire body clammy with sweat. She was in no mood to carry on
her mild flirtation with anyone, and told Brenda she didn’t want to
go out for dinner.

“You go, and maybe you can bring me back a
sandwich or something. I feel wretched.”

“Are you sure? Danny’ll be disappointed.”

Jo smiled weakly. “Yes. I need to stay in
bed. Go. Have fun.”

She was only faintly aware of Brenda peeking
into her room later that night. When birdsong woke her the next
morning she saw she’d slept for over twelve hours.

* * * *

Luc and Hilda headed south along the coast to
Rabat and because this was Hilda’s first visit to Morocco she
wanted to stop and see all the tourist sights. Luc was more
interested in the Roman ruins along their route but he took her to
Rabat’s Imperial Palace and the Chelat Fortress, uncomplaining.

He convinced her to give Casablanca a miss.
It was too big, he said, busy and developed. They’d be better off
going directly south to Marrakech.

As they flew along the bumpy, twisting road
to Marrakech, Luc began to breathe a little easier. He started to
notice his surroundings—the hedgerows were planted with prickly
pear and huge agave plants to corral the livestock. The land seemed
more fertile inland than it had been on the coast, and he saw
fields of grain and vegetables. They stopped to buy some roasted
peanuts being sold at the side of the road, seemingly in the middle
of nowhere. They were delicious.

As they approach Marrakech at dusk, the first
thing he noticed was the palm trees. The sun was setting behind
them, turning the dry air a beautiful dusty pink color.

They were date palms, he knew. He’d heard
once that there were half a million date palms in the city
surrounds. And judging from the number of road-side stands selling
dates, he didn’t doubt it.

Then he looked to the east at the first stars
glittering in the darkness and permitted himself a moment of
appreciation at being alive.

Yes. I’ll get through this. The world is a
smorgasbord of experiences and I’ll get my appetite back.

Then it was two nights in teeming Marrakech,
where they played tourist amid the thousands mingling in the
raucous
Jemaa el-Fnaa
square, a World Heritage site. They
enjoyed the chaos of acrobats, singers, snake charmers, mystics,
monkey-trainers, and opportunists. Everywhere they went they were
accompanied by the sounds of singing and the music of pipes,
tambourines and African drums.