Stu

Patricia arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early the following day. When she was about to enter the front door, she happened to turn her head and she saw Ana walking toward the restaurant about a block away. Ana was wearing a light-green sweater, with tight-fitting cream-colored pants and matching 5-inch white stiletto sandals. Even from a distance, it was easy to see her hips swaying sensuously from side to side as she walked. Incredible, Patricia thought. This woman is more comfortable with her sexuality than anyone she had ever known. So expressive, total self-confidence, not a trace of inhibition. The best always make it look easy.

Ana greeted Patricia warmly at the restaurant entrance, as if they had known each other for years. They went inside, sat down, and ordered lunch. Ana declined Patricia’s offer of wine, but Patricia ordered a glass of white wine for herself. Ana began talking about Costa Rica. The rain forest preserves were almost exclusively set aside for foreign tourists, and few Costa Ricans actually visited them, Ana said. Instead, Ana talked about the country’s capital city, San Jose, several surrounding cities, and the country’s Caribbean and Pacific coast beaches. Patricia continued to be impressed with Ana’s friendly charm, and her ability to paint a picture of her native country for someone who had never seen it. Their lunch was served, and Patricia ordered a second glass of wine. When it seemed that Ana had exhausted the subject of travel to Costa Rica, Patricia decided to change the subject of conversation.

“I used to enjoy wearing stiletto heels when George and I were dating,” Patricia said. “But I could not ever imagine wearing heels as high as yours. And yet, you are on your feet all day, and you even walked here to meet me. I do not know how you do it.”

Ana giggled in a girlish way. “That is another aspect of Costa Rica that you should explore when you visit. Costa Rican women are practically born wearing high heels. They are really a fundamental part of our culture. We learn to wear them at a young age. We develop the skills and conditioning to wear them properly.”

“And you do have such a style, such an ambience about you,” Patricia said. “Men must really like you.”

Ana giggled again, this time with a trace of embarrassment. “I get compliments from men, but also from women. Of course, I also get a lot of icy looks from women who don’t care for my style. That goes with the territory. I do not let that stop me from expressing myself the way I want.”

Patricia took a sip of wine. She realized how reckless she had been to order not just one, but two glasses of wine. Wine loosened her lips, causing her to say things that, while honest, were better left unsaid. She knew this was not the occasion to lose control of her discretion. But Ana was such a delightful, welcome change from her conservative, middle-aged friends. The occasion seemed to call for wine.

“You know, George is a big admirer of you,” Patricia said. Oh stop, Patricia! Pull back while you still can!

“Really?” Ana said, somewhat surprised. “He is such a quiet man, very professional, very businesslike. He has never complimented me in any personal kind of way.”

Patricia took another sip of wine. “That’s not his style. He does not come home and talk about you. He may have made a quick mention of you once. But after 35 years of marriage, I know George. You have made an impression on him. Don’t ask me how I know. But believe me, I know.”

“The things you don’t know about your own co-workers,” Ana said. She added jokingly, “I hope you are not jealous.”

Patricia sipped the last of her second glass of wine. “Jealous? Absolutely not! If anything, I would like to buy you lunch a dozen times over. After spending the day around you, George often comes home with so much passion that, lately, we have been more active than at any time since we were newlyweds. If you know what I mean.”

Ana’s jaw dropped. She looked down at her empty plate, having finished the last of her lunch. “Oh my,” she said. “I want to assure you, Patricia, that I have never been anything less than purely professional around your husband.”

Oh, God, Patricia thought. What the hell did I do? I had the best thing going with George in many years and now I have ruined it, all because I couldn’t keep myself away from the wine.

Patricia reached out and touched Ana’s hand. “Ana, do not misunderstand me. I am not in any way angry or jealous, and I do not think you have done anything inappropriate with George. He finds you attractive, as any healthy man would, but he uses it to bring himself closer to me. I used to enjoy dressing up and being fashionable when I was young. But we all age. Now I have health issues, and my medication makes me put on weight like an elephant. George still loves me, but you give him that little spark that I no longer can. And it has made things good for us.”

Patricia sat up straight and pushed herself away from the table. “I am a foolish, old woman who has had too much wine. I told you something that I should not have. Please forgive me. To be honest, I am not planning a trip to Costa Rica. I invited you to lunch because I wanted to get to know you a little better. Now that I have done that, I promise I will never need to see you again. I only ask one thing of you. Please do not tell George that we ever met. Do not tell him what I have told you. He is a very private, proud man, and if he ever finds out…”

“It’s OK, Patricia,” Ana said. “I will not tell George anything. The last thing I want to do is create trouble for the two of you. Don’t feel badly about this.”


Ana was studying herself in front of the mirror that evening when Bob arrived home from work. “If you spend any more time in front of that mirror, we will have to start calling you ‘Maria,’” Bob quipped.

“Sorry,” Ana responded. “I had a weird experience at lunch today.” She proceeded to tell Bob the details of her lunch with Patricia.

“So your co-worker fantasizes about you when he makes love to his wife. Nothing strange about that,” Bob said when Ana had finished her story. “But the wife then tells you about it. You are right – that is weird.”

“The question in my mind is how I should behave around George. I have always been polite with him, but never really friendly. Maybe I should open up around him a little more. If a woman has an admirer, the least she can do is show some appreciation, right?”

Bob playfully put his hands over his eyes and walked away. “I think you already know what you want to do, Ana.”

Ana walked back in front of the mirror. In the last several years, she had successfully developed a dual Costa Rican-North American persona that had worked well for her. Costa Ricans valued uninhibited femininity and style – how a woman presented herself was paramount in her native land. North Americans valued productivity and the bottom line – if a woman made money for her employer, her style was of little relevance. Ana had tested the limits of the bank’s dress code with her Costa Rican-style tight clothing and sky-high stiletto heels, and she had emerged unscathed because she also developed a North American-style determination to serve the bank’s customers well and to learn its operations. Until now, however, there was another aspect of her Costa Rican heritage that had remained dormant during her years in the United States: the propensity of Costa Rican women to flirt. Workplace flirting in the U.S. was mild compared to the much spicier Costa Rican version. Flirting in many ways was the national pastime of the little Central American country; the come-hither looks and strong body language were almost expected of attractive women in Costa Rica, but they could quickly get a woman in trouble in the U.S. And, besides, Ana was now married, which made the idea of flirting even more dubious. Ana had thought that her flirting days were a thing of the past, but the revelation about George was giving her all kinds of ideas that had previously been unthinkable. There were ways to flirt that would be apparent only to George, remaining invisible to everyone else at the bank. And what is wrong with responding warmly to George’s attraction? How could a woman learning about George’s feelings not respond in some fashion? Maybe a cold-fish North American woman would want to put a damper on the whole thing, but not a warm, feminine Costa Rican woman.

Ana took one last look at herself in the mirror and smiled mischievously. “You’re right, Bob,” she said, even though her husband had left the room. “I do know what I want to do.”

To be continued.