Hospitality Sweet

The Irish girl would do just fine, was Aphra’s size-up. Cute, not all that bright, but doing a great job filling out her Erin Go Bra. And flying a few flags she probably wasn’t aware of, batting those Auld Sod green eyes and wrinkling the famous cream complexion above them: “Ah, I thought I’d seen you. Wasn’t I the stewardess on your flight?”

Been wack if you weren’t girl, Aphra thought. Since I stalked you out here all the way from the gate. “Yeah, you were. So I thought maybe you could help me a little. I never been here before, but y’all know the hotels and all…”

“Actually, the only one we know is the Radisson because that’s where they always put us.” She kind of fell in beside Aphra, pulling her little luggagebarrow along the aisles wide and narrow. They passed by all the time share and transportation pimps without a glance, then a big glass door shuddered aside and they were out in the brutal, sopping heat of Cancun.

“Must be okay, then. Should be vacancies this time of year?” Yeah, July had to be about as Low Season as a tropical resort could get.

“Oh, I’m sure there are. And a nice beach and pool I barely get to use because I’m always back out the next day.”

“They got a shuttle or something?” Something about the girl’s wide, ingenuous green gaze and loose, blowsy stride told Aphra–to whom quick appraisal was a way of life–that she was striking the lode here.

“Sure. Just come along with me. It’s five dollars and they bring us right to the lobby.”

As so many hotel shuttles do. Aphra’s next line was well-rehearsed and smooth. “Thanks, I think I will. I’m kind of picky about rooms, though. Think I could have a peek at yours before I register, make sure?”

“Of course.” The colleen had no objections to more chat with this sleek, elegant black passenger. Obviously a model or executive or something, the kind of woman you learned things from. Like how she’d gotten that slight hooked look to her nails or that supple yellow leather purse, for openers.

“That’s really nice of you, hon. Tell you what, I’ll buy you a drink, show my appreciation.”

“I’m dying for a margarita or two.”

“Two works for me.” See if it works for you, girlfriend.

“Well, now, ‘Spy’ is such a loaded word, don’t you think? I’m basically a collector. Hunter/gatherer type. Poke around corporations and such, see if there’s anything somebody might pay to hear.”

Little Miss Fly United was all ears by then, couple of drinks in her and changed into a pretty nicely-filled bikini to grab the last sun on the balcony. And all rapt up in Aphra. Wow, Catwoman turned out to be some sort of spy! Bugger and begorrah and all that. She wasn’t even thinking about dinner, just hanging on every word this swank negress had to say.

“Oh, I got some craft and all,” Aphra went on, sitting in the other porch chair, sipping a strawberry daiquiri, and pretending to take in the blue water view she’d seen a dozen times from better hotels. “Like, you know, how to scan cellular frequencies, record conversations off vibrations of suite windows, read keystrokes from convention center suites. But it’s mostly just keeping your eyes and ears open.”

“You can scan cell phones?” Figured that a flight attendant would be interested in the gizmo, Agent Q, end of things.

“Not legally.”

“Ah. So how do you find out the secrets and… you know, that lot?”

“Oh, it’s not rocket science or anything. Funny thing is, you run into these guys, bigshots at companies, who just walk over and buy me dinner and tell me stuff. Sometimes they like invite me to their house, even; let me poke around after they pass out. I don’t understand it.”

The United girl laughed prettily at that one. “Oh, you don’t then? Well, there’s a full-length mirror right there in the bathroom that might give you some clues.”

“Oh, I know what they want, all right. In spades.” She gave the girl one of her guarded race card smiles. “As it were. I just don’t understand it, you see what I’m saying?”

“Uh, not really.” She was trying to, though, you could tell by the furled brow.

“Well, maybe I will take a peek at that mirror. Show me to it, will you?” Aphra stood lazily, grinned, “Gotta pee, anyway.”

The girl walked in and pointed to the mirror, stood with her hands on her slim hips awaiting more laughs with her new pal. Who made a sinuous shrugging move that somehow released her shift to slither down in a pile at her feet.

She gawked as Aphra, naked except for a red Brazilian tanga that was kind of like “naked plus”, did a turn, checking herself out. Slapping her own ass, which gave the tuned-up report of a ripe watermelon, then lifting her breasts and peering at them. Then up into the eyes of the flight girl, who suddenly felt like the small bathroom was very tight and warm.

“So you think you know what they’re after, huh?” She turned and moved a little closer, a sheeny black presence amid all the white ceramic and linen. “Maybe you can explain it to me?”

“Explain what men want?” The attendant had stepped back, her bare thigh touching the top of the toilet tank. Suddenly in rabbit mode, wary but captivated.

“Nope.” Aphra stepped closer yet. “What I want.”

“Well, I’m starting to get a glimmer.” There was something very fierce about the black woman’s face, but her body was a shiny, plush invitation to stroke. She was confused, wanted to go get another drink. Wanted something, for certain.

“A glimmer, huh? That something in the neighborhood of a gleam in the eye?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that…”

“Know what I’d say?” Aphra was standing with her plumped purple nipples only inches from the white girl’s tits, feet placed outside hers; a control pose. “I’m standing here naked and I’m sweating; all this Mexico heat. And you got clothes on and shit, must be sweltering. Look ahere, sweat kind of running along that ginger down on your neck there. See can I do something about that.”

She leaned forward to place her hands against the wall on either side of the white girl’s head, leaning in to erase those last few inches between their stiff nipples, her long tongue already extended. She could feel the quiver as she slid it up the soft, pale neck, lapping the salty dew and ending up with a little fillip around the earlobe.

“You got any other excess moisture anywhere,” she whispered, “I think I can take care of it for you.”

Aphra sat in the breeze on the balcony, idly watching the rise and fall of the sleeping white chick’s breasts while listening to her cell phone. “I’m here, but not checked in yet.”

She listened, chuckled, said, “Shit, it’s almost midnight here and I ain’t even got dinner. Just had a nice snack, though.”

She listened again and gave a throaty laugh before replying and snapping the phone shut. “Just a little Irish stew.”

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