Adorable and dainty weren’t exactly manly compliments. I hoped Martin hadn’t heard. I pulled back as much as I could but there was nowhere to go.

“But why are you so tense? You’re with friends.”

Through the space between her curls, I could see that Martin was kissing the other woman. For the love of everything holy, how did one politely dismiss a prostitute? As a woman, I’d never confronted such a dilemma.

“Excuse me, Carmela,” I said. “It’s late and I have to be some—Wait! What are you doing?”

The woman was kissing, yes, kissing my neck!

“You smell so good,” she said, “like a real man.”

A real man? Yes, good thing she reminded me. A real man wouldn’t push a woman away from him in horror. As much as I wanted to escape her loving claws, I had an image to protect. I couldn’t let Martin suspect anything.

Her hand cruised along my inner thigh to my groin. I yelped. Fortunately, Martin was so immersed in the heat of passion that he didn’t seem to hear me.

“Where is it?” Carmela whispered.

How could I explain that “it” was nothing but a sock and it had moved from its proper spot?

“Wait,” I said. “Isn’t there a more private place where we could go?”

She pulled back. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Collecting the skirt of her purple dress, she stood up and offered me a hand. In a pause between kisses, Martin winked at me.

Donning my bowler hat, I followed Carmela outside the bar. What a relief to be able to breathe fresh air again! I scouted every corner, trying to plan my escape, but the streets were so bright it wouldn’t be so simple.

The city of Vinces had a different face at night. A cheerful energy surrounded us. Perhaps it was the electric lights illuminating roads and buildings. Or the music coming from a distant accordion and a set of drums. Or a choir of voices singing. I still couldn’t believe there was electricity in this pocket of the world. Cristóbal and I had speculated for days about what we would find in this rural town. Modern commodities were nowhere on our imaginary list topped by donkeys and barefoot peasants. It wasn’t that París Chiquito was overly sophisticated or rich, but there had been careful consideration in its construction. During our ride into town, Alberto and Martin had told me that local carpenters had used all their creativity to craft in wood a similar aesthetic that was achieved with granite, marble, and stone in Europe.