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He points a finger at me. “I think you could be trouble, Yara-from-New-York.”
I giggle softly, taking another sip of my drink.
Flirting is fun. More, flirting, please.
“Okay,” he says. “So, here’s the story...There was this Amazon chief who had three children: two sons, and a daughter, named Iara. She was a fierce warrior, besting her brothers in all feats of strength and skill. They got jealous, of course, and decided to kill her.”
“Of course?” I say, blinking at him. “Sibling rivalry with a side of toxic masculinity coming right up.”
“She embarrassed them.”
“She was better than them. Good for her!”
“Well,” he tells me, “they didn’t like it.”
I roll my eyes. “Go on.”
“They made the mistake of trying to kill her in her sleep, but she woke up and killed them both instead.”
“Fair enough. She was defending herself.”
“But she feared her father’s wrath, so she fled into the jungle.”
“Her f-father’swrath?” I sputter. “But...But what abouther? Her brothers, literally, tried to kill her!”
“I know. But her father was not happy. His sons were dead. He caught up with her, and drowned her in the Amazon, where the Rio Negro and Solimoes meet.”
“This is a horrible story, Desi-not-Arnaz.”
He chuckles softly before continuing. “But the fish raised her to the surface and turned her into a mermaid.”
“Thank God for fish justice.”
“They say she still lives in the river, and sad days for any man who hears her sing. She will drag him under the water and keep him there forever.”
“Because she’s a homicidal philogynist who learned hatred at the hands of her brothers. The end.”
“I don’t know what any of that meant.”
“More’s the better,” I say, sliding my empty glass between his palms. “One more?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “Caipirinhas are strong, bonita.”
“Ever met a New Yorker?”
He laughs at me, leaning away and picking up the martini shaker for the third time. I turn away from him, afraid I’ll be caught ogling if he does that sexy shake-shake dance again.
As the sun gets lower in the sky, the air cools, and I’d guess it’s in the high-70s now, which has cleared out the pool area. To me, it feels like heaven, but I suppose it feels chilly to Brazilians, who are used to warmer weather. The lights of Manaus twinkle as the sun begins its descent into the horizon and Desidério shakes my drink behind me. I turn back around when I hear him pour the magical concoction into my glass.
Reaching for my purse, I ask: “What do I owe you?”
“You’re staying in the hotel?”
I nod.
“I can just charge it to your room.”
I take a sip and lick the sweet and sour residue from my lips.Yummy. “Are you asking for my room number, Desired One?”
