Chapter 4
The pool deck was built along the bay with a scenic view of passing cruise ships, yachts, and speed boats.
Scott wondered what Anpara was talking about when she said that some things were different. Everything looked just as he remembered it.
As usual, the pool was the center of action.
A moppy-headed blonde toddler bounded toward the pool before stopping just before the edge.
“Don’t get too close, Claudette,” her mother called out from the cabana.
The mother wore a navy and white polka-dot bathing suit and held a copy of Wallbanger by Alice Clayton in one hand and a pi?a-colada in the other. She wore large red sunglasses.
The Las Olas Hotel was built of stone and concrete and had an old Hollywood vibe to it, the kind of glamor that had made Acapulco a vacation hotspot for stars like John Wayne, Errol Flynn, and Tarzan himself, Johnny Weissmuller. Even Jackie and John Kennedy honeymooned there.
Waiters in pink shirts and white pants carried trays of colorful drinks to sunbathers under striped umbrellas.
Royal palm trees with lush green fronds swayed softly in the background.
A man in a cabana handed out towels to guests while reminding them not to miss the salsa band that would be playing by the pool.
“They have a new singer, and she’s wonderful. ”
A large pool stretched across the patio with a swim-up tiki-bar at one end.
Beside the pool lay a saltwater lagoon several times larger than the pool and connected to the bay through a stone archway.
A few children jumped off the rocks surrounding the lagoon, prompting a bored looking lifeguard to blow his whistle and point at the “No Jumping” sign.
By mid-morning, one of the staff found Scott and led him up the hill to his ocean suite.
The suite had a large balcony facing the bay and its own small pool.
The room had cream-colored stucco walls and a queen-sized bed with a brown and white blanket.
Simple wooden chairs surrounded a circular coffee table made of mahogany.
Scott hopped in the shower which was lined with natural stone. The water flowed gently over the stone, creating a cascade effect.
He changed into blue swim trunks, sandals, and a white resort shirt. For a guy who worked with a no-exercising, ale-guzzling, wing-eating boss like Henry, Scott stayed in good shape. The fitness classes at Juicy, the gym down the street from his office, were paying off.
Upon Scott's return, a salsa band had set up next to the pool. A few of those saddled up at the swim-up tiki bar turned around in anticipation of the show. Scott grabbed a lounge chair and watched as the singer in a tight aqua dress stepped up to the microphone. “Hola! We hope you are enjoying your vacation with us at the Las Olas Hotel. And I know you’re going to love our first song.” She cued the band with a flick of her wrist and they broke into that crowd pleaser of a Christmas song Feliz Navidad.
The singer had long black hair. She wore white high heels and red sunglasses. Together with her aqua dress, her color scheme resembled the drinks being served at the pool. The man behind her began shaking a maraca. The guitarist, trumpeter, and bongo player salsa danced as they played.
But the real star was the singer. There was something so effortless about the way she danced, sang, and interacted with the audience.
Scott’s feet began to tap against the ground, then his hand against the chair.
Soon he was dancing in his seat. She was mesmerizing.
Scott watched her until they finished their set and disappeared into the hotel.
Maybe it was the music, maybe the dancing. Maybe Cupid struck him with an arrow at that very moment or one of the waiters slipped him Love Potion Number 9. One thing was for sure, Scott had to meet that singer.