I have always liked Hispanic women. There is something about them that
is very exotic and exciting. Maybe it’s some kind of Latin fire; maybe
its the sweet color of their dusky skin; their dark eyes … something
… whatever … They turn me on!

So it is not surprising that my eyes are drawn to the swarthy sweet
young slender senorita sitting in the seat in front of me. I have been
watching her, off an on, ever since we took off. Night flight, New York
City to Los Angeles, on a plane that is only half full. So many empty
seats and the passengers have spread themselves out, leaving lots of
room for maneuvering.

Miss Latina is reading some women’s magazine, maybe Cosmo, maybe some
other piece of fluff. I don’t know. She looks engrossed in whatever
article she is perusing. I say “Miss”. Actually I don’t see any ring on
her finger although God knows, in the 21st century none of that stuff
has any meaning anymore the way it did when I was a kid.

I lean forward in my seat and have a closer look at the open magazine in
open in front of her and see that it is not a women’s mag at all. It is
a well known writer’s journal, leading me to assume that she is a writer
herself.

I get up from my seat and come around to the seat in front where she is
seated in the window seat of the 3-seat row. I gather up my nerve and,
putting on my most winning smile, I say, “Hello, I couldn’t help but
notice that you are reading one of my favorite journals. I don’t believe
I have seen that issue. Any interesting articles?”

She looks up. At first she appears to have a look of annoyance on her
face that I have broken in on her and disturbed her privacy. But then
after a few seconds of scrutinizing (appraising?) me, she relaxes and
gives me a wide beautiful smile.

“Yes”, she says. “There are a few. Are you a writer?”

I nod affirmatively. “I have done my share of writing. Mostly short
stories. Mind if I sit down?”

“Not at all”, she says. “I was beginning to get bored with reading. It’s
nice to have some company. I hate flying, really I do, especially flying
alone. I try to avoid it when I can but the holidays are coming up and I
promised my family that I would spend some time with them during the
Season.”

“Oh?”, I say as I seat myself next to her. “Are you from L.A.?”

“Yes”, she responds. “Spent most of my life there except for the last
few years, spent in the Big Apple. I’ve always wanted to see New York
and I have wondered what it is like to live there. Well I got my wish.
After my divorce, I figured that I would just make a lot of changes
before I let years pass and then regret not having done it. Quit my job,
said good bye to my friends, and made the big move. I haven’t been sorry
yet.”

She looks around as if searching for someone. I ask, “Is there someone
you are looking for?”

“I would like the flight attendant to come over and bring me a blanket.
It’s gotten a bit cool in here.”

“Wait”, I offer, “I’ll get her for you.” I get up from my seat and walk
down the aisle. No sooner do a walk a few steps when an attendant asks,
“Yes sir? Can I get you something? “

I point to the lady who is becoming my traveling companion and say, “The
lady is cold. She needs a blanket.”

The attendant smiles and says, “Right away,sir. I’ll bring one right
over. Can I get you one as well”?

“No”, I reply. “I’m okay. Thanks.”

She smiles and nods, and I return to my seat next to my newfound
companion.

“She’ll be right over”, I say to the lady. “By the way, my name is John
Starling.” I extend my hand to shake hers. She returns the gesture,
clasping my hand with hers in a nice firm grip, not that fishy way some
women have of shaking hands.

“My name is Susana, Susana Rios. Funny, I had this Anglo name when I was
married but after we split I couldn’t wait to take back my maiden name.
Think I will hold on to it the next time.”

“Oh”, I tease, “So you are not sour on marriage?”

“Oh no”, she smiles that great smile. “I just need to find the right
relationship this time. My husband was alright. We just didn’t know what
we were doing. Just rushed right into it. Didn’t take long to find out
that we were just not compatible. Not because in the difference in
cultural backgrounds, mind you. Just two people with heeads in opposite
directions. We weren’t even sexually compatible. He was very vanilla. I
thought I could change him, you know, teach him a few things after we
were married. He just was not very interested because he isn’t very
imaginative, if you know what I mean.”

Before I have time to respond or say anything, she is blushing. “Oh look
at me. I am sorry. I don’t even know you and I am blabbing all about my
personal life. I am really sorry. I didn’t mean to assault you with all
that personal stuff. It just sort of came out.”

I smile and waive my hand in a gesture as if to say it’s ok, think nothing
of it. “Its quite alright”, I say. I have been around the block and very
little embarrasses or offends me. In fact, I am quite flattered that you
feel comfortable with me, after only a few moments, to be open enough to
just be yourself.”

“Well that’s just the way I am”, she says.