by Linda George
She saw several dogs wandering through the plaza. Two of them flopped down to sun themselves and sleep. Lynn decided they had the perfect idea. She leaned back and closed her eyes for a few moments. When she realized she was in a shadow she opened her eyes. Alex.
“You look contented.”
“Are you still on duty? What can you tell me about this plaza?”
“No, I’m not on duty. I have some time off, too, before we go to the Pisco tasting. But I can tell you about the plaza if you wish.”
“Tell me about the Museo.”
“The Museo del Pisco has dozens of flavors of Pisco, made in different ways. You’ll learn how to make a basic Pisco Sour, and you’ll get to try some of the flavored Piscos.”
“Sounds yummy. Will I be able to walk back to the hotel tonight after all the tasting?”
He laughed, sat beside her, and reached for her hand. “I will make sure you get there safely.”
She had no doubt about that. “Want to take a walk?”
“Of course. Which way do you want to go?”
“Doesn’t matter. I just want to see all the flowers.”
They wandered hand in hand except when Lynn stopped to take pictures. Alex asked a woman walking behind them if she would take their picture together in front of the flowers. Happily, she complied. Alex put his arm around Lynn and pulled her close to him. The woman took their photo with Lynn’s camera, then with Alex’s phone.
“Now I have a picture to remind me of you after you go home to Virginia.”
“And I have one of you.” Lynn found it difficult to smile, so she took his hand and they finished their circuit of the plaza. The bench where they’d sat before was still empty, so they sat there again.
Alex started to push Lynn’s hair back from her face, so he could see her better, then thought better of it. “You seemed upset earlier, when you got the phone call.”
“Yes, I was. My mother is ill. She might have a disease that takes away her memories and makes her forget important things.”
“Alzheimer’s.”
She nodded.
“My uncle had this awful disease.” Alex stared across the plaza at an old man sitting on a bench, surrounded by several children who chattered at the same time. “That man reminds me of him. He never had children of his own, but he loved his nieces and nephews more than life itself. When the disease took him, he forgot their names, then their faces. Very sad.”
“I’ve never met anyone who hasn’t had a parent, a brother or sister, aunt or uncle, or a friend who had Alzheimer’s.”
“Neither have I. It is tragic when someone you love forgets who you are.”
Lynn had to take a deep breath with that thought.
“I’m sorry. I made you sad.”
“My mother hasn’t been diagnosed yet, so I hadn’t really thought about her forgetting me someday. But if that’s what it is, I know she will.”
“Will you have to go home early?”
“No, my father is taking care of her. He called to let me know he’s decided not to work any longer so he can stay home with her.”
“Your father is a good man.”
“Yes, he is, but my mother is beginning to forget that, from time to time.” She told him what had happened the day before.
Tears came to his eyes. “Tío Roberto did the same thing with my mother—his sister. She took him some fresh tortillas one day and he tried to pay her for them. He didn’t recognize her.”
Impulsively, Lynn hugged him. Every day she found something new that they shared.
Sharon called to them. She and the others approached carrying bags and packages from their shopping spree. “Hey, you two! You missed some great buys!”
Alex stood to make room for some of the ladies on the bench. Cathi, Sheila, and Sharon plopped down beside Lynn. Vicki, Dorothy, and BJ were taking photos of flowers.
“I’m saving my money for the market at Machu Picchu,” Lynn said. “What did you buy?”
They took turns showing her tote bags, purses, shawls, tshirts, and a poncho Barb had bought for her nephew who lived in New York. “He’ll love this when it snows six feet—once a week—this winter!”
“Vicki, did you buy that quilt?”
“No, but I took a picture of it after I asked the shopkeeper if it was okay. It gave me some great ideas for a quilt I want to make to celebrate this tour!”
Lynn told Alex, “Vicki is an artist when it comes to making quilts. She has photos of a lot of them. You’ll have to get her to show them to you.”
“I would love to see them.”
“Barb is a librarian, and she and Sheila are teachers and writers. Dorothy’s husband, Tony, is an artist. He’ll be painting Cusco for months to come, thanks to Dorothy’s busy camera! She’s a writer, too, and so is Cathi.”
Cathi was writing frantically in her notebook. Lynn gestured toward her and told him, “I don’t think there’s any doubt where Cathi’s next story will be set.”
Cathi scribbled one more sentence then gave Alex a wide grin. “Want to be in my book?”
“Of course! I can be the tour guide!”
“That’s the idea! Want to be the hero?”
“The hero? But I haven’t done anything heroic!”
“Cathi writes romantic stories, with a hero and a heroine—a man and a woman—falling in love.”
Alex nodded. “I definitely want to be the hero in your book. Will I get to kiss the heroine?”
“Of course! Let’s see now. What if Lynn were to be the heroine? Would that be all right with you?”
“Of course.”
Lynn felt her cheeks blushing. Alex’s cheeks were a bit red, too. “Cathi—”
“Time to get back to the hotel!” Cathi closed her notebook and led the way across the plaza. The others followed, leaving Lynn and Alex blushing by the bench.
Alex whispered, “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”
Lynn shook her head. “It wasn’t your doing. I’ll have to have a talk with Cathi.” Her smile told him she’d been amused by Cathi’s “plotting.”
They caught up with the others, who cast happy glances back at Lynn. When Sharon flashed her traditional sappy smile, Lynn narrowed her eyes at her friend, but had to smile back. She’d been right. Everyone knew they’d become “special friends.” But even Sharon didn’t know how special Alex had become to Lynn.
Back at the hotel, Sharon asked Alex, “Do we need to dress up tonight?”
“If you want to. Cusco is very casual, though. Wear whatever is comfortable.”
“Will there be dancers tonight?” Barb asked.
“Only loud music.” Alex told them about the Pisco tasting and making the Sours.
“Uh, Alex,” Sharon said. “I read somewhere that when coming to high altitude it’s best not to drink too much until you’re used to the thinner air.”
“That’s true.”
“So why are we going to a drinking party our first night in Cusco?”
He looked sheepish. “You’d have to ask Andrew about that.”
Barb perked up. “Andrew?”
“He planned your tour.”
“Will he be there tonight?”
“Absolutely. He never misses a tasting party. He’s from England. He came to Cusco on vacation and loved it so much more than the rainy part of England where he was from that he stayed here, bought a house, and started a touring company. It’s thanks to Andrew that I’ve met you.”
“We’ll definitely have to thank him. I’d better get started,” Sheila said. “I know I brought my face with me, but I’m afraid it’s in the bottom of my suitcase. I may look a little lopsided tonight.”
“We’ll all look lopsided by the time we leave the Museo,” Vicki told her.
Lynn told Alex good-bye then went with Sharon to their room. Inside, she lay down on the bed to catch her breath. “No elevator! At least it’s only one flight. And there’s no need to say anything!”
Sharon rummaged throug
h her clothes. “I can’t wait to see what flavors of Pisco they have tonight.”
“Me, too. I hope they’re serving food along with the drinks.”
“Tapas. It’s in the itinerary.”
“After that late lunch, I won’t be hungry for another hour.”
“We’ll drink for an hour, then we’ll eat!”
Lynn rolled to one side. “You know what happens to people who drink at extreme altitude. Do you know what happens to me when I drink brandy? Put the two together—”
“I can’t wait to see it. Just promise me you won’t push him away. And don’t worry about the others knowing about your little fling. They already know.”
“Gee. You think? What gave you the first clue? Cathi’s hero named Alex, or her heroine named Lynn?”
“They’re as happy for you as I am. Give yourself a chance, sweetie.”
Lynn swiped some tears from one cheek. “Okay. We’ll give this little fling a chance. But that’s all it is. A vacation fling.”
“That’s the spirit. Now get dressed! Wear something sexy!”
“I didn’t bring anything sexy.”
“It won’t matter what you wear. Alex will think you’re beautiful.”
“Enough already! We’re late!”
Sharon disappeared into the bathroom to change. Lynn went through the clothes she’d brought and chose a hot pink knit top with “sparklies,” as Sharon called them—something she’d picked up from an animated movie with some sort of crazy crow—and her black jeans with matching “sparklies” on the back pockets. Might as well go for broke. The pink top had a matching sweater that would help tonight when it got cooler.
Lynn thought about checking e-mail, but decided she’d check it tonight, after they got back, or tomorrow. She knew her father would call if the situation were extreme. She wanted their first full day in Cusco to be carefree and fun. So far, it had met all of her expectations. Her mother’s illness, whatever it turned out to be, was going to mess up her life beyond repair, no matter what her father had said. This could be the last vacation Lynn could take for years. She’d know by the end of this tour if sprucing up her unit on Machu Picchu would be the ultimate result, or if it would be something much more complicated. And heartbreaking.
Chapter 9
They walked to the Museo del Pisco. Almost everyone had worn something more dressy than they’d worn during the day for touring, but they’d all chosen nice jeans. When Alex saw Lynn’s hot pink top with the “sparklies,” his eyes sparkled, too! Lynn reminded herself she couldn’t have more than two Pisco Sours tonight.
They heard the music before they ever opened the front doors. The front room of the Museo was small and packed with people obviously having a wonderful time. A few tried to dance in the small space, but most simply sat in small groups with food and drinks covering the tables.
A bald man, tall, lanky, holding a drink in one hand and flashing a huge smile, called to Alex from the top of a short flight of stairs on the left side of the room. “Alex! Up here!”
Alex directed them up the stairs to where the man waited with arms wide. He hugged each of them in turn, then directed them to a room at the top of the stairs. When Lynn got to the room, the others were finding stools around a tall bar in the corner. Off to the right were tables and a corner booth, with a door leading onto what looked like an open hallway. There was no one else in the room, but that didn’t mean the room was quiet. They could still hear music and conversation from downstairs. Alex closed the door after they were all inside, which made it possible to hear what the bartender—Sergio—told them about the different kinds of Pisco. Lynn sat close to the left end. Alex eased onto the stool next to her and leaned onto the bar, as interested in what the bartender was saying as though he were hearing it for the first time.
“Pisco is a type of brandy made from white grapes. Many people who come to Peru compare the taste to tequila, and a Pisco Sour to a Margarita. But you won’t find Margaritas in Peru.”
“Why not?” Cathi asked him.
“Because they had a contest years ago to see which drink everyone liked best. The Pisco Sour won! Tonight, you’ll see why. Have you already had a Pisco Sour?”
That brought nods and smiles.
“I’ll bet you haven’t had Pisco in different flavors, though, have you?”
Lynn scanned the labels on bottles behind him on shelves. Cinnamon and strawberry caught her attention right away.
“Before trying the flavored Piscos, I’m going to let you try four different types of Pisco.” He placed four glasses in front of each of them, then reached for a bottle under the bar. He poured a small amount into the glasses closest to them, then invited them to taste it.
Lynn recognized the taste immediately from the Pisco Sours she’d already sampled in Lima. Truly, the brandy tasted a lot like tequila, but it had a sharper flavor. She took small sips.
Sergio poured a second type of Pisco into their second glasses, then followed with the third and fourth.
Lynn didn’t like the second one at all. It had a smoky taste. The third and fourth were equally different. Her favorite was definitely the first. Most of the group liked the first one best, too, but Dorothy and Sheila chose one of the others.
“Now, it is time for you to learn how to make a Peruvian Pisco Sour!” Sergio announced. “There was also a contest between Chile and Peru to see who made the best Pisco Sours. Peru won!” He pulled several more bottles from under the bar then demonstrated step by step how to mix the drink.
First, he poured three ounces of Pisco (the first one, that everyone agreed was really good) into a martini shaker. Then, he added an ounce of “simple syrup” which was sugar and water, followed by an ounce of lime juice, and one egg white. Last, he added three ice cubes, clamped the top on the shaker, and shook it vigorously. With a sharp pop of the heel of his hand on the side of the shaker, he removed the lid then poured the mixture into a short glass. The egg white had created a frothy foam on top. Into the center of the foam, he carefully added three drops of Angostura bitters.
“Who wants to taste it first?”
Barb raised one hand while taking the glass with the other. Her expression after sipping the drink said it all, but she said it anyway. “The best one I’ve had since we got to Peru!”
Instead of making more, Sergio surprised them. “Now, you are going to make your own Pisco Sours, using any of the Piscos we have on the bar, or on the wall behind me. Please come around in pairs, through the short little door that opens into the area behind the bar, and decide which kind you want to make.” He pulled out a second shaker.
Dorothy and Cathi went first. They chose to make the classic Sours. Next, Sheila and Vicki chose flavored Piscos from the wall, followed by BJ and Barb.
By then, with each pair passing their creation down the bar for everyone to taste, Lynn didn’t notice which flavors they were choosing. They were all delicious, and the Pisco was creating a marvelous whirl across her forehead and between her eyes.
The last to duck under the short door were Sharon and Lynn. Lynn went first.
Sharon bumped her head. “Not my fault! It’s the Pisco!”
They were all laughing by this time. Lynn got to choose the flavor for hers. “Strawberry.” Sharon had difficulty getting the top of her shaker off, but Lynn’s came off the first try. Everyone cheered. When she glanced at Alex, she wasn’t surprised to see him sitting quietly, sipping the last of the third Pisco to be passed around the bar, smiling with pleasure at the fun she was having. No, she corrected herself. At the fun they were all having.
Lynn tasted the strawberry Sour. Talk about delicious! She closed her eyes, savoring it, then reluctantly gave it up for the others to try. Sharon finally managed to get the top off her shaker and poured the frothy Sour into a glass, Lynn reached for it.
“Nope!” Sharon told her. “This one is mine.”
Sergio handed Lynn the bottle of strawberry Pisco so she could make another for herself.
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“And this one will be mine!” she announced to boisterous cheers.
When the bar had been wiped clean and tips had been stuffed into a glass on the bar for Sergio, Andrew led the way down the stairs. The music seemed louder than when they’d come in, an hour before. Andrew kept going when he got to the front room, though, down a second flight of stairs into the basement. To the left was the kitchen. Around the corner from the staircase was a long C-shaped booth with a low table in the center. They threaded their way around the table, until they’d filled the booth completely. It wasn’t a surprise that Alex eased into the corner beside Lynn.
A new server appeared and introduced himself as Sergio.
Dorothy frowned. “But the bartender upstairs—”
“—was Sergio. I am Sergio, too.”
Lynn was really glad Dorothy had asked! Thanks to the whirling in her head, she thought she might have gotten completely mixed up in the space of five minutes.
After a brief welcome, Sergio told them he’d be bringing tapas for them to sample—and more drinks—whatever they wanted.
Vicki asked if they’d ever made a Pisco martini.
“Of course! You’ll love it!”
Lynn looked at her glass, which had only a sip left. She finished it, then ordered another. “I shouldn’t, but they’re so delicious.”
Sharon lifted her glass, drained it, then ordered another one. “Why not? We aren’t driving tonight! And getting one of these in Virginia will probably be impossible!”
Lynn began to wonder if she’d be able to walk!
The tapas arrived one at a time and they all sampled them. Lynn’s favorite by far was the shrimp skewer—three shrimp grilled in some sort of delectable sauce. “I could eat a dozen of these,” she murmured.
Alex motioned to Sergio to bring four more skewers of shrimp for Lynn and handed him some money from his pocket.
Lynn tried to repay him, but he refused her offer. “I am pleased to give you something that makes you so happy, Querida.”
Lynn thought she knew what querida meant. Yo quiero meant “I like.” Or was it “I want?” The way Alex had used the word, it must mean “friend” or “someone I like.”
