Quickly making our way to the entrance of the resort our valet/doorman seems to be on first name basis with Ana. After a short dialogue in Spanish, Ana pulls out her phone imputing a number before we hop into a taxi to our destination.
Clicking her seat-belt "Safety first." pursing her lips while jutting her chin slightly as if nodding for me to do the same. I've heard of people using nonverbal communication. Ros says I'm famous for it, but for me this first directed at me in such an amusing manner.
Gliding in the car making good time to the Nectar Lounge, at least that's what I think she said.
"So, you speak Spanish?"
Giving me a slide smirk "Yes and you don't, I've gathered. You seemed entirely uninterested as to what was being discussed."
"Well, it's not that difficult to decipher, technically speaking."
Smiling at me "I see. And you Trevor, do you speak another language besides English?"
"French." Adding to it "And you?"
"Several, though only two I would consider conversational." pausing "You know, I can see that. You seem to a French type of guy."
Sounding pompous "What exactly is that supposed to mean?" Because there was something in Ana's delivery of those words tells me she doesn't enjoy the French language but before I can address a question I notice this guy walking out in-front of our car. Instinctively I extend my arm across Ana chest bracing for impact. Our driver, smart on the wheel, hits his brakes while banking to the left missing contact with him. Coming to a full stop on the Strip the drunk pedestrian runs up to our car, banging his fist on the hood while hurling obscenities. Saying how his Daddy would sue the taxi company, owning their asses. Watching Ana, she's upset, looking a little frazzled when I notice she trying to roll down the window.
Moving my arm from her chest grabbing her hand preventing her from pressing the switch. Yelling to our driver "Go! Just Go!" quickly speeding off. "Ana, what the fuck are you trying to do? This is not the time nor the place to confront a drunk."
Gathering her wits, thumping her back against the seat-rest. She is angry with a capital 'A', ignoring my comment. Watching as she places her hand on our driver's shoulder, I listen to dialogue, not understanding much other than a few words. By the tone she's apologizing.
Leaning into her seat "Trevor, this guy is a complete tosser. Who the hell jumps out into traffic only to threaten to sue while uttering racial slurs. He's disgusting and it clearly displays how racism is not abating. It's becoming worse in the world. He needs to be put in his place."
Before I can say anything she blurts out. "And you're right. That was not the time nor place. Fucking hell, I'm bloody knackered by all travel I've had over the last several days. My emotions are running high and I'm feeling short. "
I start laughing, I can't help it. She looks at me like I'm insane. "Ana, you sounded too cute when you said you are feeling short when I see that you are petite in stature."
Rolling her eyes "I get it...Well, normally I do feel ten feet tall....." sounding somewhat surly.
Sitting in silence she's distracted, staring out the window pretending that she's taking in the sights, of people milling the streets when I know better. By nature I'm a quick read on people and she's lost. Where? I don't know. Maybe she's in Africa or thinking about that asshole. Allowing her some moments to reflect on whatever journey she's talking. Reaching out I place my hand over hers. It's tiny, soft, warm, vibrating. I gently squeeze, saying nothing hoping she gets the message. Without turning to face me she places her hand over mine, gently squeezing in return.
