Caribbean Adventures of Yanel

by Lina Rodriguez

  

Yanel quickly walked backstage, as quickly as the extreme heels she was in would allow, hoping to avoid any fans after the tiresome routine. This was her seventh show at Aire Club, and things were looking up since arriving in Santo Domingo a year ago. There was no air conditioning in the changing room - a wheezing tabletop fan only made matters worse - and the humidity made her heavily made-up face tingle.

Alessio, the club's long-time manager, congratulated her on another sold-out show and asked about a contract.

"It'll have to be another time, babe. I really need to get home right now," she answered, unmoved by Alessio's offer. "Do you have my money?"

Alessio handed her a sealed white envelope as she walked out of the room and into the rear hall. "You must be in quite a rush," asked the aging Italian. "Aren't you going to change?"

Suddenly, Yanel realized she was still wearing her stage outfit, a form-fitting white latex jumpsuit. "I'll change when I get home," she said as she opened the club's private rear entrance.

She stepped into the warm Caribbean night and stopped one of several taxis slowly making their way down the centuries-old cobblestone street. "Tiradentes and Pastoriza, please," asked Yanel. The cab driver nodded in acknowledgment, his nervous eyes meticulously surveying every square inch of her body through the rearview mirror, like a lion surveying its prey.

The tiny cab sped up as it left the city's colonial zone and Yanel rolled down her window to take in the cool, fresh ocean breeze that had mysteriously drawn her here in the first place.

She studied the empty streets as the cab sped down Independencia Avenue. The blocks were arranged like an architectural timeline. The colonial-era buildings soon gave way to WWII-era sprawling residences. These, in turn, were soon replaced by rows and rows of sleek, modern apartment buildings. "You're a long way from New York, girl," thought Yanel.

"So, you're a performer?" asked the driver.

"Aren't we all?" replied Yanel.

"I guess you could say that," he said. "Only some of us never have to take our make up off."

She looked up to find his eyes intensely focused on her. "Keep your eyes on me and you'll kill us both."

"I'm willing to take that chance," he replied.

Ten minutes later the cab stopped in front of her apartment building, a unassuming, middle class six story stucco box on the corner of Tiradentes and Roberto Pastoriza Avenues. A small cafe located on the first floor had just closed and several customers were standing around out front, planning their next move.

"Aren't you going to invite me up to your place?" asked the driver.

Yanel was taken aback by the question. Despite being subjected to a daily dose of Dominican bravado, she still hadn't grown accustomed to the aggressive flirtation style prevalent here. Not that she was a saint, but these guys were beyond direct.

"Believe me, We have nothing to offer each other," she answered after paying the fare. "Have a good night."

"It's your loss," he replied.

"I am willing to take that chance," she said with a smile. "Good night."

The patrons' attention shifted to Lina as she climbed out of the cab in her skintight white outfit. The ensuing whistles and comments made her laugh and think: "Hey, if you can't stand the heat..."

Yanel entered the building, locking the lobby door behind her, and climbed the three flights to her apartment, number 316.

  

  

  

*********************************************
© 2004 by Lina Rodriguez. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, and compilation design) may be printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without the express written consent of StorySite and the copyright holder.