Latin Heat by Denise L. Wyant

Latin Heat

    Simone ambled down the paved path toward her private bungalow. Nina, the woman who’d checked her in, explained that she would be staying in one of the resort’s nicest bungalows. Despite the heat and humidity, the breeze coming off the Caribbean Sea cooled her skin.
    She dug through her purse and located the keycard. Simone walked up the couple of stairs to the door of her retreat. Her body dragged due to the early three hour flight. Plus, sweat now trickled between her breasts in a very unladylike fashion; Simone hadn’t dressed for island temperatures when she left D.C. No need to worry, though. The bellhop would soon arrive with her bags, and she could change into her swimsuit and head for the beach.
    Sliding the card through the reader yielded a locked door. The little light never changed from red to green. Well , she thought, maybe I need to flip the card or perhaps the humidity is affecting the sensor? She tried again and even turned the card; each swipe was met with the same result: the blasted red light would not change to green. Simone huffed out a breath, plopped into one of the chairs on her porch, and stared out at the water. The scene couldn’t have been more perfect. Two palm trees framed the view of a white sand beach and green-blue water.
    Several minutes passed. Where the hell is the bellhop? Surely he will have a working keycard . Simone’s stomach rumbled, reminding her that she’d only snacked since she left Dulles Airport. Well, what a way to start my so-called renewal trip! Now that the terms of her divorce were final, she wanted time away to reflect upon all that happened. Yeah, girl, how did you miss all the signs of Asshole’s lengthy affair with his legal intern? Little did he know that the barely legal Barbie he fucked regularly would leave him when she found a younger sugar daddy who brought in more money than her ex-husband. Justice would be so sweet.
    Still no sign of the bellhop. Her mood worsened as time passed. Damn it! Paradise was supposed to be worry-free and relaxing. In desperate need of a cold drink—something of the alcoholic variety— Simone trekked back to the lobby. Of course, she didn’t pass anyone on the way that could provide assistance. She wondered if the bellhop made off with her bags. Sighing, her thoughts drifted to what kind of exclusive retreat the management ran. None of the reviews she read online indicated any problems. Everyone raved about the scenery, the quality of the accommodations, and the professional staff. Well , Simone thought, we shall see just how professional the staff is .
    Another couple checked in with Nina, and no other staff lingered in the lobby. Simone tried to wait patiently, but ended up with her hip cocked and her foot tapping. Finally, Nina motioned for her to approach the desk.
    “My keycard doesn’t work. Obviously something’s wrong with it.” Simone thrust the card at the woman. Knock it off; don’t take your frustrations with Asshole out on her. She has no control over the island humidity. Sheesh!
    “My apologies. Let me reprogram it.” The woman maintained her polite smile while she fiddled with the card.
    Simone looked around the lobby. She didn’t see any refreshments. What kind of place were they running? Surely they realized travelers would appreciate something to drink—especially in the heat. “Is the restaurant open? I’m rather thirsty from my trip.”
    The woman looked up. “Actually, the restaurant won’t be open until six for dinner. The bar is off to your right. Drinks and appetizers are available there.”
    She caught sight of an older couple walking from the direction the woman indicated. They each carried a drink with an umbrella. Simone licked her lips in anticipation.
    The woman interrupted, “Señora, the machine is having difficulty with your card. Perhaps you’d like to get a drink, and I will bring you a new card shortly?”
    Really? They can’t even give me another card? This