Cocktails With Nefertiti By Herbert W. Piekow
T
he first thing I noticed about her was the leopard spotted blouse and the way the spots moved on her ample breasts as she maneuvered towards where I sat alone enjoying my evening cocktail on Chapultepec Avenue. Most evenings, when I am in my Guadalajara apartment, I like to sit on the stone benches on Chapultepec where I can feel the vibrancy of the city and observe the people and traffic. After making eye contact, she approached, as I knew she would; I noticed the spots on her skirt were darker brown than the almost orange spots of her blouse and I surmised the two pieces had definitely been purchased independently from one another, but worn with pride. I stood, she extended her hand; “My name is Nefertiti, like the Queen of Egypt.” I thought of responding by saying something like, “You’re not the first queen I’ve met,” but instead was surprised by her firm grip and whiff of good perfume as we touched right cheeks.
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El Ojo del Lago / December 2010
“Vamos a sentarnos!” I said indicating a spot on the bench for us to sit. “I am from Tijuana,” she volunteered. “Where are you from?” I didn’t know if she wondered about my obvious accent, which a Mexican woman recently described as, “pretty,” or if Nefertiti wanted to know my whole history. We chatted a little, she crossed her legs, pulled the printed nylon skirt above, her thick knees, kicked off one of her dark brown high heeled shoes and said; “I would like a drink, if you bring me one.” I took a sip from my nearly empty tumbler. “I only have tequila, vodka and Squirt.” “Whatever you drink,” she said and