Singing Kumbaya
by Michael Priv
          “Don’t you 'sh-h-h-h' me, Nancy! You won't get anywhere by holding hands and singing Kumbaya, you know! You gotta fight!” Ron yelled, waving his bony finger in the air. Then, ferociously, to the young, pretty Mexicana Airlines employee, “How could you imbeciles lose my luggage? All my underwear and stuff! What’s your name? I want my suitcase!” Ron’s irritating falsetto rang through the great emptiness of the carousels hall.
           Nancy rolled her eyes in exaggerated torment and folded her arms in a pious, long-suffering manner.
          “My name is Rosalinda. I'm sorry, sir, mister... er... Rubenstein but your luggage is not lost. We know where it is. It has been mistakenly flown to El Deir, where it is currently being...”
          “El what?! Where the hell is Eldeer?” Ron’s falsetto reverberated most unpleasantly. Other passengers shuffled away. 
          “El Deir, sir. It’s in Egypt. Sir, please calm down! We will call your hotel the minute it arrives. Please! Your luggage is not lost. Let me explain! Sir! Put that down!”
          ”Ron, please!” Nancy pleaded feebly, weighing her entire body on his raised right arm while undoing his fingers locked around a hefty paperweight.
          “Muchas gracias! Whew! Thank you, ma’am. You see, sir, Missis Rubenstein is not upset so...”
          “Oh, no, no, I'm not Mrs. Rubenstein,” Nancy smiled sweetly, a bit out of breath. “No, Ms. Rosalinda, we are not married. I am merely porking him.”
           Ron stared at her, shocked. “What did you just say?”
          “What is “porking”, ma’am?” asked Rosalinda.
          “Never mind that, you miserable little...” Ron gave up his fight for the heavy object and picked up the verbal abuse right where he left off, not allowing anything to interject between him and his underwear and stuff, “Don’t you change the subject, young lady!”
          “To pork, you know, screw, bang, fornicate,” Nancy explained amicably, placing the heavy paperweight back on the counter carefully and brushing a stray lock of gray hair died auburn off her eye. “Just, you know, have sex.”
          The young woman understood, as evidenced by a carnal smile, which did indeed cross her lips ever so fleetingly.      
          Ron kept fuming. “Yeah, this ain’t Mrs. Rubenstein. Mrs. Rubenstein’s dead!”
          “My condolences, sir.” The Mexicana employee uttered solemnly to the old man, eyes down piously, then to Nancy with a wide grin, “Congratulations, madam! He is definitely you say it—‘a pistolero!’ Gr-r-r!”
          “I am a what?! A pistolero?! I’ll have your job for this, you little... You know what? That's it! You’re fired! Fired!!”
          “Ronny, calm down! Let’s go, you pistolero you!” Nancy towed bewildered, still fuming and devoid of any luggage Mr. Rubenstein by the hand away from the counter.
          “What was that nonsense all about, Nancy? We are having sex? How dare you?!”
          “Well, honey,” Nancy cooed soothingly stroking Ron’s hand as they walked, “We did in fact screw like rabbits in the high school for a couple of years. You didn’t seem to mind all kind of things we did.”
          “Fifty-five years ago. Or more! And you practically raped me first at that drive-in. I felt cheap and used!”
          “And now you brought me here to Puerto Vallarta, Ron, so...”
          “Just for companionship. My wife just passed away!”
          “And, let’s face it, honey, your wallet and medications are in my carry-on bag. You are stuck here with no place to go and no underwear—your luggage being lost in Cairo.”
          “It's not in Cairo, it is in Ben Gurion!"
          “No, dear, Ben Gurion is an airport in Israel. Your luggage is lost in Egypt.”
          “It is not lost!!”
          “Okay, darling, it is not lost--in Egypt--and so I did in fact think that you might want to, you know, wet your whistle.”
          "It's on my bucket list, Ronny. Do you get what I'm saying? As you said, you don't get anywhere by holding hands and singing Kumbaya. Especially your bucket list."
          "I said that?"
          They walked in silence for some time, two senior citizens holding hands. Ron opened the taxi door for her. They settled down, Nancy’s hand on Ron’s boney knee.
          “Nans, does your plan include me getting an erection?”
          “Shhh. Ronny, relax! You are so tense. Honey, just do it. I will undress you, rub your entire body with oil, slowly, and then I will ever so gently and sensuously massage...”
          “Yeah, massage! Right! You are out of your frigging mind!”
          “Shhh. You wonna hold hands and sing Kumbaya? You just gotta do it! Let me tell you what I'm gonna do to you after I rub your entire body with oil.”
          “Yes, Nancy, alright, I get it, but we don’t have any oil.” Ron flailed his arms in mock frustration.
          “Sure we do, lover boy. I got just a tad right here, just to get us started, babe.” Nancy hoisted a hundred-and-twenty-eight-ounce jug of massage oil from her bottomless bag.
          She came prepared. Ron turned away, defeated.  He stared out the car window.
          Their hotel entrance.
          They had arrived.
          The phone rang early next morning. Ron awakened pleasantly from his sweet, refreshing slumber. Life was good! He had slept on his back, covered with absolutely nothing. Nancy in the nude was snuggled comfortably against his side. The hotel room, haphazardly decorated with random articles of their clothing, was an icon of debauchery. Ron liked that. Nancy’s white panties with cute little lilies draped an empty wine bottle. They had ordered the wine last night with some sweets and luxuriated naked on their huge bed. Oh, yeah, all that luxuriating... Man! Ron was delighted to perceive a half-forgotten sweet stir in his loins. He smiled. What a party!       
          The phone rang again.
          “Hello! Who is this?” Ron asked in a pleasant baritone.
          “Good morning, sir, this is Rosalinda with Mexicana. Is Mr. Rubenstein there?”
          “Speaking. Him-self.” His voice had a damn nice ring to it.
          “Oh! You sound... How are you, sir?”
          “Splendid, Rosalinda! A lovely morning indeed! How was your night, you cute little Chiquita, you? Are you married?”
          “Sir! Mr. Rubenstein, I just wanted to apologize once again and let you know that your luggage is not lost—again! I just located it. It was mistakenly shipped to Espoo where it is currently being...”
          “Ass what? Ha-ha-ha! You guys are hilarious! Ass where?”
          “Espoo, sir. That’s in Finland and...”
          “Rosie-honey! Mamele! Doodele! It’s not important. Just some underwear and stuff—all made in China. Don’t worry so much. Relax! I'm sure you’ll get it back to me some day. Now listen here, we're doing the bucket list here, so Nancy and I are in our room having sex. I want you to join us, say, in an hour or so."
          "What?! Madre de Dios! Mr. Rubenstein! I never..! You should be ashamed..."
          "And grab a large pizza and a six-pack of Heineken on the way, will you?"
          He glanced at Nancy. She had woken up and was watching him now, nodding her encouragement.
          Nancy smiled an angelic smile.
          After a long pause, Rosalinda finally spoke.
          "Corona okay?" she asked.
                                                                                                                                                                                  © 2014 Michael Priv. All Rights Reserved.