Free The Visitor by Brent Ayscough

entire hotel lobby.
    Exciting the elevator like a fashion model on a ramp, she wore faded blue jeans, a matching faded denim shirt with the bottom shortened by tying the shirt tails together in a knot in the front, matching high-heeled shoes of light blue leather with several crisscrossing straps across the front of the foot. Her jewelry was a three-inch wide bracelet of real elephant tusk with semi-precious stones and gold, circular earrings. Her olive skin made her look like a movie star. Dark, as if from tanning, it was accentuated by the faded denim. Others stared at her beauty, as well.
    Unsure of himself, and taken aback by her new look, he did not respond immediately. Instead, he just stared at her as he had done when he met her the evening before.
    To ease his tension, and to give him reason to continue to stare, she stopped and posed, turning around to make it more comfortable for him to be gawking at her. “You said to dress casually. Will this do?”
    “You’re beautiful!” Andrew blurted out clumsily.
    “I’m glad you like it. I haven’t too many things, as I like to travel light. And now too, the airlines charge you extra for bags.” Shanta held out her hand to take his. “Shall we?”
    “Yes.”
    He let her lead him the first few steps toward the glass door entrance to the hotel.
    Outside, the black Mercedes was waiting patiently with Roger standing by at attention, not altogether unlike a Swiss Guard at the Vatican.
    Inside the car, Andrew looked at her. “What sort of food would you like?”
    “It’s such a nice day. Why don’t we go to someplace where we can sit outside?”
    Since Andrew seemed to have trouble selecting a spot, Roger volunteered, “It is a little brisk for the ocean, ma’am, but I know of several places that have outdoor seating, where it would not be uncomfortably cold.”
    Shanta looked at Andrew, who was silent, and then said, “Roger, why don’t you pick one?”
    “Any particular choice of cuisine, ma’am?” Roger asked, as she was Indian, and he knew enough to know some Indians didn’t partake of pork, such as Pakistani Muslims. Some were vegetarian and didn’t partake of eggs. The majority did not partake of beef. And others might have strange diets he did not know about.
    “I eat nearly everything,” she answered. Then she corrected, “Well, not like the Chinese, who eat everything that walks, flies, swims, or crawls underground.” She turned to Andrew and smiled. “I’d like to try something local, as this will probably be my one and only trip to America. Is there a local sort of food?”
    “We are close to the Mexican border, and there is much Mexican influence,” Roger answered. “I’ve been told of a place that serves an Americanized version of Machaca, fixed as an omelet with Spanish tomato sauce, marinated beef, onions, and lots of peppers. How does that sound?”
    Shanta looked at Andrew but he left the decision up to her. It being apparent that she was to decide, she said to them, “Let’s do Machaca. I love peppers.”

    ***

    “Oh Andrew, this is wonderful!” Shanta said, savoring the Machaca as they sat outdoors.
    “Nice,” Andrew agreed, being inexperienced with foreign foods. He then addressed what was foremost on his mind. “Do you believe that the Dalai Lama is the reincarnate of Buddha?”
    “Yes. Don’t you?”
    “It’s all new to me. Last night was the first time that I saw Him in person. I had a very strange feeling come over me at the session. Have you seen Him in person before?”
    “Oh yes. Last night was the fifth time. Except for once in London, all the others were in Asia. I went to Tibet but, of course, He was not there, as He is not allowed. I saw Him in Dharamsala, India, where I stayed for several weeks. That is the seat of the semi-official Tibetan Government In Exile and is known as ‘Little Lhasa.’ The original Lhasa is a city in Tibet.”
    “Tell me some of the things you have learned.”
    “Sure. Well,