Colleen let herself into the side door of the paint plant, unlocked now because the window was smashed in, and heard water splashing from the locker room. Using her flashlight to step around the indoor pond left by SFFD, she snaked along the old wall separating the main plant from the changing rooms and cafeteria and such. As she got to the locker room, she heard the shower running. Flashlight down, she pushed open the door and went in, treading quietly.
A candle in a glass jar on the floor flickered by the last shower stall, sending shimmers of light up the white tiles. It was one of those votive candles you could buy in the Mission, with a Virgin Mary decal on it. She seemed to be protecting whoever was taking a shower in the otherwise near darkness. Steam wafted from the open stall as water splashed off a moving body. Colleen powered off the flashlight.
She had a pretty good idea who was in there.
And it made parts of her body warm, parts that had been cold too long.
And then the bather broke into song, a deep voice singing in Spanish.
There was a little rancher girl …
And she stood there, interrupting a private moment, and savoring it, realizing how much Ramon must miss his home, even if the one he sang about was a mythical one, like in the song. But she missed the same home. She wanted to go back, even though it didn’t exist.
Steam floated out of the stall, over the dancing candlelight, as he sang about lost love.
My heart will always follow, wherever you may roam …
There was no time like the present.
She set the flashlight down softly, and slowly, quietly, undressed.
She stood up, completely naked, the San Francisco air chilled by rain making her skin prickle and goose bump. As well as the anticipation of what she was about to do.
She picked up the flashlight, turned it back on, shone it on the far wall, above the quivering light of the candle flame.
Ramon stopped singing.
“Who’s there?” he said in English. “Colleen?” He said her name in two words, unnatural syllables for his language. She’d never heard her name pronounced like that before. She liked it.
“Yes,” she said, pleased that he didn’t startle. He wasn’t that kind of guy. “Si.”
“I hope you don’t mind,” he replied in Spanish. “I needed a shower.”
“Why did you stop singing?”
A moment went by, the water spattering.
And I will always be there, when you are far from home …
She tiptoed down to the end of the locker room in her bare feet, the cold tiles heightening expectation, and she turned and shone the light on him.
His back to her, water ran off his muscled body, a body sculpted by hard work and whatever genes had made it the work of art it already was. His butt looked white compared to his tanned back and legs.
“Date la vuelta,” she said, the flashlight directly on him.
He turned, slowly, his hands covering his groin. She could see the dark hair around it.
Then he saw that she, too, was naked. His eyes widened. His mouth parted.
She focused the flashlight on his hands covering himself.
“Show me,” she said.
He gradually removed his hands. He was already growing hard.
She set the flashlight down on its side so that the beam lit up the shower stall. And then she walked in, the warm water caressing her skin as she reached for him.