Someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was Consuela Caballero, another old school friend. “If a girl’s got money, she doesn’t need big tits,” she whispered.
“Is that Esmeralda Salvatore?”
“Not much to look at, is she? But who cares when your father owns half of Miami?”
Chapter 5
I couldn’t bear it. Consuela and I went into the courtyard and looked around for someone to talk to, but there was just some senators and their wives, a few of Batista’s people, no one who wasn’t twice our age.
Except that man there.
I had never seen him before. He wasn’t as old as my father, but he was certainly older than Angel and his friends. He looked like a boxer, rugged rather than handsome. He had a pencil-thin moustache and wore a powder blue shirt with a sharp, white linen suit. He was smoking a thin cheroot.
People were stealing glances at him, like they were not sure if he had been invited. The men moved a little aside--none of them went to shake his hand, while the younger girls looked at him like lions examining their dinner. He seemed amused by the whole affair. He tapped a waiter on the shoulder, refused the offer of a champagne, and whispered something to him. The waiter returned with a glass of rum and ice.
He caught my eye and stared at me in a sardonic way that made me think that either my nipple was showing or my mascara had run. I fidgeted and looked away. When I looked back, he was still there and still looking.
He took off his sunglasses with one practised sweep and gave me the benefit of his smile. His eyes were ice blue. Dios mio, here was a tomcat on the loose. I gave him a look of utter disdain and turned away.
“Who is he?”
“That’s Reyes Garcia,” Consuela said. “I can’t believe he showed up here.”
“I’ve never seen him before. Who is he?”
“Lourdes thinks he’s Cuban, but if he is, no one’s ever heard of his family. I heard he’s running guns for the Fidelistas, or that he has something to do with the Americans--the CIA. Don’t talk to him. They say he can talk a girl’s pants off in ten minutes.”
“Why? He’s not that good-looking.”
“Are you kidding me? He’s outrageous. And they say he has the most enormous...you know.”
“He probably started the rumour himself. I bet he’s just another down on his luck gambler. He doesn’t look much to me.”
“Well, my father said to watch out for him.”
He was still looking at me. I felt my cheeks burn. He started across the courtyard towards us.
“He’s coming over,” Consuela said, and quickly put a hand to the neck of her dress and pulled it down a fraction. “Breasts out and smile,” she whispered.
But he didn’t get that far. Halfway across the room someone shouted out to him and pulled him into their conversation.
Consuela sighed. “Men! They ruin everything.”
She wandered off to talk gossip to some other girls. I was about to follow her but hesitated. I couldn’t take my eyes off this brute in the powder blue shirt. I didn’t understand why. His only redeeming feature as far as I could see were those piercing blue eyes.
I took another champagne from a passing waiter and wandered closer, listened in on the conversation. I didn’t know any of the men, none of them were friends of my father. They were talking politics as usual, which bored me. No one ever talked about anything except Castro and Batista and the rebels these days.
But this time I stayed to listen.
“Do you think the rebels will take Havana?” someone said.
“They’ll never take Havana! They can have the mountains, they can even have Santiago and Santa Clara if they want, but the Americans won’t let them in here.”
“I hear Fidel has revolutionary squads all over the city.”
“There’s no support for him in Havana! They’re contained in the Sierra Maestra. Since the latest offensive in March, there’s no problem in the city.
“It’s just a few students without arms or training causing all the trouble. Batista will finish them off before the New Year.”
“If he doesn’t, Coca Cola will!”
They all laughed at that, and then one of them turned to the man in the powder blue shirt, smoking the cheroot.
“What do you think, Reyes?”
He took off his sunglasses. It was a trick, I realized. He kept his eyes hidden, only revealed them to charm or to threaten whenever he wanted to. And now here was that deadly smile. In a moment he had changed from a boxer to a movie star.
“What do I think? I think I heard a bomb go off this afternoon.”
They all fell silent.
“They felt it in Galiano street,” he went on. “Although three Cuban cleaners in the Bacardi offices won’t be feeling anything any more, and half a dozen more walking past in the street won’t walk past anything ever again.”
“Anyone can plant a bomb. It doesn’t mean they’ll take over Havana. The Americans won’t ever let that happen.”
“Won”t they?” Reyes smiled. There was some uneasy shuffling of feet. “If you believe America can really order the world around to its liking, then I fear you may be a little misguided.”
“But Eisenhower has billions invested here.”
“Well you know what they say about investments, gentlemen: If it’s high return, there’s high risk. And it seems to me that Havana is about the riskiest place to make a dollar right now.”
“There have been rebels fighting the government for as long as anyone can remember,” one of the men said. “It’s part of our culture. As you would know if you lived here, Señor Reyes.”
“What is it exactly that you do here anyway?” another man asked him.
“Whatever turns a profit. I’ll be honest with you, I don’t care for politics and I don’t much care for wars, but there’s money to be made in both. The only side I’m on is mine.
“You must believe in something.”
“I’m the only cause I’m dedicated to, and that’s true of all men, I believe, if they’d only be honest about it.”
“Is it true you were arrested in Miami on a murder charge?” another man asked, and there was a deadly silence.
Reyes fixed the man with a blank stare. “Everything you hear about me is true, even the lies. But it’s too fine an afternoon to be talking about politics.” He put his sunglasses back on. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to get myself another drink. I find the service here is rather slow.”
After he’d left, the men smoked their cigars and turned to each other with sour looks on their faces, all their previous bonhomie evaporated. A few of them muttered about him under their breath. She heard what they said, and none of it was kind; half of them called him a communist, the others said he was a spy, and all of them said he was an opportunist who’d sell his own grandmother to make a profit.
“If it wouldn’t spoil your party, I’d lay him flat,” one of them said.
“Well, Julio, you should think twice about that. From what I hear about that murder charge, three men attacked him in a bar, and he was the only one who walked out. And they had knives and he didn’t. You still want to call him out?”
Chapter 6
I went back into the garden, but I couldn’t find Papi. Instead, I saw Angel walking hand in hand with Esmeralda. I felt nauseous seeing them together. But through some morbid sense of fascination - or mischief - I followed them into a secluded courtyard at the side of the house where they must have thought they were away from prying eyes.
And I suppose they were, except for mine.
Look at the little bitch; pale as milk and flat as a boy. And all those freckles and wild red hair! How could he even stand to look at her?
He led her to a marble bench in the shade of an avocado tree. I slipped into an arbour overgrown with vines and climbing yellow roses, where they couldn’t see me but I could hear every word they said.
Be cold to her, Angel, give me some hope.
“Do you love me?”
she heard this Esmeralda say.
“I’ve never loved anyone like I love you, baby. Nobody.”
“Because there’s all these girls here…I see the way they look at you and they’re all so much prettier than me.”
“I don’t care about any of them. No one does the things you do.”
What did he mean by that? Startled, I dared a glimpse around the pillar. He had his hand on her knee and he was nuzzling her neck, just like he did when he was with me, when he used to say, “Oh baby, you drive me crazy.”
“Oh baby, you drive me crazy.”
Dios mio. I wanted to kill him with my bare hands.
I remembered how he’d encouraged me to cup his balls and make him groan. Oh, I’d cup your balls for you now, baby, I thought. I could make you groan. I’d squeeze so hard they would hear you groaning in fucking Miami.
“What about Magdalena?”
I heard the catch in his voice. “Who’s Magdalena?”
“You think I don’t know about her? Everyone says you’re in love with her.”
“She doesn’t mean a thing to me.”
“Say it like you mean it.”
“I do mean it. She thinks she’s so fucking beautiful that all the boys will fall at her feet, but not me. She practically throws herself at me, sure. But did you see how vain she is? A man would have to be loco to fall in love with a girl like that. Besides, she doesn’t do it to me like you do. Not even close.”
I thought I was going to be sick. But I couldn’t move from where I was hiding without giving myself away. So I stayed and heard the rest of it.
“Does she kiss like me?”
“She doesn’t do anything like you. I didn’t know what it could be like until I met you. You’re the only one I want.”
“Have you slept with her?”
“Before I met you, sure. She just lies there. But how could I want any other woman now that I know how good it can be with you? I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I don’t want anyone else.”
I heard someone calling Angel’s name from inside the house. He told his little slut girlfriend that they had to be getting back to the party and they hurried back down the path to the garden. After they had gone I stumbled from behind the pillar and sat down on the cosy little love seat where Angel had spouted all his lies a minute before.
Then I put my head between my knees and was sick.
Chapter 7
And then I smelled cigar smoke.
“Well, it seems I’m not the only one with a bad reputation.”
I looked up. It was him.
“Is it the canapés? I hope the oysters aren’t off. I just helped myself to a dozen.”
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and squinted into the sun. Reyes took a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and passed it to me. I wiped my mouth and handed it back to him. He frowned and tossed it into the garden.
I tried to recover. I tossed back my hair and crossed my legs, resting my arm on the seat as I had seen Jackie Kennedy do in “Life” magazine. “Just a little too much sun.”
“You’ve just described Cuba. How long have you lived here?”
He was mocking her. Well, what would you expect of a man like this? The last time God made a gentleman was back in my father’s day.
“I saw you chasing that boy. Excuse me, but he doesn’t look anything special.””
“I wasn’t chasing him.”
“Of course you were. But I’d say you were a little late.”
“I’d say you should mind your own business.”
“They warned me you had a sharp tongue.” He took off his sunglasses, fixed me with his smile and held out his hand. “Reyes Garcia.”
I ignored his hand. “I know who you are.”
“Really? Have you been asking about me?”
“No, I overheard some men talking about you. They said you were a traitor and a thief and a womanizer.”
“And that’s just on a good day! You surprise me. I really thought no one liked me around here.”
He looked so damned sure of himself. He was one of those men who never seemed to sweat. He was standing much too close, stopping me from making the grand exit I wanted to make.
“Nice place,” he said, looking around. “Macheda says it’s been in the family for five generations. I’ve never been in one place longer than three months since I left school.”
“Running from the police, or other women’s husbands?”
He grinned. “Both. You’re Amancio Fuentes” daughter, aren’t you? Magdalena, isn’t it?”
“How did you know my name?”
“I made it my business to find out. You’re eighteen years old, an only child, and you’re studying drama. From what I’ve seen, you’ll pass with flying colours. Your father owns the Left Bank on the Rampa. If that’s the Amancio Fuentes, then I hear you can trace your line back to the conquistadores. Impressive.”
“Do you know my father?”
“Not really. But I know of him. We’re in the same business.”
“And what business is that, Señor Garcia?”
“Making money. And call me Reyes. “Señor Garcia” makes me feel ninety years old. You still look quite pale. Are you sure you’re all right? Sunstroke is pretty serious. Can I get you a glass of water?”
“I’m quite well, thank you.” I stood up.
“I don’t think it’s sunstroke. I think you’re lovestruck. A tip: That boy is nothing but trouble.”
“His name is Angel. And he’s not a boy.”
“I know his name. How old is he?”
“He’s twenty.”
He raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You know he doesn’t care for you?”
“Of course not. He’s engaged to that American girl, that’s why we’re all here. And why should I care?”
“I don’t know, that’s the very question I was asking myself. But it’s clear that you do from the way you’ve been obsessing about him all afternoon-”
“Obsessing!”
“-and I know he doesn’t care for you because of the way he looks back. You should forget about him, you could do much better.”
“You mean you?”
“Perhaps.”
“Aren’t you a little old for me, Señor Garcia?”
“There you go again with the “Señor.” Because I’m old enough to drink and drive a car - unlike your ex-boyfriend - doesn’t mean I’m too old for you. It just means I have a little experience and I don’t feel like I need to prove anything, to myself or my friends. You look like the kind of girl who could manage someone with a little experience instead of having amateurs fumbling around breaking your heart.”
“You mean I should have my heart broken by a professional?”
“Ah, so he did break your heart. I thought so. The boy doesn’t know how lucky he is. But that’s the trouble with good-looking rich boys, everything comes too easy, and they don’t know what they’ve got until it’s too late. I bet he told you he loved you, didn’t he?”
I thought I would choke. That was exactly what he’d said, in his father’s bedroom on Calle San Lorenzo. “What if he did?”
“I hate men who take advantage of women. The world has lost its moral compass. If a man can’t persuade a woman to bed without telling her he loves her, he has no business being in bed with her in the first place. A woman should know where she stands. I’m all for lying in politics and in business--in fact I like to think I perfected the art--but I can’t stand it when a man lies to a woman just so he can sleep with her. It shows poor moral character.”
I felt giddy; too much champagne on an empty stomach, too many bombs, too many lying boyfriends marrying other girls. I wanted to go home. “This is none of your business,” I said.
“I’d like to make it my business, Magdalena.”
He took my arm gently as I tried to slide past him.
“I saw you the moment I walked into the house. You’re the most beautiful woman here, and by far the m
ost interesting. In fact you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve seen anywhere. Every man here has been following you around with their eyes all afternoon, and you pretend like you don’t notice. Even the family priest has been ogling you. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice?”
I tried not to smile. He was right, I’d made sure I got everyone’s attention. “I thought Father Goncalvez's attentions were ill considered,” I said.
“I like the way you walk, and I like the way you smile, though you don’t smile nearly as much as you should. I like the way you toss your hair when you walk into a room. And the last woman I saw who filled out a dress like that was on the red carpet at the Oscars in Los Angeles.” He slipped his sunglasses back on. “Forget about the boy. Have dinner with me instead.”
“I wouldn’t go out with you if you were the last man on earth.”
“The last man on earth? That’s a lot of men to get through. My guess is you’ll give up and cut your losses long before then.”
“Dios mio. I have never met anyone as arrogant as you.”
“And you never will.”
I hurried inside to find my father. I heard Reyes laughing as I ran off.
I wished now that I’d never come. All the things Angel had said kept running around in my head. He loved me, I knew he did. So why had he said those things to that...puta?
I had to get out of there.
Chapter 8
I couldn’t find my papi anywhere. Finally someone told me he was in the back parlour. The door was locked and I had to knock. It opened just an inch and a gorilla in a tuxedo peered out and asked me what I wanted. I told him.
In a moment Papi was there; he closed the door behind him and led me away by the arm. But before the door closed I caught a glimpse of a smoke-filled room and some men sitting around a table. Macheda was there, and Lansky, the man who had come to our house in the shiny new Cadillac.
“Is everything all right, cariña?”
“I was looking everywhere for you,” I said.
“I thought you were enjoying the party,” he said. He looked back at the closed door. “I had some business to attend to.”
Naked In Havana (Naked Series Book 1) Page 3
