by Brenda Joyce
"Is Janice also your mistress?"
"Oh, for crissakes!"
Lucy wished she'd held her tongue. "I'm sure there won't be any problems."
"Let's hope not," he returned. "We're here. But think about leaving!"
Lucy suddenly wanted to delay their parting, but Shoz slid her to the ground. The stallion shifted restlessly. Shoz's mouth was taut and tight. She wanted to invite him in, but before she could, he abruptly wheeled the big animal around. Lucy watched his back as he trotted away from her, wanting to call him back—or go with him. She stared after him until he was no longer visible.
The villa was white stucco with half an acre of tropical gardens and a small swimming pool. It was cool and spacious within, with a distinctly Caribbean flavor to its furnishings. Lucy had always loved the house.
She was greeted at the front door by the housekeeper, a big Negress named Venida. She seemed displeased with Lucy's presence, although not surprised, for her bags had already arrived with the driver she had left during the riot. However, all her luggage was still in the foyer, Venida seeming reluctant to exert herself to make Lucy comfortable.
"Please have my things brought up to the pink room, Venida. I'll stay there."
"But that's where your papa stays when he comes," Venida argued, scowling.
Lucy found herself explaining to the servant. "Daddy is not coming to Cuba, and I'm going to stay for some time. The pink room, please, Venida."
Before supper, which Venida waddled off to prepare with some grumbling under her breath, Lucy explored the villa, refamiliarizing herself with it. She unpacked a few things, then spent an hour soaking in the huge sunken tub in the master bath, sipping a brandy and relaxing. Her life seemed to have changed suddenly and dramatically.
Shoz was here. He had rescued her heroically, and for the first time since he had done so, Lucy could remember, and luxuriate in the memory. In all the memories. And he cared enough about her to warn her to be careful. Maybe it wasn't very much, but it was a start.
She was no longer shaken by the riots. Alone in the massive tub, pampering herself, it seemed hard to believe that outside the villa there existed a world of subterfuge and insurrection, of violence and revolution. She might have felt the tiniest shiver of excitement.
Her life was certainly no longer dull and dreary.
The next day Lucy set out to see those parts of Havana that were not proscribed. Venida made it clear where she should and should not go, and had the gall to instruct the coachman. Lucy supposed she was only trying to be helpful, but she did not like being told where she could and could not go.
One of her first stops was the American consulate.
Lucy wanted to meet the secretary Shoz had referred to, Janice. She was a short, plump woman in her forties, and Lucy was ashamed of having jumped to the wrong conclusion. She had picked an importune time to visit, for the consulate was a beehive of activity due to the riots of the day before. The wires between Washington and Havana seemed to be in constant use. "I'm sorry," Janice apologized, looking harried. A cacophony of typewriters, telegraphs, telephones, and voices made it hard to hear her. "But we're almost in a state of emergency; this is exactly the kind of trigger that might cause McKinley to declare war on Spain!"
Lucy shuddered at the thought. As the revolution dragged on, the American press had begun speculating on the possibility of American intervention to gain Cuban independence. When she had been in New York, the idea had seemed remote, but now, amidst the chaos of the consulate, it seemed very real, and frightening. "Janice, I'll come back another time."
She left, but not before overhearing Janice telling a cohort, excitedly, that the State Department had put the USS Maine, stationed at Key West, Florida, on alert. She hurried outside, into the sunny brightness of the Havana morning. Here, amidst the tall, stately buildings of the government district, it seemed peaceful and serene—as if the riots of yesterday and the revolution did not even exist.
Lucy wondered at the connection between Janice and Shoz. Janice was working for the United States government; Shoz was obviously deeply involved with the rebels. Was she a spy? A spy for the rebels? Why else would she be passing messages to Shoz? Or was he a spy? Exhilaration suddenly gripped Lucy, stopping her in her tracks. When they were in Brownsville, her grandfather had said that the government was sending Shoz to Cuba, to supply the rebels with guns. And if he was working with Janice, than he must be some sort of spy for the United States. Lucy didn't know whether to be terrified for Shoz, or proud of him.
On her fourth night in Havana, the Spanish governor-general held a small dinner party in honor of the new American consul, who had just arrived. Janice had secured Lucy an invitation. The American community in Havana was small and cohesive, and as a Bragg, she was a welcome addition and had already met most of the wives of the consulate staff. The evening affair was held at the governor-general's palace. Lucy was introduced to the ranking officials of the Spanish government, the rest of the foreign community, and their wives. She found the occasion to be little different from any New York ball. The men flirted openly with her; their wives were eager for a newcomer to relieve the tedium of their exile. And as she had just arrived from the States, everyone was eager to know the "real" mood in America. Would Washington really go to war for the sake of a few Cuban rebels?
Soon the group she was with began to discuss excitedly the latest exploits of one of the rebels, someone they called El Americano. As usual, he had attacked and harassed the Spanish troops right under the noses of the government, this time at Castillo del Morro, where a bomb had gone off, destroying part of the fortification and causing great chaos— and even more embarrassment. The Americans in the group appeared to admire him.
"Is he really an American?" Lucy asked, pale. She couldn't help thinking of Shoz.
"Oh, I don't think so," one of the consulate secretaries said. "He's called that because he speaks Yankee English, when most Cubans speak English with a British accent. They say he's dark as sin; he's probably part Indian and part Negro—and all Cubano." She laughed.
Lucy did not have time to dwell on her suspicions. For she saw Leon.
It was a great shock. He was standing across the room, staring at her coldly. She could not believe this coincidence; she went white. He turned away, but Lucy, recovering, excused herself and crossed the room.
"What are you doing here!"
"I should ask you," he said coldly. He eyed her bare shoulders with a combination of interest and distaste, and Lucy felt naked in her yellow sheath.
"I decided to leave New York," Lucy said.
"I'm the new American consul."
She gasped, stunned. "But I thought you were posted in Puerto Rico!"
"I was. This is a new assignment," Leon said, and rudely he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there alone.
"A very foolish man," someone said behind her. Lucy whirled, embarrassed that someone had seen Leon cut her off.
"We haven't had a chance to speak, and I regret it greatly," General Valeriano Weyler said.
They had briefly been introduced, but had not talked. Lucy managed to smile, still shaken by Leon's presence in Havana. The general was tall and handsome, with tawny hair and olive skin and pale blue eyes—-yet he was not attractive. He had an intensity that disturbed her. He was the general already infamous in the States for his policy of herding up the local population and confining them to limited areas, ostensibly to create fire-free zones where the rebels would not have any local support. According to sensational press reports, Weyler's camps were overcrowded and inadequately supplied, causing much pain and hardship and even death.
"Hello, General," Lucy said evenly.
He took her hand and kissed it. Lucy did not like the feel of his mouth on her skin. "You are a true beauty, my dear, a ravishing one. I see you have already met your new consul."
Was he merely making conversation, or was he prying? "Thank you," Lucy said. "Leon and I are old friends; our
families are quite close."
"Indeed? A small world. Then you must be quite fond of Senor Claxton."
"He is my friend; once, he was a beau." Lucy didn't particularly care for the turn of conversation, or for admit-ting more than She wanted to.
"Ahh, yes, I see. The poor fellow looked somewhat surly."
"I'm sure you only imagined that." "I like loyalty in a woman."
"I imagine you like loyalty in all those who serve you, General."
"Ahh," he said with a smile. "I knew you were as clever as you are beautiful. Have you had the time to visit Maravilla yet?"
"No, but soon I shall go." She was eager to see the plantation again. Weyler did not miss her mood.
"You cannot, of course, travel there yourself, because of the rebels. Perhaps I can be of service. Tomorrow I have a meeting with some of my local commanders not far from Maravilla. I will be happy to escort you there."
Lucy's mind raced frantically. Her instincts warned her not to go anywhere with the general; on the other hand, what safer escort could she have? Even though she had only been in Havana a few days, she knew he was right, she could not go alone with her coachman to Maravilla. "I don't know."
"I will stop by your villa at eight tomorrow. You have the entire evening to decide."
Lucy opened her mouth to protest, but he bowed and left. She was relieved, for their short conversation had somehow made her uneasy. She decided that no matter how much she wanted to see Maravilla again, she would not go with Weyler.
Lucy left the party just before midnight, being one of the first to depart. Her coachman was waiting; his face bright-ened at the sight of her. It was only a short drive back to her villa, and the night air was warm, still, and balmy. She realized, as Venida let her in, that she was tired, but pleasantly so; it had been an enjoyable evening. She smiled and hummed a little tune as she let herself into the luxurious pink room.
"Just where the hell have you been all night?" "Shoz!" Lucy cried.
Chapter 43
"Where the hell have you been?"
Lucy recovered from the shock of finding him standing there in the middle of her bedroom. "What are you doing here?!"
"Or rather," he gritted, his gaze sweeping her strapless yellow sheath, "who the hell were you with?"
Lucy thought she heard a noise, and suddenly realized how compromised she was, with Shoz in her bedroom. She turned and shut the door quickly. "What does that mean?"
"It means who the hell are you sleeping with now!'' Shoz shouted, and he flung his arm out, slamming his fist into the mirror above the mahogany bureau.
Lucy gasped as the mirror shattered, falling over the bureau and to the floor. Shoz stood motionless, holding his arm aloft, while blood from his hand began spotting the beautiful Aubusson rug. Lucy moved.
"What have you done!" she cried, rushing to him and taking his wrist.
"Dammit," he cursed. "Only you do this to me."
Lucy had already fled into the bathroom and returned with a fluffy pink towel, which she wrapped quickly around his hand. "For your information," she said stiffly, recalling his horrendous accusation, "I was at a party."
"With who?"
Before Lucy could answer, there was a sharp rapping on her door. "Miz Lucy, is that you? You all right?" It was Venida.
"No!" Lucy cried. "Don't—"
But Venida opened the door and saw the mirror. "Lawdy!" Then she saw Shoz.
For a moment the tableau was frozen. Shoz and Lucy standing together, his hand wrapped in the pink towel, Lucy holding his arm, Venida staring. Disapproval formed swiftly on her black face. "Well," she humphed. "I can see you got company and no need for me!" She turned and marched out with as much indignation as a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound woman could manage. She left the door open.
"Oh, God!" Lucy cried, running to the door and closing it. She leaned against it, breathless. "Of all the people, that nosy Venida! She won't say anything, will she?"
"Servants love to gossip," Shoz stated flatly.
Lucy moaned.
Shoz looked at the mirror and grimaced. "Stupid, real stupid. I'll replace it." "Forget the mirror," Lucy snapped, frazzled now. She grabbed his elbow and propelled him into the hallway. "I'm sure there's antiseptic in the kitchen, and at least there's soap."
Venida was in the kitchen smoking a cigarette when they came in. The kitchen was spotless, but when she saw them, she put it down, turned, and began banging pots and pans around. Lucy gave Shoz a warning look that said, "Shut up and sit," and approached her. Shoz sat at the kitchen table, saying nothing, but his mouth quirked. Venida slammed a lid on a pot.
"Do we have antiseptic?"
"In the pantry." She began to wipe down the scrupu¬lously clean counter, with long, hard strokes.
Lucy soon found everything she needed, filled a bowl with water, and joined Shoz at the table. She began cleaning his hand. None of the cuts were deep, but she had to remove many splinters of glass.
"Whose party?"
She didn't look up. "I was at the governor-general's." "Ah, yes. And how did you wrangle that invitation?" Venida paused in her scrubbing of the countertop. "Janice."
Shoz raised a brow.
Lucy looked up. "Just in case there's trouble, I thought I had better make her acquaintance."
Shoz's stern expression softened. "That was smart."
Lucy bit back a smile at his compliment, if it was such, and began dabbing antiseptic on his cuts. Venida made a noise.
Lucy looked at her. "I think the kitchen is clean enough, Venida; why don't you call it a night?"
"As you surely are about to do," she sniffed, and waddled out.
Lucy clenched her fists; Shoz laughed.
"She's not funny," Lucy hissed. "She's a big busy-body—what was she doing upstairs anyway when you hit the mirror? Spying on me? She was certainly eavesdropping here in the kitchen!"
Shoz chuckled again, the sound warm, rich. "She's probably harmless. I think I like her."
"You would!" Lucy flared, yanking his hand forward and slapping more antiseptic on. "Ow!"
"You would like anything that makes my life more dif-ficult."
He said, "So how's the new American consul?" Lucy froze. "You know? You know it's Leon?" He nodded.
"Why didn't you warn me!"
"I didn't know you needed warning."
Lucy wrapped his hand in gauze and taped it. "That wasn't fair, what you said earlier." She had lowered her voice.
"What should I have thought?" He knew exactly to what she was referring. "It's one in the morning, and you come in singing, dressed to kill a man."
"You shouldn't have thought that," Lucy said, gathering up all the items she had used. She put them away, disposing of the soiled linens. She paused before Shoz, gripping the back of her chair. He stared at her.
The crisis past, Lucy was gripped with a very familiar longing. She could feel the increased beat of her heart, the tension in her spine. "Why did you come?"
"You know why I came."
She could barely breathe. "Then," she said huskily, "why don't we adjourn upstairs?"
He kicked back his chair, standing. Lucy lowered her gaze, afraid she would reveal too much of the intense desire—and emotion—she was feeling. He followed her upstairs wordlessly. Lucy paused in the bedroom, and heard Shoz close and lock the door behind them. She did not move, filled with excitement, yet filled with anguish, too.
This was what she wanted, why she had come to Cuba, to be with him, even if it was only in his bed. And this was why he had come, to sleep with her—and not for anything more. It was so bittersweet.
"Lucy," he whispered from behind, closing his large hands on her bare shoulders.
Lucy heard herself sigh as he pulled her pliant body against his. She arched into him.
"You are the most beautiful woman I know." His mouth touched her neck.
A wonderful thrill raced across her, yet it was as much, or more, in response to his words than to his touch.
He had never given her such an extravagant compliment before. Tears flooded her eyes.
And then his hands slid across her bare collarbone, across the flat upper planes of her chest, and then down into her bodice. He gripped her breasts, his teeth finding the skin of her neck. Lucy reached behind her to grasp the fabric of his jeans, anchoring him more firmly against her. His phallus was already engorged, pulsing deeply in the cleft of her buttocks.
"I am going to die," she gasped.
"I'll help you," he said.
Something banged, a door, awakening Lucy. She was incredibly tired, as if she hadn't slept at all, and she rolled over, reaching for a pillow to cover her eyes as sunlight suddenly poured into the bedroom. As if someone had opened the blinds. Then she remembered—Shoz. She smiled, a warm, wonderful happiness assailing her.
"Jist ain't right, good folks ought to know better; now, if'n it was po' trash, why, then I'd understand, but good folks? Lawdy!"
Lucy gasped, realizing that Venida was in the bedroom, her eyes flying open. One look showed her that she was alone; Shoz had already left. Thank God!
"Such carryings-ons I neveh did see! 'Bout time you opened them eyes!"
Lucy sat up. "What time is it?"
Venida set a tray of hot chocolate down by the bed. "Seven."
"Seven!"
"You tol' me last night, when you first came in, to wake you at seven 'cause mebbe some general was goin' to come by. Or have you forgot?" Her hands fisted on her hips.
Lucy had told Venida to wake her just in case she changed her mind and decided to go to Maravilla. "Thank you, Venida," she said, her tone dismissive.
Venida walked to the door. "If'n your daddy knew the goin' ons in his house—in his bed*—if he knew what his daughter was up to, he'd jist about die!" With that, she left.
Lucy's annoyance fled. She grinned like a cat, stretching luxuriously. Last night had been wonderful. Better than ever, oh yes. And she was in love, madly, hopelessly in love, again. Maybe she was a fool, but it was worth it!
