“So is my lover an altruist or a libertine?” I asked him, again in English. The duality of his nature intrigued me. One minute he could be the most caring, nurturing man in the world, then in bed he turned into a complete animal. I ran my fingers through his jet-black hair, appreciating how the stark white pillowcase under his head framed his face beautifully. It illuminated his chiseled features from behind, like a halo in a Renaissance painting.
“I think I know what you said, and I assure you I’m not un libertino. I would never tie you up or enjoy your pain, and I sincerely hope you would never allow anyone else to do that to you, either. That shit needs to be worked out with a psychiatrist. Always remember that a man must respect you in and out of bedroom and give you nothing but pleasure.”
“But all the women’s magazines say I’m responsible for my own orgasms, not you,” I joked. Once again, I saw a flicker of desire in his eyes, then something else.
“No, that’s my job.”
I loved his face, not just because of his disarming beauty, but also because he was so expressive. I noted that now he looked particularly somber as his eyes fixed vacantly on the ceiling.
“Amada, it’s time for you to disembark,” he sighed. The chaos on the dock had reached its crescendo, the din reminding us that the outside world was waiting and our small slice of Heaven in this little room was gone forever.
“I don’t want to,” I said, staring straight ahead at the wall. There we were, side by side, unable to look at one another. Finally he sat up and buttoned his pants.
“Almost every passenger is off the ship by now. You have to pack up.” He turned his back to me and acted as if he hadn’t heard a word. It hurt to see him do it, and I knew I didn’t want to remember him that way. I touched him, fascinated by the way his strong muscles undulated beneath his golden, baby-soft skin.
“What muscle is this?” I asked.
“El músculo trapecio,” he said, putting on one of his shoes.
“Trapezius in English?”
“I don’t know.” He shot me a look over his shoulder.
“And this one?” I moved my hand lower.
“El músculo dorsal ancho. What do you think you’re doing?”
“What is it called in English?”
“I told you, I don’t know.” There was an edge to his voice now.
“Then I’ll be your teacher. You can get your medical license here while you work for me.”
He spun around and looked at me like I was mad. I’d struck a nerve, so I braced myself for whatever was coming.
“You’re crazy.” He rolled his eyes at me and continued to dress himself.
“What do you mean?” I demanded. He still didn’t answer, so I poked him in the back. “Why aren’t you taking me seriously?”
“Because you haven’t thought it through,” he said, eyeing me as he stood to pull on his shirt. “You can’t just pick me up and take me home like a stray dog you found on the street.”
“Let me help you, Rafa. I’ll pay more than what you’re making here. I need a driver, and no one cooks in my house, so you can cook, too. And at the same time, I’ll help you with your English and we’ll get you ready for your exams.” It was more than that, although I was still too afraid to let him know just how much I needed him as a lover and a friend.
“I’m all alone in that big house. I’d love your company. You mean to tell me you’d rather stay here, when I can offer so much more?” I spat it all out quickly so that I could make my case before he cut me off again, but all he heard was help, driver, and cook.
“So, I would be your employee? Hm. Well, that sounds like a very balanced relationship. What were those duties again? I think you left one out.” He kept his eyes down as he buttoned his shirt from bottom to top.
“Your problem is that you wouldn’t be able to bend me over a balcony and show me who’s boss anymore,” I said, tugging on his belt buckle to get his attention.
“Your little arrangement wouldn’t stop me from bending you over anything.” He met my gaze, but I looked away before he could see me blush. To my chagrin, I thought I heard him laugh a little under his breath.
“I know how much that dress costs, Amada.” He walked over to the Valentino gown. “That’s haute couture. How much did you pay for that?” He’d called it alta costura, which took me a second to translate from Spanish to French, and then into English.
“How do you know what it is if you were so poor?” I knew it was a horribly elitist thing to say, and I had to admit I was surprised by my own arrogance.
“Because my mother worked as a seamstress her whole life for pennies a day, and she almost went blind from sewing little pearls and sequins on evening dresses by hand until three in the morning.” He waited, his eyes daring me to admit the cost of the dress.
“I don’t remember how much.” A lie, yes, but I wasn’t going to help him make his point.
“Bullshit. I bet it cost twenty thousand dollars.” Mierda. Te apuesto que costó veinte mil dólares.
“It was thirty-five thousand dollars.” His mouth dropped open, but then he nodded his head, vindicated. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what he thought of it.
“And this one?” he asked, gesturing to the black lace gown from the night we met.
“I have no idea. It was a gift from my brother.”
“Your brother?” His voice dripped with sarcasm, but it was still deep and sexy, and now that he was angry, he seemed to take up even more of the room. “I doubt it. The man who bought that dress was madly in love.”
“You have quite an imagination,” I said, but inwardly I couldn’t believe we’d both gotten the same incredibly specific impression.
“I will never be able to buy you a dress like that, Amada.”
“I don’t need any more dresses!” I leaped off the bed and threw on my robe. Feeling exposed, I searched for the tie in vain, so I reluctantly held the robe closed with my fist.
“It would never work between us,” he said, looking at me, then the dress, then back again. “Let this be a wonderful memory. It will be for me.”
“Am I really just a one-night stand to you?” Tears welled up and my throat burned, a clear sign that this was not going to turn out as I’d hoped. He put his hand on my cheek and looked at me as if I were the most heartbreaking thing he’d ever seen. He moved as if to embrace me, then stopped himself.
“God, you’re killing me. I warned you,” he said softly. “I knew you were going to have a hard time with this part.”
“You were right,” I said sniffling. “I’m disgusted I let you have me so easily last night. I’m ashamed of myself.”
“No, sweetheart, don’t be,” he said, going back to the buttons on his shirt. “It felt right. We just knew.”
“Then come with me.” Come live with me and be my love, I thought, remembering the Marlowe poem. I searched his eyes for anything that revealed his true feelings, but he’d gone completely blank. Overcome with emotion, I stifled a sob and tried to undo the buttons he’d just fastened, but he simply moved my hands away, kissed them, then took a few steps back.
“Use your common sense,” he said, getting upset. “I could be a con-artist or a serial killer for all you know.” A horrified look flashed across his face. “My God, I hope you haven’t done this before. You can’t just invite men you barely know to your home, Amada. You have no clue how the world really works, do you?”
“No, I guess I don’t. I can’t imagine how I’ve lived to be this old as stupid as I am.”
“Amada! Don’t talk that way about yourself,” he snapped. “I don’t like it.”
“Then don’t call yourself a stranger. You know there’s something between us.”
“It’s the sex,” he sighed. He ran his hand through his hair, the metal on his watch reflecting the harsh light gradually angling its way into the cabin. “It’s easy to get confused when it’s so good. Of course I’m feeling it, but the difference is I know I can’t have every
thing I want.”
“The difference is you don’t think you deserve it,” I countered sharply.
“Jesus, I told you I loved you,” he hissed, grabbing me by the elbow. “Now you want me to go home with you after two days? We’re obviously not thinking straight!” He let go and went back to wrestling with the damned shirt, still shaking his head in disbelief.
“Well, I have to accept that this is nothing new to you. I know they chase you left and right, Casanova. I’m under no illusion that I’m any different.” I crossed my arms and thought of Sharon and her nauseating comments. At first, I thought he was going to continue to ignore me, but then he gave up on the buttons and slammed his hand down on the dresser.
“How could you go to bed with a waiter on a seven-day cruise and think it could end any differently!” he shouted, finally showing the emotion I craved. “I’m not good enough for you!”
“You’re not a waiter, you’re a doctor! You’re an educated, hard-working, brave man who just has to acclimate to new surroundings, and I want to help you. You’re not the first person in the world to start over!” I took a step toward him, but he held up his hand for me to stop.
“You’re not getting what you want this time. When you get home and think about it, far away from that bed, you’ll see I’m right.” We turned toward it at the same time, the disheveled sheets and strewn pillows clear, tangible evidence of how much we’d enjoyed each other.
“Rafa—”
“Amada, enough. I’m trying to rebuild my life. I can’t drop everything on a rich woman’s whim.” He paused, suddenly realizing how cruel he’d been, but didn’t take it back.
Humiliated, I let go of my robe and started to throw clothes haphazardly into the open suitcase on the floor. Most of it hit the carpet, but I continued to toss my belongings in that general direction, looking away so that he wouldn’t see the tears streaming down my face. He made a feeble attempt to hug me, but I pushed him away. I didn’t want him to see me weak and exposed. He’d cut me to the quick, and I hurt.
“Give me your number,” he begged. “We can get together when I’m in Miami. Let’s keep in touch.”
“Are you kidding?” I was dumbfounded. “You want to be fuck buddies? Get out!”
I took one last look at him, standing by the door with his rumpled white shirt still open at the top, the most devastatingly handsome man I’d ever seen. I offered him everything I had, and he still didn’t want me. I went into the bathroom and slammed the door shut, and outside I heard him do the same.
CHAPTER FOUR
I know shouldn’t have told her to keep in touch. I have no clue what came over me, and she was right for screaming at me to get out. All she wanted was for me to be with her. I thought about following her into the bathroom, but I couldn’t in good conscience do what she wanted, and now that I had completely insulted her, she was done. I’d accused her of only wanting me for sex, of trying to control me with money, put down her clothes and basically criticized her entire existence. Oh, but sweet Jesus, the sex had been so fucking hot. I can’t believe I’d never have her again. Still, there must have been some part of me that knew I couldn’t walk away forever, because before I left her stateroom I glanced at her luggage tags. Amanda Rose, 331 Gablesworth Boulevard, Coral Gables, FL.
I ended up on the crew deck because I didn’t want to run into her again before she left. Jose, Eduardo and Edgardo were already at the little bar getting hammered, so I sat down on a stool and watched them down shot after shot. They were usually together and pretty much always making a spectacle if they were off the clock. Jose and Edgardo were around my age and not too bad to be around. Edgardo was single, but Jose had a wife in Miami that he cheated on constantly. More than once he’d discreetly come to me to ask if this bump or that red spot was VD. It was.
“Hey, Paul Newman, what’s going on?” Eduardo was Mexican and had a strange sense of humor. We got along most of the time, but sometimes he rubbed me the wrong way because he was in his forties and still acted like a horny teenager. They all gave me a couple of friendly swats on the back. “Nah, I’m just joking,” said Eduardo, not knowing when to stop. “I meant Brad Pitt!” The three of them erupted in such ferocious laughter that Eduardo began to choke. These idiots were already three sheets to the wind, but apparently that wasn’t good enough because they ordered another round of tequila.
“Hey, bartender, get our friend here a drink.” Jose waved to Salvador at the other end of the bar, a nice kid from Colombia who sometimes worked with me in the kitchen. Sal wanted to become an architect and liked to talk to me about college and his future career.
“What’s up, buddy?” said Sal, coming over to my side. The crew bar was small and dark, just an ugly hole in the wall, but it was the only bar we were allowed to use on the ship. He poured a shot for me, then one for himself. “Bacardi Black,” he said, out of earshot. “Fuck that tequila shit.”
We did our shots and watched Eduardo and his friends make complete fools of themselves every time a female crew member walked by. I was really surprised none of them had been fired or even arrested for their behavior toward women. Eduardo was not above grabbing a woman’s ass or breasts when he was intoxicated, and the other two weren’t much better. For some reason the female crew tended not to be Hispanic, which for them was a good thing, because any self-respecting Latin woman would kick those guys right in the balls. Oh, how I would love to see that. No, they mostly directed their disgusting antics toward the European women, who were way too quiet and demure to dish it right back.
Lisa, a polite, young Swedish crew member walked by and said hello to Eduardo and his pals, and then to me and Sal. She was obviously shy, but over the past few months she’d made it clear that she found me attractive and had even tried to kiss me at a party once. Lisa was very sweet, but she was way too young. She also had a tendency to turn up wherever I happened to be lately, which was fine, but I knew it was because she was hoping for something to happen between us. I didn’t feel a connection with her, but mostly I wished she’d stop following me around because the company I was forced to keep on this ship wasn’t the best. Every time she came looking for me, she usually had to cross paths with Jose and Eduardo, too, so I worried she was on their radar a bit too much.
“Girl, you are fine! When are you gonna be the meat in our sandwich, baby?” slurred Eduardo in broken English, turning so sharply to look at her he almost fell off the stool. I was so tempted to tell him to shut the fuck up, but I knew it would be impossible to work with him after that. Just in case, I looked around to see what I could use as a weapon if things got ugly, and I made note of the paring knife Sal had been using to cut limes at the end of the bar.
“Hello, Lisa,” said Sal politely. I said nothing but waved to her as well. I was still so self-conscious of my English that I went out of my way not to speak it under any circumstance. I’d broken that rule for my Amada, but she was the only exception.
“Just look at those three imbeciles,” I said to Sal. I really couldn’t stand them anymore, and he nodded in agreement.
“Yeah, but we don’t all have mad game like you, man. Some of us actually have to work to get some pussy.” He gave me a high-five, but unlike Eduardo, I knew he really was just being a smartass. He’d never talk that way to woman and was a very decent guy, so I didn’t hold it against him. Sal was just a college kid, but the other three were old enough to know better.
“Yo, man, you look like shit,” said Sal. “What have you been up to?”
“Nothing,” I said, thinking of my Amada’s soft lips. I traced the rim of the shot glass with my finger, remembering the curve of her hips.
“You going into Miami today?”
“No. I need to sleep.” I was exhausted and had to be back on duty by five o’clock. I had a long night ahead of me, but it was nothing compared to the hours I had worked in the sanitariums in Havana or in the Haitian countryside, because at least here everyone had basic necessities. Women weren’t rap
ed every day and babies didn’t die of malnutrition and cholera. No matter how hard I worked in a kitchen, it would never be like that, and that’s all that mattered.
I noticed Lisa still watching me from across the bar, and Eduardo and his buddies watching her. I got a bad feeling about it, so I asked Sal to come to the table with me where she was sitting alone. His English was almost perfect, unlike mine, and it was time for me to have a talk with this girl. I didn’t want to embarrass her, but she needed to hear some things. Her face lit up when I sat down, and I knew that the conversation would be a disappointment for her, but it was the right thing to do.
“Hey, guys,” she said. “What’s going on?” She had a heavy Swedish accent, but her English was good enough for me to understand. Over my shoulder I heard Eduardo making jokes in Spanish at my expense. “Oh look, Marlon Brando is gonna go get that ass. Show us how it’s done, pretty boy. Why don’t you share for once, man?”
Ignoring what was going on in the background, I focused on her. She really was a nice young lady, so I gave her a sincere smile and kept my eyes on her while I spoke to Sal in Spanish. She played with her long, blond ponytail in girlish anticipation of what I might say.
I hated to hurt her feelings, but enough was enough.
“Translate for me, partner.” I slapped Sal on the shoulder and took a deep breath.
“Go.” Sal waited for me to begin, and after every few words or so I paused to give him time to interpret. I was so tired, but I wanted to get this right, unlike the complete mess I’d made with my Amada.
“Tell her that I know she comes around down here to see me, and I enjoy seeing her, too. Tell her that I respect her and like her very much as a friend. However, I’m at least fifteen years older, and that means I cannot take advantage of her crush on me—”
“Yo, are you sure you want to say that last part? She’s cute.”
“Yes, I do. Jesus, just say it.” I waited for him to repeat what I’d said word for word and continued, undaunted by her now crestfallen expression. “Explain to her that I don’t want to see her in this crew bar alone anymore, and if I do, I am going to be very upset. She is too pretty to be wandering around by herself when all the men down here are drunk and rowdy. I want her to watch her drinks and stay with her roommates when she’s not working.” I let him finish and waited with interest to see what her reaction would be.
The Cuban Page 7
