The Cuban

by Kim Rodriguez

  “Excuse me,” said Raquel, playfully smacking him with her Chanel bag. “No, it’s not.”

  In the restaurant, I saw the dozen large oils on canvas I’d commissioned. They’d been carefully placed along the walls, presumably to be hung tomorrow. Doña Delfina had been a long time supporter of an artists’ enclave in Little Havana that she called El Taller or The Workshop, and though all of the artists there were unbelievably talented, there was one young man there who was on another level. Alonsito Reyes or Piraña, as he signed his paintings, had come to her at the age of seventeen for a dishwashing job after having been arrested for spraying graffiti all over Little Havana, but when Doña Delfina realized how talented he was, she promptly moved him into the artists’ residence and encouraged him to paint. He’d done two of the paintings himself: the one of her, which was the largest, and another of the Orisha called Babalú-Ayé. Rather than a literal representation, I’d told him a little about what Babalú-Ayé represents—health and sickness, among other things—and asked him to do something modern and artistic for the main salon. The result was breathtaking, a blue hued Cubist-inspired allegory of life and death as arresting as any Picasso. The other paintings, which I’d asked him to supervise, were all done by different artists in various styles, each more spectacular than the next.

  “Rafa, they’re unbelievable,” said Amada. “This is real art. These paintings could sell for a lot of money. I’m bowled over.”

  “I am too,” I said. “It’s more than I could have imagined. This is what Doña Delfina had the foresight to cultivate.”

  We looked at all of the paintings and could have easily stayed there for hours, but when we were interrupted by Sal, Lisa, and my newest employee, Alex, getting ready to lock up, we realized just how late it was.

  “Hey, we have to go” said Oscar, glancing at his Rolex. “I don’t want to lose the reservation.”

  I hadn’t seen Lisa since the ship, but I knew in that time she’d become Sal’s girlfriend and come to work for me with him. I was glad to have her as I knew that, like Sal, she could be trusted. I gave her a big hug and introduced her to everyone. “Nice suit,” she whispered in English as she leaned in to embrace me. I winked at her and asked Amada to tell her I was glad she was here. I was happy for them both that they’d become a couple, but especially for her, because now she was far away from those animals on the ship that would never leave her alone. When I introduced her to Amada, I was pleased that there wasn’t the least bit of jealousy on Lisa’s part, probably because she’d found a satisfying relationship with Sal. Amada seemed to like Lisa right away and told her to call her if she needed to get away from the restaurant and hang out with another woman. Not wanting to ruin a potentially nice friendship, I’d have to think carefully about whether it was a good idea to fill Amada in on Lisa’s former crush.

  “Sal,” I said, “how’s our newest fry cook doing?” I put my hand on Alex’s shoulder. He was thin and pale, but I had to say he was looking better every day. He still didn’t talk much and mostly kept his eyes down around other people, but that didn’t stop me from trying to build his self-esteem by involving him in as many things around the restaurant as possible. It was hard to believe he’d had every advantage in life and still couldn’t conduct himself in a developmentally appropriate manner among a small gathering of people, a testament to the utterly devastating effects of hard core drugs on a young mind. As usual, his two bodyguards had followed him discreetly into the room and seated themselves in a corner away from the group.

  “Everyone, this is Alex. He’s new, and he’s doing a great job.” Our group greeted him enthusiastically, especially Amada, who seemed taken by his shyness and vulnerability. I looked at Carlos and Oscar, then gestured to the two bodyguards in the corner. Their eyes went to the stern-looking men, whose demeanor and reserve made them no less intimidating than federal agents or Secret Service. Even Oscar, who sometimes had to be under the protection of a marshal when presiding over high profile cases, seemed shocked by such heavy security.

  Once I was satisfied that everything was in order, we headed out to dinner, but as the others made their way back outside, I grabbed Sal and hung back a second.

  “Hey, you two comfortable in the apartment upstairs?” I asked. “Do you have everything you need?”

  “Are you kidding? It’s the Ritz compared to the ship. We’re great.”

  “Good,” I said. “Listen, Sandro has a family thing, so I need you over at the house tomorrow night around seven o’clock. I have to come here and spend some time with Alex, and I don’t want Amada to be alone. She’d probably like it if you brought Lisa, too.”

  “Sure, no problem,” said Sal. “Hey, is that what I think it is on your lady’s finger?” he said with a grin. I told him all about Amada, my English lessons and the proposal. “Yo, congratulations.” He gave me a big hug, sincerely happy for me.

  “Sal, what did I tell you about saying ‘yo’? Have you applied to UM yet?”

  ***

  We’d all had a magnificent dinner at the Palme d’Or at The Biltmore, and as a special surprise Lidia and Raquel ordered a gorgeous strawberry and champagne flavored cake and several bottles of Dom Perignon to celebrate our engagement. It had been a wonderful evening among good friends, and we’d gotten home late, tipsy, and in the mood for love, so Amada and I stripped down inside the house, grabbed a few towels and headed out to the pool for a dip.

  “Make sure there’s nothing in the water, Rafa. I’ll die if there’s a snake in there!” She wouldn’t come in until I swam all around and looked for alligators, snakes and rodents. When she was satisfied that I’d looked over every square inch of the pool, she finally tiptoed in.

  “Get in here,” I said, pulling her in by the waist. I cornered her over by the edge and kissed her till she was dizzy, but when she put her legs around my hips I had no choice but to playfully slip out of her hold.

  “It’s not good for you.” I dove under the water and nipped at her thighs until she pulled me up by the hair. “I’ll make love to you after we rinse off.”

  We spent a little while relaxing in the water, kissing and touching each other as we talked about our evening and then the remodel, which must have reminded her of the fountain.

  “Rafa,” she said thoughtfully, “tell me about the ballerina fountain.”

  I thought about how to best approach a sensitive subject and then decided there was no good way. I just decided to be as direct and honest as possible.

  “Amada, I’ve told you that a big part of Santería is our connection to the dead. Do you remember that?

  “Yes, you talked about it when Kieran and Ken were here.”

  “Well, I have a spirit guide named Filomena. She was a Venezuelan ballerina, and I met her many years ago when I attended the ballet in Caracas and she broke her ankle during the performance. She died a few years later, and now she comes to me in my dreams.”

  “Did you have an affair with her?” Even though I didn’t want her to be jealous, I thought it was a good sign that she was more interested in the relationship than the fact that I had muertos who came to me.

  “No! Of course not. I just took her to the hospital that night and I never saw her again. Apparently she never forgot me, though.”

  “No woman could ever forget you, handsome.” She ran her fingers across my eyelids and lips as she often did. “Is she the only one?”

  “So far, yes. Delfina said as I get older I’ll meet more.” I noticed the look on her face and wanted to make sure she understood. “Amada, I’ve always been very intuitive, but when I meditate, especially around moving water, I can tune in to other things. Thankfully it’s not like my brother, but I suppose you could call it something like lucid dreaming. Some people might say I’m simply tapping into my own subconscious, but sometimes I have experiences that I’m certain don’t come from within myself. You know, Delfina told me that after many, many years, she was able to project herself to other places. Isn’t that am
azing?”

  “It’s not what you’re talking about,” she said, “but I have dreams about my parents, and it’s always the same. They come back from their trip, and Kieran and I ask what took them so long. It’s like they were never dead, just on a long journey.” She looked down, a little sad. “Kieran thinks it’s unresolved grief because I refused to go to the funeral and I’ve never been to their grave. I’d really like to stop having those dreams after all these years.”

  “You know, we can work on that together. I can help you resolve some of those things or get the information you need so that you can move on.” I was about to ask her if she ever dreamed of her son when we heard a noise just beyond the pool deck. I looked in the direction of the thick hedge and saw a squat, big-eyed creature jump out onto the concrete and sit dangerously close to the edge of the pool. Fascinated, we both stared at it but didn’t move, so it came even closer and let out a loud croak.

  “Yuck, Rafa, that frog is going to jump in,” said Amada, climbing out of the pool.

  “That’s not a frog, that’s a toad.” Eso no es una rana, es un sapo. “Funny, my mother was terrified of them, but I think they’re kind of cool.” I swam right up to it and looked into its glassy eyes.

  “Ew!” screamed Amada, “Gross! Come on, let’s go inside!”

  ***

  The next day we woke around noon, still wrapped around each other in virtually the same position we’d made love in. I heard footsteps in the house and shot up, unaccustomed to the sound of anyone in our space besides us.

  “It’s just the house cleaners,” mumbled Amada, still face down in the pillow. “Hear the vacuum? It’s fine. They come twice a week and do the whole house. We weren’t home the last couple of times they came.”

  We slept another hour until they’d left and then went downstairs for breakfast. I got the coffee going while Amada talked to Ken on the phone, who apparently wanted to be involved in planning the wedding. I gathered that Amada and Ken had some sort of inside sexual joke because she was giggling uncontrollably while stealing sexy glances at me. I put a glass of orange juice in front of Amada, but she pushed it away and mouthed ‘Diet Coke.’ Tapping my finger on the counter, I moved it right back, refusing to leave until she started drinking.

  “You need potassium,” I said.

  ‘Hold on, Ken, Rafa wants me to drink something,” she said in English, taking a sip, and I was delighted that whatever Ken said on the other end of the line made her howl with laughter.

  “Here,” I said, handing her a bowl of dried black beans. “Pick out the ones that are broken. Normally we soak them overnight, but we should have enough time since we’re eating them much later today.” She nodded and kept talking to Ken as she swirled her hand around the bowl like she was mixing a cake.

  “Like this, sweetheart,” I said, showing her how to examine a handful at a time. She rolled her eyes, but I just pointed at the bowl and motioned for her to get going. “Sorry, but she who does not cook peels potatoes and picks through black beans.” I swatted her on the rear and went back to preparing the mojo marinade for the steaks.

  We had breakfast out on the lanai and then I managed to get her downstairs to Kieran’s gym, where we worked out for an hour and a half. I lifted weights and had her walk on the treadmill for an hour, which she tolerated well enough. On the way back upstairs, we went through the art gallery, which was empty save for some display cases and expensive lighting fixtures.

  “You know,” said Amada, “I wouldn’t mind putting some oils up in here. We’ve never gotten around to doing anything with this room. Do you think that amazing artist would paint something for us?”

  “Piraña? I’m sure he would,” I said. “What did you have in mind?”

  “How about a nude of us together?” she asked, totally serious. “Something erotic. But that one would have to go in the bedroom.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “He’s twenty years old. Do really think I’m going to let him see you naked?”

  “What if it’s just my back and your front?”

  “No. Don’t waste your breath,” I said. “That will never happen.” There was nothing in the world that would persuade me to let her pose for another man, no matter how talented he might be.

  “Well, what if I’m covered and you’re nude?” She kissed my lips and placed her hand seductively on my penis over my sweatpants. “How about that? Please.”

  “Amada, why?”

  “Look at your body, Rafa. I want to capture you in all your glory now,” she said. “That way when we’re old and you run out of your little blue pills, I have something to pleasure myself to.”

  “Well, when you make it sound so enticing, how can I possibly say no,” I laughed.

  “See, I know exactly how to talk to you.”

  “I’ll consider it.” The more I thought about it, the more I actually liked the idea. I pictured how beautiful she looked when she was lying on the bed waiting for me to undress and come to her. Now that was a painting I’d love to have.

  ***

  By the time Sal arrived at seven o’clock, Amada was already wrapped around me with that look in her eye, reluctant to let me go.

  “Do you really have to?” she asked, playing with a button on my shirt. “I’ll make it worth your while if you cancel.”

  “Baby, there’s no question about that,” I said, rubbing her lower back, “but I promised Alex’s father I would be personally involved in his recovery. He likes boxing, so we’re going to watch a fight on television from eight to ten or so and then I’ll be home. Trust me, this kid needs to occupy his mind with something other than getting high.”

  “Yeah, he’s nice. I can survive without you for two hours.”

  When I opened the door for Sal, I was surprised to see him standing on the porch alone, looking a little less than happy. “Where’s Lisa?”

  “We had a fight.”

  “About what?” I asked, standing aside so he could come in.

  “I don’t know. She’s bored, I think.” Sal looked around in complete fascination. “Rafa, what the hell is this place?”

  “I know. It’s unreal. Amada will show you around.”

  “Hi, Sal,” said Amada in English, coming up behind me. “Where’s Lisa?”

  “I’ve got to go, mamita,” I said, giving her a peck on the lips. “Hey, make yourself useful.” I slapped Sal on the back and headed out to the restaurant, already running late.

  ***

  Traffic was hell, so I arrived a few minutes after the start of the match, but Alex was already changed out of his uniform and watching it on the big television in the upstairs communal space. His two guards were sitting at the table in the back playing cards, though I noticed they were different men. I’d intentionally given him the smallest apartment, a studio the size of a dorm room so that he would be more likely to spend time in the shared spaces, and it seemed to be working. I sat down beside him and to my delight he excitedly began to fill me in on what I’d missed and offered me the snacks he’d set out. Between each round we talked about his favorite fighter, Mike Tyson, who he surprisingly knew a lot about.

  “Maybe you should take up boxing,” I suggested. “There’s a lot more to it than people realize.” Boxing lessons had certainly had helped me get out of a few tough situations. I’m not sure what would have become of me if one the neighborhood fighters hadn’t taken me under his wing and shown me how to quickly take someone down.

  “Nah, my Dad would never let me. It’s too rough.” He looked down, visibly uncomfortable.

  “You know, Alex,” I said, popping some chips in my mouth, “I know you were born and raised in Miami, but your Spanish is perfect. Usually that’s not the case with the generation that’s born here. How is that?”

  We were distracted for a moment by a vicious uppercut thrown by one of the boxers. “See that right there? Mike Tyson invented that move! Right hook to the body, then right uppercut to the head!” After he rewound the punch and
watched it two or three times, Alex remembered my question.

  “Sorry, you asked about my Spanish. It’s because my grandmother would pretend not to understand me if I spoke to her in English, so I had no choice.”

  “Pretend, huh?” I had to laugh because it sounded exactly like a Cuban grandmother.

  “I know she understood plenty from watching her with other people.” He looked down and started rifling through the bowl of peanuts. “She’s gone now.”

  “You loved your grandmother, Alex?”

  “Yeah. She was my best friend. She used to say that we were exactly alike, and that when I was older I’d see just how much. I catch myself saying and doing things just like her all the time. It’s pretty funny. She was right.”

  “Did you start using after she died?”

  “I was fourteen.”

  “Your parents are busy people, aren’t they?”

  “Yeah.”

  We continued to watch the boxing match, and when Alex took a bathroom break between rounds, I sent Amada a quick text. Expecting a fast reply as usual, I left my phone on the coffee table and kept checking it. While I was scrolling through the news waiting for a reply, Lisa came out of her apartment wearing a pair of short shorts and a tank top and sat down on a wing chair across from me.

  “Hey, I thought I heard your voice,” she said in English. “What’s this?” She pointed to the TV and then gathered her hair at the nape and twisted it so it was off her neck. The low cut top sank dangerously low on her breasts, and instead of pulling it back up she left it there.

  “Boxing,” I said simply. I couldn’t say much else to her when I didn’t have a translator, though usually I understood most of what she said.

  She crossed her legs in a way that made me wonder if this was just a friendly visit or something else. Thankfully she adjusted her top and folded her legs under her body when Alex came back and sat down in his spot.

  “Oh, we have company?” he said, less than excited. Something about their body language toward each other was awkward, and I think Lisa noticed his lack of enthusiasm but clearly didn’t care.