Black Burlesque

by L. C. Castillo

  Vincent makes eye contact with me and wrenches away from his mother’s firm grasp. He pulls out a chair for his grandmother at the head of the table.

  “You sit right next to me, Lenore, Vincent, you too,” Viola commands.

  Vincent pulls out my chair for me and we flank his grandmother’s right side. She squeezes my hand under the table and gives me a wink. Vincent’s parents take the seats across from us. His mother is pouting, and his father is more than a little tipsy.

  Just as the first course is about to be served, by a very well dressed, older gentleman, someone comes barreling through the front door; it slams noisily after him. He runs into the dining room tucking in his shirt. He isn’t as smartly dressed as Vincent and Edmond. His clothes are wrinkled, formal, but not very 20’s.

  “Benjamin, you’re late,” Viola says without a backward glance. He looks up, and lo-and behold, it’s Benny! Jordan’s Benny! Vincent stands and gives his brother a sideways hug. They pat one another’s backs vigorously. I’m guessing that means they missed each other. I keep my head down as Benny makes his way around the table, kissing his grandmother, then his mother, he then shakes his father’s hand until finally, he meets my eyes.

  He freezes, his eyes widen and his face is leeched of color. I know what he is afraid of, but Jordan has told me. He let me know that first day, Benny hasn’t told his family anything about his…preferences.

  I widen my eyes at him fractionally, and arch my brow. Everyone at the table has caught our strange exchange. I clear my throat, smile softly, and look at Vincent. He is looking at me speculatively; his eyes narrow and I look away as nonchalantly as I can.

  “Um...Benny, this is Lenore,” he says gesturing to me.

  “Nice to meet you,” I say quickly extending my arm across the table. He breathes a sigh of relief.

  Your secret is safe with me, I attempt to communicate with my eyes. Benny grasps my hand and shakes it for far too long. This is becoming awkward. Everyone at the table wears a similar confused expression. Everyone except Edmond that is, he’s busy swishing and clinking the ice in his drink.

  “Okay, Benny, you can let her go now,” Vincent grumbles playfully. I pull my hand from Benny’s firm grip, and he quickly sits down. Everyone at the table is staring at him. I bring my freshly filled glass of wine to my lips.

  “Pay no attention to Benny, he’s a notorious womanizer,” Vincent mutters. I almost spit out my wine. Womanizer? I stifle a laugh. His parents smile, as does Viola. Benny does not. I raise my brows. He looks nervous and horrified, poor Benny.

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” I say with a wide grin. I meet Benny’s eyes again and offer him a stiff smile. You can relax now. He looks down and regains his composure. His signature roguish grin appears.

  “Sorry, Vince. She’s gorgeous. I was momentarily seized by her beauty, I apologize.” He looks back at me and winks playfully.

  I roll my eyes. I need to be careful or the family will realize we are familiar. I think Vincent may be catching on already. I can sense he’s carefully observing us.

  I do my best to make no further eye contact with Benny. Instead I focus on the gorgeous dining room. There are large, dark wooden beams running across the ceiling. Each beam has finely detailed flowers and leaves stenciled along the edges in a faint and pale gold.

  The silverware is actual real silver, not like my cheap tin at home. It looks antique. The tablecloth and floral arrangements are lush and look expensive. Pale pink peonies in crystal vases are strewn throughout the dining room. Everything is immaculate and beautiful. Vincent is very fortunate to have grown up surrounded by all of this. I wonder vaguely if he realizes this, or appreciates it. Someone obviously put a lot of love and care into designing this home.

  The first course is served, and thankfully the conversation flows amongst the men freely. Their father, Edmond, complains about almost everything his sons say and do, playfully of course. You can clearly see the bond these three men have. Edmond very much wants more for his boys, but goes about telling them in a humorous way. Elizabeth is quiet, and far away. She looks annoyed. Thankfully the men keep the dinner from becoming awkward. The other guests all seem to be well acquainted as well, and so I enjoy the soft banter surrounding me. Everyone is so polite and well spoken; I can’t help but feel intimidated. I’m not as socially gifted, so I keep my responses short and simple. I just hope I’m not coming off as rude.

  Vincent, every so often, reaches out and caresses my leg under the table. Quietly reassuring me.

  Our plates are cleared eventually, and Viola and I make small talk about our dresses. She is very surprised to hear that my dress is vintage and that I altered it myself.

  “Wow, you’re a talented broad aren’t you? It looks like it was made for you!” She smiles and pats my hand. I catch Elizabeth’s disgusted look, and I smile at her sarcastically. I don’t know whether she is scowling because Viola and I are getting along, or because I am wearing something previously worn. I wonder.

  Vincent recaptures my attention, taking my hand in his. And I don’t give Elizabeth’s silent loathing a second thought.

  “I want to take you on a tour after we sing to Nana. Don’t let her steal you away again,” he whispers into my ear. I free my hand from his and run it over his thigh and up over his zipper, subtly gripping him.

  With a soft smile on my lips I lean into him. “You got it, boss,” I flutter my lashes at him. He grabs my hand and narrows his eyes. His expression becomes smoldering, he brings his mouth to my ear.

  “Maybe we won’t wait for the cake.”

  “Baby, I am the cake,” I grin and like the corner of my mouth. Oh, shit! I can’t believe I just said that.

  He bites back a smile and I watch as his eyes heat with desire. “Then I guess I’ll have to eat you up,” he practically groans into my neck.

  The temperature has sky rocketed in here. His smooth, rich voice brings instant warmth to my insides. I squirm in anticipation.

  “Now, now. No secrets,” Elizabeth says sarcastically. Her face is a stern mask. Benny has a devilish look on his face.

  “What were you guys whispering about, Vince? Your girl’s face is as pink as these peonies,” he grins playfully.

  I blush even deeper, now I am as red as Viola’s dress! I glare at Benny, and arch my brow in warning. “Watch it,” I mouth at him.

  He clears his throat and remembers himself. “Sorry,” he mouths back at me and takes a drink of his water, clearly chastened. Vincent’s eyes are on me. He squeezes my hand under the table.

  “No one has ever checked my brother like that. You’ll tell me how you know him after dinner,” his voice is barely audible and his eyes have that scary glacial effect once again.

  Great, now I’ll have to make something up to cover for Benny.

  The entrance of a sweet and petite woman saves me from Vincent’s inquiry. She helps to serve some champagne. She rattles of the name and year to Edmond, but it means nothing to me.

  I haven’t even paid attention to the food, first course, second course—I don’t know how many courses. I’m still so nervous; everything tastes like wood. I just picked and nibbled at everything.

  After the black-and-white clad maid serves Benny his wine, she gives him a peck on the cheek. She makes her way over to Elizabeth and of course, she doesn’t get acknowledged. Viola is served, and then myself, when she gets to Vincent, she gives him a kiss on the cheek, too.

  “Conni, this is Lenore.” She nods politely and I smile at her. She must be in her fifties; she has a kind, round face. Her dark brown hair is in a neat bun, and she has sweet, sparkly brown eyes.

  “She drinks Cuban coffee,” Vincent adds. We both look at him, and then back at each other.

  “Oh, si?”

  I smile and nod.

  “Tu eres Cubana, verdad?”

  I nod again. My mouth is glued shut.

  “Ah, si. Como no. Te lo puedo ver en la cara. De que parte eres?”

  I don�
��t know how she knows, but she knows I’m Cuban, and because she is so kind and polite, and because I’m surprised and excited to be in the company of another Cuban, I open up to her.

  “Mi madre era Viñales, y mi padre, yo creo, de Santa Clara,” I reply in perfect Spanish. I didn’t know it could still flow out of me! She wants to know where my parents are from.

  “Ah, de Santa Clara! Yo tambien! Que hojos tan hermosos tienes chica.”

  “Gracias, encantada de conocerte, Conni.”

  We both come to the realization that a dead silence has descended upon the dining room, so I try my best to cut the conversation off politely. She straightens up, smiles, and quickly exits the dining room. Elizabeth’s eyes follow her out. Her disapproval is obvious. Our eyes lock, and she outright glares at me. Viola takes my hand.

  “Well look at you, you speak Spanish! Now that’s impressive. You’re full of surprises!”

  I blush deeply, and give her a tight smile. I push myself up to stand, and all the men stand with me.

  Damn gentlemen.

  “Excuse me, I need to use the ladies room.” I don’t even want to look at Vincent. I make my way quickly out of the dining room, and I’m tempted to walk out the front door, except I have no idea where I am, and I don’t know where my purse was taken.

  I stand in the foyer contemplating which direction to go. This damn house is so huge! No, not house, mansion. What the hell am I doing here? I’m supposed to be keeping things simple, yet here I am meeting his family? I’m an idiot.

  “Closest bathroom is upstairs, first door to the left. I’ll take you.” I turn around to face Benny. I’m relieved. I really don’t want to face Vincent right now. He offers me his elbow and I take it.

  He walks me carefully up the stairs, I don’t want to trip on my dress. We pause at the door to the restroom.

  “Thank you. For not saying anything,” he practically whispers.

  “Of course, it’s not my place. I’ll have to tell Vincent I met you somewhere though. He’s pretty convinced that I know you.” I give him a crooked smile, he looks a little sad, his eyes downcast.

  “Is there something bothering you?” I really hope my friend Jordan isn’t up to his old tricks.

  “Actually, yes. Is everything okay with Jordan? I spoke with him yesterday and he sounded like he was in a really bad mood—actually, he sounded pissed off. I’m not sure if it’s something I’ve done. I really want things to work out with us. I—I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my past. With Jordan—well, I’m trying my best not to be like that anymore,” he blushes. He looks unbearably shy, like he’s said too much. “We’re supposed to go to The Speak Easy Friday...” he trails off.

  “I’m pretty sure Jordan’s shitty mood had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with me. We’ve made up, so I’m sure if you call him tonight, he’ll be in a much better mood.” I touch his arm, and a smile breaks across both our faces.

  He laughs and straightens up, I can see that he’s relieved.

  “Okay, good,” he breathes with obvious alleviation.

  We turn in unison, sensing a presence, and of course it’s Vincent. His face remains impassive, though I can feel his burning curiosity. Benny makes himself scarce, slapping his brother’s arm on the way down the stairs. Vincent follows him with his eyes.

  “They’re bringing the cake out,” he snaps after his brother. He eyes me suspiciously.

  I open the bathroom door in a hurry and close it after me. With my eyes closed, I rest my back against the door. I hear his footsteps departing as he walks back down the stairs after Benny. I finally have a moment alone. I use the toilet and then take a moment to stare at my reflection in the mirror. I owe no one an explanation. So I speak Spanish, big deal. I’m Cuban, and Maggie, my guardian, AKA grandmother, is as American as it gets.

  He’ll never know, because he’ll never meet her. My mother is dead. I never met my father...I’m pretty sure he’s dead too. My stepfather, nobody needs to know about. I repeat this in my mind a few times, before I head back down the stairs with a straighter spine.

  Once again, the men stand as I enter. I wave my hand for them to sit, blushing for the millionth time. I scoot to my seat and sit promptly, avoiding Vincent’s careful scrutiny. A moment later, the cake is brought out, lit up with what looks like a hundred candles. It’s the perfect distraction because not only am I palpitating awkward, but also Elizabeth and Edmond seem to be in a quiet quarrel across the table. I feel the energy of the room has shifted, I’m fairly certain an argument has just taken place.

  I turn towards Viola; she doesn’t seem to give a damn. She only has eyes for her cake.

  We sing Happy Birthday to her. She looks regal at the head of the table. Her cake is almost the same size as she is; it’s a gorgeous three-tiered strawberry cake lit up like the Fourth of July. We all applaud her when she finally manages to get the last trick candle blown out.

  She stands, waving everyone’s affection away, and signals the server.

  “Refill our glasses, we’ll take the cake in the game room.”

  She stands, and we all follow her out. A few guests make their way over to Viola and bid her goodnight. As soon as they depart, she takes my hand in hers and leads the way. I turn back towards Vincent, and he shakes his head at me in mock disapproval.

  After Benny, Edmond and the few remaining guests get lost in a never-ending game of pool, Vincent finds us two Old Fashions. Viola and I danced to a few songs, much to the disapproval of Elizabeth, but she’s tuckered out now with a glass of champagne dangling precariously from her fingers. We sneak out the back door and make our way out across the pool and toward the pool house.

  We walk in the cool, crisp air, sipping and laughing. The property seems to stretch for miles. It’s beautiful. He tells me there is a gazebo, horse stables, walking trails, two guesthouses, and a pool house that speckle the gorgeous estate.

  “My grandfather used to use the pool house as his escape. He had all the best liquor stashed there, and lots of records. I used to sneak in there and listen to music. He’d be passed out drunk in a chair sometimes, oblivious to the fact that I was in the room,” he laughs at the memory.

  We walk to the pool house and he finds the hidden key and flashes it at me, the reflection of the moon makes it shine and he grins mischievously. I feel my heart trip over itself.

  He unlocks the door; we’re both quiet as we step inside. It’s dark and a bit dusty. I don’t think it has been used in some time. It’s surprisingly cold inside, colder than the November air outside.

  Vincent walks straight over to the record player and begins to rifle through a crate of music. I take a moment to look around. The walls are bare, stripped of frames and personal artifacts. There are clean empty spaces on the walls where pictures once hung. Cardboard boxes, taped up and forgotten, are strewn across a bare mahogany dining table. All of the other furniture has been covered in white sheets; the pale blue light coming from the windows gives the room a haunted, eerie appearance. I watch as Vincent lights a few random candles around the room.

  A grainy record comes to life a moment later. Otis Redding. I polish off my drink, and Vincent walks over to lead me around the room in a slow dance. My head rests on his shoulder. I’m fairly certain that I am more than a little drunk. I’ll need to remember to drink some water and take an Aleve before bed if I want to avoid waking with a headache.

  “Thank you for coming tonight. I know you don’t want to complicate things,” his voice is melancholy. I lift my head to meet his eyes.

  “So, how do you know my brother?” He’s transformed from melancholy to inquisitive in less than a second. His eyes are stern as they search my face for a clue.

  Shit! I haven’t thought of anything. My brain works over time. I clear my throat to stall for time.

  “I don’t know him.” Well…that’s the truth. You can’t know someone from meeting them once. Right? “I just have an intimidating glare.” I look at him with the meanest
look I can muster and he cracks a smile and shakes his head.

  “Really? You don’t know him? You guys looked like you were having an interesting conversation by the bathroom door.”

  Double crap, I forgot about that, too. How long was he standing there and what exactly did he hear?

  “And what part of our conversation did you hear?”

  “Nothing. But you seemed awfully familiar,” he continues to look me straight in the eye, searching for a sign of deceit.

  Vincent is an observant man. I’ll do well to remember that. I rack my brain. I really don’t want to lie to him.

  “I don’t know what to say. He does in fact feel familiar. I think it’s just because he’s friendly. He has a playfulness to him.”

  Vincent doesn’t seem satisfied with my response. He remains suspicious.

  “I just think of how distant you were when you met me, that’s all. You almost seemed afraid of me. You don’t seem like the type of woman who warms up to people, men in particular, so quickly.”

  Right. Touché. He’s not easy to fool, which makes me appreciate him even more.

  “Well, Vincent, that’s because you are ludicrously handsome.” I look into those blue eyes, the ones that burned me when we met, I can look into them now, and I wasn’t able to before. It’s getting easier. “You made me feel something, and it scared me. It still scares me.”

  Uh-oh...the alcohol is making me confess.

  I shrug casually in an effort to lighten the mood. I shouldn’t have said that. Feel something? Is that what it is? Lustit has to be lust I feel. “I warmed up to your grandmother quickly,” I say to change the subject.

  “Yes. You did warm to her quickly. She likes you.” The smile that touches his face is heartfelt. I can see his grandmother is an important woman to him.

  Truth is, I warm to older people easily. They are the few I feel comfortable, at ease, and safe with. Probably because I am better able to relate to them. I spent so much time with the elderly once I came to live with Maggie. She’s up there in age now, but even when I was younger, she was always helping the elderly in our neighborhood. She enjoyed helping them with odd chores, and sometimes, just keeping them company.