Find Me in Havana

by Serena Burdick

  When Virginia comes home, the first thing she does is take me through the house and tell me exactly what I am not to do. Do not leave the toothpaste top off. Wipe the bathroom sink down after every use. When you leave the bathroom, make sure the toilet-seat cover is down. Do not touch the thermostat, and do not leave glasses in the kitchen sink. Behind her back, you roll your eyes, making a funny face at me as you take the pot roast from the oven.

  “Now that, my dears,” you cry, delighted, “is a masterpiece.” You look like an advertisement in your starched apron with your hands slid into potholders, your hair fluffed and your face glowing from the heat of the stove.

  “It’s just pot roast, Mom.”

  “It’s my first pot roast, and I am very proud of it.”

  Virginia moves to your side. She is pencil-thin, pretty but severe. She wears red diamond-shaped clip-on earrings that match her lipstick, a silk blouse tucked into pleated pants and an outdated hairdo—a bob with the ends flipping up around her chin. She slides her arm around your waist and says, “It smells amazing,” with a look that makes me think she would have complimented you if you’d pulled a small elephant from the oven.

  During dinner, Virginia keeps touching your arm and laughing at everything you say. You are hysterical, as usual, mimicking the doctors’ wives you’ve been forced to socialize with, declaring that if Ricardo hadn’t tried to drown you, you would have drowned yourself.

  “Oh, those luncheons! Talk about boring someone to death, and I hate badminton. I’m terrible at it!” You cut a second slice of pot roast and put it on Virginia’s plate. It is surprisingly good. You even made a ketchup sauce to go with it.

  “I’ll take you to lunch at the Beverly Hills Badminton Club, and we’ll show them how it’s done,” Virginia says. There is a lively intimacy between you two and adoration in Virginia’s smile. My vision of you and me together shrivels, the swell in my heart deflating. You will always need someone else.

  I eat in silence, missing Delia’s company as neither of you ask me a single question.

  * * *

  Over the next two weeks, I watch with strained tolerance, and slight curiosity, as Virginia tries everything she can to seduce you. I have never seen a woman in love with another woman. It’s astounding how quickly a gesture of friendship slips to seduction. It is also astounding how oblivious you are, and I realize you’ve never had a best girlfriend and must have no idea what that looks like. The fact that you don’t return her advances is hopeful.

  Dr. Gataki told me it was important to keep busy, so I do what I can to find a job and contemplate enrolling in city college.

  On a Friday, three weeks after I get out of the hospital, I have a promising interview I am excited to tell you about. But you come home with your own good news, bursting through the door with a whoop and a squeal, attacking me on the couch where I am reading Revolutionary Road. You wear a short boxy red dress and little white gloves.

  “I got the part! I got the part!”

  “What part?”

  You yank the book from my hand and fling it to the coffee table, standing and bouncing on the cushion like a child.

  “Virginia won’t like that.”

  “Virginia won’t know.”

  “What part?”

  Late afternoon sunlight warms the room. Out the window, the magnolia is in full bloom. I love the decadence of a magnolia tree, how brazenly it thrusts its huge blossoms into the air, every branch pretentious and over the top.

  You throw your arms into the air, displaying your own magnificence. “You are looking at the next Lupe Velez.” You take a deep bow, lose your balance on the couch and land on your feet like a cat. Giddy with excitement, you drop down next to me and swing one thigh-high white boot over my knees. “Be a dear and help me pull these ridiculous things off. I think someone put cement in my boots.”

  I stand, tugging at the sides of the slippery leather. “Who is Lupe Velez?”

  “Who is Lupe Velez? Have I taught you nothing? She was a scandalously wild and promiscuous and fantastic Mexican actress.”

  “Sounds perfect for you,” I tease, tugging harder, but the boot won’t budge.

  “I’ve never had a juicier role. Four months pregnant, and she commits suicide. I get to do a dying scene.”

  “I can’t get it off.” I drop your foot, and you flip over and hold the back of the couch with both hands. “Pull with all your might.”

  Practically lifting you in the air, I yank the boot so hard it slides off in a single motion, and I tumble backward, catching myself before I fall into the coffee table. I set the boot down and yank off the other. You moan with pleasure, stand up and grab my hands, dancing me around the room.

  “I went for a job interview today,” I say, trying to follow your lead.

  “You did? For what?”

  “It’s just a hostess job, but it’s at the Chateau Marmont.”

  “Ooh la la! Fancy. We need some music.” You drop my arms, humming and swinging your way over to the record player. “How about a little Everly Brothers.” You slide the record from its case, drop it down on the player, and there’s a crackle from the needle before “Wake Up Little Susie” blares into the room.

  At that moment Virginia steps in from the front hallway, and from the look on her face I think she’s going to be angry, but then she smiles, kicks off her shoes and drops her bag to join us. We take turns dancing in pairs, the solo dancer moving off on their own then coming back in and switching partners. I think of us dancing in Cuba with your sisters and my cousins, the movement of the body a celebration. When the album ends, we drop breathless to the couch, and Virginia says she’s starving and we should order in.

  Later that night, when you and I are getting ready for bed, you tell me we’re moving out.

  “Are we?” I sit half-naked, pulling my pajama bottoms on, skeptical.

  At the mirror, you carefully roll your hair in curlers. Blobs of cold cream are smeared under your eyes like war paint, and you wear the same silk negligee you’ve worn since you were married to Grant, lavender silk with lace flowers around the sleeves and neckline.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Well, I’m going to start looking for a place tomorrow and prove you wrong.” Your voice is lighthearted, buoyed by success and affirmation. “This movie will mean more money coming in, and I have a six-month contract in Palm Springs at the Starlite Room, which won’t interfere with shooting because the picture is not slated to start until September.”

  “If I get that job, I can help with rent,” I say, picturing our place, small but quaint, with a view of the city.

  Buttoning up my pajama shirt, I climb into bed and watch you wipe the cream away from your eyes, poking the soft skin and angling your face to inspect your profile. “I used to practice my smile as a little girl in Cuba. After my first performance, Mamá gave me a mirror and told me a woman’s smile is the best weapon she has. The perfect smile, she said, is a mix of seduction and secrecy and power.”

  “Grandmother Maria’s smile is all power,” I say. “Her smile is the final say. End of story. No arguing.”

  You laugh and snap off the vanity light. “When you have that much power, you don’t need seduction. I miss your grandmother.”

  “You just had dinner with her.”

  “I know, but I miss living with her.” Instead of climbing into your twin bed, you climb into mine and lay your head on my shoulder.

  “How are you going to tell Virginia we’re leaving?” I ask.

  “What do you mean how?” You fold the coverlet over your lap. “I’ll just tell her. I’m sure she’ll be happy to have her house to herself again.”

  “Mom.”

  “What?”

  “Virginia is madly in love with you.”

  You pull away, incredu
lity then hilarity crossing your face. “What a preposterous thing to say, Nina.”

  “Women fall in love with each other, you know.”

  “I know.” You are defensive, befuddled. You really didn’t have any idea what was going on. “But it’s not a normal thing, good lord, and it’s indecent. I am sure that’s not what’s happening here. A woman can offer her friendship, can’t she?”

  “Sure, but this one has fallen in love with you. Anyone with eyes in their head can see that.”

  You climb out of my bed and into yours, fussing with your pillow and making disapproving clicks of your tongue. “Well, that’s nonsense. I’ll tell her in the morning over breakfast, and I’m sure she’ll be nothing but grateful to have us out of her hair.” You snap off your light and slide into bed.

  I am sure she’ll be more than that, but I keep this to myself.

  Chapter Thirty

  * * *

  One Last Day

  Daughter,

  The next morning, I get up early so I can catch Virginia before she leaves for work. I intend to go apartment-hunting right away, and it seems disrespectful not to tell Virginia.

  I put out of my head what you said last night. Preposterous.

  The sun has barely risen. In the kitchen, pale strands of light slant across the peppermint-green countertops and fall across the floor. The cleaning lady was here yesterday, so the floors are waxed and slippery under my bare feet. In the magnolia tree, a flock of birds are making a racket. Over them, I can hear the hum of Virginia’s hair dryer coming from the bathroom. Taking Folgers Crystals from the cupboard, I measure a tablespoon of coffee into a cup, pour hot tap water over and stir it into a weak, watery substitute. I swore I’d never drink the stuff again, but Cuban coffee is not easy to come by in LA.

  I think of my father roasting his own beans, rich and pungent. After the servants revolted, Papa took over coffee-making. I’d watch him from my stool at the counter as he cranked the silver handle on the grinder, boiled water and poured it over the coffee grinds. He’d watch the seconds on the clock, strain it at just the right moment, then add sugar and whip it until a thin frothy layer was on top. Before he took his first sip, he’d hold his mug up to his nose and inhale. It was the only time I remember him looking truly satisfied with something.

  I’m dissolving a second scoop of crystals under the hot tap water when I hear the thud of Virginia’s heels down the hallway. She walks into the kitchen wearing slacks with a soft buttery blouse, her hair curled and pinned at the sides.

  She smiles, surprised to see me, and takes the coffee I offer her. “What’s going on?” she says, humorously suspicious as she glances at my bathrobe.

  “It’s too early to get dressed.” I tighten the belt around my robe and pick up my own cup of coffee loaded with milk and sugar.

  “Why are you up so early?”

  “I needed to tell you something.”

  Virginia glances at the clock. “I have five minutes. What’s up?” She pulls out a kitchen chair and sits sideways on it, her coffee perched on one knee.

  “I’m going apartment-hunting today.”

  “Oh?” Virginia doesn’t smile.

  I rest a hand on her arm. “I owe you my life. And to welcome Nina and me into your home, I couldn’t ask for a better friend, but I imagine it’ll be a relief to have us out of your hair.”

  “It won’t be.” Virginia places her hand on top of mine. “You don’t need to go, Estelita. I don’t want you to, actually.”

  This is not what I expected, and it flusters me. “You don’t really want us living here, do you?”

  “Stay,” she says firmly. “You and Nina both, for now. Nina will find her own way soon enough. She’s the age for it. You and I make a good pair, don’t you think?”

  The tips of her fingers stroke the top of my hand, and I realize you were right, Nina: it is seductive and faintly arousing. I jerk away and move to the refrigerator, open it and practically bury my head inside. “Are you hungry? Do you eat breakfast before work?” I pull out the egg carton and set it on the counter keeping my back to her.

  “I generally grab a piece of fruit on my way out.”

  “I’ll make eggs for myself, then.”

  I take a bowl from the cupboard, crack an egg into it and begin whisking it with a fork when I feel Virginia’s arms around my waist. “Do you eat breakfast?” she whispers in my ear, and I feel a swell of arousal and indignation. This is not supposed to be happening.

  I pull away, turning with the fork held out like a weapon, egg dripping onto the floor. Outside the birds have stopped singing.

  “You’re making a mess.” Virginia smiles. “And I don’t even care. You can get egg all over my perfectly clean floor anytime you like.” Reaching out, she slides the fork from my hand, stepping closer to drop it in the bowl, her body right up against mine. I push her back, and she retreats with her hands lifted in surrender. I think of Ricardo coming at me by the pool, how I’d raised my hand at him, how little that had done.

  “This is perfectly normal, you know,” she says, placating, as if I am a child who needs to be shown the way. “I think I fell in love with you the moment I saw you at that boring cocktail party. You’re so beautiful and funny. You’re everything, Este. I imagine every woman or man who crosses paths with you falls in love. How could they not?”

  This is an absurd thing to say, and I hate that she uses my nickname. Only Danita calls me that. “I don’t—” I flap a hand in the air at her. “This, whatever this is. I don’t do this sort of thing.”

  “What? Love another human being?”

  “You know.”

  She looks hurt, and I am sorry for that, but I never meant for this to happen. Virginia takes my hand, pushy as any man. “You haven’t tried it.” Her touch is tender, but it bruises me. It’s like every other lover who’s tried to control me. I yank my hand back. “I do not want anything to do with this. I am not that sort of woman. It is disgusting.”

  Virginia recoils, dropping her arms, her softness turned hard. “That’s ungrateful of you. I’m the reason you left Ricardo. If I wasn’t here, what would you have done? At least don’t move out, not yet, please?”

  It’s too much. I don’t want her love, and I don’t want to owe anyone anything anymore.

  “Do not touch me ever again,” I say and shove past her out of the kitchen, through the living room and down the hall to the bedroom, stopping myself from slamming the door. You are still asleep, and the last thing I want is for you to wake up to this. I shut the door softly and sit on the edge of your bed. My hands are trembling. You were right, Nina. I have been wrong about everything. How am I so out of touch at thirty-seven years old, and how do you know so much? Softly, so as not to wake you, I place a hand on your head, feel the heat under my palm and remember holding your soft baby head once long ago. You are so grown-up and beautiful in your own, simple way. You are almost twenty years old, and I have missed your teen years. They went so fast. Things will be different, I tell myself. I will pay attention. I will be a better mother.

  I wait to hear the sound of the front door opening, shutting, and wait for Virginia’s car to start up, then pull out of the driveway before I get up and go to the closet. The kitchen drama has sparked a determination in me that I haven’t felt since Cuba and an independence that feels necessary. After the Castro revolution, I no longer trusted feeling that great things were waiting ahead of me because I no longer believed I deserved them. Now, I’ve booked a role in a major film, and Mamá had nothing to do with it. I left Ricardo. I am leaving Virginia. My daughter is home. And this time, we will find our way together.

  I choose a straight knee-length dress of white polyester with a fat black stripe down the side and one straight across my chest. Bold stripes, I think. Confident. I would have hated something like this ten years ago. I pull on a pair of white stockings and choose
black pumps instead of my intolerable, knee-high boots.

  In the kitchen, I reheat my coffee and worry that I overreacted. I was too harsh with Virginia. I should have let her down gently or led her on a bit to placate her desire. I’d have done as much with a man. But it’s precisely because she isn’t a man that I’m so angry. Of all people, she should know better. Women stick together. Sisters stick together, or so I thought. I dump my coffee down the sink and leave you a note on the table saying I will be gone all day. There’s a frozen dinner in the freezer, I write. I’ll be back later from rehearsal. Love you, Mom.

  It’s strange to think that I had no idea this would be my last day on earth. Everything I did was normal. If I had known, would I have done anything differently? I might have chosen the green dress with three-quarter sleeves or gone for a stroll along the ocean, breathing in the salt air and listening to seagulls squawk. At the very least, I would have spent a girlfriend day with you, doing whatever we pleased.

  Instead, I go to Ricardo’s office at the hospital.

  The bright white hospital hallways smell of antiseptic. Virginia’s office door is closed, thank goodness, and I hurry past it to Ricardo’s, barging past his secretary into his dark-paneled, windowless office, all of his furniture still smelling of new leather. Ricardo looks small and angry sitting behind his desk. Here, I am not afraid of him. He wouldn’t dare hit me in front of his secretary, and I strategically left the door open.

  “I’m filing for a divorce,” I say, white-knuckling my purse, my chest tight.

  He caps his pen and sets it down, controlled. “You are making a mistake.”

  “Well, it’s mine to make.”

  “That’s not true, now, is it, Estelita?” His voice is soothing, coy. He stands, moves around the desk and tries to take me in his arms. I shove him away, and just like with Virginia, my rejection sparks anger, and his tone pitches into aggression. “We can work it out.”

  “Is that so? Your tone of voice says otherwise.”