The Cuban

by Kim Rodriguez

  With those simple words the floor fell out from under me, and I recognized that I was no longer in control of his body or even my own. “That’s enough for now,” I whispered, and promptly took him in my mouth, desperate to be closer to him. I barely got to taste him before he exploded, lovingly cradling my head in his hands as he gave and I received.

  ***

  We changed and made it downstairs by eleven, just in time to catch my brother and Ken. With all the shades and drapes open, the house was light and bright, illuminated by the sunshine reflected off the water and the marble floors. Rafa went right to the kitchen and started making coffee, while I sat down at the counter and watched him.

  “This,” he said pointing to the silver pot on the stove, “is called a cafetera.” He turned several knobs on our big Viking range like a pro and unscrewed the pot, revealing its inner chambers. “The water goes here, and the espresso goes here,” he said. “I make the best coffee you will ever taste, by the way. In medical school, even the guys who wanted to fight me would never turn it down.”

  “Why would anyone want to do that?”

  “Some of them thought I was after their women.” He spoke casually, but it seemed like it bothered him more than he was willing to let on. “If saying ‘hello’ and ‘good morning’ is flirting, then I guess I was.”

  “Did any of them ever try?” My heart ached for young Rafa, forced to fend for himself in a way that I could never fully understand.

  “One of them did once, and then never again. Where I grew up, you learn to fight very young.” He noticed the expression on my face and added, “Forget about it, sweetheart. Don’t think about ugly things.” Olvidate de eso, mi vida. No pienses en cosas feas.

  He filled the pot with water and espresso and put it on the stove, leaving the lid open. While he kept an eye on the coffee, he sliced the Cuban bread lengthwise and slathered it with butter. “As soon as the coffee starts coming up into the reservoir, I take it off the heat and let it finish, but first, I stir a few drops into about ten teaspoons of sugar to make the foam. Then I pour the hot coffee over it so that it’s smooth and extra sweet.”

  “That sounds complicated. Wait, are you trying to teach me how to do this?”

  “No, Julia Child,” he laughed, “you’re going to have to use a Keurig.” He put the bread in the oven and came around to my side of the counter.

  “Rafa! I can cook a little.”

  “Sweetheart, your kitchen has never been used.”

  I sighed and looked him up and down. He’d thrown on a tight navy tank top and dark khaki shorts, and he looked so good, I decided that blue was most definitely his color. “I’d rather assist my handsome man, to be honest.” Reading my thoughts, he came closer.

  “Well, that’s fine with me. That way you have plenty of energy for more important things,” he said, giving me the first real kiss of the morning. As he stood between my legs, he held my chin and neck with an open hand and swirled his tongue in my mouth. He was about to slide his other hand into the back of my pants when we heard Kieran and Ken come down the stairs. I had my back to them, but clearly Ken saw us first.

  “What do we have here?” he bellowed. “I spy two lovebirds!”

  “Ken’s still drunk,” called my brother after him. “Pay no attention.”

  I looked over my shoulder and saw Ken bound down the last few steps and practically run over to us. Kieran, usually a cool character, didn’t waste much time either. They looked rested and full of energy, and judging by the way they were dressed, I assumed Kieran planned on spending the day out on the boat. I wanted to give them my full attention, but it was quite a task to pull away from Rafa, who was already aroused again and ready to pounce. Somehow I managed to compose myself and stand to greet Ken properly, but not before Rafa could give my breasts a quick squeeze. “I can’t wait to suck on these later,” he whispered, just before Ken was within earshot.

  “Good morning, Ken! I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Rafa,” I said in English. To Rafa I said in Spanish, “Rafa, I’d like to introduce Ken, my brother-in-law.” Rafa, te presento a Ken, mi cuñado. They shook hands, and as Kieran approached, I said simply, “And my brother, Kieran.” Y mi hermano, Kieran.

  “A pleasure,” said my brother in Spanish, shaking Rafa’s hand.

  “You speak Spanish as well as your sister. I’m impressed.” Noting the cool confidence in his voice and demeanor, I marveled at how Rafa could switch so quickly from sex fiend to polite gentleman when I was sure it was still written all over my face.

  “Well, I ought to, we learned from—”

  “Kieran,” I interrupted. “Rafa isn’t interested in that.”

  “Yes, I am. What?” he asked, intrigued.

  “So,” said Kieran to me, “Teresa and Isaura are a big secret?”

  “Well,” I said, sitting back down on the stool, slightly annoyed with Kieran. “Rafa already suspects I grew up with a silver spoon in my mouth, but go right ahead and confirm it.”

  “Our nannies,” said Kieran without a second thought. I knew he had even less of an understanding of how different our upbringing had been than I did, and I didn’t want Rafa to see that side of him until they knew each other better. “Rafa, what are you cooking? It never smells like food in this house.”

  We spent the next hour drinking coffee and eating breakfast together at the kitchen table. The ‘toast’ was was like garlic bread without the garlic, and like everything Rafa made, it was delicious.

  “This coffee,” said Ken, licking his lips. “It’s espresso, you said? The espresso at Starbucks does not taste like this.” Ken’s Spanish was much more basic than mine or Kieran’s, but working in LA he’d had to pick it up, so he was able to carry on a conversation with us.

  “Rafa is an extraordinary cook,” I boasted. “Name it, he can make it.” Turning to Rafa, I said, “Remember the oysters and pearls you made me? One of the women at my table said she’d eaten the same dish at French Laundry in Napa.”

  “That’s serious gastronomy,” remarked Kieran, impressed. “You know, I love a good Bordeaux. Do you know anything about French wine? Actually, Rafa, have you ever made Boeuf Bourguignon?”

  “Yes, many times,” said Rafa, sipping his coffee. “But the traditional French method takes three days. If you give me some notice next time you come home, I’ll make it.”

  Kieran’s face lit up as he accepted Rafa’s gracious offer, and as they began discussing the particulars of my brother’s favorite dish, Ken and I took the opportunity to check in with each other.

  “Wow,” he whispered, nodding his head. “That man is smoking hot! Oh my God, don’t tell Kieran I said that! Damn, and he cooks, too.”

  “I know.”

  “I assume the bedroom situation is acceptable?”

  “It is so good, Ken, that if it is in fact possible to be fucked to death, then that is how I am going to die.” I looked at him as he let his mouth drop open. “Excuse my French.”

  “Oh, hell no,” Ken blurted out, as he set his cup of coffee down more roughly in the saucer than intended, causing Rafa and Kieran to briefly look over. We smiled in their direction, but when they resumed their conversation, Ken looked me dead in the eye. “Listen to me very carefully, new sister-in-law. Lock. It. Down. Do not leave unattended. He is way too fine to take any chances.”

  “Believe me, I know,” I said, putting my hand on his arm. “That’s what our fight was about.”

  “You must keep me abreast of this situation.”

  “Here,” I said, handing him my phone. “Put your number in.”

  “What’s this?” said Kieran in English, clearly amused by our fast friendship. My brother was sharp as a tack and never missed a thing, especially when it came to me. “Cutting me out of the loop already?”

  “Oh, stop it, honey,” said Ken, tapping keys on my phone. “Would you rather we didn’t like each other?”

  “No,” said Kieran, “it makes me very happy to see the two people I
love most in the world spend time together.”

  We continued to chat about food and bedroom situations until Rafa’s phone rang and he excused himself to take the call in the kitchen. With him out of earshot, I took the opportunity to speak to Kieran and Ken privately.

  “Listen, I wanted to ask you both for some advice. Someone close to Rafa just passed away and left him a lot of cash and some businesses. Coming from a communist country, he’s never really had money before, so I’m not sure if he understands how to manage it.” I cringed inwardly, realizing I’d talked to Rafa about Kieran’s sex life, and now I was discussing Rafa’s finances with Kieran. Rafa had been right to call me nosy.

  Both Ken and Kieran went from jovial to dead serious in a second. I caught a glimpse of how they must appear to others in their professional lives, two sharks not to be messed with. “How much are we talking about?” asked Kieran.

  “Millions.”

  “First, he has to hire an attorney who understands business and estate law very well to handle the transfer of assets,” said Ken. “I can guide him until he finds counsel here, but I’m not licensed in Florida.”

  “He also needs to hire a personal CFO to monitor payroll, budgeting, cash flow and, most importantly, to make sure the taxes are taken care of properly,” added Kieran. “If you want, I’ll do that for him until he gets set up locally.” Glancing at Ken to confirm, he added, “Look, if we need to take some time off and come back to help you, we will.” Ken nodded right along with him.

  “I’ll let you know, but I think he already has a network of trustworthy people here in Miami. I just want to run everything past you, if you don’t mind.” I had no idea where Ken had earned his degree, but my brother had graduated top of his class at Harvard Business School, and there is no one in the world I’d trust more with my money, even if he weren’t my brother. In less than a decade, Kieran had doubled our net worth, so I knew Rafa couldn’t be in better hands.

  “Well, if he’s the man you’re going to end up with, you can rest assured no one is going to steal from you on our watch,” said Kieran, sitting back, overprotective as always.

  “No,” added Ken. “I think not.”

  Rafa returned to the table, but his mood had changed, so I assumed it had to have been a call about Doña Delfina.

  “Are you alright, Rafa?” I asked, setting down my coffee. The three of us looked at him, waiting for him to say something. “Honey, you’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

  “Fidel Castro is dead.” He looked at all three of us, one by one. “Finally.”

  Confused, Ken and Kieran started to flip through their phones. “I didn’t get any news alerts, did you?”

  “It hasn’t been announced yet,” said Rafa emerging from what I presumed to be a mild case of shock. “They’ll announce it at midnight. That was Sandro. The Congressman coming to see me today had to reschedule because of it. Everyone is scrambling to see what happens next.”

  “That’s good news, isn’t it?” I went to Rafa and put my arms around him. He was so overcome with joy, I knew he would have broken down in tears if Ken and my brother hadn’t been there.

  “It’s amazing news. It means so much to all of us there and here that he’s finally gone. They can’t show their true feelings in Cuba, but believe me, it’s a historic moment we’ve all been dreaming about for a long time. I only wish Doña Delfina had lived to see it. We have to celebrate tonight when they announce it. Miami is going to go crazy!” He picked me up, spun me around, and gave a me a big kiss on the lips.

  I hugged him again and whispered in his ear. “I’m so happy for you.”

  “Does this change your plans at all, Rafa?” That was Kieran, always thinking of me.

  “Not one bit. My home is here in Miami with my Amada. Nothing changes that. But it does mean that maybe soon I can take her to Cuba and show her around.”

  “What did you call her?” asked Ken with a half-smile.

  “Amada,” he said without the slightest hesitation. “Because she’s my love.”

  “Oh my God,” said Ken, putting his arm around my brother’s shoulders. “That’s so romantic. Should we tell them what you call me—”

  “No, we shouldn’t,” laughed Kieran.

  “So,” I said to Rafa, “does that mean you have the rest of the day to spend with me now?”

  “Why, yes it does. What did you have in mind?” he asked, dropping his voice.

  “Oh, it’s getting a little hot in here,” said Ken, just after I gave him a wink and mouthed ‘told you.’

  “In all seriousness,” said Rafa, “we have to be at The Copper Crown tonight by nine o’clock for our celebration in honor of Doña Delfina, and then around midnight, we’ll break out the champagne and have a big party when Fidel Castro’s death is announced. She gave me very specific instructions about her memorial service, but she was adamant that it should be a happy occasion. Most of her famous clients wanted to come perform, so I chose her favorite and she’ll be on stage tonight as well. Then at sunrise tomorrow, a very small group will attend the burial at an undisclosed location, and after that, we close for two weeks. I have to meet with the attorneys, make some staff changes, update the menu and the decor, then have a grand re-opening.” He squeezed my hand and smiled. “So yes, I definitely think we should take some time today if we can.”

  “Tomorrow morning seems so soon,” I said. “Can things really happen that fast?”

  “They have to,” said Rafa. “She was a santera, so she can’t be cremated and her body isn’t safe until it goes back into the earth. The location of her grave cannot be public information, so the burial itself can only happen in the presence of her most trusted loved ones. Her body is being protected by armed guards until then, so the sooner, the better.”

  “Armed guards! If she’s already passed, why wouldn’t she be safe?” asked Ken.

  “Look, I know how all this must sound to people who’ve never been around Santería before, but it’s believed that people can work very powerful, dark magic with the bones of a deceased Santería priest or priestess. Her body would be desecrated if we didn’t protect it. I know it’s very morbid, but that’s why.”

  “Well, damn,” said Ken, taking a seat.

  “You know,” said Rafa, “there was always a strong rumor in Cuba that Fidel Castro was a santero. People will be watching very closely to see what happens with the body. If that’s the case, then the true location of his remains will never be revealed. Can you imagine what would happen?”

  “Do you believe he was?” I asked.

  “Well, I think someone who’s gotten away with what he has for more than fifty years had to have some kind of deal with the Devil himself, and that’s not Santería, so no.” Rafa sat down in the chair beside Ken and pulled me on his lap without a second thought, just the way he had at The Copper Crown. He picked up his last piece of bread and offered it to me, then scarfed it down. “What a week,” he said thoughtfully.

  “Rafa, I do have a question,” began Kieran, speaking in Spanish again. “As a medical doctor, that means you’re a scientist. How is it that you can also believe in Santería?”

  “It’s no different than a scientist who is a Christian, or a urologist who is also an ordained Rabbi. It’s true that the majority of scientists are atheists, but there are still some people of faith. We simply believe that the living and the dead are connected, and they can have a positive or negative impact on our lives depending on what their intentions are and how we treat them. If we’re lucky, they can guide and protect us during times of uncertainty. That’s all. Practitioners of Santería also believe in the unequalled healing power of Nature. I strongly ascribe to that aspect myself, and I think there are many diseases that will eventually be cured when we synthesize the right combination of plants that are already growing all over the planet. All of our most potent drugs come from plants; think of opium and cocaine, for example.” He jostled me slightly, as he sat forward, inspired.

  �
��I know a famous Osainista—someone who works with medicinal plants—who lives in the jungles of Costa Rica, and I’ve convinced him to write down all of his cures and sacred knowledge. I’m hoping one day he’ll share it with me, and that I can pass it on to the right people who’ll know what to do with it. There are those who say he’s hundreds of years old and can cure anything. That’s pure science, not magic.”

  “What about the animal sacrifice we hear about in the news?” Kieran arched an eyebrow, as if in apology.

  “Kieran! You don’t think I’d be with someone who participates in that, do you?” I hopped off Rafa’s lap, feeling tense.

  “Amada, it’s fine. This is why I think it’s important to talk about it,” said Rafa, pulling me right back down where he liked me. “There are so many misconceptions.”

  “I have to be honest,” said Ken, “I’m really curious about it, too.”

  “It’s very simple. Historically, an animal you would normally eat is slaughtered, like a chicken or a lamb, and everyone else involved in the ceremony eats the animal. The animal must be treated humanely. Sometimes the animal is not consumed and it’s just the blood that’s needed. Blood has a very special significance in Santeria.” Rafa shot a glance at me and continued. “There are different reasons for animal sacrifice and different ways to carry it out, but in most cases it’s presented as an offering in exchange for a favor from the Orishas. However, today I believe there’s no need to sacrifice an animal. What I would request is something of personal value. In your case, Kieran, you might offer a rare bottle of Bordeaux, for example.”

  “Have you ever done it before, Rafa?” asked Ken, leaning forward.

  “I’ve seen it done in Cuba, when I was younger. But keep in mind I used to watch my grandmother kill and prepare chickens all the time as well. In the Cuban countryside, everyone has to know how, or you don’t eat. It’s normal and necessary.” He smiled and added, “No French Laundry in Cuba, I’m afraid.”

  “But what about those cases where they’ve found people—” began Kieran.

  “That’s not Santería. That’s the worst kind of Haitian Voodoo. I would never have anything to do with that. It’s very evil. You know, my grandmother once told me the story of how she became friends with a little girl in her town when they were both about eight years old. The other child was the granddaughter of a houngan, a Voodoo priest, and when my great-grandmother saw them talking, she walked up to my grandmother and slapped her across the face before dragging her away. Years later, my grandmother said her mother told her she did it because there was a rumor that Haitian Voodoo practitioners were stealing children to sacrifice.” To me, Rafa added, “That’s the kind of evil magic Doña Delfina said I brought back with me from Haiti that made me so sick.”