“Yes,” he said. “Every single person here has been a client or dear friend for many years.” He squeezed my hand and pointed to the big screen at the stage. Pictures of Doña Delfina at every stage of her life scrolled across the monitor, including images of her with the rich and famous from all walks of life.
“What exactly did she do for them?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the details, but it was impossible not to be curious. She clearly had been very loved and respected.
“She offered them guidance and protection.”
Rafa continued walking ahead and I followed behind until we reached our table at the front. Women shot Rafa subtle and sometimes not so subtle glances as we passed by, which was more because he looked like a Tom Ford model than because he was the host. I’d chosen the perfect label for Rafa, an intelligent designer for an intelligent man.
The eighteen piece Cuban orchestra lit up the back wall, but instead of the usual lively music I recognized, it was something more somber. “I like this music, Rafa. What is it?”
“I think it’s from Buena Vista Social Club. It was her favorite. Nice isn’t it?” Seeing him emotional again, I regretted the things I’d said in the car, but before I could apologize, several people swooped in to shake his hand. He introduced me to everyone as his girlfriend, which for many people was an unexpected surprise.
“Amada, have a seat,” said Rafa, motioning to an empty chair. “I have to give a little speech and then I’ll be right back.” Like everything else in the space, the table setting was gorgeous. I feasted on every detail, from the abundant flower arrangements to the floating candles, but the place settings took my breath away. Rafa had chosen one of my favorite patterns, Lenox British Colonial Tradewinds, a Robin egg blue and gold fine bone china featuring a high seas nautical theme of palm trees and antique sailing ships.
Before he left, he greeted and then introduced me to the three women already seated at the table drinking mojitos, Lidia, Raquel, and Silvia. Lidia and Raquel were married to Oscar Garcia and Carlos Betancourt, whom I’d met playing cards, and Silvia, he explained, was married to Dr. Rogelio Machado, the Chief of Staff at Miami’s most prestigious teaching hospital. They all stood and gave me a big hug and kiss on the cheek, which in my circles was strange, but I knew that among Latins a kiss on the cheek was a typical greeting. All of the women were distinguished and very friendly, accepting me as part of the group right away. Lidia, with her jet black hair and perfectly arched eyebrows reminded me of old Hollywood glamour. Like the other two, she was talkative and not at all embarrassed to ask questions.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you. There’s been a lot of talk about Rafa’s new girlfriend,” Lidia said in English, finishing her mojito. She raised two fingers in the air in the direction of a waiter.
“There has?” I asked. “I hope people are saying nice things!”
“Yes, definitely,” said Raquel, Carlos’ wife. The exact opposite of Lidia, Raquel had a sweet, motherly demeanor I instantly liked. “Everyone is just so curious about who finally caught his eye. Let’s just say the women are not shy about pursuing him.”
“Oh.” My insecurities reared up again as I pictured all the young, beautiful women who would be flirting with Rafa every day. It must have been obvious what I was thinking.
“Raquel!” snapped Lidia, raising her eyebrows at her friend. “Look what you did.”
“Sweetie, I’m so sorry!” Raquel leaned forward and scrambled to find the right words. “I just meant that he has a lot of options, and he chose you, so you must be very special to him.”
“Are you kidding? A lot of options?” Lidia gave her the side-eye, which made me laugh. “Don’t listen to Raquel. She literally has no tact. The other day she told me I gained weight, but it looked good.” Lidia made some kind of guttural sound that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but absolute disgust.
“It’s true,” giggled Raquel good-naturedly. “I’m always putting my foot in my mouth!”
“Well, even though he’s calling you his girlfriend, he’s going out of his way to introduce you to everyone with the same respect you give your wife, so that’s very telling,” said Silvia. “He obviously wants everyone to know you’re practically married and therefore very taken. Typical possessive Cuban man. He’s so handsome, Amanda. You won the lottery.” Te ganaste la loteria. Lidia and Raquel exchanged a glance that suggested Rafa’s good looks had been the topic of conversation more than once.
All three women spoke perfect English, but occasionally they threw in a little bit of Spanish here and there, especially when making a joke. They asked lots of questions about me, and I learned that Lidia and the petite, lively Raquel both lived in Coral Gables, while Silvia spent most of her time with her daughter and grandchildren in New York City. We had a great time chatting and I thought it would be nice to invite them and their husbands over for drinks this weekend, so we exchanged numbers and resolved to meet up on Friday.
As the waiter brought Lidia’s mojito over and set the other one down in front of me, the orchestra finished their song. The band leader briefly introduced Rafa as the godson of Doña Delfina, Dr. Rafael De Leon, and he was welcomed in the form of a standing ovation. I was thoroughly impressed by his poise in front of the expectant crowd, completely in command of the space and everyone in it. The suit I’d chosen for him was impeccable and complemented his chiseled features perfectly, which made me think about how wonderful he’d look in something custom. I made a mental note to order a few made to measure suits and a tux directly from Tom Ford soon. And hide the receipt.
“I’d like to thank all of you for coming here tonight in honor of Doña Delfina Beatríz Ramirez,” began Rafa. He was a charismatic public speaker, looking out over the audience as he spoke evenly and confidently about Doña Delfina’s life and many accomplishments, not the least of which was funding several orphanages in Miami and rural Cuba, as well as an artists’ enclave in Little Havana.
“As you all know, Doña Delfina was a great believer in her people, and in enriching the human experience through art, brotherhood and love. At her insistence, tonight must be a happy occasion, a celebration of her life. Many of you will take the stage later to share your good memories, but before I leave you tonight, I want everyone to rest assured that I will honor her legacy exactly as she wished. We discussed at length what my responsibilities to our community would be, and with her blessing I will carry on her work, modernizing in accordance with twenty-first century medicine and technology. We will continue to fund important humanitarian and cultural endeavors, and most importantly, it is my goal to bring our spiritual beliefs out of the shadows, where ignorance and fear only breed contempt. I will openly promote and educate others about our highly ethical and moral practices, which we all know is so inexorably tied to our very distinguished Cuban heritage, both here and there. As Cubans we’ve had to be very strong the last half-century, and it’s now time for unification. We are one, and it is our duty to ensure that our nation and people flourish culturally, economically, and politically. During this vulnerable time in transition, we must protect ourselves from those who would use us and do us harm for their own gain.” The crowd began to make noise, but he continued. “It is time for us not only to rejoin the world, but also to make important contributions to humanity in every field. This is our Renaissance.” The room went wild, erupting in a long series of cheers, and Rafa waited patiently until he could continue.
“After our evening comes to a close, The Copper Crown will close for refurbishments and reopen in two weeks as Madrina’s, in honor of our beloved Doña Delfina. We will continue to be open to the public as an upscale nightclub featuring live music and five star Cuban cuisine, but for the first time, we will also offer a members-only cigar room and salon that I know you will enjoy. I look forward to seeing you all at the grand opening. Finally, before dinner is served and we welcome The Honorable Oscar García to the stage, I want to let you know that we have a very special surprise for you
around 11:30.” Rafa paused and stepped back from the microphone for a moment, cleared his throat and then continued, his voice laced with emotion. “You’ll know soon why it’s a historic night for many reasons, and I’m overjoyed to be able to share it here with you, among my cherished brothers and sisters. Thank you.”
The crowd gave Rafa a standing ovation, and if our table hadn’t been so close to the front, I don’t think he would have been able to get through the crowd for quite a while. Everyone was buzzing with excitement, not only because of Rafa’s inspirational speech, but also because of the surprise he’d promised. After a few minutes of accepting more congratulations and endless pats on the back, he found his way to our table. He stood next to me behind an empty chair and put his hand on the back of my neck, but he didn’t sit down.
“You were fantastic, Rafa,” I said. I motioned for him to lean in close. “I don’t know what got into me in the car. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too,” he said, giving me a peck on the lips. Coming closer, he surreptitiously flicked my ear with his tongue and whispered, “But we still have a date later.” I nodded, thinking I’d love nothing more.
Soon, Carlos and Oscar found their way back to the table and greeted us with enthusiasm. Unfortunately, Silvia’s husband, whom I’d been looking forward to meeting, was on call at the hospital all night and sent his regards. We chatted a while, but the men refused to sit down and instead insisted on a pit stop at the bar before going back to working the room with Rafa in tow.
“Stay together,” said Rafa, as they disappeared into the crowd. “Sandro is right over there.” He pointed in the direction of the nearby bar where Sandro occupied two full spaces. Everyone else was crammed in elbow to elbow, but no one dared invade Sandro’s space. Already looking in our direction, he pulled the cigar out of his mouth and made a hand gesture that loosely resembled a salute.
Shortly after the men left, dinner was served. Lidia said not to expect them back for a while, as they would be having fun gossiping with all their friends.
“They’re worse than we are.”
We went ahead and started dinner just the four of us, an elevated Cuban menu of steak and onion, sweet plantains called maduros, and a mix of black beans and rice I think they called moros.
“Mm, this is good,” said Lidia, enjoying the beans and rice. “They definitely added sugar. I put it in mine.”
“You have to,” said Silvia.
“You know that trick, right?” said Lidia to me, asking the question in a way that people do when they think they already know the answer.
“I don’t cook,” I admitted.
“Cuban food or any food?” said Lidia, setting down her fork.
“Any food.”
“Really?” she said, looking at the other two women knowingly.
“Sweetie, even if you have a career and can afford a chef, you have to cook for your husband. These old school Cubans expect it and act like little babies if you don’t feed them all day long. Even if you hate it, you have to. To them, it’s love.”
“He says he doesn’t care,” I protested.
“You have so much to learn. He cares.” Lidia pointed her fork at me.
“Has he made any ‘funny’ remarks about you not cooking?’ asked Silvia.
“Well, he called me Julia Child one day and told me to get a Keurig so that I can make his coffee.” They all rolled their eyes and erupted in laughter.
“I’m sorry, but he’s not joking. We’ll get you some cooking lessons, and you’ll pick it up in no time,” said Silvia. They conferred for a minute amongst each other, trying to figure out whose mother or grandmother could come over and teach me. Maybe they’d call a Cuban chef, they said, but then rejected the idea because it wouldn’t feel like home cooking. “If you want to keep him fat and happy at home,” continued Silvia, “that’s the way it is. Cuban men make wonderful husbands. They’re very devoted, very passionate, but they require a lot of babying, like lapdogs. We call that being ñoño. Rafa is no different, trust me. He’s young, but he just got here. Deep down, he still thinks the old fashioned way.”
“Don’t make him too fat, though,” said Raquel, without thinking. “That would be a damn shame.”
“Easy, tiger,” said Silvia. “He’s her man now.”
“Sorry, Amanda, I would never say that in front of Carlos, but I do still have eyes!” We all had to laugh at her honesty, especially me, because she was obviously incapable of not blurting out the first thing that came to her mind. I imagined it could be annoying, but on the other hand, Raquel was the type who could be trusted.
“Take our advice,” said Lidia, “and learn to cook before some little flirt starts bringing him food at work.” She put her fork down and crossed her arms defensively, which made me wonder if something like this hadn’t happened to her already.
“Ay, Lidia,” laughed Raquel. “That’s exactly what my mother used to say.” She lowered her voice and looked around, as if she was about to the say the worst thing in the world. “Except she would say puta.” They erupted in fits of giggles, but I didn’t get the joke.
“Well, we just met her,” said Lidia, gesturing toward me. “I don’t want her to get the wrong idea about us, but that’s what I meant!” Whispering, she put her hand beside her mouth and explained, “Puta means whore.”
These three, especially Lidia and Raquel, were a complete hoot. Though they were a few years older than me, Lidia and Raquel were still quite a bit younger than Oscar and Carlos, so I wondered if they were second wives. Regardless, they were hilarious and lively, and they definitely could give me some much needed insight into Rafa’s cultural quirks. I loved being around people with a great sense of humor, and it was clear this group liked to laugh and have fun.
We happily ate dinner and chatted about other things they thought I should know about their favorite subject, Cuban men, until it was almost time for Lidia’s husband to share his memories of Doña Delfina. Before he began speaking, I took the opportunity to go to the ladies room and snuck off quietly to the rear of the building where I thought I’d seen the restrooms.
I’d almost made it back to the dining room when a hand found my shoulder from behind. Thinking it was Rafa, I turned around to find myself face to face with a tall, good-looking man in his late twenties. With bright amber eyes and glowing skin the color of goldstone, he was so attractive I thought he might have been one of the many models or entertainers attending the event this evening, but he touched me with such familiarity that I assumed we had to know each other somehow.
“Hello, Dr. Rose,” he said in English, extending his hand. “My name is Achille Desmarais.” His black suit, I noticed, was unmistakably bespoke, and if I had to guess, I’d say it was made by one of the finest tailors on Savile Row. I took his hand and admired his striking presence. I didn’t think I’d ever forget a lovely French accent like his, but I’d taught so many students and not all of them had made a lasting impression. It was embarrassing when I couldn’t remember someone, but it happened sometimes.
“Hello,” I said, trying to place him. “Have we met?”
“No, I’ve never been so fortunate. Doña Delfina and I were acquainted, so I’ve been looking forward to introducing myself to you and Dr. De Leon. It sounds like he wants to make a lot of changes.” His smile was polite, yet something about him read cold, and because looking into his eyes made me feel peculiar, I focused on his red and blue pocket square instead.
“Rafa’s right there in the other room.” I took a step in the direction of the dining area. “Let me introduce you.”
“Wait,” he said, putting his hand politely on my elbow. Are you feeling alright? You look pale.”
“I’m fine.” I gave him a half-hearted smile, and though I tried not to look at him again, I was compelled to do just that. Everything went quiet and felt peaceful.
“Maybe things are a little stressful now,” he said evenly.
“Yes,” I agreed in spite of mysel
f.
“You know, you can always leave.”
“I can leave?” I asked, more confused than ever.
“You’re free. When it gets to be too much, just look elsewhere.”
“Amada!” Rafa’s sharp voice broke my concentration, bringing with it an awareness of surroundings that had momentarily fallen away. Achille awkwardly released my arm, but not before Rafa saw that he’d been touching me. Sandro was right behind him, and then the room flooded with at least six men, two of whom I knew worked for Rafa under Sandro. The other four must have been a private security detail for another VIP. Rafa, in spite of all his intellectual and humanitarian inclinations, looked like he was possessed by a demon.
“Everything’s fine. I just went to the ladies room and then started chatting with Mr.—” Still foggy, I couldn’t remember his name.
“Desmarais. Achille Desmarais.” He gave Rafa an icy smile and attempted to shake his hand, but Rafa was having none of it. It was painful to watch the exchange between the two men, and like a pack of wolves, Sandro and the others circled us as soon as they sensed Rafa’s mistrust. Every set of male eyes in the room fixed on Achille, and not in a good way.
“Why are you back here talking to my wife?” hissed Rafa, in a tone I’d never heard from him before. He was on the verge of losing his temper, which in a normally good-natured man is even more frightening to witness.
“No, you misunderstand,” replied Achille in near perfect Spanish. “It’s nothing like that. I was actually looking for you, Dr. De Leon.” He gazed into my eyes so intently it was as if he was trying to draw me in, pulling me toward him somehow. “Tell him, Amanda.”
Achille’s presumptuous familiarity and commanding tone triggered something feral in Rafa, who likely would have struck him if Sandro hadn’t stepped in between them.
“You know better, bro,” said Sandro in English. Though Sandro towered over him, it was hard not to notice that Achille held his own, completely unafraid.
“Cubans,” he said, smoothing down one of his sleeves. “So predictable.” He looked back up at Rafa and let his face fall back into its natural hard state. “Let’s talk.”
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