The Cuban

by Kim Rodriguez

  “Sal, take Amada back to our table and stay with her.” Rafa didn’t take his eyes off Achille for a second, even to look at me, and seeing him behave that way scared me beyond words. It reminded me of the guard dogs my father had when Kieran and I were children; when threatened, they would remain crouched even as they moved around and kept their eyes fixed on the target. My father explained that even though it looked awkward, it was so they could leap up and attack at any moment. It had scared me how the dogs could be so loving with our family, yet turn into snarling, fanged beasts during their practices with the trainer. I recognized the same abrupt metamorphosis happening now in my sweet, loving Rafa. His fearsome protective instincts had just kicked in, and if he were to get hurt because of me, I don’t know what I would do.

  “Rafa, please—”

  “Do as I say,” he snapped.

  A very sweet-looking young man stepped out from behind the others and approached us with caution, clearly aware of Rafa’s explosive state. “Shall we?” Even though I could feel him willing me to do so, I didn’t look back at Achille and took Sal’s arm instead.

  I was a nervous wreck until Rafa returned to the table about fifteen minutes later. Sal excused himself to go off and find his girlfriend, Lisa, who he said was probably already three sheets to the wind. Rafa put his hand on my neck before he sat down beside me, but there was no trace of the man I’d seen in the back hallway, enraged and dangerous, and if there had been a physical altercation, there was no sign of it.

  “Are you mad at me?” I asked. Somehow, it seemed like my fault.

  “No, of course not,” he said evenly. “He was trying to get my attention through you, and he succeeded.”

  Even though everyone had finished dinner, a waiter brought a fresh plate of food and set it down in front of Rafa. He ate heartily as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened and talked to Carlos and Oscar, who’d finally sat down to eat themselves. Silvia commented on Rafa’s healthy appetite, obviously trying to make a point, and the women all gave me knowing looks which I had no choice but to grudgingly acknowledge. We spent the next hour and a half chatting and tasting all the sweets from the dessert bar as we listened to the moving tributes to Doña Delfina, whose memorial service had turned out beautifully.

  Finally, as a special homage, a very famous Latin pop star took the stage and sang Doña Delfina’s favorite songs, the Cuban folk song Guantanamera and Celia Cruz’ version of Quimbara. Apparently it was an open secret that Doña Delfina had been instrumental in her rise to worldwide fame, so she’d been expected to attend, but she’d also generously insisted on giving an electrifying performance that brought the crowd to its feet. “Doña Delfina,” she said into the microphone, “you made dreams come true. We love you, now and forever.”

  At around 11:30, when the big screen went to black and then switched to live television, Rafa turned toward the stage and held my hand tightly in his lap, breathless with excitement. The crowd went silent as Raul Castro spoke live from Havana, behind a desk littered with framed photographs of Communist icons Josef Stalin and Vladimir Lenin, and reported that “today ... at 10:29 pm, the commander in chief of the Cuban Revolution, Fidel Castro Ruz, has died.”

  I can’t say whether it was because people were in shock or because it simply took that long to fully decode the words, but it was only after several beats that the eerie silence erupted into a roar that could only be described as more joyful than every New Year’s Eve, every victory cry, and every winning moment in the history of time all rolled into one. Each person in the room leaped to their feet and kissed and hugged their friends and loved ones, deeply entrenched in the significance of this night in a way that only they could understand. Even as an American, it was impossible not to be moved to tears upon witnessing the flood of emotion ripping through every Cuban in exile, a diaspora of misplaced souls openly weeping for their past and now their future.

  We spent the early hours of the morning drinking champagne and listening to stories about the Cuban Revolution and its profound impact, and as everyone became happier and drunker, the more open they became. Even Rafa and I had several rum and cokes, Cuba Libres as they were called, to celebrate with everyone else. By three in the morning, emotions were running high. Everyone had cried more than once about loved ones they’d lost because of Castro’s regime, not to mention generations of fractured families that now wouldn’t even recognize each other after fifty years. So much damage had been done, some thought it could never be fully righted.

  “I wonder if now the change will be fast or slow,” wondered Carlos aloud, his arm protectively around his wife.

  “More importantly,” said Oscar, “what kind of change? Don’t assume it will be for the better. We have to make sure it turns the right way. It’s going to be the Wild West for a while. Everyone is going to try to claim a piece.”

  I started to feel a little drunk, so I leaned against Rafa as he continued to talk to the people who came to our table. Silvia had left hours ago, but Lidia and Raquel were wrecked and talked their husbands into leaving around four. We all kissed and hugged and confirmed that we’d see them Friday, and as soon as Rafa made sure they had a driver, he sent them on their way. Rafa, whom I’d never seen anything but sober, had a slightly different air about him. His breath smelled of alcohol and cigars, and he was much less talkative than usual, but considering how emotional the evening had been for him, it wasn’t surprising.

  “Let’s have one dance before the band leaves,” he said. Out on the floor we swayed to a slow, seductive Cuban son, one of only three or four other couples also lost in their own world. Rafa held me so close I had to wrap my arms around his neck and put my head on his shoulder. Our bodies were moving in a way that I wasn’t sure was entirely appropriate, but he had no qualms about putting his hands all over my backside as he kissed me with abandon, so I didn’t concern myself either. I rubbed the back of his neck and pulled on his hair the way I sometimes did when we were making love, a suggestive act to which I knew would he would have a strong response. Accordingly, he moaned and swirled his hips in tune with the music, pressing my pelvis into his and not caring in the least that we were in a public place. Momentarily embarrassed, I looked around and was relieved to see that no one was watching because they were either too drunk or too tired.

  “Even if a thousand people were watching,” he said in my ear, “it wouldn’t stop me.”

  “Doctor,” I laughed, “are you drunk?”

  “A little,” he confessed. “I’ll be fine in half an hour. You can tell?”

  “Of course,” I said. “You’re too quiet. What are you thinking about?”

  “I can’t tell you.” He squeezed my backside again so hard that I jumped, letting his hand settle right between my legs from behind.

  “Rafa!” I squirmed so that he’d move, but he left it right there.

  “You’ll get upset. I’ll tell you later, when I’m inside you. You can’t get mad at me then.” He chuckled to himself, obviously lost in some indecent memory of us. We finished dancing to the last song just like that, in complete silence, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

  Sandro drove me home around five so that Rafa could attend to Doña Delfina’s burial with a select group. As Rafa had explained earlier, it was a secretive operation that he said I needn’t concern myself with. Out of necessity it would be over quickly, and he said he’d be home by seven. Sandro walked me to the door, and instead of saying goodnight, he surprised me by saying he’d be right outside until Rafa got home.

  “That’s ridiculous, Sandro,” I exclaimed in English. “You must be exhausted. Why can’t you go home?” I stood in the doorway, annoyed that Rafa would keep Sandro from his family for foolish reasons.

  “It’s my job,” he said simply, peering inside. “You have my number, or you can just call out if you need me. If I notice anything strange, I’ll be right in.” I wondered how that would happen if he didn’t have a key, but decided not to ask.

 
; “Well, then come inside and have coffee at least.” I put my hand on my hip and stepped aside, expecting him to accept my invitation. It seemed as if he was about to agree when he thought better of it.

  “No, Rafa said outside.” He raised his eyebrows a little, and it was enough to catch his drift. He didn’t want to have to spell it out, but it was obvious Rafa had a jealous streak Sandro wanted no part of. “Thanks anyway, though. Goodnight.”

  I was going to go upstairs and go to bed to wait for Rafa just as he had instructed earlier, but when I sat down on the fluffy white chaise in the living room to take off my shoes, I decided I was too tired to go up. I tucked a throw pillow under my head and stretched out so that I could see the black Mercedes in the circle drive on the other side of the three huge glass windows facing the front of the house and closed my eyes. Soon the sun would be up, and it would be so bright I’d have to move upstairs anyway. Rafa had a point about the location of our bedroom, I thought as I drifted off to sleep. Maybe we should switch to one down here...

  I had no idea how much time had passed when I woke up later to the sound of the front door opening and closing, but the room had flooded with sunshine as it did every morning. I didn’t have to look to know Rafa was standing over me, and I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t speak. When I realized he must be staring, I opened my eyes and looked up, but I wasn’t prepared for what I saw, which was Rafa utterly exhausted, disheveled and somber. He’d taken off his jacket and tie and unbuttoned his collar, but other than that he was fully dressed and excruciatingly gorgeous.

  “How did it go?” I asked, still half asleep.

  “I told you to be naked in our bed.” He spoke slowly, deliberately, which made me wonder how much more he’d had to drink since he sent me home with Sandro.

  “Where’s the car?” If the Ferrari was still at the restaurant, then he’d been too drunk drive home. I craned my neck in the direction of the picture window. Bingo. Circle drive empty.

  “You have thirty seconds to go in there,” he said, nodding toward the guest bath off the foyer where I’d taken my cleansing bath, “and take care of whatever you need to.”

  “It’s not an issue any more,” I said, feeling more awake. “What’s wrong? You said you weren’t mad.”

  “I’m not,” he said, blue eyes flashing. He unbuttoned his shirt all the way down as he spoke to me, then shrugged it off and tossed it aside. I never tired of admiring his chiseled physique, one of the many reasons my body always submitted to him even when my mind didn’t want to. “Get undressed.”

  I sat up, but didn’t do anything else. He was in a strange mood, and I wasn’t sure if I liked it. We were in some kind of standoff again, and it would be interesting to see who would win this one, as the energy was noticeably different between us from when we’d parted only a few hours ago.

  “No,” I said, returning his piercing stare. “You’re not acting like yourself. Sleep down here.” I tried to get up and go around him, but he grabbed my arm and held me in place.

  “You must be out of your damn mind.” He laughed and kissed me so hard I thought we would both fall to the ground, but he held me up with ease. My first instinct was to push him away, but then, as always, I yielded to the deep longing for him that was always buzzing just beneath the surface. When he felt me kiss him back, he let go.

  “It’s not my fault!” I said. “He followed me.”

  “He approached because you were open to it.” I noticed the dark circles under his eyes and wondered why he’d been drinking when he normally hated alcohol. It certainly didn’t have a good effect on him. I couldn’t believe he was suggesting I led Achille on.

  “Are you serious?” I asked.

  “You were so cold to me in the car. You could have kept walking, but you stopped and listened to him.” He looked me up and down like he didn’t even recognize me. “He called you by your name in front of me. What made him think he could do that?”

  “Hell if I know!” He had me by both elbows now, and he was so close I could smell the rum he’d been drinking after I left.

  “You haven’t let me make love to you for days,” he spat with disgust. “I let us both walk out of this house unsatisfied and disconnected, and look what happened. There has to be more to it than what that weirdo used to say to you. You’d better figure that shit out, because it’s not happening again.”

  “You’re right, maybe it won’t happen again. At all!” I jerked my arms away and was just as surprised as he was when I slipped out of his grip. I tried to leave the room but he was too fast, and before I knew it he had me bent over the back of the couch I’d been sleeping on. With very little effort he held me in place with his body to remind me I was physically powerless if he wanted me to be. As time passed, I was learning about his many quirks, especially that there was no walking away from him during an argument, so instead of compliantly waiting for him to let me go, I decided to dish it right back in my own way.

  “The master of seduction indeed. How romantic,” I quipped. I’d noticed his recent predilection for taking me from behind, though I hadn’t wanted to mention it in case it was just a personal preference. Everything between us felt incredible, but I did prefer to look at him when we were making love, and I wondered why it wasn’t the same with him. There was a long, awkward pause, and I thought he wasn’t going to answer me, but then his voice cracked, breaking the silence.

  “I’m sorry, mamita. It’s just that when I look at you when we make love, all I can think about is getting you pregnant.” He took all of his weight off me, defeated. “Don’t be angry.” He pulled me up by the waist, turned me around and hugged me. Kissing me on the cheek, he said it again, and judging by the panicked look on his face, he’d expected me to react badly to his confession. Perhaps I should have been more surprised, but I suspect that somewhere deep down in my subconscious I’d known it all along. I slipped my hands around his back, enjoying his sweet kisses and taking pleasure in his soft, warm skin.

  “Is that what you were thinking about when we were dancing?”

  “Yes,” he said, nuzzling the nape of my neck.

  “I’m not angry, Rafa. Maybe that’s why I’ve been scared to have sex with you lately. I might have picked up on your thoughts and had some of my own as well. I can’t believe I’m even considering—just don’t be angry with me, either.”

  “Please don’t ever say you’re scared to have sex with me. I can’t think of anything worse. If I get you pregnant, it’ll be because we both decide together. We’re very connected, Amada, in ways I don’t think even we realize.” He brought my hand to his lips, kissed it, and was about to say something, but changed his mind. Instead, he looked at me with his tired blue eyes. “Life can be hard. I think we should just give each other a break sometimes and leave it at that.” And with those simple words, it was over. Rafa took my hand and led me out of the room, but not before stopping abruptly in the doorway. He went to the plant I’d brought inside last night and glared at it.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “What is that ugly thing?” He leaned in and really looked at it from top to bottom, revolted.

  “Oh, it was by the front door last night, but there was no card.”

  “It’s a black slipper orchid,” he said, taking a step back. “I haven’t seen one of these in a long time.”

  “It’s purple.” I squinted. “I brought it inside before we went to the party.”

  “It’s from him.” Rafa stiffened, suddenly tense the way he was when he first came home. He reached into his pocket for his phone and sent a quick text message, then picked up the plant and went out the front door. I watched him walk it all the way down the driveway and toss it over the gate. “Sal will come get it,” he said, as he came back inside and turned the deadbolt.

  “Rafa, no one can get in here past the guards.” We’d never once had an unannounced visitor to our house thanks to the top notch off-duty police officers employed by the homeowner’s ass
ociation. Their salaries were outrageous, but residents insisted on round-the-clock law enforcement. However, in spite of the heavy police presence he’d seen with his own eyes, Rafa looked doubtful.

  “I want to clear out that guest house for our own live-in security. Maybe we should get some dogs.” Dogs didn’t actually sound like a bad idea. I’d love to have German Shepherds again, and Rafa could handle them.

  “Do you know what he wants?”

  “Something I’m not going to give him. That plant is an instrument of malevolence, and it’s why we argued before the party and just now in here.” He stopped and thought for a moment, replaying the evening’s events back in his mind. “It’s how he knew you’d be receptive enough to talk to him last night. He wants me to know he can get close to you.”

  “I remember a little of what he said to me now. He said that when things became stressful, I should remember that I’m free to leave.” It sounded awful out loud, and Rafa actually cringed when I told him.

  Furious again, he asked me to repeat everything Achille had said, word for word. “That son of a bitch. You stay away from him, and don’t bring anything else inside the house unless you buy it from the store yourself.” He kissed me and added, “We always sleep together in the same bed, no matter what. Nothing comes between us. Promise me.”

  “I do, Rafa. I promise.”

  Upstairs in our bedroom, he stood by the foot of our bed and watched as I took the pin out of my hair and let it fall down around my shoulders. I found the side zipper of my gown and pulled it down, leaning forward so that the delicate fabric would easily slip down my shoulders and glide down to the floor. I stepped out of the dress and then my nude colored G-string, so that when I went to him I was wearing nothing but my jewelry and gold stiletto sandals. In spite of his unmistakable arousal, he was patient enough to let me scatter soft kisses across his chest, but when I began to play with the dusting of hair across his belly, he reached his limit and dropped down to his knees.