by Amber Brock
Her heart began to pound when she saw a familiar figure leaning over the wall for a better look at the waves. He didn’t spot them right away, but Sebastian called out. He held out a hand as Kitty came near.
“Welcome to Havana,” Sebastian said. Max jumped beside him, and his face lit up when his eyes met Kitty’s.
“We already love it,” Kitty said. Sebastian took her hand, and she gave his fingers a little squeeze before slipping her hand out of his. She wanted to reach out for Max’s hand, but she mentally slapped her own wrist.
“You two look beautiful,” Max said. “Where would you like to go?”
“How about the Tropicana?” Kitty asked. Sebastian’s face fell for a split second before he regained his sunny expression.
“Yes, if you would like to go there. I hear the show is excellent,” he said. “But I left my car at my cousin’s. We’ll have to go and get it, or we’ll need to take a taxi…”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Kitty said. “Hen and I will pay.”
Max and Sebastian glanced at each other. “We can’t let you do that,” Max said.
“I insist. It’s the least we can do, since you’re escorting us around.”
Max thought for a moment. “Let’s not waste any more time, then.”
Though Hen and Sebastian chatted in the taxi, an odd cloud hung over the group. Kitty brushed it off. Max and Sebastian couldn’t be sore for long about her paying, she reasoned. It might hurt their pride to have a girl pay their way, but surely an empty wallet would prove more painful.
The sign over the door read TROPICANA in the same funny, wobbly letters that the brochure had used. At the entrance, Sebastian turned to them.
“We can go to the outdoor stage or the indoor. Under the arches,” he explained. “The outdoor show is the big one, but inside is nice too.”
“Let’s go to the indoor stage,” Hen said. “I think Kitty was excited about the crystal arches.”
“And you were excited about the air-conditioning,” Kitty teased.
“Indoors it is,” Max said.
As they walked into the cabaret, Kitty stifled a gasp. She thought Sebastian’s English must have failed him. There was no other explanation for him using the word nice to describe what lay before them. The huge room’s ceiling was a series of ever-widening glass arches, letting in the twinkle of the night sky. A few colorful stage lights lit up the concrete sections between the glass, giving everything a sultry glow. And, as advertised, trees sprang up between the tables right from the floor, adding a woody freshness to the mingling of perfume, cologne, and spicy food.
The host led them to a round table on the second level of the room, farther from the stage than Kitty would have liked. Still, she was pleased to find that the club made good on its promise in the brochure that there were no bad seats; she could see the entire stage perfectly well. A waiter delivered the glasses of rum that were complimentary with their ticket purchase, as well as a few small bowls of snacks. Hen saw that one of the bowls contained tostones and nudged it toward Kitty.
“Kitty has found her new favorite food,” Hen explained to Max and Sebastian.
Sebastian laughed. “I’m glad you like them. You will eat a lot of them while you are here.”
Kitty extracted a slice with the tiny wooden fork. “But how will I get them once I’m back in the States?”
“That will be harder,” Sebastian agreed. He seemed to be about to continue, when he looked across the room and froze. His jaw tightened, and he turned his attention to the drink in front of him. Kitty scanned the room until she saw the waitress a few tables away staring at Sebastian. The girl had lovely pale green eyes but was otherwise unremarkable. Kitty couldn’t read her expression, but she could tell the encounter had made Sebastian uncomfortable. Perhaps she was a scorned lover. Kitty sensed it would be wiser not to ask.
She was about to reach for her glass when she felt something light hit the napkin in her lap. Max shot her a look, and she slid her fingers around without looking until she located the folded piece of paper he’d put there. She gripped it in her palm and stood.
“I think I’ll powder my nose one more time before the show starts,” she said.
“I’ll come with you,” Hen said. Sebastian pointed out where the restrooms were, and the girls weaved through the tables toward them. Once inside, Kitty ducked into a stall and unfolded the scrap of paper Max had given her. The penciled note read:
If you can get away, meet me in front of the hotel an hour after we drop you off tonight.
Her stomach fluttered. With shaking hands, she refolded the note and put it in her purse. She had hoped to get some time on her own with Max, but she thought she’d have to be the one to engineer it. Clearly, he was as eager to see her as she was to see him.
When they rejoined Max and Sebastian at the table, Kitty waited until Hen and Sebastian were chatting to bump her knee against Max’s under the table. He glanced at her, and she nodded slightly. The meeting was set.
A roll of African drums that led to blaring music announced the start of the show as costumed dancers took the stage. Kitty had never seen anything like it. Women in what looked like glittering bathing suits shook and shimmied, and the long feathers in their hair swayed along with their hips. A second group of dancers wore costumes with such elaborate detail that Kitty couldn’t take it all in, except to note that those getups were no less revealing than the first set. Strips of glittering fabric wound up the dancers’ arms and down their legs but left their midriffs mostly uncovered. Kitty didn’t understand any of the Spanish lyrics to the songs, but the driving beat would have been exciting in any language. The show was too loud to permit conversation, but the way Hen kept covering her mouth with her hand and letting out the occasional squeal said volumes about her own experience.
The grand finale featured additional performers on the terraced roof, visible through the crystal arches. However great the outdoor show might have been, Kitty couldn’t imagine it would be any better than the one they’d seen. The girls practically bounced on the seat of the taxi carrying them all back to the hotel.
“And the woman in the divine dress with the gold ruffles? With the flowers in her hair?” Hen said as they compared notes.
“That one fella in the dark suit could give Sebastian a run for his money,” Kitty said, playfully tapping Sebastian’s arm. “Was that a love song he was singing?”
“It was. But are you saying I am not your favorite singer anymore?” Sebastian asked with a sidelong smile.
She faltered, thinking of Max joining in on “The Best Thing for You” back in Miami. “Of course you’re my favorite,” she said, maintaining her composure. “You’re the best singer I know.”
As she studied his profile in the moonlight, she thought of the shadow that had passed over his face when he saw the young woman in the Tropicana. She wondered again what had passed between them. Whatever it was, he must have been glad to leave it behind in Cuba.
The taxi pulled up to the front of the Hotel Nacional, and the group piled out. Max motioned for the driver to wait.
“Thank you both for a swell evening,” Hen said. “I don’t know how we’re going to ever top that. And we still have two nights left.”
“I’m glad you had a good time, and don’t worry. Havana has much more to enjoy,” Sebastian said. He kissed each girl on the cheek.
Max stuffed his hands in his pockets. “That’s how Cubans say good night, I guess. Mind if I stick with words?”
“Not at all,” Hen said. “Good night, you two.”
As they stepped into the lobby, Kitty faked a yawn in case Hen had any aspirations of continuing the evening at the hotel bar. Fortunately, Hen seemed to actually be as tired as Kitty was pretending to be. All of her excitement in the cab had drained away, and she leaned on the wall of the elevator. She said a foggy
“good night” as she unlocked her door. Still, to be safe, Kitty waited for the full hour before going back down.
As promised, Max stood outside the front entrance. “You are trouble,” he said, taking a few slow steps her way. “Look at you, sneaking out.”
“I’ve got a bad influence,” she said.
He held out a hand. “Come on. There’s a bar this way I want you to try.”
After a split second of hesitation, she took his hand. They started down the street. “Where’s Sebastian?”
“He decided to go ahead to his mother’s. She won’t care what time he gets in, and he didn’t want to lose part of the day tomorrow driving.”
“I’d like to meet his family while we’re here. How far away is his mother’s place?” she asked.
“I don’t think that will work out.”
“Why not?” She squeezed his hand. “Is he ashamed of us?”
But Max’s face remained serious. “His family is all fishermen. Their home is…small.”
“I don’t mind that,” Kitty said. “What does that matter?”
“It’s not just small. It’s basically a shack, and from your reaction to Marcela’s place, I think you’d mind a lot.”
Kitty tried to picture worse living conditions than the houses in Riverside. Not that Marcela’s place was a dump. It was clean, well cared for. But the ramshackle condition of some of the buildings gave her a clearer image of what Sebastian’s family home must look like, and it didn’t fit with her impression of him.
Max let go of her hand and pointed to a red awning with CLUB RUIZ painted on it in white letters. “This is it. Hope you weren’t expecting another Tropicana.”
The crowded bar, packed with unpainted wooden tables and chairs, couldn’t have been more different from the Tropicana. Its one extravagance was a jukebox in the corner that could barely be heard over the boisterous conversation. Max led Kitty through the open door on the back wall, which led to an equally crowded patio. They managed to pull two chairs together, out of the way of the impromptu dancing that had taken up one corner of the outdoor space. Max got them drinks at the bar, while Kitty lit a cigarette and studied the crowd. The group reminded her of the one assembled at Marcela’s house, an eclectic mix of skin tones that she was still unused to.
“Sebastian has nothing to be ashamed of, no matter where he comes from,” she said, plowing back into the topic despite Max’s cringe. “I mean, look at him. He works hard, has a swell car, and he’s so handsome. Though I guess that last part gets him in trouble from time to time.” When Max gave her a sidelong glance, she nodded. “He admitted as much to me in New York. And don’t think I didn’t notice how oddly he behaved in the Tropicana when he saw that pretty girl.”
Max sighed. “I’ll admit he’s broken a few hearts, but that wasn’t the problem in the Tropicana.”
“Oh no?”
“No. That girl is a friend of his. Just a friend.”
“I don’t believe that for a second.”
“It’s complex.” Max turned his gaze to the crowd of dancers.
“So I’m right. There was a romance.”
He sighed. “I can’t be the one to tell you Sebastian’s story, Kitty.”
“You still don’t think I’d understand, do you? You never really believed I’m clever enough.” She crossed her arms on her chest. “Any minute now we’ll be arguing about books again.”
“I never thought you weren’t smart, honestly. That wasn’t why I picked on you. Which I’ll admit I did.” He glanced at her. “Do you want to know the truth? What really bothered me?”
She waved a hand. “Why not?”
“It was what you said about your maid that first night that we visited your place. We were going to take our glasses into the kitchen, but you said to leave them out.”
Kitty glared at him. “That’s Paula’s job. We pay her well for it.”
“It saves her a little extra work, though, doesn’t it? If we take them into the kitchen? Look, I know you better now. I know you’re not so shallow as I thought you were. But when you said that…it didn’t sound like you thought about her as a person. She was just the help. A pair of hands to pick up dirty glasses the next day. That girl in the Tropicana was the help. I’m sure that’s how Sebastian thought you’d see it.”
Kitty stubbed out her cigarette without looking at him. “Paula is more than a pair of hands to me. She’s worked for our family for years.”
“Sure. I’m sure that’s true. But I didn’t know that. I was going off a first impression.”
“You don’t want to hear my first impression of you,” she said with a sniff.
He raised an eyebrow. “Was it that you were sore that I was giving Hen more attention than you?”
“No,” she cried, cursing him for reading her so well, even then.
“I’m only bringing it up to say…you already have a lot that most people don’t, you know? I still don’t understand. What are you going to get out of the top that you don’t have now? Do you really think they’re better than you?”
She stared at him for a moment. “I don’t think they’re better than me. They think they’re better than me.”
“And why is that?”
“My primary crime is being Russian. Granddaughter of immigrants. And we’re new money to boot.”
“Aren’t you proud of that? Proud of your pop for everything he’s done?”
“Of course I am.”
“You have money, so who cares what they think?”
“What they think changes things.” The words came out more forcefully than Kitty meant them to. Max sat in silence, waiting for her to continue. She did so slowly, unable to stop the confession that no one else had heard. Somehow, she could make him understand. She wanted him to understand. “I was little when my mother died. Three years old. I think I remember her, but sometimes I think I’m only remembering the photographs my father has shown me.” Kitty swallowed, but her tone remained matter-of-fact. “I do remember when she got sick, so sick she couldn’t come out of the bedroom. My father called the doctor, but his office said he couldn’t come. ‘Out of town,’ they said. Papa put my coat on me, and we got into the car to the pharmacy to get some more of the medicine that wasn’t helping. I think it was all Papa could think to do. And that was when I saw him. As we were driving past. That doctor with his big black bag, going into one of the best addresses in town.” She let out a bitter laugh. “A house call for someone more important. And my mother died. That’s the difference. You can have all the money in the world, but if they don’t respect you, you still lose.”
Max offered her a hand, and she gripped it. “I’m so sorry,” he said.
“I didn’t know her well enough to miss her,” Kitty said. “And Papa loved me enough for a thousand parents. But I’ll never forget that feeling. I know why that doctor passed us over. I’m not going to let anything like that happen to me again. Status protects people. That’s why I need it.”
Max leaned forward. “This may not come as a shock, but those people don’t think much of me either. I don’t have to meet them to know it. I’m way worse in their eyes than some new-money Russian, you can bet on that. Those hotels we walked past in Miami? Some of them still have signs in the windows that say Select Clientele. My pop told me that when he was my age, they said it even plainer: ‘Always a view, never a Jew.’ And it’s worse for guys like Sebastian. He can work in a lot of those places, but every one of them would toss him out if he tried to walk in the front door instead of the side. Hell, even Louis Armstrong can’t get a room on your side of the Causeway, not even when he plays there.”
Kitty shifted in her seat. “It’s not my side.”
“Yeah, but you can stay there. You’ve got that, at least.” Max took a sip of his drink. “I saw Louis Armstrong play at the Lyric. I hadn’t been play
ing music long, but after I heard him, I knew I wanted to play like he did. That trumpet was an extension of his voice, his body. And you know what else? I saw a little bit of gold, right here.” He tapped his chest above his breastbone. “My pop told me it was a Star of David. Armstrong was raised by a Jewish family. He never forgot what they went through, how they all had their own troubles.”
“I never knew that,” Kitty said.
“I’m telling you all this so you’ll know that I’m proud of who I am, no matter what doors close on me because of it. That doctor did that to your family not because you should’ve been someone better, but because he should have been. Do you know what I mean?”
Kitty blinked hard. Never in all her years of planning and maneuvering to make her way to the highest circles of society had she questioned what that really meant. Someone would always be locked out. Someone would always lose. Who would she have to help keep out once she was there? If it was someone like Max, someone who listened to her and challenged her, did she really want that? For the first time, her conviction wavered. The uncertainty settled like a brick in her stomach.
When she didn’t answer, Max said, “This ended up being heavier cocktail talk than I meant it to be. I know you’re here to enjoy yourself. I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. Really.” She ran a thumb over his rough fingers. It was true. Despite the way the conversation had unnerved her, it had felt good. She wasn’t exactly sure why.
“What are your plans for tomorrow night?”
“We’re going out with Andre, but Hen never stays up this late. I’m sure she’ll want to go back to her room, and I can come out again. If you’d like.”
“Sneak out,” he corrected, with a glint in his eye. “Same time? Two o’clock?”
Kitty agreed. They finished their drinks, and Max led the way back toward the hotel. Despite the hour, the streets were filled with revelers in all manner of dress, from tuxedos and diamonds to linen pants and cotton blouses. The brochures Kitty had read mentioned start times as late as three a.m. for some shows, so the lively streets were hardly surprising. Even old men and women, who would have been dozing by the fire in New York, were bouncing and swaying to the music that poured out of open doorways. Max paused at an intersection and glanced down each street.