by Amber Brock
“This way is quicker,” he said. Kitty could see the spires of the Nacional ahead of them, lit up with huge floodlights. She and Max fell into an easy pace, and she suspected that he was in no hurry to drop her off.
She was about to comment on one of the groups passing by when a little girl appeared in a doorway near them. Kitty gasped. The child’s clothes were rags, and she was barefoot. The girl’s shoulders were hard knobs at the top of wilted, skinny arms. Her eyelashes were matted together at the corners of her eyes. Kitty’s stomach turned. The girl cried out to her in words Kitty couldn’t understand. Behind her, in the darkness of the entryway, a woman sat echoing the girl’s cries.
The child grabbed Kitty’s hand, and Kitty stiffened. The little fingers on hers felt like they had wires under the skin, and they were cold despite the warm evening air. Kitty wanted to pull her hand away but couldn’t move. Max walked toward the girl and held out some coins. The girl released Kitty and snatched the money from his hand. Her shouts had alerted some of the nearby pedestrians, who hastened away, heads down. When Kitty looked back to the doorway, the girl had disappeared into the darkness once more. Her mother still sat, barely visible in the shadows, watching them.
Max slid an arm around Kitty’s waist, and she was grateful for the support. Her hands trembled, and she barely saw the buildings as they passed. When they were in sight of the entrance to the Nacional, he spoke quietly in her ear.
“Are you all right?”
“It was just a little girl.” She forced a shaky laugh.
“You’re pretty worked up.” He took her hand. “It’s okay, you know. It was a shock. You weren’t expecting it.”
She met his gaze. Suddenly he seemed so strong. So solid. She wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his shoulder. He rubbed her back lightly.
“Should we go back?” she asked, her voice thin. “Maybe we could help her.”
He exhaled. “You can’t help all of them.”
“But it was only one. And her mother.”
His hand sat still on her back. “You know it’s more than just one.”
Kitty closed her eyes, but she could still see the girl’s knotty shoulders. How old must she have been? Five, perhaps six. What would Kitty have been doing at that age, around this time of year? A little over a week until Christmas. She would have been trudging through wet snow with her father, her hands warm in a fur muff. Papa always took her to see Santa, so she could register her gift requests. She tried to recall what she might have asked for, but her eyes stung with tears as she recognized that she would certainly have been asking for far more than a handful of coins. She sucked in a deep breath and stepped out of Max’s grip.
“Thank goodness New York isn’t like that,” she said.
His brow furrowed. “Some parts of it are.”
“I’ve been all over New York, and I’ve never seen anything like that.”
He hesitated, and she regretted her words. Her head ached, and all she wanted was for Max to hold her again.
“I’m sorry the evening took this turn. I really meant to show you a good time,” he said. “Do you still want to come out tomorrow?”
Without thinking, she placed a hand on his jaw and kissed him. His lips were warm, despite the cool of the ocean air brushing lightly on her skin. Max wrapped his arms around Kitty’s waist and pulled her so close that she could feel his heart beating through the fabric of their shirts. When she pulled away, she was dazed from the whirl of emotions.
“Tomorrow night,” she whispered into his ear, “I want to talk about poetry.” Her heels clicked on the sidewalk as she left him. “Good night, Max.”
He exhaled hard. “Good night, Kitty.”
As she lay on her bed, gazing out of the window at the starry Havana sky, she struggled to slow the tumult in her mind. The girl’s face would appear, and then Kitty would see Max’s hand offering coins. She’d feel the warmth and steadiness of his embrace, as if he were beside her again. The comfort his arms provided raised questions she wasn’t yet ready to answer.
Kitty knew what romance felt like. Romance was the temporary pleasure of roses that would be in the waste bin three days later. Fun to enjoy, easy to cast aside. This new feeling spread roots in her mind, growing and strengthening. She reminded herself that soon enough a thousand miles would separate them, and she could go back to the business of her life. The most important thing would be ensuring that she could let go of him when the time came. But as she fell asleep with the memory of him stroking her back, she wondered if letting him go was still something she wanted to do.
On their second day in Cuba, Andre called up to Kitty’s room to offer to take her and Hen to a street market. Kitty accepted, certain Hen would be happy to spend the day somewhere other than the pool.
“Oh, and did you ladies bring nice evening wear?” he asked.
“Of course we did.”
“What would you think of going to a casino opening? There’s a new one going in not too far from the Tropicana. They’re having a real high-society shindig tomorrow night. Might be some celebrities there. What do you say?”
I’d say if it’s high society, then they’re probably not calling it a shindig. Kitty kept that thought to herself. “We’d love to go. We’ll plan on it,” she said. At least Andre was finally suggesting more appealing outings than Fancy Pigeon Island.
They met Andre in the lobby and walked out into another balmy day that made it hard for Kitty to believe it was December. Andre stopped in his tracks and pointed at Kitty’s feet.
“Look at you, wearing Keds. I wouldn’t have guessed you’d own a pair of shoes without high heels.”
“If they’re good enough for Marilyn, they’re good enough for me.” She spotted Hen’s smirk out of the corner of her eye. “Besides, this is a walking tour, isn’t it? Didn’t want to turn my ankle on the cobblestones. Let’s go.”
As they walked down the streets, Kitty glanced into every doorway, hoping each would be empty. She jumped at a cat running out of one but soon realized most were unoccupied. In the market, children rushed past them, but they were kicking soccer balls, their round cheeks gleaming with exertion. Kitty could almost doubt that she’d even seen the poor girl from the night before. Even though she knew she had, she relaxed, feeling more certain with each step that she wouldn’t have a similar encounter here. Just one unfortunate girl, she thought.
They passed carts loaded with unrecognizable fruits and vegetables, some spiny and brightly colored, some still caked with earth. In between carts, men played dominoes on rickety folding tables and women gossiped on stoops. Artisans called to Kitty and Hen, enticing them to get a better view of their array of carved wooden figurines. One man delighted the girls by making two of his statuettes dance together by manipulating their movable joints. Hen refused to walk too close to a whole pig turning on a spit near one café.
“His eyes.” She shuddered. “He still had his eyes.”
Kitty wanted a few souvenirs for her father, and Andre pointed out after her first purchase that most vendors expected customers to negotiate the price. Though some of the vendors spoke very little English, she found that she was adept at making her meaning clear with a few well-timed facial expressions.
“I’m going to have to try that at Macy’s,” she said, counting out centavos into the hand of an especially frustrated vendor. “This is the most fun I’ve had yet.”
“We’d better get Kitty out of here,” Hen said to Andre. “She’ll buy the whole market just so she can haggle.”
The warm sun spurred Kitty’s final purchase, a vivid green drink called guarapo. As much as she liked sweet drinks, she couldn’t finish it. She offered a taste to Hen.
“Ooh, that is sweet,” Hen said, declining a second sip.
“Maybe it needs a little vodka,” Kitty said.
After
the market, they returned to the hotel to shower and dress for their casino tour. Andre had gotten recommendations in his meeting the night before, so they could avoid the less reputable places. They met downstairs to eat dinner in the hotel, and then they were off for a full evening.
Kitty quickly realized at the first venue that casinos were not her preferred entertainment. Gambling required insufficient strategy for her taste, so she watched Hen and Andre place a few bets but did not participate. As they moved from place to place, her thoughts increasingly strayed to Max. She couldn’t find a clock anywhere she went, so she relied on sneaking looks at the Rolexes and Heuers on the wrists nearest her. The luxury casinos drew in an elegant crowd, sporting diamonds and silk, but they became a blur of flashing lights and cigar smoke that had to be endured before she could see Max.
At last, Hen announced that she was tired, and the three took a taxi back to the Nacional. Once she was certain Hen was settled in her room, Kitty raced back downstairs. Max was waiting as expected in view of the entrance. She couldn’t help running to him and kissing him, inhaling the cedar scent of his pomade.
“That’s quite a greeting,” he said, pulling away but not letting go of her waist.
“Why, thank you,” she said. “I like to think that’s one of my talents.”
“You go around greeting every guy like that?”
“Only the bad influences.” She stepped away. “Where are we going tonight?”
“I thought you might want to go to see some rumba dancing.”
“Sounds great.”
He led her to the left, turning down a side street. “I’m treating tonight.”
“Whatever you say, high roller.” She took his hand, and his shoulders relaxed.
The club wasn’t nearly as full as the bar from the previous night, and Max steered Kitty to a table in the corner that still had a view of the tiny concrete stage. Though the couple dancing didn’t have the flashy costumes that the Tropicana’s performers did, they made up for it with the sheer energy of their routine. Their limbs glistened as they swayed and swung around the stage, almost making Kitty dizzy as she tried to follow them with her gaze. After several songs, they took a break, and Max ordered another round of drinks.
“So? Are you ever going to tell me about that poem of yours, or not?” She flicked ash off her cigarette. “I’ve been waiting to hear about that thing since New York.”
He lifted his chin. “You mean to tell me you haven’t already looked it up and figured it all out yourself? That’s what I would have guessed.”
“Come on, what’s it about?”
Max paused, more serious now. “That’s hard to say. It’s complicated. And long, so it’s really about a lot of things.” He sucked in a breath. “Part of it is this guy, and he’s walking around Little Gidding—near the church. And he runs into this other guy, who seems to be all these different poets from the past.”
“That is complicated.”
“It’s mostly about history. How we live with history, why it’s important. That sort of thing.” He set down his drink and pulled the same shabby journal from his pocket that he’d had in the penthouse in New York, opening to a page filled with blocky handwriting.
“I like this part.” He pointed to a section that had been underlined in red pencil.
Kitty leaned over to read:
We shall not cease from exploration
And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.
He tapped the page with a finger. “That’s why I was telling you I want to explore, to see the world. That’s why I said New York isn’t enough. Miami isn’t enough. Not for me.”
“There’s plenty to see in New York. And plenty of poems that tell you about it.”
“But if you don’t go anywhere else, you’re not truly seeing New York at all. Come on, haven’t you learned something new from being in Havana?”
“I’ve learned that I like tostones.” Her confident tone faltered. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could pull them back in. Max watched her for a moment, then rubbed his jaw. He must have sensed the off note too.
“A girl as sharp as you, I’m sure you can get the count up to two things before you leave,” he said.
Her heart sank. The dancers reappeared to begin their next set before Kitty could answer, and she and Max sat together in silence watching the show. At the end of the set, he offered to walk her back to the hotel. She agreed, not knowing what else to say.
They walked through the streets to the Malecón, Kitty a step or two ahead. At that hour, only couples lingered, embracing along the wall’s edge. Kitty kept her eyes trained on the lights of the Nacional, desperate for something to say that would break the tension.
She felt a cool spray on her arm from a wave crashing over the wall. She didn’t even bother to brush it off, but Max yelped beside her. Grateful for the opportunity, she turned to tease him for being afraid of a little water. Instead, she gaped when she saw that the wave that had sprinkled her had drenched him. They stood wordless, staring at each other. Kitty thought he might get angry, but instead, he leaned his head back. Beating his chest, he let out a Johnny Weissmuller Tarzan yell. She burst out laughing.
“Oh, is this funny?” Max said, with an exaggerated gesture at his soaked shirt.
“Yes. Yes, it is.” She made a great show of wiping the droplets off her arm.
“Would it be as funny if you were the one who got soaked?” His eyes gleamed.
“Oh. No, no. Max, don’t you dare.” She started to run in the direction of the hotel, but he blocked her path and pulled her into his arms. The seawater from his shirt saturated her dress. But, in that precise moment, she didn’t care that he was getting her dress wet. She didn’t care that his now-dripping fringe was unfashionable. She didn’t even care that he might have changed everything. All she cared about was that he had his arms around her, and she was laughing. The feeling was similar to the one she’d had when the plane had taken off from New York. Her stomach dipped, and the world shifted.
“I’m sorry about…” She pressed her lips together. The words wouldn’t come. She couldn’t think of any way to explain what she was apologizing for that would make sense.
“Look,” he said, “I like you. You know?”
Kitty smiled. Easy enough. “I like you, too.”
“We don’t have to be serious all the time. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”
She looked out at the ocean. “I hate that I have to leave soon. Miami, I mean.”
“We still have time.”
“But I’ll miss you.”
He placed a hand on her jaw. “I could go to New York, you know. They need musicians.”
“There’s always music in New York,” she agreed.
He kissed her deeply, until another light spray of water hit them. “We’d better move,” he said.
“What’s the matter? I don’t think you can get any wetter,” she said.
He walked with her to the hotel entrance but held her hand tight, as if reluctant to let go. “You sure you need sleep?” he asked.
“I’m sure you need to change out of those wet clothes,” she said.
“See you tomorrow?”
“We’re going to a casino opening with Andre,” she said. “I don’t know how late he’ll want to stay.”
Max’s face fell. “Ah.”
“You don’t have a jacket and tie with you, do you? He could probably get invitations for you and Sebastian, too.”
“No, we didn’t bring anything like that. I don’t know if I even own a jacket nice enough for one of those things.”
“Why don’t you bring Sebastian to meet us at about midnight? I’m not crazy about casinos, as it turns o
ut. It would be a good excuse to put a time limit on it.”
“Perfect. I know Sebastian had one more club he wanted to take you all to.”
“I’ll talk to Andre.”
At last, he let go of her hand and they parted. She went up to her room, not caring if she ever slept again. In her distraction, she closed the door a little harder than she meant to.
She had only made it halfway across the room when she heard the knock.
Kitty cracked the hotel door. On the other side, Hen stood bleary-eyed, with her hair in rollers. Cursing herself for not changing out of her dress first, Kitty opened the door wider.
“Good morning, beautiful,” she said. “Need to borrow a cup of sugar?”
Hen frowned. “Where have you been? Why were you out so late?”
Kitty sighed and waved Hen in. Once they were both seated on the edge of the bed, Kitty said, “I was out exploring.”
“By yourself?” Hen’s eyes were clear now. “That is so dangerous, I can’t believe—”
“No. Not by myself.” Kitty traced the pattern on the bedspread. “With Max.”
Hen gasped. “Is this the first time?”
“We were out last night, too.” Kitty braced herself for an avalanche of disapproval. Surely Hen would have plenty to say. But Hen grinned.
“I think that’s wonderful,” Hen said.
“Let’s not make a big thing of it—”
Hen held up a hand. “He’s obviously not an acceptable choice for anything serious. That’s not what I’m saying. But you know, I think this is the first time I’ve seen you go out with someone purely for fun. It’s nice. I think you should enjoy it.”