Havana Sunrise

by Kymberly Hunt

  He laughed. “She put it there just when she noticed the photographer. Why are we talking about Dana? You are more beautiful than she is, even if you’re not wearing a thong.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. I don’t even compare. It’s her job to look beautiful. I’m just average.”

  “Her job?” Julian repeated. “You’re absolutely right. It is her job. I prefer natural beauty, though. As they walked slowly into the water, his arm encircled her slim waist. “You must look at yourself in some kind of distorted mirror, like the kind in a fun-house, because what you see is definitely not what other people see. You’re a gorgeous woman.”

  Nicole felt the urgent sweep of the cool waves inching up her legs. She tried to laugh. “I think the beauty of Barbados and the sun have gotten to you.”

  His eyes twinkled. “That and the fact that Elena’s going to have a stroke if she finds out that I took her daughter with us.”

  “She doesn’t know?” Nicole looked surprised.

  “No. Elena’s in San Diego visiting some relatives. Luis said I could take Amanda since she kept begging to go.”

  “Well, Luis is her father. He’s the one who’ll be in trouble if she finds out. She really shouldn’t be all that upset. I mean, Amanda’s nanny is here too. She’s probably with Amanda more than her mother is, right?”

  “Probably,” he admitted. “I sometimes think Amanda sees Michelle more as her mother.”

  “Is that what your future children have in store for them?” Nicole asked. “That is, if you decide to get married and have a family.”

  “No. There may be a nanny to help out, but my wife will take care of our children. I will also be involved in their lives as much as I can. I don’t see any point in having children if someone else is going to raise them.”

  I totally agree with you,” Nicole said. “But things happen, things you don’t plan, like suddenly your wife or husband dies.”

  Julian turned to face her. He felt the urgent force of the waves pushing against his back as he placed both hands on her shoulders. “I believe a good parent has the ability to adapt and do the best they can in whatever situation they find themselves. You are a good parent.”

  His lips brushed hers and she smiled slowly. He took her hand. “Coming?”

  “No. I think I’ve gone far enough. I’ll watch you.” She stood in the swirling water and watched him swim with effortless strokes. “Don’t go too far!” she yelled.

  Nicole waded around in the surf for a while and then went back to the beach. She sat on a towel under a palm tree and looked around. It was the hotel’s private beach so there were only a few other people swimming and walking around. A tiny crab scuttled by and she watched it burrow itself into the sand.

  Julian returned, beads of water clinging to his mocha skin. What an arresting presence he was, with his blue-black hair and sinewy athletic body. Nicole noted that a few bikini-clad women were watching him from a distance. He seemed oblivious. Together they walked back across the beach toward the hotel with his arm around her once again.

  He surreptitiously allowed his hand to slide down a little so it touched the smooth, firm skin of her outer thigh. Pleased that she didn’t object, he entertained other thoughts. They were two adults far away from home—from bonds and restrictions. They were now in a fantasy world. Maybe tonight would be the night. Maybe she’d allow him to…

  “Oh, look,” Nicole exclaimed, interrupting his thoughts. “Isn’t this a beautiful shell?” She knelt to pick it up, freeing his hand.

  “It is,” Julian said, trying not to sound deflated as she offered him a perfectly formed, pearly-white shell with an underside that looked like shimmering, pink marble.

  Back inside, Michelle and the kids had not returned, so they changed clothes and had lunch together in relative silence. Nicole wondered what he was thinking about because his eyes suddenly seemed distant. She didn’t break the silence until after they had finished eating.

  “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you that I was in the record store the other day and I spotted this tape by some artists I’m sure you’ll like.” She went to her room to fish it out of her bag and returned, handing it to him.

  Julian inspected the tape. It was a recording of a group of old-time Cuban musicians still living in Cuba who had been brought together by an American producer who had visited the island for that purpose.

  “I’ve been listening to it and it’s got some really fascinating sounds. There’s an old-timer who can really sing,” she said. “It’s a shame that the rest of the world has been deprived of them for so long because of politics.”

  “They are good,” Julian said abruptly, rising from the table, abandoning the tape there. “I’ll listen to it later.”

  Nicole stared at him. He was completely brushing off her gift, as though she’d handed him a bag of garbage. His response was like a slap in the face, and the reason was just starting to dawn on her.

  “Oh, I guess you’re following that agenda too, she said, not bothering to conceal her sarcasm.

  His eyes narrowed. “What agenda?”

  “Boycotting artists from Cuba because they chose to remain there.”

  Julian looked annoyed. “How I think or feel politically has nothing to do with us, but yes, I do have personal opinions.”

  “They’re artists, Julian! Artists like you.” Her voice rose. “Art should not be a political issue. Why is it that you and a lot of Cubans in Miami get so, so hysterical over these things when your generation has grown up in America?”

  “Nicole,” Julian said firmly. “I would prefer not to go there. As far as hysterical is concerned, that’s an exaggeration. Even if I did try to explain, you wouldn’t understand.”

  She sat down on the couch, crossing one tawny leg over the other. “Try me.”

  He paced around. “We lost our inheritance to a tyrannical charlatan. The United States is our adopted country. It has become home, and it’s good to us, but our hearts are still in Cuba. We had to leave so many things behind there.”

  Nicole sighed. “I hear you, but from what I understand there was nothing so great about pre-Revolutionary Cuba either—especially for someone of color. You would have been considered a mulatto in that time. There was a lot of racism. Black entertainers had to go through backdoors into clubs just as they did in the South of the fifties and sixties.”

  “There was a lot of that American South influence in Cuba at the time,” Julian admitted. “But as bad as all that was, at least living within a democracy there is a blueprint for change. You can speak out and protest. Communism is kind of like robbing Peter’s wealth just to pay Paul peanuts. It makes everyone a slave except for the tyrant who instigates it.”

  She detected that he was still holding back something—something even more personal than what he’d revealed. “But what does all this mean to you as an individual? How does it affect you personally?”

  “How does it affect me?” Julian’s eyes became deep pools of reflection. “It means that I will never be able to say to my children or grandchildren that this is the park I used to play in, this is the school I used to go to, or this is where your great grandfather is buried. It means that all I can show them is a map of an island in the Atlantic that looks like a wound waiting to be sutured…closed…healed. But as time goes on, the wound only festers and deepens.”

  His emotional words struck her. The things he’d spoken of were things she took for granted. His nostalgia could only be compared to her enslaved ancestors longing for Africa. But Africa was vast and diverse and centuries removed from Nicole. With the blood of Europeans flowing through her as well, Nicole felt only a kinship, not a longing for Africa.

  She no longer wanted to continue the discussion. Everyone had a right to their own feelings, and while she definitely did not believe in communism, she could see some of the reasons why the revolution had occurred. It was a fascinating chapter in history to her, but for him it was a chapter of his life.

&
nbsp; “I’m sorry,” she said, not knowing what else to say. “Actually what happened in Cuba is not much different than the history of the whole world. It makes one wonder if mankind in general really has the capacity to govern itself.” She smiled ironically. “Maybe you’ll agree with my mom’s Bible philosophy.”

  “What is your mom’s philosophy?” Julian asked.

  “That the whole world is in the power of Satan, the wicked one. One day God will cleanse the earth and he will set things straight.”

  Julian smiled slowly. “I think your mom might have a valid point.”

  “And she’ll clobber anyone who doesn’t agree that she’s right,” Nicole added.

  “Your mom’s an intense lady, so’s her daughter.”

  “Intense?” she quizzed. “Is that how you see me?”

  Julian was relieved that he didn’t have to reply to that because Michelle and the children entered, noisily. Trey ran to Nicole to show off a bag of interesting shells he’d collected.

  “I’ve got some really cool ones too,” Amanda declared, offering them to Julian.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Michelle kept the children occupied that evening, long enough for Nicole and Julian to have dinner in the hotel’s exquisite restaurant; afterwards there was dancing to a reggae band. Nicole was a little overwhelmed by Julian’s dancing finesse, but he held her in such a way that she had no choice but to move with him. She soon discovered that it was almost too easy to lose herself. She could not remember having had so much fun in a long time—the kind of fun only a man and a woman could share.

  Julian became even more aware of the fact that he was tired of her friendship restrictions and tired of his own fear of completely revealing his feelings about her. He wanted her so badly that he knew he was going to slip up at some point and become blatantly obvious. And why shouldn’t he? She had to feel the same way about him, despite the fact that their cultures were so different. The game they were playing could not go on indefinitely.

  His grip tightened around her as they moved across the dance floor. They were two adults on vacation, away from their usual surroundings. Maybe, just maybe, she would cast aside her rigid inhibitions and succumb to the sensual spell of the island.

  Julian did not get his wish. Nicole returned to her room late and found herself sharing it with Trey, who insisted on being with her. She was not surprised by his reaction, because he was only six and had rarely spent nights far from his bedroom at home.

  The next day Amanda insisted that she and Trey did not want to spend the rest of their vacation time with Michelle. Nicole and Julian ended up indulging them in the usual tourist entertainment, like a submarine dive on the Atlantis, a cruise on a mock-pirate ship called The Jolly Roger, snorkeling, swimming, and a bus tour around the island.

  The kids had a great time, and although Nicole was secretly sorry that her private moments with Julian had been forfeited, she was also relieved that she would not have to compromise or confront her worst fears about being lured into intimacy with him. There were many things that went way beyond physical appeal that she admired and loved about him and just one of those things was his great patience and tolerance in dealing with children.

  * * *

  On the last evening, Julian was out strolling around the beach and hotel grounds with Trey and Amanda, while Nicole sat quietly on the well-lit terrace. The night air was warm and balmy, but not oppressive. Now and then she could catch a whiff of the intoxicating aroma of the flowers in the garden below, the scent being driven by a gentle breeze off the ocean.

  “Hope I’m not intruding,” a familiar voice with a slight French accent said.

  Nicole looked up to see Michelle standing there in a long print dress, her frizzy brown hair confined to a pinned up chignon.

  “Oh, no. Of course you’re not intruding,” Nicole replied quickly, smiling at her.

  “It’s such a beautiful evening,” Michelle said, helping herself to one of the deck chairs. Her perceptive gray eyes scanned Nicole. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you what a delightful little boy you have. He is so bright.” She hesitated for a moment as if unsure whether to go on. “I…don’t mean to be nosy, but is Trey currently seeing a speech therapist?”

  You are being nosy, Nicole thought, but swallowed the sarcasm. It was only natural that a woman who spent her life working with other people’s children would ask. “He has been to so many that I’ve lost count. None of them were of much help. They reached a point where they just gave up on him.”

  “That doesn’t seem very professional,” Michelle said. “No one should give up on a child.”

  “I couldn’t agree more, but I’ve battled, screamed, ripped my hair out for years over the dilemma. I will never give up on my son, but the system just doesn’t cooperate and Trey doesn’t make it easy. He has been known to become hostile when too much pressure is applied. It’s even caused one fool, who’s supposed to be educated, to imply that Trey might be autistic.”

  “It must be terrible for you,” Michelle said empathetically. “Raising a little boy without a father is extremely difficult anyway.”

  “I definitely can’t argue with that,” Nicole said, suddenly wondering just how much Julian had told Michelle about Trey and herself. She had nothing against the woman, but she didn’t want her life dissected either. It was time to turn the conversation around. “So, Michelle, tell me, how long have you been working with the…”

  “Torres family,” Michelle filled in, realizing Nicole didn’t know Amanda’s surname. “I’ve been with them for about seven years. Amanda was a year old when I came. She’s a darling, but a real handful at times, very headstrong and self-willed.”

  A faint smile crossed Nicole’s face. “Would you call that a family trait?”

  “Definitely. Amanda’s mother is not an easy person to work for. As a matter of fact, she told me she hired and fired at least eight au pairs before I came along.”

  “I guess I’m not surprised,” Nicole said. “I don’t know Julian’s sister, but I’ve heard things.”

  Michelle smiled reflectively. “Julian is nothing like any of them. It is because of him that Amanda is not an incorrigible little tyrant. She adores him, you know. I think she loves her uncle more than her own parents. Despite what some people might think, Julian is a very kind man. He always treats his employees with respect, no matter what positions they might hold. I have never heard even one of them say anything disparaging about him.”

  “He is very generous,” Nicole admitted.

  “I only wish he would find that special someone and get married,” Michelle concluded.

  “Married? Why? He seems okay as the swinging bachelor.”

  “He’s good at pretending to be a swinger, but he is really very unhappy and his family doesn’t treat him right.”

  Nicole sighed. “Julian’s a grown man. He doesn’t have to put up with that if he doesn’t want to.”

  “That is true, but Mrs. Torres has some kind of strange control over him.” Michelle’s eyes searched the sky, and then riveted back on Nicole. “Julian seems to think you’re special.”

  “He told you that?” Nicole felt her heart throb impulsively.

  “Not in words, but he is different around you, happier, more carefree. You are nothing like the women he usually goes out with.”

  Why, because I’m not Caucasian or Cuban? “Some men just like variety to spice things up,” she said.

  Michelle rose slowly. “I don’t think that’s true in this case, but it’s really none of my business. I hope I haven’t offended you in any way.”

  “I’m not offended. I appreciate your honesty, actually. Maybe we can talk again sometime,” Nicole said.

  “I would like that,” Michelle replied, slipping back inside. “Enjoy the night.”

  “I will,” Nicole murmured, fully aware that it was the last night.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  They returned to Miami in time for lunch at Julian’s estate
, without Michelle and Amanda, who reluctantly retreated to their own section. Nicole was intensely aware that it was Monday and she had to be at the hospital in just a few hours. If she were in any profession other than nursing, she would simply call in and say she would be in the next day. But people were depending on her and if she didn’t show up, it would force someone else to fill in for her on short notice.

  Julian and Trey seemed oblivious to her obligation, even though she had mentioned it several times since landing.

  “Trey, I’ve got something I think you’re going to like,” Julian announced as they were sitting around in the living room.

  Trey’s eyes lit up in anticipation as Julian vanished from the room. He returned carrying a large box that he placed on the floor. Trey rushed forward, eager to open it. Nicole rose and glanced at Julian apprehensively. She hoped this was not something she was going to have to object to.

  “Don’t look so worried,” Julian teased. “It’s not a weapon of any kind.”

  A beaming Trey exposed a black leather guitar case, housing a brand new guitar. He pulled it out of the case and held it as though it was the finest treasure on earth. Nicole had to smile.

  “All yours, but only if you practice playing every day,” Julian said.

  Trey nodded in total agreement, strumming the chords.

  That’s asking a lot from a six-year-old, Nicole thought. Knowing Trey, he’d probably be infatuated with the guitar for a few days and then it would be forever resigned to its case. “Julian, you shouldn’t have,” she started, then hesitated. “Trey, say thank you.”

  The brilliant smile still lighting his face, Trey gestured his appreciation in sign language.

  Nicole glanced at her watch, noting that it was one forty-five. She paced around while Julian discussed music with Trey. Sighing, she stepped out into the foyer and immediately her eyes were riveted on a fresh batch of fan mail that would soon be in the garbage. She opened a few letters, knowing Julian wouldn’t mind. A fan pledged her undying devotion to him, another one wanted a date, another raved endlessly about how gorgeous he was, and the last fan had written a song that she wanted him to record. At the bottom of the pile were two purple envelopes and one black one. Disgusted, Nicole picked them up. She had been hoping the lunatic had quit writing him.