“I didn’t. It is new. I am sure some communist officer is driving the car I left behind. That is fine. This one has air-conditioning,” Marco said proudly and laughed.
“It’s beautiful,” I told him. Marco opened my door, helped me in and then we headed for home. No honeymoon was planned. We both decided we’d had enough travel and adventure as of late and the comforts of home were more appealing. As we pulled away, we saw the boys in their trousers, fancy shirts and ties and heard the tin cans they had tied to the back of the car and hidden underneath. They laughed and waved as we drove away. I found the noise to be pleasant though I’m sure the people we passed found it to be otherwise.
Once home, Marco, despite my protests, carried me over the threshold. He wouldn’t listen to my arguments and picked me up like I was nothing and carried me not only inside our home but to the bedroom where he lay me on the bed. “You’re going to hurt yourself,” I told him as he loosened his bowtie.
“Never. With your love I can do anything,” he told me as he removed his jacket and tossed it aside. I expected him to undress and I would have enjoyed watching that but instead he knelt and pushed my dress up my legs. “Mmm, I love you in stockings,” he told me.
“Only in stockings?” I teased.
“Oh no, I love you without them too,” Marco said and then frustrated he asked, “How does this damned dress come off?” I laughed at him.
“Let me, husband,” I told him, sat up and turned so he could unzip the dress. He did and then I wiggled from it as Marco helped tug it from my body, leaving me in just my lacy white bra, panties and garter. My growing belly was exposed and though my initial thought was to hide, I refused.
“What do I do with this now?” he asked as he held my dress.
“I don’t care. I’m never going to wear it again. I’m a married woman,” I told him. Marco shrugged and tossed it aside and then he made any thoughts of hiding my belly disappear. He ran his hands over my tummy and the look in his eyes told me I had nothing to be ashamed of.
“Every day you grow more beautiful and radiant. I thought you beautiful when we met but now that you carry my child, I find you even more attractive,” Marco told me. I bit my lip and blushed.
“You always were a charmer,” I replied. Marco slid his hands down my body and took my panties with him. He showed me exactly how beautiful he thought I was that night and I gave him the attention he deserved as my husband. That night, our first as husband and wife, became the following morning. Marco and I pleasured one another, talked and lay together until the sun had brightened the sky to the east. As dawn broke, Marco held me as he thrust into me yet again. I held him with my legs and arms wrapped around his body as we made love slowly, enjoying the intimacy and the physical pleasure.
Finally, Marco and I finished together, kissing, laughing and utterly spent. We slept together, naked, throughout the next day and we made love again once we awoke that afternoon. Afterward, we finally dragged ourselves from bed, readied and went to dinner at his parents’ house. I enjoyed a last evening with my parents before they had to leave for home. I wouldn’t see them again until the baby was born.
The following October, I gave birth to a little girl. We named her Eva after Marco’s sister as I’d promised when Enrico passed. She was beautiful with dark hair and blue eyes. Marco and I gave her a little brother soon after who we named Enrico and then we added three more children, two sons and one daughter, to our brood. Marco, as I always knew, was a wonderful, loving father and our five children all grew up healthy and strong.
Marco did open his new factory and he employed many Cuban refugees over the years. The exodus from Castro’s Cuba grew as time passed. Many came in the hopes of returning once Castro had been deposed. Castro did as Marco had predicted, however. He nationalized schools, hospitals, factories and property. Soon the refugees had no desire to return and only sought the freedom and opportunity America offered. Many parents sent their children to America alone to live with relatives to avoid indoctrination in the government schools.
Marco worked closely with those that supported the counterrevolutionaries that had gathered in the Escambray mountains that straddled the center of Cuba. Marco provided funding, as did many Cuban-Americans. The United States Government worked to overthrow the Castro government also. But all of those efforts failed. By 1965, the freedom fighters had been eradicated and Castro assumed firm control of Cuba.
Marco and I never were able to return to his homeland. America instituted an embargo and even if we wanted to travel there, and we had no wish since Marco was an enemy of the state, we couldn’t have. His cigar empire spread as America’s embargo stopped the import of Cuban goods, including cigars. Marco opened factories in the Dominican Republic, employing both locals and Cuban nationals that had fled there too. Our efforts shifted from funding the fight against Castro to helping those that wished to leave get off the island and caring for the many children whose parents remained in Cuba.
While Marco and I were happy and our children a blessing, we both felt the pull of Cuba and the guilt of not being able to effect change. Castro never left power and the Cuban people suffered for it. Two people cannot change the world but that doesn’t mean we didn’t try. Marco and I always felt the pride of our attempts and the sadness that they had ultimately failed. The Cuba we knew in 1958, as flawed as it was, would never return but it haunted us, especially Marco, until the end of our days.
~~~
~Epilogue~
After seizing power in 1959, Castro slowly solidified his rule and fully implemented his socialist ideals. Cuba was a small island nation with a relatively small population and limited natural resources but it became the center of international struggles in the years that followed. Supported by the Soviet Union, Cuba became a battleground in the Cold War with America and the west. While places like Korea and Vietnam were actual battlegrounds, Cuba was and remains a virtual one to this day.
Many Cubans left their homeland, some freely at first, other’s escaping the oppressive nation throughout the years once Castro forbid it. In 1980, 125,000 Cubans left when Castro opened his borders for a time to those that wished to leave, including many criminals that he freed from his prisons. All told, half a million Cubans left between 1959 and 1980 and many still reside in Florida. For many years, America took Cubans from the island as well in one of the longest lasting airlifts in history. Untold numbers of Cubans, however, died attempting to leave Cuba or in the prisons of Castro’s brutal regime.
Today, Cuba is a country that in many ways is a time capsule. Because of the closed society and America’s continuing embargo, Cuba is a poor nation that has changed little since the revolution. Cubans lovingly care for the large vintage American cars that are referred to as “Yank Tanks” because few new cars can be imported. Cuba still grows tobacco and produces cigars but they are illegal to import to America. The struggling economy under the communist government leaves little opportunity for growth and prosperity.
The Cuban people are poor and oppressed. Some claim Cuba has world-class hospitals and education but at what cost to the Cuban people? They live in poverty, shut off from the outside world and are denied their basic human rights and liberties. Cuba has been accused of all manner of human rights violations, including torture, unfair trials and executions with no trial at all. To this day, Fidel Castro’s dream of a communist Cuba lives on even after his death. His brother, Raúl, has since taken the reins and continues to oppress the Cuban people.
Havana itself is still a tourist destination for the residents of countries that continue to support its government and countries that are not party to the embargo. It is a shadow of its former self, however. Tourism was not encouraged until the collapse of the Soviet Union caused Cuba to look for other sources of revenue. But while Havana and other tourist areas now begin to thrive again, the people of Cuba are not sharing in that wealth.
Hopefully, someday Cuba will abandon its socialist system, adopt a free mark
et economy and recognize the individual rights of its people. Some are calling for the end of the American embargo as it affects the Cuban people adversely and has failed to affect significant reforms, but the people would likely not see the wealth American trade and tourism would create in any case. Cuba is a complicated issue and many have suffered over the decades since New Year’s Day, 1959. Maybe one day soon, Cuba and her people will be able enjoy the liberties they so richly deserve.
About this Book
I’ve been planning and plotting this story since the spring of 2013. The Cuban Revolution and the resulting exodus have always captured my imagination. It was a different time, a time of innocence. The 1950s saw the end of an era. The world was becoming so much more complicated after World War II. Communism was on the rise and the island nation of Cuba was ground zero in the cold war.
But it is the people that interest me most. Cuba has a rich culture that has been disrupted by the revolution and the subsequent decades under communist rule. Imagine your homeland embroiled in fighting. Imagine your way of life destroyed, your freedoms stolen and your family torn apart. It is unimaginable to many of us but it happened in Cuba and not that long ago.
I’ve attempted to capture the feelings of the time, the fear and anxiety that people felt, in this story while telling a more personal tale of two people, each damaged in some way, finding love amidst the frightening backdrop of revolution. The conflict is driven by outside forces rather than from within the relationship. At first, it is Nancy’s situation, her troubles with the mob. But later once that is resolved, the conflict is driven by the revolution as Nancy and Marco are swept up in the terrible events.
The action at the end of the story is pure fiction but it is meant to drive home the terror that the actual events in 1959 brought to Cuba. People were arrested, imprisoned and executed, many at La Cabana as was Marco in the story. Men and women did hide in the jungle and fought Castro’s communists. Many Cuban’s did flee the island and many died in the attempt. Many are still separated from their families.
You will also find political discussion in the story. That is unavoidable in a story such as this. I am an unapologetic advocate of democracy, liberty and capitalism and that comes through in the story as Marco discusses the politics that affect him so personally. I’ve tried to keep the discussions in context and to avoid beating you over the head with them but I believe a man like Marco would speak passionately about such issues and so he does.
In any case, my intent with Havana Curves is first to entertain. I hope you’ve enjoyed the story but I also hope that you’ve learned something along the way. The history is accurate and the politics real. The specific events in the story are made up but the rest actually happened. Even Meyer Lansky was a real mobster. Thank you for reading. I’ve put in a lot of work and research into the book and I really appreciate you taking the time to read it.
~~~
Back to the Beginning
Curves on the Range
Curves on the Range was written in the fall of 2013 during a short publishing sabbatical. It was intended for publication in early 2014 but due to the success of the other two stories I wrote during that time, namely Wolf’s Run and Fearless Curves, I never got around to publishing it as I hurried to get sequels to the other stories written. When I had finally finished all of that and I had the time to do the rewrites and edits, I had decided to move on from the Big Girls & Bad Boys collection. With this box set already in the works, I decided to debut Curves on the Range here first. Enjoy!
>>O<<
“Good morning, Ms. Wright,” Mrs. Ferguson, the head of Human Resources at Harper Fixtures and Lighting, greeted me as she let me into her office.
“Good morning, Mrs. Ferguson,” I replied.
“Call me, Gloria. May I call you Brenda?” she asked.
“Sure, that’s fine Gloria,” I told her. She wanted us to be on a first name basis. That was either very good or very bad. I needed this job. My landlord had already told me he was breaking the rules as it was by letting me get so far behind in my rent.
“Have a seat, Brenda. I might as well get it out. I have some good news and some bad news,” Gloria offered as we took our seats, her behind the desk and me in front.
“Um...OK,” I said warily.
“First off, your resume is impeccable. You wowed the interview board as well. I’d hire you in a minute,” she told me but there was more and I could already tell it wasn’t good.
“But?” I prodded her.
“You’re perceptive. Damn, this is harder than I thought. Look, Brenda, corporate pulled the job. The first quarter numbers didn’t meet expectations and they froze all hiring until further notice. If it were up to me, I’d fire someone and hire you instead. I called your previous employer and they had nothing but good things to say about you. But my hands are tied,” Gloria told me. I sat there staring at her for a minute. I’d heard this before.
“Might they lift the freeze soon?” I asked hopefully. I could make it for a few weeks, maybe a month, before I’d lose my apartment.
“Not until next quarter and with the economy the way it is...,” Gloria told me and she didn’t need to finish her thought. I already knew. It had been three years since I’d been laid off. Three years of cutting back and part-time work. I’d already sold my car, cleaned out my savings and without this job, I was out of options. Everything hit me right there in Gloria’s office and I broke down sobbing.
“I’m sorry,” I told her as I tried to get myself back together. Gloria, the severe looking brunette of about fifty with her hair in a bun, her dark gray pantsuit and black stilettos who turned out to be a very nice woman, waited as I cried but finally she rose and came to me. She knelt down next to me and took my hand.
“I’m so sorry, sweetie. I meant every word. I’d hire you in a second. There are not enough girls like you. I know you’d be fantastic. Maybe next quarter,” she said to me in her soft voice.
“Thank you. This isn’t very professional of me,” I replied.
“Fuck being professional. I know it’s tough out there. It’s not fair,” she said. I looked at her and smiled at her sudden foul mouth.
“I’m going to lose my apartment. I’m broke. I really needed this job,” I told her as I composed myself and carefully wiped the tears from under my eyes so as not to smear my mascara. Gloria narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips.
“Sweetie, if you’re really that desperate I might be able to help. I can’t help you keep your apartment but I can offer you an opportunity,” she said. I perked up at that.
“Anything. I just want to work. I hate living like this. I’ll do anything, I swear,” I told her. Gloria considered my words for a moment and then stood up and went back to her chair. She began searching through her desk drawers looking for something. She found whatever it was and walked around her desk.
“I hope you’re serious,” she said as she handed me a business card. That sounded ominous. I looked at the card. In one corner, there was a big “V” with a line through it. In the other, it read:
Earl Wallace
Vermillion Ranch
Route 137
McHenry, Wyoming
“Wyoming?” I asked. That was a half a continent away from Seattle. Was this the opportunity she referred to?
“Yeah, that’s my brother in law, my husband’s brother. He runs their folks ranch. Obviously, my husband isn’t the ranch type. He left Wyoming to go to college but Earl, he’s cowboy through and through. He’s a good guy and he needs someone to run the office. It’s not very cosmopolitan but it’s a job. I’m sure he’d hire you if you were willing,” Gloria said. I didn’t know how to answer. I was desperate. I’d be on the street within a few weeks. I couldn’t go crawling back to my mom. I just couldn’t.
But Wyoming? I grew up in Portland, went to school at the University of Washington and settled in Seattle afterwards. I was hired by a small tech firm and within two years, I was running their office. But then
things dried up and they had to let me go. I’d been knocking around Seattle ever since, trying to find a new job and working where I could in the meantime. Fast food, retail, even telemarketing for a month until they let me go. Most places wouldn’t hire me because I was over qualified.
I wanted a job, however. I wanted one bad. I’d grown up poor, without a father and with a mother that didn’t mind raising me on food stamps and welfare. I never wanted to live like that again but here I was out of work and about to lose my apartment. I was out of options. I needed a job. How bad could Wyoming be anyway? I always said I wanted to travel. A ranch? It sounded kind of romantic actually. Green pastures, horses, I bet it was nice.
“You know what? I’m interested. Will you put in a good word for me?” I asked.
“I will. I’ll call Earl tonight. He’s probably out somewhere doing whatever it is he does out there but he’s usually back at ranch house in the evening. I’ll have him call you. I’ve got your number,” Gloria said.
“Thank you...for everything,” I told her.
“Good luck, sweetie. And if something changes, I’ll know where to get a hold of you, I guess,” Gloria joked.
“Yeah, I suppose so,” I replied. What was I doing? What I had to do to survive I suppose. I never intended to settle in Seattle anyway. I got a scholarship to UW and when I graduated, I just stayed. I didn’t really fit in. I never had, even back in Portland. Even though I came to like my adopted hometown, Seattle was just another place to live. Who knows, maybe Wyoming would nice. Wasn’t Yellowstone National Park there? That was pretty, right? Yeah, maybe Wyoming would grow on me.
>>O<<
The Greyhound Bus dropped me off in McHenry, Wyoming, two weeks later. It was spring but still cold on the open plains of Wyoming. I looked around and immediately I knew I’d made a big mistake. McHenry wasn’t a town so much as a collection of buildings at the intersection of two minor highways surrounded by grassland and sagebrush. At least the town had some trees, something I’d seen precious little of on my bus ride from Cheyenne. I endured a bumpy ride on a prop plane and a six hour layover in Denver just to get here, and here looked a lot like the moon.
Big Girls & Bad Boys: 8 Scorching Hot BBW Alpha Male Romance Novellas Box Set Page 49