Rosa Jordan - The Woman She Was

“All right, all right!” Anything to shut her up. “Just—let me think.”

“Tía Alma said you were going to Pinar after the show. Can I come along? Please? Just for tonight?”

There were other courses of action he might have taken, which later he would wish he had taken. But in his befuddled state, Liliana’s suggestion had the appeal of simplicity. “Okay,” he said. “But I don’t want to talk. Stay back there. Go to sleep.”

He wasn’t sure why he told her to stay in the back seat. Partly, he supposed, because he didn’t want her to notice how drunk he was. Partly because he knew that in his impaired condition he would drive more safely without the distraction of her chatter. And partly because, given the sexual vibes he’d seen her giving off at that poolside dance in Varadero, he didn’t entirely trust her. Joe Lago did not like complications in his life. Driving to Pinar alone was the simple, uncomplicated thing he had planned to do after the Tropicana show and what he wanted to do right now. If she was willing to pretend she wasn’t there, fine. Otherwise…

But she did exactly as he asked. She either slept or faked sleep all the way to Pinar del Río.

Joe very much doubted that things were as bad as she claimed. On the other hand, she must be pretty desperate to be so compliant. When they reached the hotel, she walked quietly in with him like a sleepy child. While he registered, she wandered off to the far side of the lobby and pretended to be interested in the birds in a small aviary.

“A room with twin beds,” he told the clerk. That, too, he would later recognize as bad judgment, but tired and unsober as he was, the idea of sex so far from his mind and the nearness of sleep so tantalizing, it simply didn’t occur to him to put her in a separate room. The clerk may have thought that they were father and daughter, or perhaps client and hustler. Joe didn’t know, didn’t care. He just wanted to hit the sack so as not to lose what few hours of rest were possible between now and his morning meeting with the mayor of Pinar.

The small room was not luxurious, but it was the best Pinar had to offer. Liliana sat down on one of the twin beds and bounced with real or feigned enthusiasm.

“Nice! I like your lifestyle, Tío Joe.”

She was wearing the same white shorts and red-and-white striped top she’d been wearing the day they found her hitching to Varadero, and carried nothing, not even a purse. It must’ve been quite a blow-up, he thought, for her to walk out empty-handed. He glanced at his watch and reached for the phone.

“Two AM. I should have called Celia before we left Habana.”

“Oh no! You’ll wake her up!” Liliana said quickly. “She has to be at work at six. She said she didn’t get any sleep at all on the train last night.”

“She’s bound to be worried.”

“No! I told you. She kicked me out! She’s really mad at me!”

Joe sighed. “I assume there was a reason.”

“Well, yeah. Her and Tío Luis went through my room and found, you know. Stuff. And went ballistic.”

“What kind of stuff?”

“Just clothes. From the dollar stores.”

“I see. And where did you get dollars?”

Liliana drew her legs up, folded her hands across her knees, and laid her cheek on her hands. Eyes dancing like a child confessing a prank that she expects will incite admiration, she said, “Oh, sometimes I go to Varadero. And go dancing, like I did with you and Tío Luis. Guys buy me things.”

Joe clicked his tongue with disgust.

“It’s not like I go up to their rooms,” she protested. “All the shops are off the lobby. And they have such neat stuff!”

Joe averted his gaze from the view she was offering him of lace panties peeking from beneath the drawn-up cuffs of her shorts, the panties no doubt part of the “neat stuff” she had picked up with some schmuck’s dollars. “Let me get this straight. You dance with them, they take you shopping, then you say, ‘Adios, amigo’ and go home?”

“More or less,” she said nonchalantly. “I say I’ve got to go to the restroom. And I don’t come back.”

Joe gave her a contemptuous look. “A real propio, aren’t you?”

“What’s wrong with being a flirt?” she demanded indignantly. “At least I don’t act like a puta!”

“For your information, that’s exactly how some whores act.” Joe hung his jacket in the closet and headed for the bathroom.

“Well, if you want me to—”

He closed the door on her words and called, loud enough for her to hear, “All I want you to do is go to sleep. And let me get some.”

When he came out she appeared to be asleep. He fell into bed and, if his ex-wife’s complaints were to be believed, was soon snoring.

How long he slept he had no idea, nor did he have any idea where he was when he emerged into semiconsciousness, only that the erection was real and not self-induced. A hand was stroking his penis through the sheet. He opened his eyes. The window drapes, not quite closed in the centre, let enough light into the room to see Liliana perched on the bed beside him. Joe rolled violently to the opposite side of the bed and jumped up, taking the sheet with him. The signals being fed to his brain were jumbled but one was clear: bad situation, a trap.

Liliana was around the bed in a flash, pressing her body full-length against his. “Hold me,” she murmured. “Can’t you feel how cold I am? I’m shivering.”

“Take the goddamned blanket,” he said through clenched teeth.

By way of an answer she moved her hips in a way which, to his dismay, incited his penis to remain at the ready.

“What the hell are you doing?” He tried to back up in the narrow space between bed and wall, but there was no farther back to go.

“ I’m not doing anything.” She giggled. “You’re the one getting all excited. We could share the blanket.”

The indignity of being wrapped in a sheet, his body in non-compliance, and cornered by a manipulative female infuriated Joe. “We’re not going to share a goddamned thing, not even this room if you don’t get your ass back in your own goddamned bed!” he snarled, shoving her away, hard.

Liliana stumbled backward, crumpled to the floor, and began sobbing.

“Get up,” Joe ordered. “And into your own bed. Now.”

She rose and shuffled toward her bed, sobs becoming more heart-wrenching with each step. She dropped down beside the bed and buried her face in the coverlet like a child saying prayers. “I’m sorry, Tío.” Her words came out muffled, between sobs. “It’s just that I’m so scared.”

“I’ll bet,” Joe muttered. He double-wrapped the sheet around his lower body, relieved to see that the embarrassing erection had wilted. Obviously there was no going back to sleep, not while she was bawling like a four-year-old.

He sighed. “All right, kid, let’s have it. What’s going on? Are you pregnant?”

“No!” Liliana choked, looking up at him through lashes glued together by tears. “I thought you’d understand, that’s all.”

“Oh I understand all right.” He gave her a look of undisguised disgust.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she sniffled. “Just because I want to be free, like you are? You live in a place where everybody has loads of beautiful clothes and everything. Why do I have to be stuck on this stupid island the rest of my life?”

Joe blinked, trying to compute her out-of-the-blue revelation. The last thing in the world he would have expected was any similarity between Liliana’s aspirations and his own, present or past. He walked to the closet and rummaged through a pocket. He came back with a packet of candy and held it out to Liliana.