When Bud left the apartment, Letti stood and walked around. Three small rooms and a bathroom. It was dark and dingy, not a breeze was coming through the open window and outside seemed to be the biggest, hottest, ugliest city she’d ever seen. She sat at the edge of the sofa, her eyes welling with tears. Lowering her face into her hands she again sobbed, this time not for Cuba, not for her family … this time for herself.

The man she found more intriguing and amazing than any she’d ever known had done something remarkable. He married her and took her to a safe place. To America … his home … the ugly apartment all around her. He had not touched her as a man touches his wife, had not truly looked at her in that way since the moment he demanded the priest marry them. Had she already somehow failed? Perhaps she could gain his love? Show her love for him … and she did, fully and completely love Bud White. Was she so unversed in the way married people emotionally communicate that she had never really let him know that? That she wanted to be his, fully and completely. She had tried, but she did not really understand how to be a wife, much less a lover. Her parents were restrained in a traditional sort of way. So were Carlos and Carmelita, the only evidence of their intimacy apparent through her pregnancy. She had no way of knowing how to be with a man like Bud. But, Leticia knew how to love.

She dressed and took the money he’d left for her. At the nearby store she purchased everything she imagined she would need; laundry soap, floor detergent, bleach, furniture polish. Returning with full intention and a goal she could attain, she worked from one edge of the place to the other, from ceiling to floor. She scrubbed and swept, polished and dusted until she could find nothing else to clean. She went into the bedroom drawers and refolded everything, making it all neat and organized, she ironed and straightened jackets and slacks and ties in the closet. But she had no energy left to unpack her own things. It could wait. She lay on the sofa to rest and fell asleep, dreaming he would be pleased, would kiss her again, touch her the way she longed to feel his hands.

w

Charlie Price was thinking faster than Bud White. He was acutely aware of the Fuentes family situation, of young Federico’s murder and he even knew of the arrest of the patriarch. He was aware that there was another brother with a wife. And … he knew what Bud would want. Cuba was volatile, but White was clear as a bell. The man’s intentions went further than Charlie’s ambition, and he respected that.

Three times Fidel Castro did not show up for the meeting he’d scheduled. It was suggested by his editor that Charlie should offer to go into the mountains with the soldiers to get his story, but the kid stood his ground. “I can’t write a story if I’m dead,” he stated and the editor backed down. He had time and enough money to remain at the Lido, compliments of the newspaper. He was holding out for a safe meeting, perhaps a story that could also cover Castro’s victorious entry into Havana. Truthfully, he was surprised he hadn’t been thrown out of the country, but he knew it was because he was operating far more low key than the other, already ousted reporters. Americans were drifting out of Cuba, but not running in droves as one might expect. It was as though they thought it was just something interesting to see. Something to tell the grandkiddies about someday. A few casinos were still operating and the diehard gamblers were still playing. Rumor had it that war makes for bigger pots.

Charlie borrowed a car from a bellboy and drove under darkness to the Fuentes house. It looked more like a mansion to him and he took a deep breath before knocking on the door. For all he knew, soldiers had already commandeered the place. But a sweet, sad old woman answered.

“Carlos Fuentes here, ma’am?”

“Si,” she stepped back and led him to a beautiful parlor where he waited, gawking at the elegance and wondering how long it would remain in the family’s possession.

“Can I help you?”

Charlie turned quickly from playing the little ditti on the massive grand piano. “Carlos Fuentes?”

“Yes.”

“My name’s Charlie Price and I think I gotta try to get you off this island.”

They sat and talked quietly, Charlie explaining what he’d done and what was still left to do. “These are your exit visas; yours, your wife’s and this one is for your mother. They weren’t cheap.”

“We will repay you.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just give me a story, if I ever get back home in one piece that is,” the kid grinned. “The second part of this isn’t going to be so easy. I need to arrange a boat and a way to slip you out unseen. Taking the ferry isn’t going to fly, Carlos. They’re watching everything so this is going to be tricky. I have the boat and captain willing; just have to get cash to him before midnight tomorrow night. That’s when you three have got to be hidden away in that boat … or he will leave without you.”

“My mother … will not leave, Mr. Price.”

“Talk her into it. For now, I’ve got to do some deals, get my hands on a mess of cash and make sure you’re on that boat.”

“And you?”

“I’m staying,” Charlie turned to the piano and again fingered out a scale.

“This is not your country, Mr. Price. It is not your war.”

“But,” he turned a grin. “It’s the story to launch my career. Now, go pack. I’ll be in touch.”

“Mr. Price,” Carlos called before Charlie reached the door.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. And I will repay you if it takes the rest of my life,” he said, his head tilted. “Mr. White had asked me to contact you for help. I had yet to try.”

“Me and White think alike. Just get ready to go, Carlos.”

w

It was nearly five when Bud got back to his apartment. His eyes immediately fell on Letti, curled on the sofa and sound asleep. He crouched nearby and watched her for a few moments. The woman was beautiful, even like that; wearing old clothes … his old clothes in fact, a torn shirt and work trousers belted tight at her tiny waist. A grin pulled his lips. Damn, she was one pretty ragamuffin. He reached out and ran a finger down her arm. “Letti? Wake up, sweetheart.”

Her long lashes fluttered and she jerked awake, sitting abruptly and rubbing her eyes. “Oh Bud! Oh! I’m sorry, I wanted to clean and dress before you came home. I look terrible.” She pushed back loose wisps of hair making her appear even more endearing.

Bud chuckled. “You look fine, better than this …” His eyes rose, taking in the apartment and he stood. “Holy fuck!” He’d never seen the place look like that. Everything was sharp and bright, clean and shining. He moved into the kitchen, glared into the sink. He had no clue the porcelain could glow that way. Windows sparkled; the linoleum floor had color in it he’d never seen before. “Did you do all this?” He turned a disbelieving gawk.

She stood, smiling. “Come,” she pointed and he entered the bedroom. Inside, the bed was neat as a pin; furniture shimmered in the evening sunlight drifting through clear windows.  “I did not unpack my things yet, I will do that next.”

“No, don’t unpack.”

A sudden ache in her chest almost knocked her to her knees. “Are you sending me away?” she whispered.

“What? No! Fuck, no. It’s just … Jesus, you shouldn’t have done all this.”

“Was I wrong?” Again her eyes filled with tears and Bud panicked.

“No, no. It looks great. But Letti …” He cleared his throat. “I … uh … I bought a house today.”

“A house? But this apartment is fine.”

“No, it ain’t and we both know it. The house … it ain’t nothing so great either, but hell,” again his eyes took in the spotless room, “you can do wonders with it, that’s for sure.”

“A house?” she repeated, capturing his eyes with hers and holding her breath.

“Yeah, well … ain’t that what husbands do? Buy houses?” He was uncomfortable, shifting his feet, looking anywhere but at her. “Listen, you gotta get cleaned up and dressed. We’re going out for dinner.”

“Oh!” Delight welled from her heart to her smile.

“Hey,” he said real fast. “It ain’t nothing fancy. Just dinner at some friends’. Well … my captain and his wife. Nice people. They got a kid, little girl. I stayed with them a while after the hospital patched me up.” His fear was that she’d wear one of her rich girl dresses, feel out of place.

Her thoughts were soaring. He wants to introduce me to his friends! His captain! Her smile was brilliant and she nodded, rushed to her bags and began shuffling through them.

“Ah … maybe after dinner, if you want … we can go look at the house.”

“Yes! Yes,” she said excitedly, not looking at him, carefully taking delicate underthings from the suitcase and setting them aside.

Bud left and sat on the sofa, suddenly feeling tired as hell. He’d gotten little sleep over the past week. He’d had a rough fucking day. Buying a house? That was just weird. Then there was that being married part. He was trying to swallow it all. He relaxed and rubbed his eyes. Sniffed. Fuck, the place even smelled clean.

Looking down at himself, his rumpled shirt and wrinkled trousers, he decided to change real fast. Letti was gonna look gorgeous, he should at least try to look better. Listening to the shower spray from behind the closed bathroom door, he opened his closet and stared.

“Holy shit,” he groaned. Everything in there was pressed crisp and lined up perfectly. His shirts, then his jackets. Every pair of slacks had a sharp crease and every tie was hung on a hanger, overlapping, all even like colorful soldiers. Poor Letti had worked her ass off. He glanced over his shoulder toward the bathroom. Did she think she had to do all that?

He quickly changed, hanging his clothes carefully and putting his soiled shirt into the empty hamper. It was too much. He didn’t marry her to get a live-in maid, for Christ’s sake. Rushing to make sure he was out done before she finished in the bathroom, he suddenly slowed. Married people dressed in the same room, right? Hell, lovers dressed in the same damn room. They undress in the same fucking room too. Letti wasn’t the Virgin Mary, she was his wife. His eyes slid to the bed and he sighed, sliding a fresh tie under is collar and whipping it into a knot. Maybe tonight? He thought with a hopeful sigh. Maybe tonight. He left to wait on the sofa.

w

“How wonderful!” Marlene bustled around the kitchen while Ed played tea party with his daughter at the table. “Bud White … married!”

“Yeah, well I’m not so sure Bud’s as happy about it as you are. Look, he said she speaks English, but let’s not talk about what’s happening in Cuba, okay? She still has family trapped down there.”

“Oh, the poor dear. My goodness, I hope roasted chicken is alright. It was the only thing I had enough of in the freezer to make on such short notice. I wish you had told me earlier, I could have made the paprikash, it would have been so much nicer.”

“Honey, don’t get yourself in a tizzy. It’s just dinner. Right pumpkin?”

Little Betsy nodded. “Don’t get in a tizzy, mommy,” she repeated and Ed grinned.

“You can act as cool as you like, Edward Exley,” sniped Marlene as she sliced tomatoes for a salad. “But welcoming a new bride is a big deal. And the poor thing … so far from home … I just want her to feel comfortable, that’s all.”

Ed’s grin expanded. He was correct; Marlene would serve a good purpose. She and the new bride would get along fine, and Bud would have one more worry off his mind. The doorbell rang and Betsy scooted from his knee to run to the door. “Don’t you open that door, young lady,” he reprimanded and the kid stopped dead less than a foot from the doorknob.

“I can’t wait to see Uncle Bud,” she whined.

“Yeah,” Ed groaned, “and I’m sure he can’t wait to see you, too.”

Letting the couple in, Ed felt like a star struck tourist. Bud White never once mentioned that he’d married a fucking goddess. For a moment he was speechless. Betsy bound her arms around Bud’s thigh and White didn’t even try to pry her loose. He was too busy glaring at Ed, who was drooling at Letti. That wasn’t gonna fly, not with White’s temper. Ed cleared his throat, readying to greet their guests but Marlene rushed from the kitchen, untying her apron. She promptly wrapped her arms around Letti’s neck.

“Welcome to America! Welcome to dinner! It’s so good to meet you!” Marlene babbled and Letti smiled, it was the kind of smile that took Bud’s heart and sling shot it into the clouds. Fuck, he was still thinking about his bed, about holding her, making love to her.

He didn’t taste dinner, never felt irritated by the kid who insisted on sitting at his side and touching him with her grubby little hands through the whole meal. All he saw was his wife, the way the light glowed on her golden skin, how her eyes sparkled when she looked at him. He was imagining her naked, warm, wet against him, how tight she’d feel around him. Bud was glad he was sitting, his growing need hidden beneath the white tablecloth.

When finally they drank coffee and ate chocolate cake, Letti commented on the delicious desert.

“It’s my mother’s recipe,” Marlene said proudly, finally holding Betsy on her knee and occupied with wiping smeared icing from the girl’s pudgy cheeks. “Mom only made it for special occasions, but I thought, why not enjoy it more. Right Betsy Boop?”

The baby nodded and no one but Bud noticed the cloud of sadness that crossed Letti’s eyes. Soon the table had gone quiet and Marlene gulped, realizing what she’d said. Desperate to correct the dark mood that had descended over her dinner table, she smiled wide. “Letti, come. Let me show you that new hat I bought.”

“Ah … no. We’re gonna get going,” Bud said and stood, Letti across from him, their eyes locked. “I kinda wanted to show Letti the house.”

“Oh … oh, of course,” Marlene gasped and Ed squeezed her hand as they walked their guests to the door. “Come again soon.”

Ed held her tight after they left. Marlene sobbed into his chest. “I’m such a fool.”

“It’s okay. Anyone couldn’t have done it.”

“But I did. I wanted her to feel happy and welcome and I go and mention my mother,” she sniffled.

“Shh. It’ll be fine.”

w

The air was charged with desperation. Carmelita, still weak and ill, was bundled in several layers of clothing and a shawl. Carlos too was wearing three pairs of trousers, four shirts and as many socks as would fit into his shoes. They carried one small bag holding a few belongings, some jewelry they intended to sell in Miami, and their papers. It was all they could manage, running like thieves from their own country and prepared to face the rigors of hiding on a ship until they reached American waters.

Charlie Price held out one more coat for Carmelita to slide into. Their eyes shot to the window. They were in an upstairs bedroom of the big Fuentes house. Below, two jeeps parked and several soldiers charged toward the door.

“Another way out, Carlos?” gasped Charlie. “There’s gotta be another way out!”

Carlos gripped his wife’s arm and all three rushed from the room and along the hall to a back stairwell. In the big kitchen, the slithered lower to a basement then out a door and up a few stone steps. Charlie led the way, peaking around the low wall and waving for them to follow.

Getting to the car he’d borrowed again was impossible, so they raced through the trees and toward another house. Looking back, all three said a prayer for the old woman, refusing to come along, facing the soldiers alone and already armed with various lies to sidetrack them. Oh, they all knew they were coming. They’d just hoped for a little more time.

Crouched behind a shiny Cadillac, Carmelita gasped, grunted with pain and felt blood gush from her center. Having lost her baby, she had cared little if she too would die. But at that moment, knowing salvation, freedom and the promise of a new future was not far away, she struggled against her weakness and the slow hemorrhage that had plagued her. She gritted her teeth and nodded that she was fine.

Charlie slithered around the vehicle, finding the passenger door unlocked, he waved them in and pulled himself behind the wheel. Of course, there were no keys, but a college prank that nearly got him arrested years earlier was just about to pay off. Fumbling beneath the dashboard, he found the right wires, twisted his lips and worked his fingers until the engine came to life.

The car rolled from the driveway and onto the street, attracting no attention from the Fuentes house where several soldiers were gathering. He drove three full blocks before turning on the headlights then hit the gas and sped to the docks.

The money was his own. His father had given him a thousand dollars to enjoy his vacation in Havana. He had brought another thousand bucks, knowing what was coming and figuring to be prepared for a long stay. With the newspaper paying his expenses, he was hoping to at least get the story and convince them to get him home. He retrieved his funds from the hotel safe with a story about a high stakes game. After handing over the cash to the captain of the boat, Charlie Price was flat broke.

He saw to it that the travelers were safely hidden, more than concerned about the pale wife but glad he was almost finished with his part in it all. Watching the boat pull away, a wave of success rushed through him. Too bad the sex clubs and fancy restaurants were closing one by one … and too bad he was poor … he’d have liked to do a little celebrating.

He turned as the boat disappeared in the darkness against a star speckled sky. White will be pleased. Now, to please his editor.

“Mr. Price,” a voice growled and Charlie closed his eyes tight. He sort of knew his luck had run out. After all, it had gone on quite a while. Lucky streaks always end. A soldier stood, his pistol slung over his shoulder but pure danger in his face.

“Yeah, I’m Charlie Price.” Wow, he thought. Could a man die of fear and fear alone? His heart was rattling, not beating a strong rhythm, but rushing and sputtering.

“Fidel Castro will see you now.”