Havana Best Friends. Jose Latour

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СКАЧАТЬ Elena a boys-will-be-boys glance.

      ‘I’m the office manager of a Cuban-Italian joint venture,’ the short man began, pleased by the Canadian’s curiosity. ‘We import clothing, shoes, perfumes, cosmetics, kitchenware, a zillion things.’

      ‘Really? How many outlets do you have?’

      Pablo shook his head and grinned. ‘No outlets, we only have warehouses.’

      ‘And where do shoppers buy these articles?’

      ‘Well, you see, retail trade is a state monopoly. We sell wholesale to several state-owned chains that sell retail to the public.’

      Sean nodded. ‘I see. And excuse me for asking, but I’m still amazed by what Elena makes as a teacher. How much do you get paid?’

      ‘Three hundred and forty pesos a month.’

      ‘How much is that in dollars?’

      ‘The present rate is twenty-one pesos to the dollar. So, it’s around sixteen dollars.’

      ‘That’s all? No overtime, no bonus?’

      ‘No.’

      All of a sudden, Elena roared with laughter. She covered her mouth with her right hand, but her laughter was so childlike and irrepressible that Marina and Sean exchanged an amused glance. Pablo, visibly angry, glared at his sister. The teacher made an effort to control herself, failed, but after a moment succeeded. Apparently, she was getting a glow from the mojitos.

      ‘Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself so much,’ said Marina, still smiling.

      ‘Oh, yes. It’s the drinks, you know? They loosen me up.’

      ‘And what do you people do for a living?’ Pablo enquired.

      Marina said she was a computer programmer and Sean a mortgage broker. Neither Pablo nor Elena knew what a mortgage was, let alone a broker, and Marina spent a few minutes interpreting for Sean. When she was through, Señora Roselia announced that dinner was ready.

      ‘Just a second,’ Marina said as she fumbled for something in her purse. ‘Let me take a snapshot of you guys, so friends back home can see you.’

      With a small but powerful Olympia she took five: one showed the siblings sitting side by side on the sofa, two had Elena standing by a wall, the fourth and fifth caught a beaming Pablo alongside a curtain. Then they all moved to the dining room.

      An exquisitely crocheted white tablecloth covered the glass top of a six-seat cedar dining table where four tall candles burned in a gold-plated candelabra. The china was gold-rimmed, the cutlery in heavy silver, the goblets of fine crystal. Elena choked on a sip of water when she realized the waitresses were now topless, but Marina and Sean behaved so naturally that she tried to act blasé.

      The food was good, the wine heady. Conversation threw an interesting light on what had happened to Sean that morning, the professions of all four diners, Cuban food and drinks, places of interest in Havana, and other subjects.

      For the pièce de résistance the waitresses served a strong espresso wearing only dental-floss bikini bottoms and sandals. Elena was aghast, Sean remained unimpressed, making Pablo feel let down. Were Canadians as cold as their country or was this guy gay? He suspected that Marina was a victim of sexual starvation. Then, as if to confirm this impression, Roselia came out from the swinging door to the kitchen and Marina, tongue in cheek, asked her whether she and Elena wouldn’t get to see the chef in his briefs. The teacher giggled and Sean asked for a translation, following which he chuckled throatily; Pablo’s grin seemed forced. The proprietress countered by saying she felt sure the ladies wouldn’t find a five-foot-six, forty-nine-year-old, 265-pound pansy in boxer shorts attractive. More silly laughter ensued.

      ‘Would you like something else?’ Sean asked of nobody in particular when only smiles remained.

      Heads were shaken. ‘Then could you bring me the bill, please?’ the Canadian asked of Roselia.

      The bill read eighty-five dollars. Sean gave a ten-dollar tip to each waitress and they all returned to the living room, where a liqueur was served. Elena, to all appearances a little woozy, declined.

      ‘Well, where would you like to go next?’ Pablo asked. ‘We can catch the show at Tropicana or at the Havana Café, go to a nightclub, maybe visit a santero, have him throw the shells for you.’

      Marina looked at Sean, who pulled down the corners of his mouth and lifted his eyebrows to reveal his hesitancy. Then she turned to Elena. ‘What do you suggest, Elena?’

      ‘I…wouldn’t know. I seldom go out. Pablo is the expert. But whatever you decide, I ask you to excuse me. I’m feeling a little queasy.’

      ‘What’s the matter?’ Marina asked, a touch of concern in her tone.

      ‘I’m afraid I had too much to drink. You can drop me off at home, then go wherever you feel like. I’m sorry, Marina.’

      ‘Oh, what a shame,’ Marina said before translating for Sean.

      An uncomfortable silence followed. ‘You know what?’ Sean said. ‘We have an early flight. So what about calling it a night?’

      Pablo filed away the grin he’d been flashing. He was hoping for one of the best nightclubs, Chivas Regal, an exquisite Cohiba Lancero, ten statuesque mulatas in dental-floss bikinis wiggling their asses to salsa music.

      ‘Oh, no. Don’t let me spoil your evening,’ Elena objected, her words sounding a little slurred. She was clearly embarrassed.

      ‘You’re right, darling.’ Marina addressed Sean, disinclined to endure the company of Pablo without the neutralizing influence of his sister. ‘Would you mind if we take a rain check on the rest of the evening, Pablo?’

      ‘Suit yourself. My only regret is that my sister is to blame for it,’ grunted the short man, glad of the opportunity to express his reproach.

      ‘I’m not feeling well, okay?’ Elena retorted.

      ‘It’s not her fault, Pablo. Can we leave now?’

      ‘If you can find your way back to my place, I think I’ll stay here for a little while,’ Pablo said, eyeing the black waitress, who stood by the swinging door to the kitchen, between Roselia and the blonde woman. She beamed and winked at him.

      ‘Cool,’ Marina said before rising. ‘Do you need help, Elena?’

      ‘I don’t think so,’ Elena replied, getting to her feet.

      Roselia and Pablo escorted them to the car. The tourists formally thanked Elena’s brother for all his trouble, promised they would touch base the minute they came back to Havana, and assured Roselia they had had a wonderful time at her paladar. From the garage door, smiling and waving, the restaurateur and Pablo watched the car speed away. The same old man closed the gate and marched tiredly into the garage.

      Nearly half an hour later, as she drove along Fifth Avenue heading east, Marina stole a glance at her escort in the passenger seat. Not a word had been said since they left Elena at her apartment, making sure she was all right. СКАЧАТЬ