Havana Queen

Si yo me pierdo, que me busquen en...Cuba

~ Federico García Lorca

PROLOGUE 

 "Rudolph Valentino stayed here. Also Charlie Chaplin. And there was Clark Gable and el gran maestro Caruso. Rico Caruso? What was his full name? When he sang at the Campoamor. And they say Greta Garbo..." 

"Who gives a shit?" Jorge shot back. "Why do you keep saying all these famous people stayed here? That was a long time ago. And all those people are dead anyway. "  

"...and Winston Churchill! Him too!" Yesdasi continued.  

"Wrong, chica. He stayed at the Nacional. But, I said, stop this!" 

Yesdasi snapped out of her reverie and blinked. "Why should I stop? We live in a place where many famous people stayed. Just think-" 

But before she could slip back into her reverie, Jorge grabbed her chin with his rough worker's hand. "Yesdasi! Look at me! Look into my eyes!" 

Yesdasi frowned. Her dark eyes were those of a little girl who had been told she may not have another cookie. 

"Listen to me. We live in a shithole. Correction. We exist in a shithole. Look!" He made a sweep with his other hand. "One hundred fifty families are crammed into this dump. It hasn't seen a lick of fresh paint in fifty years. The plumbing is shot. Shit and piss pool on the ground floor. No electricity half of the time." 

"La Reina is still majestic, Jorge. This place has soul. One day..." 

"The queen is dead! Long live the queen!" Jorge backed off, wagging a finger at his wife. "One day we'll be in Miami! Away from all this."  

"The hell we will. Dream on, Jorge. You're forty-two years old. Make the best with the cards we're dealt." 

Jorge slumped into a hard wooden chair beside the ancient crooked dining table. He leaned forward and covered his face with his palms. 

The door opened. An old woman ushered in two boys in red-scarfed pionero uniforms. They ran to the Chinese-made television and tuned to SpongeBob Squarepants, via a pirated signal from an illegal rooftop dish.  

They moaned. "Bananas again?"  

"Hush!" their grandmother responded. "You're lucky I could find those. That Yuma TV is spoiling you kids. You think this is America? See how fat those American kids are." 

Jorge kissed his mother on the cheek. An astute woman, she instantly read the faces of her son and daughter-in-law. "You two been arguing again?" 

"Ah, it's nothing, Mama," he said. 

"Same old stuff," Yesdasi added. 

He nodded. "We're packed like sardines in this old hotel. Plants are growing out of its fissures. We're like rats in some old Roman ruins. Five hundred worthless pesos a month gets us next to nothing. I don't think about me and Yesdasi so much as the boys. I want them to have a future." 

"Watch your mouth, hijo," Mother said. "That CDR bitch down the hall has ears like a bat." 

"'Siempre contigo, Fidel!' Right down to the bottom of the Caribbean on this sinking ship with El Jefe." Jorge snapped a mock military salute. 

Yesdasi grabbed her husband by the sleeve and pulled him onto the small balcony. "Listen to your mother, Jorge. The last thing I need is a husband in jail. Just watch it." 

Jorge's grimace melted into a smile. "God, I still love the fire in those beautiful eyes." He pulled her close. "Remember how we danced? We loved salsa even more than sex." He kissed her. They lingered in an embrace. A tile from the balcony above fell on Jorge's head.