“You mean your case? A thing to worry any caring father.”
“But that’s just it. It is my business…my case, my life!”
“Don’t make your case your life,” he warned.
She ignored this and paced in a little circle of frustration.
Tomaso came through the door, and Qui turned to him and added, “My case, get it! My decision. Not yours.”
“I thought we settled this misunderstanding?”
“You’re my father, not my boss! I can take care of myself.” Then she turned on Benilo and added, “Now, you come to take his side-”
“Whoa! I’m not taking anyone’s side. I don’t even know what’s going on.”
“-and I already know you want me to drop the case. Every man I know wants me to drop the case-what is with all of you? Do you think I’m stupid, can’t do my job?”
“Did I come to the wrong door? I thought I was invited to a birthday party.”
Tomaso erupted in laughter.
“This isn’t funny! I’ve worked too hard to get this far.” Rushing out, she turned at the sound of both men stomping after her. “Both of you are exasperating. First, you see conspiracies in every dark corner, then you laugh? It doesn’t make sense.”
Tomaso lifted his hands in supplication. “Come back and let’s enjoy our dinner and our guest.” He smiled and nodded at his old friend.
“Come on Qui, no more talk of the case,” Benilo mildly pleaded. “It’s your father’s birthday. I brought a special wine from my collection.” He held up the bottle, beckoning her to join them. “I promise, no talk of conspiracies.”
“It’s a murder case, pure and simple… Well, OK, not so simple, but it’s not some huge governmental conspiracy either!” She secretly wanted to believe this.
“But, Qui,” Tomaso shook his head, “three foreigners murdered and dragged from the sea?”
“You’re doing it again!” Qui spun around, pushing through the exit, the door slamming shut. One of her father’s flower arrangements, which had hung from the door crashed to the terracotta tiles. Glass that’d held each flower in its own small vase shattered, spilling petals and solution, darkening the tiles.
Even the caged Cartacuba birds became quiet in the sudden silence.
“Damn, Tomaso, she really is like Rafaela,” Benilo said once the whirlwind had ceased.
“You don’t need to tell me that!”
“But you have to love that kind of spirit. You see it so seldom these days.”
“Yes, as exasperating as it is.” The two old men stared at one another for a moment and then laughed. “She’s like a force-5 hurricane when angry, that one,” finished Tomaso.
“How many times did you come to her rescue as she was growing up?”
“More than she wanted. She could always take care of herself.”
“How often did you have to rescue others from her own wrath?”
“All too often. By the way, I must thank you, Arturo, for getting me into such hot water with her.”
“What? Me?”
“She thinks I made a call to Gutierrez to ease off, which I suspect came from you.”
“Hold on. I didn’t call him.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Good question.”
“We should talk about this.”
Tomaso replied, “Over dinner and that bottle you brought.”
“French. A Bordeaux. It needs to breathe.”
The two old friends spoke easily with one another. It was as if the nearly thirty years of silence between them had melted into mere days.
Benilo held up the bottle. “Enough for two old men to celebrate a long overdue reunion.”
“Come then!” Tomaso slapped him on the shoulder and led him toward the courtyard door. “You’ll meet Maria Elena, who’s prepared a feast, and Yuri, who keeps the old place operating and repairs everything in sight, including my computer and digital cameras.”
“Sounds like a fellow I could use around my lab.”
“And if you can stand it, I’ll tell you tales of Quiana that will curl your hair.”
“What about her having left in a huff? Aren’t you worried?”
“Bahhh… we’ll have her share of the wine and birthday cake. Don’t worry. She’ll come back later when she has danced off her anger-”
“Ahhh…she dances.”
“In more ways than I can count, yes.”
“Will she be all right? I’m sorry for this turmoil.”
“Nonsense-she’ll be back, I tell you. Perhaps she may even apologize. She doesn’t like Gutierrez’s new attention, or intentions, or something of the insincerity in the man.”
The two laughed at this. They’d known Gutierrez for a long time, and each had always thought him a fool.
They walked easily, comfortably into the courtyard. The afternoon sun drenched them with rays filtered through the Royal Palm and lemon trees, where Tomaso poured each a glass of lemonade.
Benilo lifted his glass for a toast. “To Quiana and Rafaela’s spirit.”
Tomaso clinked glass against glass, adding, “Yes, to two beautiful Cuban women.”
This was the image that Maria Elena saw through the kitchen window. She smiled at the sight. She’d never met Dr. Benilo, but she’d heard so much from Tomaso, stories he’d shared with his daughter, Qui.
Yuri, too, had looked up from his work to see the reunion of two old friends. He thought, At least something good has come of Quiana’s case.
JZ drove lazily along the ocean front highway, listening to The Buena Vista Social Club as it blared from the car radio. On a lark, he’d signed a one-month lease on a cherry red ’57 Ford T-Bird convertible from the Havana Rent-a-Classic. The salesman had tried to push a huge pink-winged Cadillac on him that went for twice the money and twice the gas, which was scarce at the best of times and cost a fortune. While attractive for an oversize fifties car, it reminded him of something a Miami pimp would drive, so he’d passed on it, renting the smaller car instead. Having wanted to drive the classic T-Bird for years, the expense and difficulty of finding fuel seemed a small price to pay. No joke, Cubanos proved the best mechanics on the planet, attested to by the T-bird. The vintage ‘relic’ drove like a dream come true.
As JZ cruised the coastal highway in Miramar, he saw a black Peugeot parked along a peninsula overlooking blue sea and sky. As he approached, he thought how serendipitous it’d be to run into Qui Aguilera here, but he knew every Cuban cop drove the same model that she sported around in. He recalled how she’d so easily manipulated her car through the narrow side streets of Havana to arrive at the Varelas the night before. Seeing a figure in a light-colored dress that swayed in the breeze made him even more hopeful that it could be her; in the next instant, he saw that it was Qui. She pushed off from her car moving toward the water, her walk like her dance movements, rhythmic and seductive. JZ guessed she had no idea the effect her every step had on a man.
He pulled off the road and slowed to a stop, sending up gravel, the noise alerting Qui to his sudden appearance. She turned to see him as JZ hoisted himself to a high position atop the driver’s seat. He waved at her from the convertible.
Her features went from despondency to surprise, all in a moment. She smiled warmly, sauntering toward the car, admiring the classic auto as he admired her. “JZ, what are you doing here? Not stalking me, I hope!”
“Not at all. I was taking this beauty out for a spin. I just took the highway and wound up here. Running into an even greater beauty- you — is just an additional perk. The gods’re no doubt making up for my disappointing Saturday.”
“Disappointing… gods?” She gave him a curious look as she ran her hand over the perfect sheen of the red paint. “I love T-Birds.”
