“A boy at the field at Camagüey told me you might be here. If we didn’t find you, we were going to see Havana.”
“We can see Havana.”
“No,” she said. “Ginny can see it. Do you know anybody who could take Ginny out?”
“Sure.”
“We have to get back to Camagüey tonight.”
“What time does your plane leave?”
“Six o’clock, I think.”
“We’ll fix everything up,” Thomas Hudson said.
A man came over to the table. He was a local boy.
“Pardon me,” he said. “May I have your autograph?”
“Of course.”
He gave her a card with the picture of the bar on it with Constante standing behind it making a cocktail and she signed with the overlarge theatrical writing Thomas Hudson knew so well.
“It’s not for my little daughter or my son who is in school,” the man said. “It’s for me.”
“Good,” she said and smiled at him. “You were very nice to ask me.”
“I’ve seen all of your pictures,” the man said. “I think you are the most beautiful woman in the world.”
“That’s wonderful,” she said. “Please keep on thinking that.”
“Would you let me buy you a drink?”
“I’m drinking with a friend.”
“I know him,” the radio announcer said. “I’ve known him for many years. May I sit down, Tom? There is an extra lady here.”
“This is Mr. Rodríguez,” Thomas Hudson said. “What’s your last name, Ginny?”
“Watson.”
“Miss Watson.”
“I’m delighted to know you, Miss Watson,” the radio announcer said. He was a good-looking man, dark and tanned with pleasant eyes, a nice smile, and the big good hands of a ball player. He had been both a gambler and a ball player and he had some of the good looks of the modern gambler left.
“Could you all three have lunch with me?” he asked. “It is nearly lunchtime now.”
“Mr. Hudson and I have to make a trip into the country,” she said.
“I’d love to have lunch with you,” Ginny said. “I think you’re wonderful.”
“Is he all right?” she asked Thomas Hudson.
“He’s a fine man. As good as you’ll find in town.”
“Thank you very much, Tom,” the man said. “You are sure you won’t all eat with me?”
“We really have to go,” she said. “We’re late now. Then I’ll see you at the hotel, Ginny. Thank you so much, Mr. Rodríguez.”
“You really are the most beautiful woman in the world,” Mr. Rodríguez said. “If I hadn’t always known it, I know it now.”
“Please keep on thinking so,” she said and then they were out in the street.
“Well,” she said. “That wasn’t too bad. Ginny likes him, too, and he’s nice.”
“He
“You’re nice,” she said. “I wish you hadn’t had quite so many drinks. That’s why I skipped the champagne. Who was your dark friend at the end of the bar?”
“Just my dark friend at the end of the bar.”
“Do you need a drink? We could stop somewhere and get one.”
“No. Do you?”
“You know I never do. I’d like some wine though.”
“I have wine out at the house.”
“That’s wonderful. Now you can kiss me. They won’t arrest us now.”
“Oh, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy,” she said. “Go right ahead. It doesn’t make any difference if he sees us, does it?”
“No. It makes no difference. You can cut his tongue out if you like.”
“No, I don’t want to. Nor nothing brutal ever. But you were nice to offer it.”
“It wouldn’t be a bad idea. How are you? You old love-house of always.”
“I’m the same.”
“Really the same?”
“The same as one always is. I’m yours in this town.”
“Until the plane leaves.”
“Exactly,” she said and changed her position for the better in the car. “Look,” she said. “We’ve left the shining part and it’s dirty and smoky. When didn’t we do that?”
“Sometimes.”
“Yes,” she said. “Sometimes.”
Then they looked at the dirty and the smoky and her quick eyes and lovely intelligence saw everything instantly that had taken him so many years to see.
“Now it gets better,” she said. She had never told him a lie in his life and he had tried to never lie to her. But he had been quite unsuccessful.
“Do you still love me?” she asked. “Tell me true without adornments.”
“Yes. You ought to know.”
“I know,” she said, holding him to prove it if it could prove it.
“Who is the man now?”
“Let’s not talk about him. You wouldn’t care for him.”
“Maybe not,” he said and held her so close that it was as though something must break if both were truly serious. It was their old game and she broke and the break was clean.
“You don’t have breasts,” she said. “And you always win.”
“I don’t have a face to break your heart. Nor what you have and the long lovely legs.”
“You have something else.”
“Yes,” he said. “Last night with a pillow and a cat making love.”
“I’ll make up for the cat. How far is it now?”
“Eleven minutes.”
“That’s too far the way things are now.”
“Should I take it from him and drive it in eight?”
“No, please, and remember everything I taught you about patience.”
“That was the most intelligent and stupid lesson I learned. Reteach it to me a little now.”
“Do I have to?”
“No. It is only eight minutes now.”
“Will it be a nice place and will the bed be big?”