Havana Jazz Club (7 page)

CHAPTER 12

Orlando flipped on the light, and Billie turned her head toward the window so he couldn’t see her face. He came over to her and kissed her on the cheek.

“So? How’d it go?” he asked, unable to avoid a quick glance at the money strewn across the table.

“You can see for yourself,” Billie replied curtly.

Orlando grabbed the wad of bills and counted them quickly, then let out a long whistle of admiration.

“Jesus!” he exclaimed. “It must have been a memorable night for the fatty.”

“How could you have made me do that?” Billie burst out between sobs, finally turning toward him.

“Do what, doll? I told you to be nice to him, nothing more. Whatever you did to get this was your own choice.”

“I’m not one of those prostitutes from the New York!” she screamed, jumping to her feet.

“Come on, my love. Calm down. Let’s not go over this again, okay? Be realistic for once, my darling.” Orlando’s face had grown tense, and his voice was rising. “Do you really think that anyone’s listening to your songs? Don’t be stupid! The only thing that matters to them is how you shake your ass and tits. You should hear the comments they make at the bar. Every night they offer Gregorio unimaginable sums of money to go to bed with you. And if he hasn’t made you go with anyone until now, it’s because I stopped him with a million excuses. But I don’t know what to say to him anymore that won’t make him send us both packing. Everyone wants to warm up the black girl!”

“How dare you talk about me like that!”

Without thinking, Billie slapped her husband across the face. Before she even realized what was happening, he punched her in the face so violently that she fell to the floor, momentarily stunned. Orlando seized her by the arms, his fingers digging into her like hooks, and lifted her up to a standing position, then began to shake her violently. Mad with rage, he began to hit her repeatedly and finished by hurling her onto the sofa, as if that was the only way to stop his impulse to keep hitting her. He took her face in an iron grip to make her look at him and brandished a threatening finger before her terrified eyes.

“You will never raise a hand to me again in your life or you’ll regret it, do you understand me?” he said, clenching his teeth with anger. “I’m going to bed. We’ll talk tomorrow, when you’ve calmed down.”

Billie remained in the living room, paralyzed by shock and panic, her face burning and throbbing with pain, unable to believe what had just happened. Her first thought was to leave, but where would she go? She sat there, stunned and motionless, for a long time, not daring to make the smallest noise for fear of waking Orlando. Eventually, when she supposed her husband was asleep, she got up from the sofa and headed stealthily into the bathroom. The image she saw reflected in the mirror horrified her: her cheek was inflamed, and her left eye was blood red and practically swollen closed. The sight provoked an attack of sobs that she tried to stifle by covering her mouth with one hand. With the other, she took an aspirin out of the medicine cabinet and struggled to swallow it with a little water. Then, she dampened a towel with cold water and pressed it against her swollen face. She went back to the living room and sat down again. It was the longest and bitterest night of her life. She felt pain where Orlando’s fingers had left marks from gripping her arms and where the swelling had become a muffled pulsing on the left side of her face. But the most terrible pain, the most unbearable, was in her heart, which had shattered into pieces.

She passed the hours in a restless half sleep, not even noticing the dawn arrive. Around midday, sounds from the bedroom pulled her out of an intermittent sleep. Realizing that Orlando was awake, she was seized with terror. She heard him go into the bathroom, and she sat up on the sofa. She held her breath at the sound of the toilet flushing. She visualized each sound, each movement he made, his footsteps coming closer . . .

When Orlando came into the living room, he stopped dead at the sight of her.

“Good Lord, my love!” he exclaimed, running over to her. “Look at your face! Does it hurt a lot? I’ll make coffee and bring you an aspirin, okay? I’m so sorry. Forgive me. I’m sorry for hitting you and all the horrible things I said. It’s just that you drove me crazy . . . I swear it will never happen again.”

He was speaking in a cloying tone. He took her hands in his and kissed them tenderly, stroking her hair delicately. Billie could see from the look in his eyes that he was genuinely upset by her battered face. She didn’t reply. She didn’t know what to think. In that moment, Orlando didn’t seem like the savage, violent being who had attacked her the night before. This was her Orlando, the one she knew and loved so much, her light, her sun god.

He helped her get up from the sofa and accompanied her, lovingly, to the bedroom. He undressed her and put her in bed, tucking her in with the utmost care, then went to make coffee and bring her breakfast in bed. He brought her aspirin and an ice pack, lowered the shade, and kissed her forehead tenderly.

“Rest, my darling. I’ll tell Gregorio that you’re indisposed and you won’t be back at work for a few days. Don’t worry about a thing, okay? I love you.”

All week Orlando went above and beyond to be kind to her. He was more attentive than ever and ready to carry out her smallest desire. He brought her flowers and chocolates, bought her magazines so she wouldn’t get bored, and surprised her with records by her favorite singers. He even came home right after the party hall closed. Little by little, Billie regained her trust in him. She started to harbor the hope that something had changed between them and that they would go back to being as happy as before, like they had been in Cuba. She told herself that sometimes a relationship needed a wake-up call to reset itself. Orlando had shown in a million ways that he regretted what he had done, and she believed him. She had to recognize that she had provoked him, that she was the first one to raise her hand. Her mother would never have dared to raise a hand to her father. Orlando had lost control, that was true, but Billie was certain that he would never do it again. After all, he had promised. But then one afternoon . . .

“Gregorio is getting impatient,” Orlando said. “He wants you to return to work. Your face is fine now. With a little makeup, nobody will see anything.”

“I don’t want to go back there, Orlando,” she replied in a low voice, with a slight tremor in it. “I’ll find another job.”

“What do you mean you don’t want to go back?” Orlando furrowed his brow but contained his impatience and his voice stayed calm. “What about your career as a singer? You want to sing, right?”

“Yes, but not there, not under those conditions. Gladys can help me find a job in the cafeteria where she works.”

“As a waitress? You want to leave the New York to go work as a waitress in a cafeteria? What’s the difference, except that you won’t be able to sing there?”

“At least they won’t treat me like a—”

“Are you sure about that? Sweetie, you’ll still be a black babe, as they say here, and all the men will still be drooling over your ass. Only I won’t be there to protect you.” He leapt to his feet, and his tone grew more commanding. “Come on, enough nonsense. Get used to the idea that you’ll be performing at the New York tonight.”

“Orlando, please, don’t make me go,” Billie begged.

He sighed, said down next to her again, and took her hand, softening his tone.

“My love, maybe you don’t understand? Gregorio hired both of us, but he really just wanted you for the show. I was
very
clear with him that it was both of us or neither. If you leave, he’ll kick my butt out the door without a second thought. And you don’t want that to happen, do you?”

“No, but I’m also not going to turn into a whore, Orlando. I’m not one of those girls from the New York.”

“My love, don’t use such ugly words. What’s the problem? Do you know what the girls tell me? That when they go with a guy, they get in bed and distract themselves by thinking about other things until it’s over. Then they get dressed, take the money, and leave. It’s just a job, babe.”

“Well, I won’t do that kind of work!” she replied, pulling her hand free of her husband’s and getting up from the sofa. “And you can’t make me. I’m your wife!”

“That’s why you’ll do what I tell you to do!” Orlando shouted, jumping to his feet in fury and turning on her. Billie backed up, suddenly frightened. Noticing her reaction, he clenched his fists trying to control his rage, but his roaring voice left her petrified. He brought his icy gaze a few inches from her face and added, “Or I’ll leave you with a face that won’t be able to be seen at the New York—or anywhere—for a long time.”

“I’m not going—” Billie muttered, despite her terror.

Orlando suddenly seized her by the neck, pushed her against the wall, and raised his fist. Billie closed her eyes, waiting for the blow, but Orlando let her go and backed up a few steps.

“Don’t make me show you again who’s in charge here, okay? I’d better go now, before I do something stupid. I don’t want to give you any excuse not to show up at the New York tonight. I’ll be waiting for you there. You’d better show up.” He turned and left, slamming the door on his way out.

Billie stood in the middle of the living room, paralyzed with fear until she heard the elevator descending and the familiar sound of the street door closing. Then she exhaled a deep sigh of relief tinged with despair, crumpled against the wall, and burst into hopeless tears.

Night fell slowly over Madrid, and shadows started to stretch over the tiny apartment. Curled up on the couch in a fetal position as though she wanted to return to the warmth of the womb, Billie tried to make a decision. She had spent hours mulling over her options and still didn’t know what to do. She was supposed to meet Orlando in less than an hour. He had made it very clear what he expected of her in the future. She was afraid of what he would do when he came home if she didn’t show up at the bar.

“Hello?” Gladys’s voice answered through the telephone.

“Gladys . . .”

“Hey, girl! How are you?” Gladys said. The sob that came through the line after a brief silence alarmed her. “What’s going on?”

Through floods of tears, Billie told her friend everything that had happened over the last few days.

“You have to leave that man, Billie,” Gladys advised her. “There’s no doubt about it. If he really loved you, he wouldn’t treat you like this. And you can be sure that when a man dares to hit a woman, it’s never the last time, no matter how many times he asks for forgiveness, even though he swears on his mother’s life he’ll never attack you again. He’ll do it again, Billie, and it’ll be worse each time. You have to get out of that house right away.”

“But where am I going to go?” Billie asked, her voice wavering with tears.

“Come here. Aldo and I will help you.”

“I can’t go to your house. It will be the first place Orlando looks for me, and I don’t want you to get into trouble because of me.”

“Don’t worry about us, darling. But you’re right: this is the first place he’ll come . . .” Gladys paused, thinking. “Okay, for now you come here, and then we’ll think of something. We’ll find a safe place for you. Everything will be okay.”

Gladys was right. She couldn’t waste any more time. She put a few things in a duffel bag and grabbed some money. Orlando was in charge of both their incomes and gave her a small allowance for the daily shopping and her expenses. It wasn’t much, but she could live on it for a few days and pay for a room. When she closed the door behind her, her heart shrank. There was no turning back. Orlando hadn’t left her any alternative. The sun of her life had been eclipsed forever, and she would have to find her own light, even with her soul smashed into a thousand pieces.

CHAPTER 13

Billie found live-in work as a maid at a luxurious chalet in a residential neighborhood on the outskirts of Madrid. She chose the job because it enabled her to avoid the center of the city and the danger of running into Orlando. She was still afraid all the time. Gladys had told her that Orlando had come to her apartment and searched every last corner, even though she and Aldo both swore that Billie wasn’t there and they didn’t know where she was. But he didn’t listen to them—he wasn’t seeing reason. He bellowed that Billie was his wife and that she would return to their conjugal home, by hook or by crook. After going over the place one more time, he stormed out of the apartment in a rage, disowning his friends and peppering them with insults and threats.

Gladys and Aldo had been telling the truth. That night, when Billie arrived at their house, they brought her to a hostel and Gladys stayed with her. The next day she brought up the newspapers so they could look for a job, and Billie didn’t leave the room until they found one. Then her friends took her to the bus station without really knowing where she was heading. When she was settled, Billie called them to tell them that she was okay, but she didn’t reveal where she was, and they didn’t ask. It was better that way.

“I’ll call you soon,” she told Gladys.

Billie took care of the domestic chores for the Quirogas, a well-off couple with two children. She got the kids out of bed in the morning, served them breakfast, took them to school, and then did the shopping, cleaned the house, and prepared the food for dinner that night. In the afternoons, she picked up the kids, served them a snack, and made sure they took a bath and did their homework before playing or watching television. Then she got dinner ready for the family and cleaned the kitchen. After that, she retired to her room to rest. The work was exhausting and endless. She always had to be ready to do whatever the family asked. Still, she felt very lucky. The husband and wife were friendly and considerate of her, especially Mr. Quiroga, who was very attentive and always had a compliment for her, whether about the food she’d prepared, her painstaking efforts in caring for the house and the children, or even her looks. These last remarks embarrassed Billie a little, but she always accepted his kind words with a friendly smile.

Mrs. Quiroga was a little more distant. She didn’t seem happy, despite having a beautiful house, good and polite children, and an affable husband with a great sense of humor. Billie thought it was a shame that Mrs. Quiroga didn’t know how to appreciate everything life had given her, but of course, she’d probably never been deprived of anything and considered all of this normal. That said, Billie never had any reason to complain about the way Mrs. Quiroga treated her. She was appropriate and respectful, despite having been initially reluctant to hire her. It was Mr. Quiroga who had insisted that Billie stay. Still, she was sure that the mistress was happy with her work. She had told Billie on more than one occasion.

The best part of Billie’s day was when she could finally retreat to her room and write to her parents, read, or make plans for the future. She planned to return to Cuba as soon as possible and hug her family. She never wanted to leave them again. The job covered all her expenses, and she didn’t usually go out on her day off, except to take a stroll around the neighborhood and sit in a park and read a book. Occasionally, she went to the mall to buy something she needed or look around the shops—whose wares were all too expensive for her. As a result, she saved practically her entire salary. Every month she sent her parents a small portion of the money and stashed the rest away. She was sure it wouldn’t take long for her to have enough to buy a ticket and return to Cuba.

In the meantime, she continued to lie to her family in her letters so they wouldn’t worry. When she saw them again, she would simply tell them that she and Orlando had separated.

Dearest Papi and Mami,

As I told you in an earlier letter, Orlando and I are still working in a jazz club. I sing every night and get lots of applause and congratulations. Orlando has been made manager, and we’re both very happy. We’ve moved to a house on the outskirts of Madrid, and though I still miss the sea, which is very far away, here, at least, we have a calmer life closer to nature. There’s less noise, cars, and pollution than in the city, where you can’t imagine the racket at all hours.

I hope you’re all very healthy and you’re still receiving the cash I send.

Give the boys kisses from me and a big hug for you from your daughter who loves and misses you.

Billie

PS Orlando also sends a hug.

Her letters gradually grew shorter and more sporadic. The lies stuck in her throat, and her hand seemed to refuse to capture them on paper. It got so that writing to her parents was an obligation and a punishment she imposed on herself so they wouldn’t suspect something wasn’t right. She didn’t want to make them suffer unnecessarily when there was nothing they could do to help her. Their helplessness would only make them more anxious. If all went according to plan, she would soon be able to give them the pleasant surprise of reuniting with them.

She had been working for the Quirogas for a year when the family got some bad news. Mrs. Quiroga’s father called one night to tell them that his wife had been hospitalized. She had been suffering from a serious illness for some time, but with treatment, it had seemed that she was getting better. A sudden deterioration had forced her to go to the hospital, and the doctors didn’t have much hope. They should come as soon as possible to say good-bye to her.

The next morning, the whole family boarded a plane to Palma de Mallorca. Billie stayed behind to care for the house. Suddenly she found herself alone in the immense and isolated house with no idea what to do all day. There was hardly any work to do. She kept the pool clean, weeded the garden, and played with the two family dogs for a bit when she put out their food. She didn’t dare to sit and watch television in the living room or put on a record, despite having discovered while dusting that they had a magnificent music collection. She watched the television in the kitchen or in her room and read the gossip and fashion magazines that Mrs. Quiroga had gotten rid of. She saved them in her room because she thought they were too beautiful to throw away.

After spending a few days in absolute solitude for the first time in her life, she was surprised to discover how much she enjoyed being alone. After everything that had happened with Orlando, she finally felt relaxed and calm. She wanted to savor that sensation, find herself, and think her own thoughts. Her contact with other people was limited to waving to the mailman or the rare neighbor who passed by in his car or on a bicycle, answering the phone for the family, and talking to Mrs. Quiroga, who called occasionally to make sure all was well.

One afternoon, she felt the need to hear a friend’s voice and decided to call Gladys. It had been a long time since she had spoken to her.

“I’m so happy to hear from you, girl! How are you?” Gladys exclaimed. “I was worried about you. I hadn’t heard from you in a while.”

“I’m sorry, Gladys. It’s just that work keeps me really busy. But I’m fine. And you? How’s everything?”

“We’re good, my love. But I’m so glad you called: I have some big news.”

“What happened?” Billie grew alarmed, thinking immediately of Orlando.

“No, no, it’s nothing bad. Don’t worry,” Gladys said. “Aldo and I are moving to Miami.”

“Really? When?” Billie managed to ask after getting over her initial surprise.

“We’re leaving the day after tomorrow. Things have been pretty hard for us here, Billie. Aldo lost his job, and I don’t know what will happen with mine. We have relatives and friends in Miami. We’ve given it a lot of thought and decided that’s our best option. You should go back too, Billie.”

“I’m planning to, Gladys. I’m heading back to Cuba as soon as I can. I’m saving up for a plane ticket,” she said. “I wish you both the best.”

“You too, babe. Good luck—you deserve it. Take good care of yourself.”

When she hung up, Billie’s eyes clouded over. She suddenly felt terribly alone. Her only friends were leaving, and she wondered once more what she was doing in this strange country, so far from home.

She got up from the armchair and chose a record. She needed the comfort of music just then. They didn’t have any jazz, but Ray Charles’s voice was a balm that soothed her troubled heart. She let herself sway for a bit with her eyes shut, quietly humming along to his songs. When she felt better, she headed into the kitchen to finish cleaning, singing along loudly to “Unchain My Heart” since no one was there to hear her.

“Wow! I didn’t know you could sing like that.”

Billie jumped and spun around. Mr. Quiroga was leaning against the door with a smirk on his face.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll go turn off the music. I didn’t know . . .”

She hurried toward the living room with her head bowed, mortified at having been caught singing like that. But as she passed Mr. Quiroga, he caught her by the arm.

“Don’t worry,” he said, still wearing a troubling smile. “And leave the music. I like this record. Could you make me some dinner?”

“Of course, sir. Right away.”

Billie was happy to pull her hand away so she could go over to the fridge to see what they had. Even then, she could feel the man’s eyes on her back. She wished she weren’t wearing the short, low-cut dress that she normally only wore alone in her room, to be more comfortable during the suffocating days of summer.

“I had to come back for business. My wife and children will stay in Mallorca a little longer. My wife’s mother’s condition hasn’t changed,” Quiroga explained. He paused briefly as if he expected Billie to reply. When she said nothing, he added in a casual tone, “I’m going to go take a shower and change my clothes.”

“Very good, sir,” she mumbled, not looking at him.