The mansion in Miramar was illuminated like it once might have been before the revolution, every window aglow. Wedged between two unlit and decaying tenements it was like a healthy tooth in a rotten mouth. A line of 1950’s auto memorabilia stretched down the street, some gleaming with an owner’s pride, some battered and corroded. The scrapyard of the American dream.
Still dulled from the bomb blast, Northwick stepped from a Máquina—a big yellow taxi. Andrés slid across the bench seat. In dazed mystification Northwick looked up at his home. Salsa floated through the open windows. A voice he recognised was speaking.
‘Dolores is entertaining at home tonight,’ he muttered.
‘Does she do that often?’
‘Never.’
They walked up to the entrance with the palm sentinels, and Northwick felt an urge to knock like he didn’t belong. The door was wide open anyway. He dabbed a finger to his cheek and it came away with a trace of blood.
‘You think it’s safe?’ said Andrés.
‘Keep your wallet in your pocket and you should be OK.’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘I know what I mean. I’ve given up on what other people mean.’
A girl of improbable perfection swept past bearing a tray. ‘Hello Bobby. What happened to you?’
The only one who ever called him Bobby. ‘What are you doing here?’ Carmen—Dolores’s wild-child and oft-times estranged daughter. The face of an angel, heart of a demon.
‘Serving. What would you like?’ She made everything ring with carnal promise.
‘What’s going on? Did I come to the wrong house?’
‘My mother’s latest grift. Some coin thing that will save Cuba. I don’t need saving.’
‘She could have told me.’
She put out a hand and touched his cheek. He felt a guilty tremor. ‘You’re injured.’
‘Not more than usual.’ He took her hand away. ‘Can you bring me some of my own rum? If it’s not all gone. And a glass for my friend, here.’ He nodded at Andrés and she seemed to see him for the first time.
She flashed Andrés a dazzling smile and looked back at Northwick. ‘Seems nice. Not like your usual friends.’ She left, swinging her hips, tray poised in the air.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ growled Northwick. ‘She’s twenty-two.’
‘We can all dream.’
On the terrace the tables had been moved aside to create space for a reception. About thirty people were listening to Dolores by candle-light. She held forth in a long, pale dress Northwick had never seen before, which made her look taller and sculpted. She looked like she was finishing up. He waited.
‘…and this is my mentor and Libre Ambassador, Pedro Diaz. He will tell you everything I haven’t already told you…’
‘Which can’t be much,’ joked a balding older guest in a Hawaiian shirt, who may have had a history with Dolores that triggered a jealous twinge on Northwick’s part. Many of the guests were flushed and unbalanced. A chicain a party dress stooped to administer to a small child with some candy. Northwick hoped this gathering was not diminishing his reserve of Cuban distilled Havana Club rum.
‘It’s a party,’ said Andrés.
‘I can see that.’
‘I’m so happy to share my fortune with my friends tonight.’ She saw Northwick across the room and looked defiant, raising her chin. He felt an odd tremor of pride. Good girl.
Raul was unperturbed, stretched out on the tiles like always. He looked up at Northwick and his tail twitched with the suggestion of a wag. The air was humid and laced with the smell of cheap scent and unwashed bodies.
Silence descended as Pedro tapped a knife on the side of a glass. He was a hefty man, shaven-headed and wearing a cold bracelet on one wrist. Northwick recognised the type: performative.
‘I don’t want to spoil Dolores’s party. I’m not gonna make any speeches because Dolores said it all.’ He had a deep sonorous voice. Melodic. ‘We’re all here for the same reason: to make Cuba great again. The papers call it a Cuban financial miracle.’ He meant Granma—the only paper that mattered in Cuba. He looked around the room with natural authority. ‘When you buy into Libre Coin, which I know you all will, you buy into a lifestyle as well as financial security. And you can be sure you’re gonna be saving Cuba from climate change, and providing a future for your kids.’ He reached out a thick arm and rested a hand on Dolores’s bare shoulder. She stiffened. ‘Dolores here is going to make sure you’re not left out. You can be a part of it, and get rich like her.’ He twirled a finger in the air. ‘Look at this place. You think you can’t have a place just like this?’ A murmur had broken out. ‘Thank you for coming. Get your Libre Coin packages from Dolores. I’ll be around if you have any questions.’ As a sudden afterthought, he added: ‘Oh and stick around later for a really big surprise. Even Dolores doesn’t know about this.’
Dolores shot him a quizzical look but he turned away and shook the hand of a gnarled Latino with bright eyes and slick silver hair.
