Chapter 30
I thought Maricela would either already be at the bar or walk in later, but she was sitting in the hotel lobby, smoking a cigarette, when we arrived. She stood up when she saw us and inclined her head toward the restrooms. Then she turned and walked into the ladies’ room.
I looked to Jack. “I think she wants me to follow her.”
He didn’t seem to know what was going on any more than I did. “See what she says?” he murmured.
Shoulders back and head held high with a confidence I did not feel right then, I followed, only to see an empty room. The door closed and clicked shut behind me, and I felt a chill run down my back.
Maricela had turned the lock on the door.
For a split second, I thought Maricela was the person we had been looking for after all, and I was in real trouble. But she smiled, leaned in to embrace me, and kissed both of my cheeks.
“Amor,” she said warmly. I knew no Spanish, but from her tone, I could tell it was a term of endearment. “You look beautiful.”
I felt my shoulders relax. “Not compared to you.”
She smiled and touched the ends of my hair.
“What’s the expression? Apples and oranges.
” Then she leaned in closer. “Now listen—we cannot be seen together. You go and pretend you’re on a date.
But look around the room. Notice everyone.
When I leave, wait five minutes and meet me in here again.
” Her face darkened. “If I can spot your Cubana, she can almost definitely spot me. I was well known . . . in certain circles.”
“And our cover is blown if she sees us with you.”
“If you want to get close to her, yes. And I didn’t escape by lying in the smuggling hold of a fishing boat overnight to be killed now.”
I swallowed. “You think—?”
“Whoever she is, she’s not here for the weather.
Trust me. That’s better in Cuba.” She saw the fear in my face and put a hand on my arm.
“We’ll try to figure it out. But remember—she may not be the only agent in the room.
” She shook her head. “I’ll see what I can find out.
You go out first and get a table where you have a good view of the room. I’ll follow.”
I looked at her, wondering what this woman had been through. “Be safe,” I told her.
“Ten cuidado,” she said. “You too.”
Ten cuidado, I repeated in my head as I unlocked the door and went back into the lobby.
I didn’t know what it meant, but the way she had said it sounded musical.
My grandparents had traveled to Havana once, when I was small, and I wondered if relations between our countries would ever warm enough for me to see Maricela’s homeland as well.
Or if she would ever be able to see it again.
Fields was waiting, perched on the arm of a chair, and rose quickly when he saw me. I smiled, though I was quite honestly still annoyed at him about the name stunt, and took his arm, leaning up to kiss his cheek. He looked down at me in surprise.
“Pretend we’re on a date,” I whispered, glancing around to make sure we were unobserved. A man in a suit walked past us without a second look.
“Are your parents here?” He looked around.
I reached up and turned his head back toward mine, feeling the smoothness of his recently shaved cheek. “Maricela said if she can spot a Cuban”—Cubana, I thought—“they can likely spot her. We leave five minutes after she does, and she tells me what she saw.”
He nodded slowly. “That makes sense. Should we head in?” He took a step forward, but I didn’t move yet.
“Fields,” I said quietly. “She said our Cuban woman may not be there alone. We need to play this off well.”
“I should take you home,” he said decisively. “This was a mistake.”
My eyes narrowed. “Easy there, Lancelot. I told you, I don’t need a knight. This is my story.”
“Judy—”
“Fields, you can come with me, or I’m going alone. But I’m not going home until we know something.”
He stared at me, and finally his shoulders dropped in defeat, then he took my hand. “So your mother doesn’t approve of my car, huh?”
I looked at him with an eyebrow raised. What did that matter?
“Play along,” he whispered. “We’re on a date.”
“Do you approve of your car?”
He laughed, and it only sounded a little forced as we walked toward the staircase that would take us to the subterranean bar. “When I get promoted to senior White House correspondent, I’ll upgrade.”
“Yes, but my mother is on the phone with yours right now asking about your ability to support me.”
“Is she really?”
“Either that or telling her we can live with my parents when we get married.”
Fields laughed, shaking his head. “Jewish mothers.”
We selected a corner table, and I slid into the booth, unwilling to give up my view of the room.
Fields sat beside me, surprising me at first, our legs pressed together under the table.
I inched slightly away. It wasn’t a real date after all.
But sitting together, we could both see the room and could talk more quietly than we could have across from each other.
“I’ll get us drinks,” he said suddenly. “Did you like what you had the other night?”
I shook my head. “Water. We need clear heads.”
“You’ll look conspicuous not drinking at a bar—why wouldn’t we go to a restaurant instead? You should have a drink, even if you nurse one all night.”
I sighed. “Fine. That again.”
“I’ll be right back.”
He went to the bar, and I took the opportunity to look around.
Several couples sat in booths like we did.
A group of women clustered together at a bigger table, glancing frequently at the door.
A handful of men sat at the bar, seemingly alone, and two men talked to elegantly dressed women at the bar.
No one stood out to me as Latin. But other than stereotypically darker hair, skin, and eyes, I didn’t know what would give them away.
Fields returned quickly and handed me a coupe glass. I noticed his glass held brown liquor, ice, an orange slice, and two cherries on a stick. “What are you drinking?”
“An old-fashioned.”
“What is that?”
He pushed his untouched glass toward me. “Try it.”
I took a small sip, making a face as it went down. “Not for me.”
He shrugged, taking the glass back. I reached over when he put it down and took the stick, sliding one of the cherries into my mouth.
“Rude,” he said mildly. “But sexy.”
I flushed. “Not a real date,” I reminded him quietly. “We’re working.”
“Right. But we do need to play the part.” He took a much longer drink, letting his eyes wander the room as Maricela walked in. Most people turned to look at her, I noticed. I wondered what that felt like—I was pretty enough, but no one was going to use the words glamorous or buxom to describe me.
I sipped the champagne cocktail, the bubbles tickling my throat. “I think we can rule out the table of girls.”
“I agree.”
I looked at him quizzically. “Why do you say that?”
“They’re watching the door. They’re hoping for one of the president’s or vice president’s staffers.” He glanced over at me. “I come here a lot. Remember?”
I wondered if he had ever picked up one of the girls who didn’t make it to the White House or a room upstairs. Not that it was my business. I looked their table over, trying to figure out which one would be his type.
Then I realized he had said something, and I’d missed it. “Sorry?”
“Why did you say it’s not them?”
“Their dresses are cheap. See that lump in the back of the redhead’s? She kept the tag in—she’s returning it tomorrow, buying another, and trying again. And they’re being too obvious that they’re watching the door. If we’re looking for a professional, she’s going to pretend not to care who’s here.”
“That leaves the women on dates or the two at the bar.”
“If our girl is here.”
“If we’re right about Texas, tonight is a good bet,” Fields said.
A man left the bar and approached Maricela, where she had sat alone at a table, across the room from us.
She smiled, her head tilted, and said something to him.
He decamped to the bar, returning with a glass of champagne for her.
He started to sit, but she shook her head, offering her hand instead, palm down, like my grandmother had.
He kissed it, then returned to the bar. She caught my eye and winked, then quickly looked away, taking a sip of champagne.
“The brunette,” I said, watching a woman pick up a cigarette at the bar. “She looks like she could be Cuban.”
Fields shook his head. “That’s why I don’t think it’s her. It’s too obvious.”
Another woman got up unsteadily from a table where she had been sitting with a man and left the room. “Her?” I asked. “She could be going upstairs.”
“Bathroom, more likely,” Fields said. “Besides, she’s here with a congressman from Georgia.”
I squinted at the man’s profile, recognizing him. “Seriously, is there anyone in Washington who doesn’t cheat on his wife?”
Fields chuckled. “You’re sitting with him.”
“You don’t have a wife.”
“Yet. A shidduch made in heaven,” he said, mimicking my mother in a falsetto.
I smacked him lightly with the back of my hand. “That was your own fault. If you’d used Fleishman, like I said, she wouldn’t be out renting a chuppah right now.”
“Is the rabbi going to be there with a ketubah when I drop you off?”
“Possibly.”
“Would that be the end of the world?”
I had taken a sip of my drink and started to choke on it. Fields whacked me on the back apologetically. “I’m considering that as an attempt on my life,” I wheezed when I could speak.
He laughed, and the woman I had suspected returned to the congressman’s table.
For over an hour, we watched people come and go, sometimes arriving together and leaving together, sometimes arriving alone and leaving together, sometimes leaving as alone as they had arrived. But we saw nothing we could tie to our lead.
And then, Maricela stood up from her table, leaving a half-finished drink, and made her way to the door, not sparing us a glance.
“That’s our signal,” I said to Fields, excited. “She saw something.”
“How do you know?”
“She told me to wait five minutes when she left, then meet her back in the bathroom.” I turned to him. “Is anyone watching her go?”
“Everyone is watching her go,” he said, confused. “Why?”
“In case Havana isn’t alone.”
Fields shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m looking for.”
I glanced around the room, then down at my watch, marking the time. “Look at me then. In case anyone is watching.”
He leaned in close until our foreheads were nearly touching, and I felt my breath catch.
I had finished my drink. I hadn’t meant to. But that was all the light-headed feeling was. And the excitement.
Our legs were touching—I didn’t know when the distance between us had closed again, and my palm was in his, his other hand lightly tracing the lines of mine. I took my hand back, making a big show of looking at my watch.
“We should be getting back,” I said loudly. “My parents will worry if we’re too late.”
Fields’s lips twitched in a smile. “We’ll tell them my car broke down.”
“Your car might just do that,” I shot back, and he laughed. “Better get that promotion soon, Fields.”
“Or we’ll just take your father’s car next time. Leonard, give him your keys.” His impression of my mother was good.
He took my hand and placed it in the crook of his arm as we stood up, and together we climbed the stairs to the lobby.