Chapter 31
I looked around before going into the bathroom, but the lobby was mostly deserted, and only Fields was watching me. Maricela was on a small sofa in the mirrored lounge area, smoking a cigarette, but she shook her head at me as I heard a flush. I nodded to her and entered a stall.
Water ran from the sink, and I heard a clicking that I assumed was the sound of a powder compact opening, then closing.
I stayed in the stall, not wanting to risk being seen in the same room as Maricela.
Eventually, the outer door shut, and Maricela told me it was clear.
I flushed, washed and dried my hands, then joined her on the sofa.
“The blonde in the purple satin,” Maricela said decisively, taking a long drag on her cigarette.
“You’re sure?”
She nodded. “Absolutamente.”
That one I could understand. “How do you know?” I had seen the woman she was referencing sitting at the bar, but with her alabaster skin and a far more natural-looking head of dirty-blond hair than Patricia’s, we had discounted her.
The mask dropped away from her face entirely, and she looked younger, almost afraid. “Because I’ve seen her before.”
A chill ran down my spine at the way she said it. “Who is she?”
“La diabla,” she said, almost in a whisper. I could have figured out what that one meant from her tone alone. “Her name is Alejandra de Bernal. She fought with Che Guevara’s troops.”
“Women fought in the revolution?”
The hint of a smile crossed her lips, then was gone. “Cuban women are strong. But this one . . .” She shook her head.
“You know her.” It wasn’t a question.
“No,” Maricela said. “Not—not like you think.” She stopped talking, and I waited, hoping she would tell me more.
Eventually, she spoke again. “I wasn’t a ‘favorite’ of Batista’s.
I worked for him.” I could tell she didn’t mean singing.
“I’m not proud of the things I’ve done, but doing them meant I could make a better life for my family.
Until I couldn’t. When he fled—in the night, like a coward—he left us all for the revolutionaries.
They held trials, but they were a joke—what’s the expression?
A kangaroo court?” I nodded. “We were all declared traitors. They started executing people. Castro and Guevara said to spare the women, but she . . .” Maricela shook her head, and I waited again.
It took her a while to continue. “One of Cienfuegos’s men took pity on me and got me out before she could kill me. A fishing boat took me to Miami in the night.” I had seen coverage of Cienfuegos’s alleged death—he had ranked high in Castro’s army but disappeared a few months after the revolution.
“But this Alejandra de Bernal knows who you are?”
Maricela nodded.
“Then you aren’t safe here. You need to leave. Tonight.”
A steeliness returned to her eyes. “I don’t think she saw me. Besides, I’m a civilian now. And a famous one. She wouldn’t risk being exposed over me.” Then her shoulders dropped and she stubbed out her cigarette. “But yes.”
“Where will you go?” I asked, reaching for her hand.
“It’s better for both of us if you don’t know that.” Her eyes fixed on a point over my shoulder, seeing some past that I couldn’t imagine. “Though if she wants to find me, she will.”
I shivered involuntarily, then squared my shoulders. If Fields and I figured out what she was after and broke the story, we could remove the threat. I squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry. But thank you for your help, Maricela. I—we—really appreciate it.”
“Carmen.”
I looked at her, confused. Had she forgotten my name?
She smiled. “You didn’t think I was naive enough to use my real name the other night, did you? I spent four years gathering secrets for a dictator. I’m no one’s fool.”
“No,” I agreed. “You’re not. But promise me you’ll be careful?”
“Por supuesto. Of course, I will. And you, ten cuidado.”
I tried to picture her hiding in the hold of a fishing boat, running for her life, while revolutionaries executed her family and friends.
I knew the stories of the survivors in my own community who had made it here.
The war was over for them at least. For her, it might never be.
I wouldn’t have given a real name the other night either.
I just hoped we weren’t making things worse for her as I unlocked the bathroom door.
Fields was sitting in a lobby chair, watching anxiously for me, and he sprang up as soon as I came out. “Well?” he asked as I reached him.
“I should be getting home,” I said, louder than I needed to. There were a few men in the lobby, and I remembered Maricela’s—Carmen’s—warning that the woman we were looking for may not be alone. “My parents will worry.”
For a second, Fields looked confused, then he nodded and offered me his arm. “We wouldn’t want that.”
I wanted to go back downstairs to watch this Alejandra woman and see what she did. But it would be too conspicuous after we had left. And besides, a glance at my watch told me we did need to get me home if I wanted the freedom to come back another night.
When we were safely back in his car, Fields turned to look at me.
I shook my head. A man had followed us outside and was leaning against the exterior of the hotel, lighting a cigarette.
It was impossible to tell if he was watching us in the darkness.
“Drive,” I said, inclining my head ever so slightly toward the building.
Fields glanced over at the building and laughed. “That’s the deputy director of the FBI. If he’s working for Castro, we’re all in trouble.”
“Oh,” I said sheepishly as he put the car in drive. “Then why did he follow us?”
“I don’t think he did. He always smokes outside.”
I looked over at Fields, illuminated only by the streetlamps we passed under. He did know far more about the important players in this town than I did. “The blonde in the purple satin,” I said. “Maricela recognized her—although her real name is Carmen.”
“The blonde’s name?”
“No, Maricela’s. She lied to us the other night.”
“And you trust her now?”
“I do. The blonde is named Alejandra de Bernal. Carmen called her la diabla.”
“The devil,” Fields said.
I nodded. “She fought alongside Che Guevara’s troops to overthrow Batista and put Castro in. Carmen wasn’t a singer—that was her cover. She worked for Batista—it sounds like as a spy for him. And this Alejandra woman was going to kill her, but a soldier took pity on her and helped her escape.”
“That’s . . . a lot.”
“Yeah. Have you seen her here before?”
Fields tilted his head, still focused on the road. “Maybe? I don’t know.” His eyes darted in my direction. “If I’m being honest, I’m usually only paying attention to the women if they come in with someone interesting. Or leave with someone more interesting.”
“But you noticed me,” I blurted out. Then I wished I could sink into the sagging bench seat and disappear.
“You’re hard not to notice. You were choking. Loudly. Remember?”
I did, and I was glad he couldn’t see me blushing. “Martinis and I don’t get along,” I said much more nonchalantly than I felt.
“Apparently not.”
For a few minutes, neither of us spoke. “What do we do next?” I asked.
“We check the vice president’s schedule and go back when he’s free. And then we try to follow her up to the second floor to be sure.” Fields stopped at a red light.
“And then what?”
A muscle in his jaw tightened. “And then, if she does go up there, we have to figure out this ‘mass goal.’ And why a Russian is involved.”
I thought for a minute. “How do we get the vice president’s schedule?”
Fields smiled as I studied his profile. “That one’s easy. I call his press secretary and ask for it. Being the junior press secretary who is known for asking for annoying details does have its perks sometimes.” He paused. “Did this Alejandra recognize Carmen?”
“She didn’t think so. But she’s leaving tonight just in case.”
His eyes narrowed. “If this woman at the bar is that dangerous—”
“Don’t even say it,” I interrupted. “I’m not afraid.” It wasn’t entirely true. What Carmen had told me definitely rattled me. But the excitement at my hunch being right, at uncovering something—even if we didn’t fully know what it was yet—overshadowed that. And there was no way I was backing down.
He exhaled audibly but didn’t reply.
When we got to Silver Spring, I had Fields pull over on a side street again so I could change back into the dress I had left in.
He didn’t protest when I asked him to unzip me, though I thought I caught his eyes darting to the rearview mirror once.
But it was dark and hard to tell. I climbed back into the front seat and pulled a tissue from my purse to wipe the red lipstick away.
There wasn’t much I could do with the additional eyeliner, but I doubted my mother would look that closely.
I directed Fields back to the house, where he pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. “They’ll ask me when I’m seeing you again.”
He thought for a second. “Tell them I have to check my work schedule, but definitely this week.”
“Okay,” I said. I knew I should get out of the car. Especially when I saw a flutter at one of the living room curtains. But part of me was looking for a reason to stay. “Did you know that women fought in the revolution in Cuba?”
“It wasn’t a lot of them, but yes.” He was looking at me, our hands close on the bench seat. I hadn’t been on a lot of dates, but I had been on enough of them to know that look. “I guess they weren’t afraid either.”
“I should go,” I said quickly, then I pointed toward the front window. “That’s either my mom or my grandmother watching us. Or both.”
“My money is on your grandmother,” he said. “She seems like fun.”
“That’s one way to put it. Good night, Fields.”
“Good night,” he said. But he stayed in the driveway until I was safely inside. Which I knew, because I glanced back when I reached the door.
My grandmother was on the sofa, snoring lightly when I shut the door.
I flipped on the light. “You can stop pretending. I saw you watching us.”
She sat up. “You should have kissed him. What if your mother had been the one watching?”
“Good night, Grandma,” I said sharply as I started up the stairs.
“Where did I go wrong with that girl?” she asked herself.
I shook my head.
But as I lay in bed that night, I remembered Fields saying he had noticed me that first night at Off the Record because I had been choking. Except that wasn’t true. He had raised a glass to me when he saw me walk in and only came over when I choked.