street, she had to give in when it came to the skimpy clothes and the songs she would sing.
Discovering the true nature of the place did nothing to quell her anxiety. In the early evening, the bar filled up with provocatively dressed women who wore too much makeup. Little by little, they were joined by men who arrived alone or in groups. Then the girls approached the clients, exchanged a few words, and sat down next to them. An attentive waiter rushed to serve them a glass of champagne. As the performance on stage heated up, so did the relationships between “new friends,” whose suggestive smiles quickly turned into a furtive kiss, and then a prolonged caress, until their hands started shamelessly exploring the foreign body. Eventually, the couples got up and left, arm in arm. Some of the women returned alone a little while later and started the same game anew with another stranger.
When Billie understood what was happening, she relayed her disgust to Orlando, but he brushed it off.
“What does it matter to you what they do? They’re just having a little fun. Nobody’s going to bother you. I already made sure of that, I promise.”
As soon as she finished her performance, Billie hurried to change her clothes and go home, despite Orlando insisting every night that she should stay and have a drink and relax a little. She needed to have fun too, he would tell her. But Billie felt uncomfortable there. She was afraid the men would think she was like the others, a notion that was confirmed by the appraising looks she felt on her as she said good-bye.
Orlando had to stay until closing, so Billie went home alone, unsure what her husband’s real function was at the cabaret—because that’s what the place really was: a cabaret—that was the euphemism Billie used in her mind to avoid a term she didn’t even want to think about. She assumed Orlando was the headwaiter, who managed all the other waiters, maintained order, and paid attention to the clients. But his obligations seemed to include taking especially good care of the girls, a facet of public relations that he performed painstakingly. He treated them with both familiarity and confidence, the way he did the clients, making sure they were all well looked after and making the pertinent introductions when necessary.
Orlando came home at dawn, sometimes well into the morning. At first, Billie asked him why he came home so late when the party hall closed at three in the morning. Initially, Orlando responded easily that Gregorio had asked him to accompany him to another of his places, or that he had to escort two drunk clients back to their hotel. But his answers grew more vague every day, and he seemed to grow annoyed when Billie interrogated him. So she eventually opted to shut her mouth and swallow her tears. She knew her husband was unfaithful with those women. She wasn’t stupid or blind. She saw how he acted in the hall, the excessive liberties they took with him, and how Orlando responded without any qualms, laughing with them, embracing them casually, and greeting them every day with a friendly kiss on the cheek and a slap on the butt. Would it be different if those women knew she was his wife? Maybe that’s why Orlando insisted that they keep it a secret. But, what could she do but bear it and shut up? If she scolded him, it would only make him angry. She loved him madly—he was still her sun god, the light of her life. Anything was better than the prospect of losing him. Maybe things would change with time. This life was so new to both of them. Orlando had always dreamed of a life like this, and he was enjoying it intensely. Soon he would tire of it, and they would go back to being together as before. She didn’t have the slightest doubt. One day, in the not too distant future, they would return to Cuba, or they would move to the United States, to Miami, maybe. They would start a family and live happily ever after. Orlando had promised her as
Discovering the true nature of the place did nothing to quell her anxiety. In the early evening, the bar filled up with provocatively dressed women who wore too much makeup. Little by little, they were joined by men who arrived alone or in groups. Then the girls approached the clients, exchanged a few words, and sat down next to them. An attentive waiter rushed to serve them a glass of champagne. As the performance on stage heated up, so did the relationships between “new friends,” whose suggestive smiles quickly turned into a furtive kiss, and then a prolonged caress, until their hands started shamelessly exploring the foreign body. Eventually, the couples got up and left, arm in arm. Some of the women returned alone a little while later and started the same game anew with another stranger.
When Billie understood what was happening, she relayed her disgust to Orlando, but he brushed it off.
“What does it matter to you what they do? They’re just having a little fun. Nobody’s going to bother you. I already made sure of that, I promise.”
As soon as she finished her performance, Billie hurried to change her clothes and go home, despite Orlando insisting every night that she should stay and have a drink and relax a little. She needed to have fun too, he would tell her. But Billie felt uncomfortable there. She was afraid the men would think she was like the others, a notion that was confirmed by the appraising looks she felt on her as she said good-bye.
Orlando had to stay until closing, so Billie went home alone, unsure what her husband’s real function was at the cabaret—because that’s what the place really was: a cabaret—that was the euphemism Billie used in her mind to avoid a term she didn’t even want to think about. She assumed Orlando was the headwaiter, who managed all the other waiters, maintained order, and paid attention to the clients. But his obligations seemed to include taking especially good care of the girls, a facet of public relations that he performed painstakingly. He treated them with both familiarity and confidence, the way he did the clients, making sure they were all well looked after and making the pertinent introductions when necessary.
Orlando came home at dawn, sometimes well into the morning. At first, Billie asked him why he came home so late when the party hall closed at three in the morning. Initially, Orlando responded easily that Gregorio had asked him to accompany him to another of his places, or that he had to escort two drunk clients back to their hotel. But his answers grew more vague every day, and he seemed to grow annoyed when Billie interrogated him. So she eventually opted to shut her mouth and swallow her tears. She knew her husband was unfaithful with those women. She wasn’t stupid or blind. She saw how he acted in the hall, the excessive liberties they took with him, and how Orlando responded without any qualms, laughing with them, embracing them casually, and greeting them every day with a friendly kiss on the cheek and a slap on the butt. Would it be different if those women knew she was his wife? Maybe that’s why Orlando insisted that they keep it a secret. But, what could she do but bear it and shut up? If she scolded him, it would only make him angry. She loved him madly—he was still her sun god, the light of her life. Anything was better than the prospect of losing him. Maybe things would change with time. This life was so new to both of them. Orlando had always dreamed of a life like this, and he was enjoying it intensely. Soon he would tire of it, and they would go back to being together as before. She didn’t have the slightest doubt. One day, in the not too distant future, they would return to Cuba, or they would move to the United States, to Miami, maybe. They would start a family and live happily ever after. Orlando had promised her as
Similar Books
