Free Havana Jazz Club by Lola Mariné Page A

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