by Jeanne

In 1952, I was working as a waitress at the Tropicana Club in Havana. My older sister Maria had gotten me the job. I had hoped to be a dancer like Maria, but although Luis, the club owner, said I was pretty enough, he told me I was too short. All of the dancers were at least 5' 7", and I was only 5' 3". It just wouldn't work.

Being a waitress wasn't so bad, though. The tips were pretty good, and I got to see all the acts that played the club. My favorite band was the Havana Melody Boys. Two brothers, Cesar and Nestor Castillo, were the headliners. Cesar, the flamboyant one, did most of the singing, but Nestor, the quiet one, was the real talent in the group. Nestor played the trumpet and wrote most of the songs the band performed. He also had a beautiful voice when he was allowed to sing, which wasn't often. I never understood why Cesar was considered the ladies' man when it was Nestor, with his dark hair and sparkling eyes, who was so devastatingly handsome.

Nestor was in love with my sister Maria, and for a while it seemed that she loved him too. They were going to be married, but that fall, Maria broke the engagement and started dating Luis. I never knew why.

Nestor was downhearted, but I don't think he completely despaired of winning Maria back until one night in October 1952. That night, Maria told me that she and Luis had been married secretly the night before. She hadn't wanted the marriage to be made public until she told Nestor. She had broken the news to him earlier that night, and Nestor hadn't taken it well.

Nestor was a sweet, serious man who had always been kind to me in his quiet way. From listening to his music, I could tell that he was a man of passionate feelings. I hated to think how badly Maria's marriage must have hurt him.

When Nestor didn't show up for the band's last set, I got worried and went looking for him. I found him in the alley behind the club, smoking a cigarette in the dark. When he saw me, he flipped the cigarette away and cleared his throat. He tried to hide his face from me, but I could see him well enough by the light from the neon signs outside the club. His eyes were dark with pain, and his cheeks were wet with tears.

"Oh, Nestor," I said. "Were you thinking about Maria?"

"It does no good to think of her now," he said. "She is married to Luis."

"I know," I said. "I'm sorry."

Nestor's grief was so apparent that I felt like crying myself. I reached up to wipe his tears away, and he caught my hand and kissed my fingers. Still holding my hand, he looked down at me and said, "You're very much like her. So lovely. So sweet."

I put my arms around him then and stood holding him in the night. I lifted my head and kissed his cheeks, still damp with the traces of his tears. Nestor's eyes closed, and his lips parted as if he were about to speak. I covered his mouth with my own before he could send me away. His arms tightened around me, and he kissed me. I didn't care that he was thinking of Maria.

But Nestor knew exactly who he was kissing. "Concha," he murmured, "Conchita." He covered my face with soft kisses. Then his mouth found mine again, and his tongue parted my lips, tasting me. His hands went to my hips, pulling me even closer as his muscular thigh parted my legs. I rubbed against him as our kiss deepened and our breathing quickened.

"Is this what you want, Conchita?" he asked, his voice deep with passion. I wanted him more than I could have thought possible, but I was afraid. I was a young girl, a virgin, and I knew that I would be shamed before my family and the Church if I became pregnant.

Nestor understood. "Don't worry, little one," he said. "I know other ways to please you."

He took my hand and led me through the back door of the club. We turned down a corridor, and he opened the first door we came to. It was the manager's office, but the manager was gone for the night, and the office was dark and empty. Nestor closed the door behind us and locked it.

Nestor pushed my dress above my hips, pulled my panties to the floor, and lifted me onto the manager's desk. He knelt before me, lifting my legs to his shoulders. The stubble of his beard grazed against me as he slowly kissed and gently bit the soft, sensitive flesh of my inner thighs. His tongue found the warm, throbbing wetness between my legs, teasing me at first, then licking me hungrily and thrusting deep inside. I knew then what it was to savor the sweet tension, yet long for the ecstasy of release. I pressed my fist against my mouth to stifle the cries of pleasure as Nestor brought me to complete fulfillment.

When I opened my eyes, Nestor stood before me, aching with the urgency of his own need. I sank to my knees, my hands trembling as I unzipped his trousers and freed his hard, erect manhood. I kissed him, shyly at first. His fingers gently urged my lips apart, and I took him in my mouth. My tongue explored every inch of him as I breathed in his delicious, musky scent. I wanted to give him the same pleasure that he had given me. As I took him deeper and deeper, the pleasure overcame him, and my mouth filled with the hot, salty taste of his passion. He shuddered, and then was still.

Moments later, Nestor helped me to my feet, smoothing my hair and straightening my rumpled dress. He was smiling down at me when we heard shouting from the hall. "Nestor, Nestor! Come quickly! Cesar has been hurt."

Nestor ran from the room, and I followed him to the alley where we had stood earlier that night. Cesar was lying on the ground. His throat had been cut, and he was badly beaten, but still alive. We heard later that Luis was responsible.

When Cesar was well enough to travel, he and Nestor left for America. We never saw them again. Sometime later, we heard that Nestor had been killed in a car crash in New York. Maria was devastated. I think she always loved him.

In my own way, I had loved him too. I thought of Nestor often in the years that passed, and I still think of him sometimes, even today. My only regret is that I didn't give myself to him completely that night at the Tropicana.

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