Dewey said, "Lenny's Canadian. He works in Havana a month on, a month off. He's got an important meeting tomorrow or he'd be up north and we'd'a missed him."
Geis said, "The Cubans do stuff like that on purpose." Set up meetings on Christmas Eve, that's what he apparently meant.
Dewey said, "So we're lucky I ran into him." She was standing behind me, massaging my shoulders, being affectionate-maybe her tourist act, maybe not-letting the men watching know that the game was over, her guy was here. I took an absurd and adolescent pleasure in their disappointment. Thought to myself, You're as bad as they are, aware that Lenny Geis appeared unaffected, like he was just as happy to see me.
I said, "Where in Canada?"
"Montreal," he said. "I've got an office there and my backers have offices in Toronto. Poor Dewey, she had to sit here and listen to the whole story." He looked at her so Dewey could smile and shake her head-she didn't mind. He said, "At first, it sounded like a great assignment. Spend every other month in Havana making contacts, setting up joint ventureships. That's my specialty. You know, laying the groundwork for when the Cuban economy switches to the free market. It has to happen, right? That's when Havana's gonna boom. The first people in, the ones who've done their homework, we're going to make a mountain of money." His tone was confident but his expression was boyish, vulnerable, as if he'd just about reached the end of his endurance but couldn't let himself quit. He said, "I believed that eighteen months ago and I still think it's true. But, man, my time in Havana goes slower and slower and the months I spend at home just fly by. I've got a fiancee up home." He looked at Dewey again-he'd already told her about his girl. "We're supposed to get married in June. Big wedding, catered with an orchestra, the whole works. So I about go nuts missing her, but with this shitty phone system we only talk maybe once a week and most of the time the phone patch doesn't work. Nothing against Cubans, ay? I like the Cubans a lot. But living in Havana is like living on another planet."
I listened to the rounded French vowels and the way he said, "ay?" as if it were an automatic question mark. I said, "You're the one who helped Tomlinson telephone me."
He was nodding. "He needed to call somebody, yeah. I met him out in front of the Hotel Nacional. Took one look at him and knew he was either Canadian or American- the difference might mean a lot in Quebec or Detroit, but not a darn thing down here. I liked him right away. He's an… unusual kind of guy, but nice. He told me about his trouble with the boat and I tried to do what I could." Geis's tone was fraternal-we North Americans have to stick together, right?
Noted the way he said "Quebec"-K-beck. Noted the nearly new Rolex Submariner watch on his left wrist. No rings but a necklace with a thin gold cross around his neck. Religious, perhaps; he was drinking pineapple juice while we sipped beers. I said, "Do you know where Tomlinson is?"
"Wish I did but I don't, sorry. He went somewhere but wouldn't tell me."
"Left Havana, you mean."
"That's what I couldn't figure out. Not many other places in Cuba for an outsider to go. Varadero Beach, maybe. They've got hotels there but very expensive. Pinar del Rio or maybe the Isle of Pines. Anyplace but a tourist area, Tomlinson and his girl wouldn't even be able to get food, because it's all rationed. There's not enough beans and rice for the Cubans. I told him that, but he still wouldn't say."
"Didn't tell you, or wouldn't?"
Geis said, "He wouldn't, so I didn't press it. Truth is, it was none of my business."
"Maybe he took the girl and went and stayed on his boat."
"No-o-o-o, I doubt that. The boats they impound, they keep them under guard out west of the city; this big harbor where they can keep an eye on them. No… he went somewhere, but it wasn't to his boat. Like I said, I tried to talk him out of it."
"But he went anyway, knowing you thought it was a mistake."
Geis smiled, trying to lighten things up. "I'm beginning to think it's a mistake for anyone to come to this island."
He was joking, but his eyes-weary and a little frantic- said he meant it.
Geis told me he was surprised that Tomlinson had left because he and the girl had planned to check in at the Havana Libre. I sat at the table knee-to-knee with Dewey and listened to him say, "Two days ago-yeah, it was Saturday- he came around asking if I could talk to the manager, maybe get him a special rate. Spaniards run this place"- he was talking about the hotel-"so at least it's clean even if the restaurant can't offer much of a menu. The manager works a monthly deal for me; he's become a buddy of mine, so he gave Tomlinson a pretty good discount and I thought everything was set. But early yesterday morning I was in the bar eating breakfast and your friend shows up looking very nervous, like he hadn't slept and maybe was a little hungover. He told me that he had to split. That's what he said, 'split.' And that he needed some money. In the way he talks, like a hippie. I gave him a couple hundred U.S. Figured sooner or later he was good for it."
I asked, "Was the girl with him?"
Geis said, "Julia? No. But I got the impression she had something to do with it. The thing that was upsetting him, why he had to go."
"Tomlinson told you that?"
"Uh-uh." Geis was thinking about it, apparently not sure himself. "When I asked what'd happened-I asked a couple of times-he put me off. Finally, he said, 'Turns out God has assigned me to help Rita,' which didn't make sense to me. Still doesn't, unless Rita's a nickname for Julia." He looked at Dewey. "Is it?"
I told Lenny Geis, "We've never met Julia," wondering what had motivated the woman to tell Tomlinson her real name, Rita Santoya. Watched Geis lift an eyebrow, cock his head-a visual comment: he'd met her but would remain noncommittal unless asked. So I asked.
"She seemed… okay, fairly nice," Geis said. Being diplomatic about it. "Much younger than him and attractive in an… in a plain sort of way. No makeup, very short hair. That type. Always stayed in the background, didn't say much. Was always on the go; didn't hang around with your friend much. I only saw her twice."
"I get the feeling you didn't like her, Lenny."
His smile was an attempt at deflection. "After a month in Havana, I like anybody who's from the States."
"Okay, you liked her but didn't trust her much."
Geis shrugged.
I said, "Lenny… Tomlinson's one of my oldest friends. Maybe you couldn't tell but he's not in the best of health. I'm not asking you to judge the woman, I'm just trying to get a sense of what's going on."
Geis thought about that for a little bit before he said, "Like I mentioned, I didn't talk to her much. I know what it is you're after… yeah, worried about an old friend, but…" He was wrestling with it. Finally, he put his elbows on the table and leaned toward me. "Know what it was? They didn't seem to fit together. Simple as that. You know how certain couples fit? Like my fiancee and me. We fit. You and Dewey, you two fit. But they didn't. It wasn't just her age. It was, well… Tomlinson is so open and outgoing, and she was so… silent. But she didn't miss anything. Always very alert, but it was more than that. Like she was always on her guard. I got the impression that she let Tomlinson do all the talking but, when they got back to the room, she's the one who made the decisions."