Read Online Havana Harvest by Robert Landori - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Landori
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twenties never mentioned: not in the press, not on radio or TV, not even by word of mouth. Nobody dared talk about Tere's exploits—her father was too powerful.
Though Mrs. De la Fuente kept complaining about being late, she was actually very happy when people had to wait for her. It gave her the opportunity for a grand entrance to show off her new dress, created exclusively for her by her dressmaker who, safe in Cuba, had no scruples about knocking off Thierry Mugler's latest collection numbers. Petite and curvaceous, she had the ideal figure for this famous designer's outfits.
With all eyes on her, Tere headed for the bar at the entrance to the dining room while her husband, three steps behind her, did his best to ignore the lascivious glances cast in his wife's direction by every man and woman in the place.
As De la Fuente expected, Ivan Spiegel, the British businessman, dressed in a blinding white, intricately embroidered guayabera, black mohair slacks, and Gucci loafers, was at the bar, accompanied by two beautiful women. At five-foot-six in elevator shoes and reminiscent of Dudley Moore, he was an impeccable dresser, wiry, excitable, and funny. Plus, he was living testimony to the adage that opposites attract. He loved tall, well-endowed women, and probably because he treated all his dates generously and with great courtesy, he was much sought after in Havana.
“Tere,” he called out, rushing to meet her. “What a striking ensemble.” He bowed and kissed her hand. “You look beautiful as ever!” Then he grabbed De la Fuente's outstretched hand and pumped it vigorously.
“Nice to see you, Oscar, you old rascal. What'll you have to drink?”
In spite of himself De la Fuente laughed. Spiegel's good humor was infectious. “We'll have margaritas, as usual,” he replied, and Spiegel turned to the bartender, “And make them doubles.”
He helped Maria Teresa hop on the barstool next to a stunning redhead, smiled, and bowed again. “This is Gladys. They call her Zanahoria, carrot-head, because of her natural, beautiful hair color.” He looked at Tere suggestively. “All over, I might add.”
She gave a throaty laugh and smiled at the girl. “How do you do,” she said, and then turned to the blond on her other side. “And you— what is your name?”
Ivan was quick to answer for her. “Regina is Gladys's colleague.” He grinned and winked. Tere laughed. “You're incorrigible, you know that?”
Ivan threw up his hands in mock resignation. “Can I help it that I'm a great success with women? I love them all.”
The margaritas arrived and the maître d' came around with the menus. A quarter hour was spent chatting, choosing the food and selecting the wines. It was close to ten by the time they sat down to dine and they continued to eat right through the floor show.
When the lights came on again the ladies excused themselves, and Ivan turned to Oscar. “Alone at last,” he said loudly with a sigh. His mouth was smiling, but there was no humor in his steel grey eyes. “What's up?” he asked quietly.
De la Fuente guffawed, pretending to have just heard a great joke.
“Operation Adios is blown,” he stated in a matter-of-fact voice.
“How?” In spite of his considerable self-discipline, Spiegel, who was De la Fuente's CIA control, turned a sickly grey.
Spiegel had started dealing with the Castro government as soon as the U.S. embargo had come into effect. Through his Spanish company, Celsa, he supplied Cuba with goods of U.S. origin obtained in Canada, in Holland, in the U.K., and wherever available. Celsa was, in a way, a predecessor of the Ministry of the Interior's Department Z, which Spiegel helped create when it became apparent that Celsa could supply only a fraction of Cuba's needs.
Celsa continued to flourish not only because it provided very efficient service, but also because it supplied difficult-to-obtain non-humanitarian goods: tires for Havana's aged police Harley Davidsons
Though Mrs. De la Fuente kept complaining about being late, she was actually very happy when people had to wait for her. It gave her the opportunity for a grand entrance to show off her new dress, created exclusively for her by her dressmaker who, safe in Cuba, had no scruples about knocking off Thierry Mugler's latest collection numbers. Petite and curvaceous, she had the ideal figure for this famous designer's outfits.
With all eyes on her, Tere headed for the bar at the entrance to the dining room while her husband, three steps behind her, did his best to ignore the lascivious glances cast in his wife's direction by every man and woman in the place.
As De la Fuente expected, Ivan Spiegel, the British businessman, dressed in a blinding white, intricately embroidered guayabera, black mohair slacks, and Gucci loafers, was at the bar, accompanied by two beautiful women. At five-foot-six in elevator shoes and reminiscent of Dudley Moore, he was an impeccable dresser, wiry, excitable, and funny. Plus, he was living testimony to the adage that opposites attract. He loved tall, well-endowed women, and probably because he treated all his dates generously and with great courtesy, he was much sought after in Havana.
“Tere,” he called out, rushing to meet her. “What a striking ensemble.” He bowed and kissed her hand. “You look beautiful as ever!” Then he grabbed De la Fuente's outstretched hand and pumped it vigorously.
“Nice to see you, Oscar, you old rascal. What'll you have to drink?”
In spite of himself De la Fuente laughed. Spiegel's good humor was infectious. “We'll have margaritas, as usual,” he replied, and Spiegel turned to the bartender, “And make them doubles.”
He helped Maria Teresa hop on the barstool next to a stunning redhead, smiled, and bowed again. “This is Gladys. They call her Zanahoria, carrot-head, because of her natural, beautiful hair color.” He looked at Tere suggestively. “All over, I might add.”
She gave a throaty laugh and smiled at the girl. “How do you do,” she said, and then turned to the blond on her other side. “And you— what is your name?”
Ivan was quick to answer for her. “Regina is Gladys's colleague.” He grinned and winked. Tere laughed. “You're incorrigible, you know that?”
Ivan threw up his hands in mock resignation. “Can I help it that I'm a great success with women? I love them all.”
The margaritas arrived and the maître d' came around with the menus. A quarter hour was spent chatting, choosing the food and selecting the wines. It was close to ten by the time they sat down to dine and they continued to eat right through the floor show.
When the lights came on again the ladies excused themselves, and Ivan turned to Oscar. “Alone at last,” he said loudly with a sigh. His mouth was smiling, but there was no humor in his steel grey eyes. “What's up?” he asked quietly.
De la Fuente guffawed, pretending to have just heard a great joke.
“Operation Adios is blown,” he stated in a matter-of-fact voice.
“How?” In spite of his considerable self-discipline, Spiegel, who was De la Fuente's CIA control, turned a sickly grey.
Spiegel had started dealing with the Castro government as soon as the U.S. embargo had come into effect. Through his Spanish company, Celsa, he supplied Cuba with goods of U.S. origin obtained in Canada, in Holland, in the U.K., and wherever available. Celsa was, in a way, a predecessor of the Ministry of the Interior's Department Z, which Spiegel helped create when it became apparent that Celsa could supply only a fraction of Cuba's needs.
Celsa continued to flourish not only because it provided very efficient service, but also because it supplied difficult-to-obtain non-humanitarian goods: tires for Havana's aged police Harley Davidsons
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