The Birthday Cake

It’s after midnight, Sunday morning in Key West. 

Henry’s in bed with his Cuban wife Lucia, who’s sound asleep. He hears something so he gets up and goes to the window and looks out. A full moon hangs in the sky, it’s got scars and deep eye sockets, a nose, even lips, resembling Al Capone, without a cigar to chomp on. 

There’s enough light to see everything in the backyard, vines crawling over the fence, untrimmed bushes, and a wooden hot tub. 

He walks out the patio door into the backyard, which he and Lucia call the jungle, placing his hand in the hot tub, the water is cold. 

Tired he turns around and goes back to bed, unable to sleep, moving back and forth as he turns over and over. 

Lucia’s sleeping on her side. Her long legs are stretched out, taking up her side of the bed and his too. Her mouth is gaped and her arms hug a pillow on her chest. Henry pushes and pushes on her, but she just groans. 

In the kitchen, he goes to the liquor cabinet, taking out a bottle of vodka and a quart of orange juice, mixing them in a tall glass.

He goes back to the bedroom, takes off his bathrobe, walks through the patio door, turns on the hot tub, and waits for it to heat up, then getting inside with drink in hand, looking into the sky, feeling elated. 

The couple's bungalow is near the flight path of Key West International Airport. A passenger jet is descending, the pilot maneuvers the rudders aligning the plane with the runway, and begins the descent, lowering engine speed.  

Henry raises his eyes and sees the blinking lights and a long white stream of exhaust. He imagines the people on the plane as they sat belted into their seats—some involved in reading, some, just staring out the windows. 

Reflecting, it comes to him that his life didn’t remotely resemble the life he thought he’d have when he was young and looking ahead to things. 

He gets out of the hot tub, walks through the open patio door into the bedroom. Naked and wet getting into bed, pulling the sheets up, and closing his eyes. 

Lucia's snoring, he pokes her but it doesn’t do any good. He would tell her over breakfast in the morning that she was snoring, knowing she wouldn't admit it. It was the same when she farted, blaming it on the Chihuahuas. 

The following morning Henry wakes up at noon, still feeling tired. He walks to the kitchen in his boxer shorts, Lucia is sitting at the round table. She gets up and makes him some toast, and pours him a large cup of brewed coffee with cream. She hugs him and says,

happy birthday mi amor! 

Oh, it’s my birthday? 

Yes, today’s July 3, 1984, you were born in 51. 

2051?

Fuck you, pendejo, enjoy your coffee, I’m going shopping. 

OK, beautiful, I have editing to do.

How about mowing the lawn? Just the front yard, if you like let the grass in the backyard go to seed.

Lucia goes to the bedroom, leaving the mess in the kitchen for the birthday boy to clean. 

She removes her robe, standing naked in front of the mirror, eyeballing her flawless chest, wobbling her breast from side to side. Then, taking a bra and a pair of panties out of the dresser, easing into the garments, 

She wraps a green patterned scarf around her torso, tucking the material in at her breast to secure it. 

Looking racy in sarong and flip-flops, she walks outside and gets on the couple's Vespa, driving to an old-style bakery on Duvall Street in downtown Key West, parking the scooter on the sidewalk.

After looking through a loose-leaf binder with photographs of cakes taped on the pages, she chooses a German chocolate cake with mermaid decorations.

The name HENRY, would be in raised green letters beneath the mermaid and shells. 

The baker's Polish with a thick neck, pale skin, and bald with strands of thin hair hanging over his ears. Lucia says, 

I'm so excited it's my husbands birthday, my neighbors recommend you— he interrupts saying, 

That’s nice ma’am—  we’re out of German chocolate cake, we’ll have more in a few days. I have chocolate cakes in the cooler, I can decorate one in twenty minutes.

The bakery has a round case filled with powder-white cookies, donuts, loaves of bread, and rolls. The baker and the walls are the same shade of powder-white. It's as if the shop is bellowing the word— dull.

Lucia could see the name, Ed Dudek, on the city and state licenses hung in frames behind the counter.

That's fine Ed, it’s Ed, right? I'll take chocolate. 

She sits on a wooden bench next to the entrance— a Cuban woman walks in, looking at Lucia, saying eagerly in Spanish, 

Dios mios, Lucia Varga, la Cubano movie star. I loved you in The Last Supper and Vampiras de Havana. Is it true you were Castro’s lover? 

si cariño, El Presidente es adicto al sexo. Do you live in Key West? 

No, my husband, Pedro and I live in Little Miami, we boated here on our Regal Express Cruiser to fish, Pedro loves fishing, 

ooh ah, El Expresso, the super cruiser.

Ed comes to the counter with Henry's birthday cake, puts it in a box, ties it securely with string, and places it in a paper bag saying, 

twelve thirty-five ma’am. 

She hands him a ten and a five-dollar bill, he makes change— a dollar bill, two quarters, a dime, and a nickel.

mucho gracias, handsome.

Ed's neck flushes, he's as plain as a plank. Lucia turns around, passing her Cubano admirer on the way out, saying, 

good luck fishing, chica.

She places the cake in a wicker basket on the back of the scooter, installed a week ago at Enzo’s Vespa Repair. 

Home, in the kitchen, Lucia sets the wrapped cake on the counter, taking the box out of the paper bag, cutting the string with scissors, and opening the box. The birthday cake smelled of rich chocolate, she was happy with it. 

Henry walks into the kitchen, looking at the birthday cake, grinning and saying, 

the fish girls topless, that’s novel.

Don't bother acting like you care, pendejo. I’ve invited the next-door neighbors, Dick and Jane Byrd for dinner. 

The Byrds? What happened to Pedro,? Our pet woodpecker, I miss him.  

I think he flew north to Big Cypress National Preserve, looking for tall pines.  

The Byrds show at 7 PM. The front door is open and they walk inside, grinning ear to ear. Dick says, 

me Tarzan, she Jane, Henry laughs saying, 

where's Cheetah? 

He’s home nursing a hangover, so what’s cookin? 

Peking duck, on the way from Fu King Chinese. 

Lucia comes into the living room asking, 

how bout drink? 

The little lady and I would love to sample Cuba’s national drink. She answers nervously, 

not mojitos, I don’t have fresh mint, 

OK, cubre libras, viva la revolution!

comer mierda Tarzan, after Castro’s Septiembre 26 Revolution the dictatorship arrested thousands of innocent Cubanos. The Cuban revolution was a knotty subject for Lucia— Henry attempts to ice things over,

take it, easy darling, Tarzan's just having fun, come on its drinky-pooh time. 

She goes to the kitchen for drinks

Dick and Jane have been sitting on the living room sofa for an hour, petting the Chihuahuas. Henry says,

the Chis like you, maybe they smell Cheetah.

The doorbell rings, it’s the delivery from Fu King Chinese, 

Lucia opens the front door, a middle-aged Chinaman wearing a white apron says, 

Fu King Chinese, Lucowski? Henry answers, 

yeah, that'd be me.

$22.95, 

Tarzan jumps up and hands the Chinaman a twenty and a five, saying, 

keep the change Confucious. 

The Chinaman turns, walking outside to his car that's parked in the driveway, an early model Daihatsu. Lucia says, 

Let's go to the kitchen.

She carries the paper bags of Chinese food to the kitchen— the bags are warm and smell like stir-fried noodles and soy sauce.

Then she places a couple of pitchers of cubre libros on the round table, Tarzan grabs one and pours Jane and Henry a drink saying, 

are the cubra libros made with Cuban rum? Otherwise, the drinks are rum and cokes. Lucia laughs saying, 

sure, apeman, the drinks are authentic, I mixed them with cheap Havana Club. Henry makes an admission.

To tell you the truth, we didn't order Peking Duck, it’s greasy you know. The Chineses pump air under the skin of dead ducks, separating the skin from the meat, then frying the works. You wouldn’t like it— the end product is like a potato chip, but chewy. Tarzan and Jane laugh, then he somberly says, 

I want to raise a glass to an absolute gentleman, a loving husband, and one hell of a writer.

Henry and Jane lift their glasses following Dick’s lead—  The air is thick as they wait for Lucia, who turns a blind eye to the celebrants, then clicking glasses, downing their drinks without her.  

The toast is a classy touch. It's clear the Byrds are more level headed than their neighbors the Lucowskis 

Lucia carries 6 bowls of Chinese food to the round table on a tray and sets them down— egg rolls, sesame chicken, wonton soup, fried rice, sweet and sour chicken. Henry, tells Lucia, 

darling, you forgot the forks.

She stands, moving to the counter, bringing chopsticks, tablespoons, napkins, and placing them on the table in a bundle saying, 

you pendejos can help yourself you know, I'm not your donkey.

Jane hasn't said a word in more than an hour, overpowered by her puckish hubby Tarzan perhaps. She says,  

Who does your hair, Lucia? It’s gorgeous.

A Cubano friend, Ava, her salon's downtown. Jane, do you like my tetas? 

Lucia shakes her upper torso side to side a few times. 

Jane’s flushed, she’s as flat as a board. Tarzan intervenes, 

she knows I love her as she is. You know how it goes, small tits, big ass— small ass, big tits. Henry says, 

Jane's got a big ass, huh? My wife has it all, she’s the total Cubano package. Lucia says, 

Is that what I am to you, pendejo, a piece of carne you use to get your rocks off? 

The gang burst into laughter, and Tarzan says,

Your a doll Lucia, we love you.   

Muchas gracias, Tarzan, I’m going to make coffee and we can sing happy birthday to my sexist husband. 

When the coffee is brewed, she pours it in a ceramic pot with a spout, then mixing in hot cream and Kahlua.

She lights the green candles on the birthday cake. Carrying it to the round table and placing it in the center. Tarzan says, 

Lucia, how about singing the Cuban version of happy birthday?

She doesn’t hesitate because the candles are burning low, belting out the Cubano rendition— mezzo-soprano. She sings with confidence because she was on stage in Havana. 

Feliz, feliz en tu día,
Henry (a) qué Dios te bendiga,
Qué reine la paz en tu día,
Y qué cumplas muchos más.

Feliz, feliz en tu día,
Amiguito(a) qué Dios te bendiga,
Qué reine la paz en tu día,
Y qué cumplas muchos más.

The birthday goers are beaming as they eat cake and sip Mexican coffee. Henry says raising his cup,

AIN'T IT GRAND FOLKS?

Somewhere over the rainbow

Skies are blue

And the dreams that you dare to dream

Really do come true

                                    (Somewhere Over the Rainbow)