Havana, Baby!

"Spark 1171, read-back correct. Information Hotel will be current in two minutes."

"Thank you. We'll get hotel in the taxi."

"If you don't have a reservation for a room, you shouldn't hail a cab," the controller joked back.

I grinned. Mack was absolutely on top of things and the punning around with ATC added to the day's pleasant start.

He asked for and received our clearance to push back from our gate, and a tug did its thing as I began the process of cranking the two CFM56 engines. He also listened to the ATIS for the updated information. Barely five minutes later, we were holding short of our departure runway. We were soon airborne and on our way to Cuba.

We were above ten thousand feet when we released our shoulder harnesses. Mack asked, "Have you ever had a proper Cuban sandwich?"

"Not once. Proper or not, I'm not even sure what they are."

"Most Americans are only familiar with them because they came to life in Florida. It's a hot sandwich made with roasted pork, ham, salami, mustard, Swiss cheese, and dill pickles. The real deal in Cuba is called a medianoche which means midnight in Spanish. The best purveyors grill a medianoche over a fire, not in a frying pan or panini press," he explained. "What really sends it over the top is the pan cubano . Cuban sweet bread."

"Oh?" I chuckled.

"There's a place not far from the hotel which rates pretty high. Maybe you'd like to go there for dinner?"

"That might work. We can poll the rest of the crew after we check in at the hotel to see who wants to go along. I also want to see if⁠—"

"Brandi? I was sort of wondering … if it …" he spoke sort of timidly, "… maybe it could be just you and me? Just … us, maybe?" He nervously cleared his throat. "It's okay either way."

Only then did I realize what he was suggesting. My brain rattled in its enclosure trying to decide how to respond, because I didn't want the man to my right distracted with what I suspected might come as a disappointment.

"Let's figure it out on the ground, okay?"

He nodded.

He'd used my first name. It never bothered me when anyone did. We all worked for the same company, fulfilling our various responsibilities in different ways, so I had no problems with familiarity. On the opposite end of the spectrum were people too self-absorbed with their rank and demanded it be used in any situation, sometimes even out of uniform. Rob and I had received Christmas cards signed Captain John and Mrs. Jane Doe which always made me roll my eyes because the rank was meaningless off the job.

Mack's smile was truly kind. He was absolutely a nice guy. I probably would have accepted his invitation for a date if I weren't happily involved, and that very thought made me turn my head toward the side window so I could smile. I was happily involved! I was absolutely in love with a man sitting in a first-class seat barely thirteen feet behind me. I pulled a sheet of paper from a pad I kept in my flight kit and scribbled a note.

Robin, I love the crap out of you. I truly do. I'll tell you about it later, but something (nothing serious) just happened that made me think about it. I am so freaking happy to be your wife and I love you to death!!!

The crew in the back had begun cabin service. The purser would soon offer us snacks and whatnot.

When the interphone chimed, Mack answered and listened.

"Would you like anything from the galley?" he asked me.

"A can of Diet Coke and some ice in my thermal, please?" I said, placing my insulated spill-proof Yeti where it could be reached by the attendant we allowed onto the flight deck a minute later.

I slipped the note to her to give to my husband.

When she returned with our refreshments, she said, "He told me to tell you, 'Right back at you, babe, same for me.'"

"Who said what now?" Mack asked.

I was rescued when the Cuban controller called with a crossing restriction. Mack understood the Hispanic-accented controllers better than me, so I was thankful he was the pilot monitoring and thus responsible for radio communications. I flew the convoluted approach to a visual landing on runway 24 at Havana's Jose Marti airport, bang on time.

My husband was waiting at the foot of the jet bridge as were several members of the replacement crew. The captain and I exchanged brief information as a hand-off, then they boarded.

"Rob, I'd like you to meet Mack McGarry." I introduced the man I'd flown alongside. "Mack, this is Rob, my husband of exactly one year. Today is our first anniversary."

A saw the cadence of their handshake falter for a split second.

"Oh! Uh … it's a pleasure to meet you. I've enjoyed flying with Brandi. She and I … she's one of the good guys⁠—er, gals⁠—uh, ones . She's one of the good ones."

"Who landed?" Rob asked.

"Don't answer that," I interjected.

"I'll head to the shuttle, Br⁠—Captain Grant," Mack said, quickly extending the handle of his roll-aboard case.

"Okay, we'll be right behind you," I said as he turned and walked briskly away.

"What was that all about?" Rob asked. "His handshake weakened in the middle of your introduction."

"I think it was the my husband bit."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. That's what I was vaguely mentioning in the note I passed you. He sort of asked me out to dinner tonight. Alone dinner. Not crew dinner."

"Ah," he said with arched eyebrows. "I'm guessing you declined?"

"I changed the subject. We'll see what happens now."

"How awkward."

I agreed.

ROBIN
Havana, Cuba
Saturday, March 14, 2020 12:18pm

I was the last to board the van at the curb, sitting next to Brandi. I'd already been introduced as her husband to three of the crew. Mack certainly knew, as did the purser, Natasha, and the note-passer, a pretty gal named Kennedy Ames.

I was introduced to the others. The sole male flight attendant, the one I'd committed to send a book, was named Telo Solas, and the last was LaTasha White.

"Who has the crew juice?" Sr. Solas asked. He was the fluently bilingual member of the crew.

"Me," LaTasha answered, "but I ain't taking it out in here. You get busted on the streets of Cuba with alcohol, you're done in, my friend."

"You took quite a risk sneaking it through customs," said Mack.

"Huh-uh. I declared it. The customs guy's eyebrows told me he knows who Alexander Hamilton is, and I'm not talking about the musical, so you each owe me a few Washingtons."

Natasha laughed. "You like to live dangerously, don't you."

"Dangerous comes tonight if I scope out other flight crews in the hotel's lounge!"

"What's crew juice?" I asked.

"It's what makes overnights go faster," LaTasha answered.

Brandi rolled her eyes subtly with a knowing grin.

The drive to the hotel required only about fifteen minutes, and the destination appeared to be a really nice place. From the outside, it seemed newly constructed, or at least immaculately maintained, but was styled as an old villa blended with something else I couldn't put a finger on. It was quite inviting.

I'd read up on things online and was surprised. Telo might have noticed.

"It's all a political facade," he said. "The government, of course, insists foreign crews be overnighted in the best hotels. No one here wants anyone to go home and spread the truth that Cuba is a decrepit island, brought to the brink by decades of embargoes. Just go with the flow. What the airlines shell out for a room-night is the equivalent of what a medical doctor here makes in a month."

"You've got to be kidding me," I said.

"No. I'm not. All the money goes right back into the government's coffers."

Then, he said, "Everyone keep your hands on your luggage unless you have Cuban pesos in your pockets to tip the kids who act like hotel employees but aren't."

Our driver pulled our bags from the back of the van. The purser tipped him.

Several boys, appearing to be about eleven or twelve years old, converged on the uniformed "rich Americans."

"Gracias, amigos, pero tu ayuda no es necesaria ," Telo said as they approached.

The boys groaned and reversed course.

We went through the broad doors into a beautiful lobby. I pulled out my phone and took a half-dozen photographs. It simply didn't make sense. Most of what I'd read and researched suggested the building should have been structurally sketchy. Instead, it felt like I was inside something akin to the Peabody.

Everyone walked to the check-in desk where key cards were already waiting. Most turned toward the elevators.

"Hey, Rob?" Mack said. "Would you and Brandi mind hanging back for a second?"

I looked at my wife. She nodded, and I deferred. Once the four others entered an elevator and its doors closed, he spoke.

"In the interest of full transparency and disclosure, I need to tell you I wasn't aware Brandi was married, and I asked her to go out to dinner with me tonight, sort of … socially. And, Brandi, I swear to god I didn't know, or I wouldn't have crossed that line. Ever ."

"I know you didn't. It's why I deflected in the cockpit earlier. I didn't want it to be a distraction," she said.

I think we all stared at each other for a few seconds.

"There's no reason to apologize," I said, breaking the awkward silence, "but thank you for offering one. I know you couldn't have seen the wedding set because of how she wears it when she's working."

Brandi removed her uniform's scarf and drew a necklace from underneath her shirt which held the rings.

"You seem like a good guy," I continued. "I absolutely appreciate your candor and honesty. In my opinion, you've committed no offense at all."

"Are we good, ma'am?" Mack asked Brandi.

Brandi chuckled. "We will be unless you call me ma'am again. Are you going to do-not-pair me?"

"Wha⁠—what ? Hell no. I think you and I make a great team. But I will if Rob asks me to."

"No. Don't," I said. "There's no one I'd rather have her flying with than someone she gets along with and trusts."

I poked the up button for an elevator.

"You going to debrief with us, Cap? Rob is certainly welcome to join in, too."

Brandi audibly groaned. "Nope, I haven't gone to a debriefing in ages."

"I'm assuming it doesn't involve underwear , right?" I asked.

She laughed. "No, baby. It's where the crew juice will be served."

I guess she saw the curiosity in my eyes.

"Okay," she said in acquiescence. "Who's hosting?"

"LaTasha suggested a veranda by the pool."

BRANDI
Saturday, March 14, 2020 1:07pm

Rob and I went to our room where I could change out of my uniform and into casual streets. I chose a pair of jeans I knew Robin liked, and an Embry-Riddle long-sleeved tee. He gave my back pockets a subtle pat in an affirmation of my choices.

"This really wasn't what I had planned," I told him. "I wanted to make love to you and then take a nap."

"Well, what's stopping the first?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all," I said, undoing what I'd just done.

We were outside at the table a half hour later than we'd planned.

Questions were asked about how Rob and I met. I was thankful his answers were honest but sheltered. In some cases, he deferred to me, and I was similarly guarded in mine.

"Okay, I have to ask," Robin said when LaTasha poured and offered him a cup of liquid from an Evian bottle which obviously didn't contain spring water, "exactly what is this?"

"Do you want to tell him, or should I?" LaTasha asked me.

"Unopened bottles of wine get re-catered, but anything that's open goes down the drain. Crew juice is what's rescued instead of being dumped. It's been a thing since the aviation heyday of the sixties, or so I've read."

"So …" Robin pushed.

"Today's is a mix of pinot grigio, chardonnay, cabernet, and I forget the other one," LaTasha said. "There was enough for almost two liters, but the two bottles I made are different proportions. At least the way I do it, there's never a repeat."

"Uh, no thanks."

"Come on, babe. It's a bit of an initiation of sorts. Just one cup," I suggested.

He began to take a drink, but Mack stopped him before he had.

"A toast. To the Grants, married one year today. Happy anniversary!"

The others cheered amiably.

I watched Rob sip.

"Oh ," he gasped. "This⁠—" He sipped again. "This … really isn't that bad."

Mack laughed. "You're quite the diplomat. It's horrible, but free."

"Ohmygosh." The purser of the crew, Natasha White, tutted while staring at her phone. "This is crazy."

"Whatcha got?" LaTasha said.

"Uh, Brandi?"

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Gregg Meeks, the FO on the line before Mack subbed in …"

"What about him?"

"He's … in jail in Tampa. One of my friends there sent me a link to a video on the news."

I coughed. "What?"

"Yeah. He was arrested for … oh, hell. Solicitation? Even though the mugshot photo is cropped, you can tell he's wearing his uni, poor guy."

Poor guy ? I thought to myself. More like an absolute idiot .

"If he was arrested in uniform, it's the end of his career," I said.

"That reminds me of …" Telo said, beginning a tale of several cockpit and jump-seat confessions he'd witnessed or heard about.

Rob and I stuck around for an hour before I decided it was time we begged off. "Rob and I are going to go grab a late lunch. See you all tomorrow. Roust is at …"

"Five o'clock," Mack advised.

"Thanks, Daddy Downer," LaTasha moaned.

Once we'd departed, Robin said, "That almost seemed like a dialed-down frat party."

"It was tame compared to some I remember," I said.

Catching his concerned gaze, I added, "Come on, Rob. I did my own share of partying, but I never participated in the huck funt ."

"Your world has such a weird social construct."

"Tell me about it. I'm sure most of my crew think I'm a grandmother. I'll give it up for the rest of the night so we can go get an obnoxiously delicious meal. The place Mack recommended is just up the road."

"Let's get takeout, because what I'm hungry for is more delicious than any sandwich."

"Deal."

Rob stopped at the front desk and exchanged twenty US dollars for four hundred pesos before we walked to La Vitrala .

The piping-hot sandwiches they prepared in exchange were almost a foot long each. Two glass-bottled Cokes were included. Once we returned to our room, Robin enrobed the parchment-wrapped parcels in a bath towel to keep them warm and stashed the colas in the small refrigerator before we stepped into the shower to rid ourselves of airliner grunge.

I loved the feeling of his hands as he lathered my body. It seemed he always knew what ached.

ROBIN
Saturday, March 14, 2020 2:59pm

Giving my wife a comforting cleanse was a pleasure I'd always enjoyed. The way she sighed when I soaped her torso, especially under and atop her breasts delighted me. Her nipples sprouted as I washed them, and my cock sprouted as a result.

She lathered her hands with the same bar and caressed me as tenderly as I'd tended to her feminine features.

Once we'd rinsed and dried, I encouraged her to a kneel on the bed. I parted her cheeks to get a glimpse of her beautiful little pucker, then rolled her to her back. She opened her legs. I pressed my nose into her flesh and inhaled my mate's aroma. The scent of her arousal nourished my soul. Her intimate flavors tingled my taste buds as I licked from her perineum, into her pussy, tonguing her meatus on the way to her clit.

Her hips slowly rocked as I lavished her with my tongue, consuming her honey. She quivered when I lightly drew its tip like a feather around her anus. The deep breath she exhaled stuttered as I tickled its center. That she drew her knees upward told me she wanted more. I kissed her golden fur-covered lips softly and slowly. The left side first, then the right, then from top to bottom.

Her soft mewls and whimpers told me she was getting close to a climax.

I pushed my middle and index fingers into her. As I suckled her clit and stroked her inner walls, I placed the pad of my thumb at the center of her beautiful ass and caressed it in circles.

"Oh, yes ," she moaned. "That feels so good."

After several moments, I heard her reflexive, rapid, and deep inhalation which she held. She reached up and grasped her breasts as her back arched. I felt the secret muscle contracting rhythmically.

I greedily enjoyed the flavor of my wife's essences as her climax waned, then moved above and entered her. We maintained eye contact. We whispered tender words of love and affection to each other. She did what often set me off. With an exquisitely perfect amount of pressure, she raked her fingernails from my butt to the back of my neck on one side then the other. The sensation of bazillions of nerve endings being stimulated in varying ways propelled me over the edge. I clutched my wife tightly to me as my cum exited my body into hers.

We kissed slowly for several wonderful minutes as our spirit-selves returned to Earth.

"Can you buddy-pass me on your legs to and from KC tomorrow?" I asked in utter relaxation as she continued to stroke my back.

"Sorry, baby. I think both flights are already oversold. Why?"

"Because I think I should pee on the fence again for old times' sake."

The force of her sudden laughter ejected my cock from her, and the squelch of escaping air made her laugh even harder.

"Oh, god," she gasped, regaining her breath. "I swear, Robin, telling people we met when you were only out for a walk still makes me laugh inside."

"No kidding. I felt it." I smiled and kissed her warm lips.

"You ready to try those sandwiches?" she asked.

After we sorted ourselves and redressed, I unwrapped our food and popped the lids off our bottles. The medianoche was freaking incredible. A Cuban sandwich. Made in Cuba. Eaten in Cuba , with a bottle of Coke made with cane sugar instead of corn syrup? Brandi thought I was nuts raving about it all.

A little later, we heard music wafting in the air and went to investigate. A live band had assembled in the spacious atrium playing lively mambos and other Latin jazz. Some folks danced. Others, like us, listened and watched the merriment. I bought a beer for me and a bottled local soda for Brandi. I exchanged another twenty dollars at the front desk so I could tip the band and bartender cold hard cash. We sipped and listened for several hours.

"Oh, frack!" I gasped, remembering something forgotten

After we'd eaten dinner, Brandi gave me a signed Alexi Kratz book by the famed author, Pat Jamison. I hoped my gift to her would pass muster.

"What's wrong?" Brandi asked.

"Your gift is upstairs."

"I thought you said it's being delivered to the house today and it'd have to wait until we get home tomorrow."

"That's tru⁠—forget I said that. Come on."

I grabbed her hand, and she followed my rush to the elevators.

Once we'd returned to the room, I yanked my iPad from the wall safe and browsed to the electronic edition of the St. Louis Post Dispatch, then swiped rapidly to the funny pages.

I found One Word and tapped it to enlarge the single-panel frame. I handed Brandi my tablet and watched her eyes as she studied it.

Capital in our society exists in many forms. I'd been a fan of the award-winning cartoonist for as long as I could remember. She crafted each day a cartoon with a single word as its subject. The woman was apparently a fan of mine and penned me a handwritten letter months after my first book landed on shelves.