Here’s a little
about Suz’s story that's in Naughty Spice, One Hot Havana Night, and how she came to write it.
Tuesday Morning is the Best Time to
Arrive in Havana
I travel as much as I can, not just for
inspiration but for engagement. When I'm unhappy, the best way for me
to get away from the source of my distress is to leave (duh).
Additionally, when I travel, especially to someplace new, I'm deeply
engaged in my life and have no mental space for worrying about
whatever it was that was bothering me. When I don't know the
language, don't know where I'm staying, don't know where I'll eat my
next meal, I have a lot more to focus on rather than dwelling on my
last unhappy love affair (usually my issue, alas).
And so it was with my 2015 trip out
of the USA. After the president announced plans to open the USA's
relationship with Cuba, I decided to travel there ASAP so as not to
see Havana when its skyline would be dominated by the Starbucks
mermaid and the Golden Arches.
But I really screwed this one up.
At that time, Cuba had no banking
relationship with the USA. That means that you had to have money in
hand before you left for Cuba, because your ATM card and credit card
wouldn't work there. So I planned to go to Cancun, withdraw a bunch of
money, and then fly to Cuba.
Unfortunately, I neglected to tell my
bank, so when I started to withdraw money, I got maybe $400 and
then...nada. Zip. Zero.
I emailed my bank to no avail.
I tried to phone, but neither my hotel
phone nor my cellie would get through (Damn you, Virgin!)
So I landed in Cuba with maybe a
quarter of the funds I needed to have a really good time, or even to
eat three meals daily.
I told myself that this was a good time
to lose weight.
I shared a taxi from the airport into
Havana with a couple of Ukrainian dudes and immediately paid the host
of my casa particular for the stay. Alex was extremely kind, allowing
me the use of his computer so I wouldn't have to pay a hotel at their
business center for internet access--I was trying desperately to make
sure I'd have enough money for the next phase of my journey, which
was Isla Mujeres.
Nevertheless, I still had a good time
researching my story for the Naughty
Havana was great, but it's nevertheless
a tourist trap. It's just that the tourists aren't Americans. Lots of
Europeans, especially Italians, and a number of Japanese.
I learned a lot. Most people seemed
pretty contented. As for the economic system, while I heard someone
complain that they work really hard for little money, I saw only one
or two people who seemed to be badly off. Everyone else looked happy
and well-fed, though not obese. I saw many of the famous classic
American cars, but I saw a lot of new cars as well--Peugeots and
Kias, Hyundais and even Benzes. I just didn't see newer American
cars. That's because Cuba isn't isolated at all. It's just that we
don't have an economic relationship with them. Other countries have
been trading with Cuba quite happily.
Still, I can't say that the place is
well run. The Castros seem to be good at getting and keeping power,
and not so hot at using it. Many of the old, beautiful
So why is Tuesday morning the best
time to arrive in Havana?
Because the trash is picked up Monday
night, at least in the part of Havana where I stayed. Until then,
it's thrown into giant Dumpsters by the locals. As you can imagine,
the garbage gets pretty ripe in the tropical heat.
But Havana smells great on a Tuesday
morning.
And here's a snippet of the story I wrote after visiting Havana. It's in Naughty Spice, the NL's latest!
Havana, 1958... On the
eve of the revolution, journalist Ellie Wheeler dreams of the biggest
story of her life. Two hot men make all her dreams come true—even
ones she didn’t know she had.
Guess what? It includes a
sexy M/F/M ménage.
Here’s an excerpt to
sharpen your appetite:
The big doors closed
behind her with a click.
She turned to see Almonte
leaning against them, eyeing her with predatory interest gleaming in
his dark eyes. Her belly fluttered. She’d exposed corrupt union
bosses and crooked politicians, but this was really the first time
she’d played with the big boys. Organized crime was nothing to
treat casually, and she’d thought she was ready.
Maybe not.
He stalked toward her.
“Take that stupid thing off. It fools no one.” He tugged at her
wig.
“Ow!” She put a hand
up to her head to stop him. “My hair clashes dreadfully with my
dress.”
“Then take off your
dress.” He slid one long, dark finger along the curve of her
neck
to her shoulder. The contact tingled in a way she hadn’t before
experienced. “Strip for me.”
 |
| The Victor Hugo House, a place that inspired part of Hot Havana Night |
She turned to him, her
eyes wide.
He laughed. “I thought
you said anything for the story. You knew what would happen when you
came up here. Shall we not pretend?”
She swallowed hard. How
had she gotten into this predicament?
By being Hell on Wheels.
Everyone thought she was brassy and bold. They had no idea she was
still a virgin.
Like what you read?
Here’s where you can
score a copy:
Also available in print!
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