Chapter 1: Little Lie

Sunday May 15

School was out for the summer and the first item on my to-do list was to get on a plane and fly to Miami. From there we would board a charter flight to Cuba. I would bet the majority of my friends had thoughts of sleeping in, catch some rays and maybe ride their bikes or hang out at the mall today.

I had mixed feelings about heading to Cuba. In one respect, it would be good to get out of town and away from the paparazzi who wanted to ask me questions about what I privately thought of as ‘The Feminazi Interview.’ I guessed several of my people were glad I’d be safely away from the US media while in Cuba. I could sure use a break from the stress.

At the same time, I also wasn’t completely sold on making this movie, The Royal Palm. The director, Laurent Vance, didn’t want me in it. The studio had picked me for the role over his objections. I hoped we would be able to work together without too many problems.

Something else that weighed on me was that one of my closest friends, Beth Anderson, had declared her love for me and her desire that we be a serious couple. Of all the women in my life, she was probably the one I would most likely want as a life partner. Our families were close. Our mothers had been best friends since high school. Beth was someone I could tell anything to and feel comfortable.

Ever since I’d made my play for Tami Glade and she’d turned me down, I’d sworn off serious relationships. It had been almost a year since that had happened, and I’d started to think again in terms of a girlfriend. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I wanted one right now. If I were to choose the ideal girl for me, it would be Beth.

After her pronouncement the previous night, she hadn’t given me a chance to respond. She’d had to get home and spend time with her family. It was probably another benefit of being in Cuba for a month. The trip might give me a chance to figure out what I wanted.

I think my trusty hound, Duke, knew that something was up. He’d not let me out of his sight all morning. I had my son Coby on my lap as I ate breakfast. He also needed a little attention. I would miss them both, along with Little David, for the next month. For about the millionth time I was grateful my parents had had the foresight and willingness to help Pam and me out by looking after our son until I either graduated college or reached the age of 22.

“When does shooting start? Will you get any time to go exploring?” Dad asked.

I was glad no one seemed to want to talk about ambush interviews.

“They’ve already been there for six weeks of filming. From what Ari told me, I’ll only need to be on set for four weeks. They’ll have another six to eight weeks of shooting after I leave. Today is a travel day and we’ll get settled in at the hotel. I guess there are several of us coming in today. Caryn said we’re all meeting for dinner tonight to learn what we need to know about Cuba.”

Caryn Buckley wore many hats for me. She was my PA, manager, and president of my companies. Dad served as CEO and helped Caryn when she needed it. Ari Gould was my movie agent and was known as one of the top sharks in the business.

There was a knock at the back door and Fritz and Paul, my two security guys, walked in. My other security and personal trainer was Cassidy Hope. She would get some on-the-job experience this trip, but if it came to it I would rather have her at my side than the other two. Her dad was my football coach and a retired Marine. Cassidy had grown up as one of the guys, so to speak, and the Marines had taught her hand-to-hand combat. I think they thought it was funny to watch this wisp of a girl take down recruits. Cassidy had decided to take me on as her student, and four times a week she kicked my butt.

“You about ready?” Fritz asked.

I shoved a piece of toast in my mouth and handed Coby to my mom. I needed to grab my carry-on bag. We’d already shipped almost everything I wanted to have with me. I met them at the car and threw my bag into the back of the SUV. Dad had agreed to go with us so he could drive it back home.

“Shotgun!” I called.

I dove into the car, buckled up and waved to the two remaining paparazzi at the front gate. Thank God most paparazzi were city boys. Our town was a lot more inconvenient than they were used to, which meant far fewer felt the itch to camp on my doorstep. Of course, having grown up here had its advantages, too. Neither the police nor the neighbors were very accommodating of strangers trying to stir things up.

“You can have shotgun until the first stop,” Fritz said.

Paul gave me a dirty look but got into the back with Dad. Little did I know we were picking up Cassidy and Caryn; consequently, my claim on the front seat didn’t last very long.

After some intense negotiations with my mom, Caryn was my designated adult on this trip. Mom had wanted to go to Cuba, but her real estate business had picked up recently. Mom had said a number of times that you made money when you could in real estate. Caryn had almost not gone either, because we were opening up a new restaurant in the strip mall I’d bought in lieu of stand-alone office space. The strip mall also housed my mom’s real estate office and my brother’s massage business.

I wasn’t worried about the restaurant opening. I’d partnered with Granny, who had one of the best self-named eateries in our area. She’d lent us her name—the place was named Granny’s West. My other partner was Mary Dole. She’d taught me to be a much better cook. Her father had owned several restaurants, so it was in her blood. She was in charge of the kitchen while Granny ran the front. My contribution was money, back-office management and bookkeeping.

The plan was for the restaurant to have a private grand opening this Friday. We would open our doors to the public on Saturday. Caryn and I really hated that we’d miss it. She’d put a lot of work into getting the space remodeled. Mom and Dad had agreed to step in with the help of Megan Crowley, our bookkeeper, tech person, and Girl Friday.

When we arrived at Caryn’s I was sent to go get her. She lived in a three-story condominium and of course, had a third-floor unit. I think Paul and Fritz just didn’t want to lug her bag down the stairs. Caryn met me at the door.

“Hang on. I need to set the alarm,” she said.

She had a small suitcase with a telescoping handle and wheels. I picked it up; it must have weighed a hundred pounds.

“What do you have in this ... rocks?”

“Shut up. A woman needs things,” she said vaguely.

I just went downstairs while she messed with her alarm. I smiled when it went off and she said some bad words. It must be new. When I got downstairs, Paul had claimed shotgun. He was going to Cuba with me, so I would have a month to get even.

Dad, Caryn and I sat in the middle seat on the trip to Cassidy’s. She and her dad were on the front porch, waiting for us. I’d gotten smart and sent her a text to let her know we were on the way. I jumped out to get her bag. Her dad gave her a long hug.

Before I could get back in the car, he stopped me.

“Let me give you some money for Cassidy,” he offered.

“They don’t take US dollars in Cuba. Plus, she’s an employee and all expenses are paid for this trip,” I assured him.

“But she might want something extra,” he said, pressing an envelope into my hands.

I didn’t quite know why he would give me the money and not his daughter but didn’t want to debate it with him.

“And David, look out for her.”

“I will. I’ll see you when we get back,” I said, and shook his hand.

Cassidy and I were relegated to the third row with Dad and Caryn in the middle. I was fine sitting with my friend. As soon as I sat down, Cassidy put her hand out.

“Give,” she ordered.

I just handed her the envelope. She could take it away if she wanted to, so I figured this was for the best.

The horror! Caryn had used the money the studio had sent for my first class ticket to upgrade everyone to business class. None of them had any sympathy for me. At least I wasn’t jammed into a middle seat. In reality, business class wasn’t all that bad, but I wasn’t going to let Caryn know that.

Cassidy claimed the aisle seat next to me. Normally I wanted the aisle for my long legs, but Fritz had made it clear that one of my security people should be between any danger and me. I’d agreed because I had been attacked on a plane before. Something else he’d insisted on was that I had to wear my birth-control, black-rimmed glasses that acted as a body cam. I’d gotten used to wearing them, so it wasn’t a problem.

Turned out, Cassidy was terrible security. She slept the three hours it took to fly to Miami.

In Miami, we were directed to customs where we had to produce our special papers for travel to Cuba. When I’d gone to the UK, I’d only had to show my passport, but for Cuba, you needed a special entry visa. We were sent to a different section where we found the rest of the cast and production crew who were to fly to Havana on our chartered flight. There were twenty of us and we were the last to arrive. We soon boarded a much smaller plane than we’d arrived on. This time there was no choice about seating class.

When we arrived at Havana, it was nothing like I expected. London had the feel of history, as did Havana. As we rode in our taxi to the hotel, I caught glimpses of seductive beauty sidled up to spectacular decay. It was obvious that the city had gone through some hard times. While clean, many buildings showed signs of neglect. There was also a unique smell. It was a combination of papaya mixed with tobacco leaf, gasoline, and a musty, moldy smell.

On top of the smell, you couldn’t help but notice the heat and humidity. It must have been at least 90 degrees and 90 percent humidity. It didn’t help that the taxi was a 1957 Chevy with no air conditioning. The heat and humidity were almost physical, weighing you down. It was hard to get your breath, almost as if you were breathing under water. I was certain that my deodorant wouldn’t survive for long.

The movie was being filmed at the Hotel Nacional de Cuba, and we would be staying there as well. The grand entrance featured a long drive with palm trees lining the median. It was built in 1930 and had a Miami feel because of its Art Deco design. You walked in to check in and found yourself in a hall that had a twenty-foot wood ceiling and plaster arches with Spanish tile around the bases and along the front of the check-in counter.

While everything was top-notch, you got the feeling that you’d stepped back in time by about sixty years. I think what gave it such a dated feel was the furniture. It all seemed to be right out of the 1950s. When I got to my room, that feeling was reinforced. There was a French provincial couch that looked as though it had recently been bought at an antique shop.

While unpacking, I found another problem: the electrical outlets were for two-pronged devices with round pins. I couldn’t even plug in my new Google phone to recharge it. I should have discovered that because I’d done my research on Cuba, but never came across that particular piece of advice.

While I puzzled out what kind of adapter was needed, I began to worry that it might be a different voltage. It would totally suck if it fried my phone. Caryn would give me a ration of shit about breaking it the first day.

While I finished emptying my carry-on there was a knock on the door. It was a porter with my boxes that had been shipped. He had some helpers and they were delivering them to everyone else.

“Do you speak English?” I asked.

“Sí, a little bit.”

“Can I tip you dollars?” I asked.

“Sí, of course.”

I pulled out a twenty and saw his eyes get big.

“Would this be enough for everyone?” I asked, indicating the two other men.

“More than enough. I am Cedro. If you need anything...” he responded and snatched the twenty.

I got the feeling that for another twenty I might be able to have someone killed.

Dinner was in a private dining room that held about thirty people. All the people who had flown in today were there, and then there was a head table where Laurent Vance sat with a few other people who looked to be important.

When everyone arrived, the waitstaff brought us salads, and a young woman stood up at the head table.

“I’m Anita Haig, production assistant. I want to introduce a few people, if I may. Seated next to me is Laurent Vance, our director. Next to him is Kitty Ellis, assistant director, and Roger Brooks, our producer.

“I also want to point out a couple of people who’ve joined us: David A. Dawson, who will be playing Rick; Stewart Thatcher, who plays Callum Ascot of MI6; and Heath Rooter, playing Mike Carter of the CIA,” Anita announced.

Stewart looked like he could play James Bond, while Heath was a character actor I’d seen in many movies. He had to be almost sixty.

“While you eat, I’m going to give you the dos and don’ts while you’re in Cuba. First of all, I know some of you discovered the outlets in your hotel rooms. I have a box of adapters with me. Please see me before you leave and each of you can have a couple of them.

“Let me give you a little background about Cuba. Until 2011, there was an import ban on cars in Cuba. That means that the majority of the cars on the road are classic cars from the ‘50s. It’s against the law to hire an unlicensed taxi. You can tell if it’s a licensed one if it has a meter in it. Also, make sure they turn it on when you begin your trip.

“The average gross national income per capita of Cuba is officially $5,539, but the take-home salary for most Cubans is around $20 a month. There are separate currencies for tourists and nationals. While it’s not illegal to possess American dollars, it is discouraged. The hotel can convert your money for you, just ask for the manager and he will help you.”

That might have been why Cedro had seemed excited when I tipped him for delivering the boxes. Anita continued after the main course was brought out, a chicken breast with black beans and rice.

“Please remember: safety first. Always have someone with you when you go anywhere. Don’t wear anything flashy or carry a lot of cash. Cuba doesn’t have a high crime rate, but with such low incomes, it can happen. First priority: look out for street hustlers. Don’t fall for the free picture, because there will be a fee.

“Something else you need to be careful of is to never take a picture of the police or military. It’s against the law here. I would also avoid making negative remarks about communism or Fidel Castro,” Anita continued.

I would have to remember to be careful when taking pictures and remember that Cuba wasn’t a free country like the US.

“One strange quirk is it’s considered rude to blow your nose in public. Also, Cuba has suffered from years of embargos. Something you’ll find missing is variety in your food choices. They’re a bit lacking if you’re used to condiments like ketchup, hot sauce, pepper, jams, cinnamon and peanut butter. They simply don’t have them.”

I might go through withdrawal without hot sauce.

“What about Internet access?” a girl in the back asked.

“Three considerations: it’s expensive, it’s slow, and you need to be aware that your access may be monitored. Only five percent of Cubans have access to the uncensored, open Internet,” Anita answered.

“How should we tip?” I asked.

“Good question. The majority of locals in Cuba working at your hotel—such as your housekeeper, bartender, waiter, and hotel desk staff—have trouble affording hygienic or personal care items. That’s why many tourists bring along extra toothbrushes, mouthwashes, toothpastes, floss, pantyhose, etc., to leave for them as gifts. Believe me, locals are incredibly grateful for these items. We have a stockpile of these you can pick up to give as gifts,” Anita suggested.

“Is it safe to drink the water?” someone else asked.

“Cuba is a very clean and hygienic country. However, drinking tap water is not highly recommended and might leave you with a nasty case of diarrhea or upset stomach. Opting for bottled water would be my recommendation,” Anita shared.

“I tried to order papaya, but the woman selling it was offended. Did I do something wrong?” a young man asked.

The people at the front table laughed.

“Sorry, but here, papaya is vulgar slang for ... a vagina. They’ve renamed it ‘fruta bomba,’” Anita shared.

She turned to the table she was sitting at.

“Did I forget anything?” she asked.

“Personally, I like the rum here. A rum and coke with lime is normally called a ‘Cuba Libre’ in Latin America, except in Cuba. Here, it’s called a ‘mentirita‘ or ‘little lie,’” Kitty Ellis, the assistant director, shared.

“Speaking of rum, you’re able to take both that and cigars home with you. In Cuba, cigars are called ‘puros‘ or ‘habanos.’ Americans are able to bring back $400 worth of goods from Cuba—including $100 in cigars and rum,” Roger Brooks, our producer, said.

With that done, Anita sat down and Laurent stood up to talk.

“I have some good news. If you noticed, the actors only received scripts for their part. I normally am not one for secrecy, but we needed to obtain permission to film reenactment of certain events. Our movie is set in the chaotic time after President Fulgencio Batista was ousted on January first, 1959.

“The new government led by Fidel Castro took power. One of their first actions was to confront the American mafia. They had been pouring money into Havana and built hotels with casinos. Castro required his people to be present in the counting rooms. The mafia didn’t like that, because the counting room was where large sums of money went missing.

“Castro decided to remove them and shut down the casinos. His own people talked him into reopening them because they thought the loss of tourism dollars would be devastating to the economy,” Laurent told us.

He took a drink and continued.

“Also in play was the revolution. In 1957, the US imposed an embargo on Cuba and withdrew its ambassador in protest over the brutal means President Batista used to subdue revolution. The US was even less happy when Castro’s revolutionaries took power. The US attempted to achieve regime change, most notably their failure at the Bay of Pigs in 1961. Because of the US’s hostility, Castro turned to Russia for support.

“The storyline for the script was originally based on Sir Richard Jackson’s accounts of his time in Cuba as a teenager. Lord Jackson has helped us as an advisor. The reason for the secrecy has been that some of the events that happened had been classified and we needed to get permission to show them in our film,” Laurent explained.

I remembered reading the Richard Jackson saga. I only remembered a brief description of him in Cuba where he met some Soviet missile soldiers at a hotel in Havana.

“Lord Jackson has allowed us to take great license with his story and expand the role that Rick plays in events. We’ve gone far enough off the original story that it bears very little resemblance to what really happened, but we wanted to expand the scope to include much more of the actual history of what happened during that turbulent time,” Laurent further explained.

“Tomorrow we’ll get started early. I will need the actors to be on set first thing so we can get costume sizes confirmed and give you all period haircuts,” Kitty announced.

Hearing that someone as successful as Lord Jackson was involved in this project made me happy. He’d actually been a movie star in his youth. I really hoped that I would get to meet him at some point.

After dinner, I was relaxing in my suite when there was a knock on the door. I looked out the keyhole and saw it was Caryn.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I have some DVDs and was deciding what to watch. Rita is determined to educate me on what makes a movie good.”

“Pick something out and I’ll be right back,” she said and left.

I had the choice down to three when my door opened and people started to come in. Along with my group were the two other actors who had flown in today, Stewart and Heath. There was also a girl, about my age, who Cassidy had found. It turned out she was Kimberly Fillmore, who would play my love interest.

“What are our choices?” Heath asked.

“I thought something with a little action. I have The Wild Bunch, The Searchers and High Noon,” I suggested.

“Those are all good,” Heath acknowledged.

I decided that we would watch The Searchers since it had John Wayne in it. I picked that as a nod to Rick Jackson and the movies he’d made with the Duke. Stewart had a bag with him that had both gin and rum in it. It soon turned into a relaxed party as everyone got to know each other and half-watched the movie.

Heath went through my movies.

“These are all good.”

“Rita James sent them with me in the hope that I would learn something.”

“I didn’t know you knew her,” Heath said.

“I met her through her daughter Halle. Halle and I were in Star Academy together, and we also did The Secret Circle, which comes out in a few weeks.”

Heath had been in movies nearly forty years and had great stories about the business. He’d gotten his start in The Eagle Has Landed, a World War II film that stared Michael Caine, Donald Sutherland and Robert Duvall. He’d never had a leading role but had made a good living as a supporting actor.

The movie was soon over and everyone left because we had to get up and be on set early in the morning.

Monday May 16

I woke with a start. Sometime during the night, the air conditioning had failed and I was a hot, dripping mess. I felt trapped in my sheets because they were stuck to me. After I extricated myself from the bedding, my very next action was to open a bottle of water and down it. I needed to buy a fan because the room was stifling even at this time of day. I hated to think what it would be like by late afternoon.

I took a shower and even the cold water seemed warm. The other problem was that the water pressure made me think I was back in LA. It barely got me wet. I decided that shorts and a t-shirt would be the dress for the day.

I heard a knock at my door. It was Paul; I guess he was there to walk me to breakfast and then to my fitting.

“Last night was nice,” he told me.

“I think everyone had a good time.”

We took breakfast on a patio that overlooked the ocean. The sun was just coming up and there was a slight breeze. I asked the waiter to suggest something and he picked a dish called ‘fufu.’ It was plantains, bacon, onion, and garlic with mayo that made a sticky, gooey concoction. In addition to fufu, we were served eggs in pepper boats. They sliced a Cuban pepper—which I thought was the same as a poblano pepper—in half, removed the seeds and stem, and then cooked it. They then put two eggs into each and cooked them until the egg whites were firm, but the yolk was still runny. They sprinkled some cilantro on top. It was filling.

I was told no Cuban meal is complete without a ‘cafecito‘, or Cuban coffee. Cafecito has sweet ‘crema‘ floating over strong espresso coffee. Despite its name, crema had nothing to do with cream—it’s a foam made from sugar that’s been thoroughly beaten with a splash of coffee.

“It looks like a shot of coffee, not a cup,” Paul complained.

I gave it a suspicious smell and then took a tentative sip. It was like they’d compressed twelve coffees into half a cup. If it weren’t for the sweetness of the crema, I don’t know if I would have been able to drink it, being more of a tea drinker.

“It packs a punch,” I opined.

Paul took a sip.

“Wow! That’ll take some getting used to.”

“Can you imagine Cassidy after about three of these? We’d have to tie her up just to settle her down,” I said.

“I might get the caffeine shakes after just one.”

It did wake us up. I could see getting addicted to it, but Paul was right. For now, one was my limit.

About the best that I could say about my haircut was my head wasn’t shaved. When I put on my body-cam glasses, I looked the part. Next, I went to wardrobe and they had me try on several different outfits for size. For today, I was dressed in black slacks, white shirt with a tie, and a sweater.

Anita, the production assistant, came and got me and pushed a script into my hand.

“We had some rewrites. Laurent’s in a mood, so we need to hurry,” she warned.

We walked in on a scene with Kimberly in it.

“You move like a fucking cow. I need you to convey grace. If you keep this up we may have to give you gum so that you chew your cud!” Laurent yelled.

Kimberly ran off the set in tears. He then turned and saw me.

“Oh great! The studio’s golden boy has finally joined us. Get your ass over here and let’s shoot the scene,” he ordered.

I leaned over to Paul.

“Call Caryn and have her get Ari on speed dial. If I decide to kick his ass, take your time pulling me off, but don’t let me kill him.”

“Please don’t,” I heard behind me.

It was Roger Brooks, the producer. He strode onto the set and got in Laurent’s face. I got on set and read my lines again. It was amazing that the thing I originally feared the most, learning lines, now came easily.

Caryn came onto the set with Fritz and Cassidy. She went to Paul and he gave her the lowdown. She had the phone to her ear, calling Ari.

What happened next was the worst morning of my life. Laurent dialed it back some to begin with. I had a short speech. It took 96 takes, and after each one he had a comment that wasn’t helpful. Finally, I’d had enough.

“Do you even know what you want?” I barked.

“I want someone who can act.”

“Well, I want someone who can actually direct, so I don’t think either one of us is going to be happy. If you would verbalize what you want, I might be able to deliver it. I’m not a mind-reader. Telling me that I couldn’t act my way out of a wet paper bag isn’t helpful,” I shot back.

By now, everyone on the set was unhappy. I looked over at the producer and he just smiled.

“I thought the third one was fine. I would suggest you move on and stop wasting everyone’s time,” Roger said, and then left.

Laurent threw his clipboard on the floor and stormed off the set. I walked over to Caryn.

“This is fun. I think it went well,” I said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

There were a few chuckles and you could see everyone relax. Inside I was seething. Thirty minutes later an embarrassed Kitty Ellis came on set.

“Break for lunch,” she announced. “Be back by one.”

She pointed at Caryn and me and we went with her to a conference room where Roger Brooks was seated. He was talking to someone on speakerphone.

“Hang on, Gabe. David just walked in with his manager, Caryn Buckley. Let me get them up to speed,” Roger said.

We sat down and Roger pointed at Kitty to indicate she should sit, too.

“This morning I came on set when Laurent was talking to Kimberly Fillmore about her acting skills. Miss Fillmore was quite upset, and I’ve asked her to file a complaint about the abuse, but she’s afraid of what Laurent might do to her career.

“Then David arrived and Laurent abused him as well. I’ve talked to Laurent and he has walked off the set until you remove David from the film,” Roger explained.

“I will kill him!” came from the phone.

“I’m sorry, but who’s on the line?” Caryn asked.

“Sorry. This is Gabe Francis.”

Gabe was the head of the studio. I was sure he didn’t want to have to be dealing with this.

“Laurent claims you were abusive to him,” Gabe said.

“If he considers asking for direction after 96 takes abusive, I guess I was,” I said.

“How many takes?” Gabe asked.

“96,” Roger confirmed. “He spent all morning running David through the wringer. I felt he had the shot after a couple of takes.”

“Was it a ten-minute monologue?” Gabe asked.

“I had two lines,” I said.

Gabe uttered a few words and phrases that put a smile on my face. Several I’d wanted to say all morning.

“Do you think Kitty Ellis can handle it for now?” Gabe asked.

“I can get more than two scenes done this afternoon,” she assured him.

“Sorry about that, Gabe. I asked Kitty to sit in. She’s more than capable enough to fill in,” Roger assured us.

“David, Laurent is very good at what he does, but he’s a unique personality. If I can get him to agree to stop the bullshit, are you okay to work with him?” Gabe asked.

“I came here to do a job and I plan to give you my best effort. If he continues to get in my face without constructive criticism, then I can’t guarantee that I won’t say something back to him,” I said.

“Good man. For now, Kitty or Roger will tell you what they need. If it gets too bad, please call me directly. Roger will give you the number,” Gabe said, and then hung up.