Lucy cradled little Ricky in her arms as he drifted off to sleep. Home from the hospital for only two days, Ricky had hardly left her side. But that morning, he told her he had some important business to attend to and he left early to go downtown.

As Lucy placed her sleeping baby into the crib, she heard Ricky come through the front door. Still a bit sore and tired from having recently given birth, she walked slowly to the living room.

"Hi!" She smiled at Ricky, who sat on the couch. He had a packet of papers in his hands.

"Hi, honey." He patted the seat next to him. Watching her sit carefully, he took her hand and lifted into to his lips, giving it a gentle kiss.

Lucy pointed to the papers as he set them on the coffee table. "What's that?

Ricky sighed. "Well, this is what I wanna talk to you about." He picked up the first few pages of the packet and handed them to his wife, who glanced at him worriedly before taking them from him.

He sat quietly as she began to read, knowing that she was going to resist a conversation about the contents. He had tried more than a few times over the course of their marriage to discuss the matter, but she always stopped him short. When they'd found out that she was pregnant, he had wanted to renew the discussion, but she had burst into tears; a combination of her ever-present reluctance and her hyper-sensitive emotional state.

Not wanting to cause his wife any undue stress, Ricky dropped the subject. But he took it upon himself to do what he felt was necessary, which had brought him to his lawyer's office so early that morning.

As Lucy read the last page Ricky had given her, she bit her lip in an attempt to suppress the building urge to cry.

Ricky took the papers back from her and placed them back onto the table before taking her hands in his. "Honey, I know you have never wanted to talk about this, but I had to do somethin'. It isn't just us anymore, darlin', I have to protect the baby now, too."

"Well, you've done it, now we can forget it."

"Before we forget it, you have to let me tell you everythin'."

Lucy became indignantly stubborn. "You don't have to tell me anything, it's all written there, isn't it?" Forgetting that she was supposed to be recovering, she began to stand and walk away far too quickly. She was hit with sudden dizziness and stumbled slightly, grabbing the mantle of the fireplace to steady herself.

Ricky jumped up and drew her into his arms. "Lucy, come on, you gotta lie down."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do and I dun't wanna hear another word about it."

He walked with her to the bedroom and kept his hand on her until she was resting comfortably on the bed. She closed her eyes and he knelt down to kiss her softly on the forehead. He sighed and rubbed his face in his hands, exasperated that he didn't know what to do with her.

As she lay quietly, Ricky walked over to the crib and peeked inside. He expected to see the baby sleeping soundly, but the child lay awake, his eyes wide as he looked up at his father. Surprised that he wasn't crying or fussing, Ricky scooped the baby up into his arms and started for the living room, glancing over at Lucy to make sure she was still resting peacefully.

Once in the living room, Ricky lay on the couch gently, resting the newborn on his chest and placing a hand protectively behind his head. "Why can't you be this quiet at night? We're tired, ol' man!"

Ricky chuckled softly. "Tell me. What am I gonna do with your mama? She dun't wanna talk about it, but I have to make it so you and her are taken care of if somethin' happens to me. I'm not gonna live forever, you know. Dun't get me wrong, I'm not goin' anywhere anytime soon! But you never know what could happen."

The baby cooed sweetly, grabbing Ricky's shirt in his tiny fist and tugging gently.

"I know, I know. But I gotta tell her how everythin' is and she won't let me. She doesn't understand how important this is to me. See, my father died when I was just a little boy. He left my mother with five of us and I was the littlest."

Ricky looked down at the top of his child's head and smiled.

"I know that one of you is a lot easier than five. But I watched my mama work all day and until late at night just so she could put food on the table. And when I was old enough, I went to work to help her."

Senor Castillo wiped the sweat from his face with a cotton rag. Yelling at that Ricardo boy in the sweltering sun was usually equivalent to a full day's work, in his mind. When he agreed to pay him for collecting tobacco from the field, he knew he'd regret enlisting the 13-year-old. Very young boys who'd never worked before never made for good laborers in the field. But his mother was a widow and his father had been a good friend of the plantation owner. Since she wanted no charity, he considered this a good deed.

Down in the field, the young dark-haired boy pulled shoots of tobacco from the rows of plants that towered above him. Older teenage boys and grown men worked around him. Some of them were kind and would show him how to position his hands so the leaves broke cleanly. Others were simply focused on their own productivity, which meant more money for themselves. Enrique was getting better at the job with each day that passed and the strength that was required to break and lift the heavy branches was growing evident in the developing definition in his arms.

If nothing else, he was driven to work hard.

When the foreman called out at lunchtime, the men usually scattered to find shade from the sun under the tall trees that sat at the outer edges of the large field. Enrique had a favorite tree which he normally gravitated to and he sat in the cool soil underneath it, where he'd eat sweet white rice wrapped in homemade tortillas that his mother made daily and left in the kitchen for her children to grab as they went to their various jobs.

Some afternoons, some men would sit around him if they couldn't find another spot in which to sit. Every once in a while, they would share a cigarette with him. He'd never smoked before he started working and wasn't able to afford to buy cigarettes himself. But their willingness to share with him signaled their acceptance of him as a man; they respected that he was working with them in the heat. That made Enrique proud.

At the end of each day, Enrique would climb onto the back of the pickup truck that drove the workers back to the village outside Havana. During the 30-minute drive, he'd look up at the sky as the sun set and the stars were just becoming visible. His mother had told him that she had saved enough money to send him back to school when it started again. He was glad for that. He didn't want to be as old as some of these men and still working in a hot field for pennies. Although he was a little nervous about the English tutor she had talked about. He wasn't sure he would be able to speak English. But Mama had seen him looking at the books about New York City and when he said he'd like to visit that big place, she said he had to know English first. A friend of his father's had brought him the books after traveling there. He had come back telling stories of the rich people who lived there and the numerous jobs and money that could be made…

Ricky circled his arms around the baby, who was now beginning to drift back to sleep.

"It turned out alright in the end. But I dun't want that for your mama or you. I have very high hopes for you, mijo. And as for your mama, I love her so much that I dun't wanna think about her havin' to suffer if I'm gone."

The baby stretched his legs.

Ricky looked up at the ceiling. "Someday, I'll bring you and your mama to Cuba to meet my family. I've been tryin' to convince your abuela…that's your gramma…to come here to New York. But she's too attached to everythin' on the island. And my brothers and sisters are there. But I know she will want to meet you. The night you were born, I wrote her a letter. And as soon as we get pictures, I'll send her one."

Little Ricky sighed softly, the sound of his sweet baby voice flying swiftly to Ricky's heart.

"I know it's cold now…you chose the winter to come into the world. But if we visit Havana, you'll love it. It's warm all year round and there are palm trees and beaches and lots of fruit that's hard to find here in New York. And you have lots of cousins who will want to play with you. My oldest brother has SEVEN children." Ricky snickered. "He was always the one who lived for the next party. I couldn't believe it when he got married. And to a policeman's daughter!"

Pedro was a very handsome man of 19 years. Enrique watched him comb his dark hair back and sprinkle some coconut oil in to hold it in place. He had asked Pedro once why he used coconut oil instead of water. His oldest brother had given him a sideways smile and said that the girls loved the scent of the coconut. This night, Uncle Alberto was taking Pedro to a party at a house that was apparently full of women.

When Enrique asked his uncle if he could come along, he laughed heartily and asked what a boy of 13 thought he was going to do with all those women. But then he thought better of it and smiled proudly. What mattered was that he was interested!

Pedro knelt down in front of his little brother and rubbed some coconut in his hair, as well. He said that Enrique wouldn't have any problem; he had a handsome face and a strong body for a young boy.

Uncle Alberto drove the boys to a large plantation house. There were cars and pickup trucks parked all around it and it lit up the night. There was music flowing from the open windows, mingled with the sounds of female laughter and…other sounds that Enrique was not quite familiar with. He followed his uncle and brother into the house, where a group of women in lingerie were sitting around as though they were waiting for something.

A beautiful brunette sauntered over to Pedro. She seemed to know him and whispered into his ear. Uncle Alberto clapped Pedro on the back and he disappeared with her into another room. Their uncle, meanwhile, walked over to the rest of the girls and sat among them, leaving Enrique to stand and watch.

Enrique eventually left his uncle with his harem of women and wandered around the first floor of the house. Most of the doors were closed, but there was one which was cracked open slightly and he heard laughter. He knelt on the floor and looked through the crack. His eyes opened like saucers. There was man lying on an ornate brass bed, his pants around his ankles. A naked woman sat on top of him and the two were pushing into each other furiously.

It was then that Enrique realized that he was at a whore house. He got up and backed away from the door quietly, not wanting to alert anyone to his presence. He walked outside and sat out on the big porch that wrapped all the way around the house. He could hear his uncle inside, with what sounded like two different women.

Enrique sat in one of the lounge chairs and looked up at the stars. He had seen naked women before, but mostly in the picture magazines that his brothers hid under their beds. He loved naked women, but he didn't think the whore house was for him. There were too many different men hanging around and he didn't want their leftover women…

The infant's breathing became measured and his movements slowed to occasional spasms in an arm or leg. He was clearly asleep, but Ricky kept talking to him.

"And my oldest sister has three children. The youngest was born just about a year ago. It's funny. Their children kept comin'. One after the other. I've had a pregnant sister or sister-in-law just about every year." Ricky lowered his cheek to rest on his sleeping son's head. "We waited so long for you. And you're the most handsome, sweetest, most wonderful baby in the whole world. Someday you're gonna be a handsome, wonderful young man."

"Ricky?"

Ricky was shaken out of his thoughts by his wife's voice. He sat up, still cradling the baby against his chest. "Honey, are you alright?"

Lucy nodded and walked over to sit next to him. "Yes, I'm fine." She smiled at him and at the baby in his arms. "I heard you talking to the baby. I'm sorry I didn't let you talk to me."

Ricky smiled and handed her the baby. "I understand, sweetheart, it's alright."

She took the baby in her arms and kissed him on the forehead. "Talk to me."

Ricky raised his eyebrows. "Really?"

Lucy nodded.

He picked up the packet of papers that was still sitting on the coffee table. "You read this part already. It's a will. It says that if somethin' happens to me, most everythin' I have is yours. The rest of this packet says what all that would be." Ricky laid out the part of the packet she hadn't seen and she leaned over to see it better. He pointed to each of the things written out for her. "This is the amount in this account today. Every month, I add more to it. That's for you. Last month, I opened this second account and started addin' money for little Ricky. He'll get that money when he's eighteen…or when I die. The longer I live, the more I'll be able to give 'im." He laughed softly.

Lucy glanced at her husband, trying to ignore his statement. "I had no idea you were saving that much!"

He chuckled. "Well, I've been tryin' to tell you for eleven years!"

She looked back at the papers as he went on.

"The same bank has a safe deposit box. The key is in a box that I keep in the dresser." He looked at his wife seriously. "Now, Lucy, this is important."

She looked back at him, still in a bit of disbelief over the amount of money she saw in front of her.

"That safe deposit box has some papers, like my naturalization papers. But more important, there's an inheritance."

Lucy looked puzzled. "An inheritance?"

Ricky nodded. "Yes. One month ago, I got a package from Cuba. It came to the club. From my Uncle Alberto."

She shook her head, confused. "But…but, I thought he said that he never wanted to see you again. He hasn't spoken to you since we got married."

He shrugged. "He wrote a very short note. My mother told him that we were 'spectin' the baby and he sent…this." Ricky pointed to a line on the paper in front of them.

Lucy read it, then looked back at her husband. "Coins?"

"Not just coins. They're solid gold and silver. They must be worth a fortune and they were heavy. He took an awful chance sendin' them in the post!"

"But why did he do it? And where did he get it?"

Ricky sat back. "My uncle is very wealthy. But my mother din't want to take anythin' from him. He's been givin' to my brothers and sisters for years. But this is the first thin' he's ever sent me." He looked at his wife, his child in her arms. "They'll be yours. Between the money I save and the value of those coins…you'll be taken care of the rest of your life."

Enrique, now a man of 19, himself, stood inside the house with a duffel bag and his drum slung across his shoulders. His mother had bid him a tearful goodbye and then rushed off to her work as a housekeeper. She told him she could not bear to see him climb into the truck for the last time. Now he stood in front of just his uncle, who stared at him coldly, a cigar dangling from his mouth.

He told Enrique that if he left, he would be disinherited. This made Enrique chuckle as he turned to walk out of the house. Over his shoulder, he muttered that it had been nine years since his father had passed and they could have used that "inheritance" before. He stopped when his uncle surprised him by speaking in English.

"You're not the ONLY one with a little bit of education, boy. You aren't special because you can speak a little English. When you get to the states, you'll be a greasy spic to those white people! You think they want to hear you and your drum? HA! They won't know you from a Mexican! They think we're ALL Mexican! You'll be wearing a sombrero in some two-bit restaurant, collecting centavos from white people!" He walked up to Enrique and hissed at him from behind his shoulder. "And I won't lift a finger to help you."

Enrique heard the truck barreling up the dirt road. He started to walk. When it pulled up to the corner, a group of men going to town approached it, Enrique among them.

He didn't look behind as the truck jerked down the road, away from the house. Instead, he looked up at the sky. In three hours, he'd be on a plane to Miami with some other musicians…

Ricky put the papers back in a stack and brought them to the desk in the corner of the room. He put them in a drawer and closed it firmly. "There," he stated simply, looking back at Lucy. "Now, we can forget it."

Lucy rocked the baby gently in her arms and smiled softly as Ricky came back to sit next to her. She looked into his eyes. "I just don't like to talk about you as though you won't be here, Ricky. I can't."

Enrique sat in the dimly lit music supply store in Manhattan, scribbling some writing on a pad. He'd met the musicians around him only a few weeks before and the store's owner, an immigrant from Italy, was allowing them to rehearse there a few times a week. They were preparing for an audition at a new club that was opening downtown.

Esteban, a trumpet player, sat next to Enrique. "Wat are jou ritin'?" Esteban spoke very little English and his pronunciation of words was not as well practiced as Enrique's. But to Esteban's credit, even though he could've easily spoken to Enrique in Spanish, he didn't.

Enrique looked at Esteban and then back at the pad. "I'm tryin' to figure out what I'm gonna call myself. All I keep hearin' is that if I want to make it in this business, I hafta have a good stage name. Enrique Ricardo is a mouthful in America."

Anthony, a flute player and a native New Yorker, approached and sat near the men as Enrique went on.

"The lady at the naturalization office said that Enrique in English is Henry. But I dun't like that. It's not a good show business name. And anyway, I hate it."

Anthony shoved a few peanuts into his mouth. "How about Ricky? EnRIQue…Ricky…seems logical."

Enrique thought a moment. He wasn't crazy about being called something different at all. But he wanted to make it and he wanted to be accepted among the American people. And Ricky WAS better than Henry.

He smiled at Anthony. "I like it. Ricky. Ricky Ricardo. Gracias, Anthony."

Anthony nodded as he munched on more peanuts. Esteban chuckled. "An' if jou ever go back to Havana, jou will be Enrique again."

Ricky looked down at the pad and wrote his new, American name. "I'm not goin' anywhere, Esteban."

Ricky reached his hand up and touched Lucy's cheek with his fingertips. Her skin was so soft and creamy. She had been so tired and pale for some days and he was glad to see her natural blush returning. "Dun't worry about it anymore. I'm not goin' anywhere."