Driving down 23d Street, Havana's main strip, in a Volkswagen convertible with David Calzado at the wheel is a little like cruising Sunset Boulevard with Puff Daddy. Every man, woman and child waiting for the bus, pedaling a Chinese bicycle or just walking waves, smiles, screams or tries to touch the leader of Charanga Habanera, the hottest and most controversial dance band on the island. Even the lucky few with cars honk.

Calzado takes his stardom in stride. He blows kisses. He waves and honks back. He high-fives with a man in a pre-Castro American jalopy and accelerates his silver convertible with the fat mag wheels. His VW is 10 years old, but hip, rare and luxurious in Havana. His new red-white-and-blue Tommy Hilfiger shirt sticks to his chest. "I love this country," he says. "If it weren't for the fact that I have to play outside to make money, I would never leave. But you know, I have gotten used to expensive things." He likes to dress in ropa de marca, designer labels, like the new Pelle Pelle jeans and the black Nikes he is wearing. He would like to buy a Mitsubishi four-door and install three TV miniscreens inside. "It would be the first car with television in Havana," he says.

Fidel Castro's Government insists that Cuba is a socialist society. But with the blessing of the Central Committee, a small number of musicians today have more -- much more -- than the rest of the 11 million Cubans who live on the island. They are the first professionals in almost four decades -- since Castro drove out the tobacco and sugar barons, the mafiosi and the American corporations -- to accumulate wealth, the first Cubans allowed to be independent businessmen and rich capitalists, even if they are not allowed to invest in their own country.

This preferential treatment coincides with the country's loss of Soviet support. Before 1989, musicians were allocated good houses and had the possibility of traveling abroad and earning a per diem, but at home they were paid as "workers of the Revolution," just like sugar-cane cutters, high-school teachers or tobacco rollers. Today, a handful of them, particularly those who, like Calzado, play popular dance music, are treated like stars. Paulito FG, a self-taught singer and dandy who is turning Cuban teen-age girls into screaming fans, Manol'n Gonz