I hope he doesn’t call. That way I will be free of him. That way I can go back to my life the way it was before he entered it. I mean after all, I didn’t come here to start anything, to get involved. I merely came to Negril for a little R and R, I came here to simplify my life not complicate it, and look what I get. No. I have been fired from my fucking job and do not have a clue as to where I’m going from here. I have not spent too much time thinking about it either and it is all this young boy’s fault because he has messed things up so that I have expended most of my free mental energy thinking about him. Silly simple simpleton. What am I doing back here in Jamaica anyway? You didn’t come here to relax, admit it, Stella! You don’t know what you’re doing, go on and admit that to yourself, Stella. Your heart led you back here and you know it and you can’t stand the thought that you can’t control the situation. Well, just fuck it! Fuck you for being such an irresponsible woman, who acted without thinking. You’re forty-two, not twenty-two, girl!
Maybe I’m in the middle of a midlife crisis. That’s what’s happening to me. I don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe I should just pack up and go home.
• • • •
It is Monday morning and I hear a knock on the door. I look at my watch. It is only seven-thirty, so I know it’s not the housekeeper. The kids of course are still asleep as they partied hard last night with their friends and I will watch Chantel like a hawk until we leave because she has already picked out her man who happens to be thirteen-year old Tyrell and he is too old for her because she is only eleven and he is too tall and looks like he’s more like fifteen and her mama should not have let her come here with that skimpy little orange flowered bathing suit which is showing off those two little olives beginning to protrude on her hard little chest.
I walk out and answer the door and it is a hotel employee holding three yellow message slips in his hand. “We apologize for any inconvenience, ma’am, but apparently your phone has not been in consistent working order for two days and you have these messages here which the gentleman asked us to bring to you as he says you have not returned his calls and he was very upset about that and we here at the Frangipani do apologize greatly for this.”
I could hug him.
I tell him, “No problem, mon,” but ask if the telephone is working now and he says it is being dealt with this morning. I sit down on the couch and flip through the messages. Two days’ worth. I feel relieved and soft and a little girlish and I am happy. I am so very happy.
• • • •
I decide to go for my run which I do and then come back and shower and then I go to breakfast and eat a waffle. I know I’m stalling but prolonging is probably a better word even though I don’t know what I’m prolonging. When I get back to the room it’s nine-something and I dial Windswept’s number which for some reason I seem to know by heart. I am connected to Mr. Shakespeare’s room as apparently he is not scheduled to work today until two o’clock. His voice is raspy, two or three octaves deeper, and his accent is more pronounced than I’ve ever heard. “Good morning, Winston.”
“Stella,” he says. “I’ve been worried about you. Not hearing from you and all that. Is everything okay?”
“Yes, everything’s fine. I was a little worried myself to be honest, Winston, because I hadn’t heard from you. . . .”
“I’ve been calling off and on for the last two days and you never returned my calls and I thought that since you were here and saw me again you had changed your mind about me.”
“No, I haven’t done that, I’m afraid.”
“What happened?”
“The phone was broken.”
“Oh, yes, mon! The phone was broken! And now it’s fixed. Stella. Stella. Stella.” He sighs, sounding relieved. “Sooo, have you and the kids been having a good time?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Can I meet you guys for lunch today? I’ll bring over a few dishes I made for you to sample. If you don’t have other plans.”
“That would be great, Winston. But the hotel operator said that you start work at two today.”
“Yes,” he moans. “I’m not as happy about this job as I was at first. It is really beginning to take its toll on me, but I’ll stick it out for what it’s worth.” Then he pauses. “Sorry. I don’t mean to sound like a pouting child. So, how about twelve? I can only stay an hour and a half, if that’s okay.”
“That sounds good,” I say. “Sounds real good.”
• • • •
When he gets here he is wearing a different No Fear shirt minus the peace necklace and he has on his very own Birkenstocks and a pair of long purple shorts. His legs are so hairy and he looks so handsome in the sunlight that I am tempted to tell him to forget about lunch, let’s be lunch, but of course I don’t.
The children are difficult to find but he and I sit out on the balcony and I taste his pepper pot soup which has some green stuff that looks like spinach floating in it and it is delicious and then I taste this orange potato which is a cassava and it is sweet and then he gives me this fish dish called escovich and it is real vinegary and full of carrots and onions and some other vegetable and Winston says it is served mostly at breakfast but he wanted me to taste it and it is different and then he gives me what he calls “rundown” which is salted mackerel simmered in coconut milk with tomatoes and onions and I would like to eat more it is so good. And lastly he brings me some pan-fried plantains, which I kiss him for and I do not worry about flossing at all.
We sit at the table looking out at the beach for a few minutes and then Winston wraps his hand around mine and squeezes it. “I wish I could stay.” He sighs.
“I wish you could too,” I say.
“I enjoy your company.”
“Why?” I say.
“Because I feel comfortable around you. I don’t have to pretend to be something that I’m not. I’m not used to it. But I could get used to it.”
“It?”
“You. . . . My dad never talked to me about those birds and bees, you know. And my mom left it up to my dad. Sooo, this is all kind of new to me and I’m not sure what I’m doing or if I’m doing it right.”
“You’re doing it right, Winston, don’t worry. And plus there is no right or wrong way. It’s what makes you feel good inside.”
“Oh, I’m feeling good inside, I’d say.”
“You’re going to make a great chef,” I say then.
“We’ll see. My dad always wanted me to go to medical school and he’s a bit disappointed in me since I didn’t.”
“But this is your life.”
“Exactly. But he doesn’t understand that.”
“Does he know you want to be a chef?”
“Not really. I’m not completely sure myself. It’s what I’ve been given a chance to do and it seems okay.”
“It’s okay to be uncertain, Winston. I’m not sure how many people your age know exactly how they want to spend the rest of their life so don’t worry about it. You should talk to your dad about how you feel.”
He shakes his head no.
“Why not?”
“We don’t talk.”
“Then talk.”
“He doesn’t have much to say to me.”
“Then talk to him so he has to.”
“I’ll think about it,” he says and turns his attention to the waves. We sit there for a few more minutes not saying a word. He squeezes my hand, then lets it go and stands. His shorts have slid down to his hips. “I would like to gain about twenty pounds,” he says, pulling them up.
“I think you look fine, Winston.”
“I’m too skinny. People tell me all the time.”
“Don’t listen to them. I like how lean and tall you are.”
“Really?”
“I kid you not,” I say, standing too.
He smiles a satisfied smile and takes his long fingers and grazes them softly over my braids. He looks like he wants to kiss me but then he bends down and puts his arms around me and ju
st holds me for the longest time. I belong in his arms, I’m thinking, when we hear the children running up the steps and then they appear.
“Winston, you missed Rick’s!” Quincy says.
“I know, and I’m sorry about that, Quincy. I had to work, mon.”
“A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,” Quincy says, and of course this throws Winston for a loop.
“Hi, Winston,” Chantel says. She is flirting, I see.
“Say, I brought you guys some lunch. Some of it’s a bit on the spicy side, so be careful.”
“Are you leaving again?” Quincy asks.
“I have to go back to work.”
“Why do you work so much?” Chantel asks.
“I have to make a living.”
“Good point,” she says.
“So when are you coming back?” Quincy asks.
“I’m afraid my next big break won’t be until tomorrow evening.”
“Really,” I say. “Well, I’ll probably be packing.”
“Tomorrow’s only Tuesday,” Winston says.
“We leave on Wednesday morning.”
“Nooo. I thought you didn’t leave until Thursday.”
“That was last time.”
He sighs. “If I’d known that I would have tried harder to get tomorrow off—they won’t give it to me, Stella.”
“It’s okay.” But it wasn’t okay. Why do people always say that when they don’t mean it?
“I’ll have two hours for dinner tomorrow at eight. And I’ll be here to say goodbye. Is that okay?”
“It’s what you have to give. It’s what we’ll take.”
He gives me a light kiss. Chantel, pretending to eat, is actually taking notes. I roll my eyes at her to let her know that she is busted. Quincy of course is busy eating, only the plantains—he says he loves fried bananas.
• • • •
I am sitting out at the poolside restaurant, sipping on my virgin piña colada. It is eight-fifteen. Winston called at six to tell me he would be here for sure. I keep looking out into the lobby hoping to see him appear like he did the first night we got here but over the next half hour I get zingy watching the same empty spot hoping that he will walk into it. He does not.
At five to nine I say fuck him again. I don’t need this. This is so tacky and inconsiderate. I put something in my mouth and cannot taste it. My heart is aching. Who the fuck does he think he is, standing me up? And what kind of sick little game is he playing? I didn’t come here to get my fucking heart broken by some boy. I wonder if he’s in a racket and I’ve been set up. But why me? He doesn’t know anything about me. I didn’t make him come here. I didn’t beg him to. He volunteered. I feel as if every single tourist at this hotel knows I’m sitting here waiting for a man who isn’t going to show up. This is what I get. For not playing it safe. For taking a risk. This is how and why you wind up feeling like a fool, because men—and I don’t care how old or young they are—coerce you, get you to trust them, and then you start acting like a fool.
I’m glad the kids are having dinner with their New Orleans friends, whose mother was also kind enough to “babysit” while I have dinner with a friend and say my farewells. It is now five after nine and I can’t take this much more. Fuck you, Winston, and thanks a lot for everything! I get up from the table and storm back to the villa, where I see the flashing red light on the telephone. I am afraid to pick it up but I do anyway and the operator tells me to call the front gate which I do and the guard tells me that he has Winston Shakespeare out front to see me.
I march through the parking lot right to the front gate and I am so pissed I can’t wait to tell him I don’t know who you think you are showing up an hour and ten minutes late and am I supposed to be grateful to get fifty minutes of your precious time well don’t do me any fucking favors fella and just who do you think you are anyway? Am I supposed to beg for some goodbye nuggies, or are you showing up late because you don’t want any more of this old tired pussy, is that it? If that’s it then why don’t you just come right out and say so!
There he is, standing by the guard. He looks a little perturbed and distraught himself I think as I walk up to him stand on my tiptoes give him a peck on the cheek and say, “Thanks for coming. Goodbye. It’s been nice meeting you.”
“Stella,” he groans and looks down. “I’ve been waiting out here since five minutes to eight but this time they wouldn’t let me inside the gate and we’ve been calling your room and there’s been no answer and so I said she’s probably sitting in the dining area and if they could ring you there and they said they did but you weren’t there and finally I had them try your room again.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. What did you think happened?”
“I thought you were standing me up.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because I thought you had come to your senses.”
“I’ve never lost them,” he says.
We are standing in the driveway entrance and the headlights from an incoming car force us to move over to the grassy area. Winston looks down at me and gives me a kiss. “I am really disappointed that we weren’t able to spend more time together.”
“So am I,” I say.
He looks down the road at cars that seem to be drag racing. “Well,” he sighs, and then just puts his arms around me and begins to hug me. “I’m going to miss you, Stella.”
“I’m going to miss you too, Winston.”
“You know,” he says and kisses me on my forehead, “I am afraid I have become too attached to you.”
“What does too attached mean?”
“It means that I am finding myself thinking about you all the time and wishing I could see you.”
“Join the club.”
“Remember when you asked me if I’ve ever been in love and I said I didn’t think so?”
“Yes.”
“And remember when I asked you what it felt like and you said you sort of crave being around a person and how they make your adrenaline move fast and you can’t get enough of them?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m kind of feeling like that,” he says and I slide my hands in his back pockets, where I feel a condom in the left one.
I am totally touched by his honesty. “Well, Winston, let me tell you a little secret.”
“What kind of secret?”
“I do believe that I have like fallen in love with your young behind and it doesn’t make an ounce of sense and I’ll be on a plane in the morning and five thousand miles away so I’ll just have to like get over it.”
“What?”
“You heard me right.”
“Why do you have to get over it?”
“You know why, Winston.”
He hugs me and kisses me and cars begin honking as they pass but it doesn’t cause him to stop and I think my feet are sinking into the moist soil below this grass and as our lips show that they are not in the least afraid to love each other it occurs to me that I wish I could keep him. Tonight tomorrow and for a long time because I like the way he makes me feel and I’m wondering, as I take my hands out of his pockets and hold him as close as he is holding me, why can’t we keep doing this? I mean is there a law against this somewhere? Are the love police out here scoping the area, hoping to bust us?
Winston breaks away from me and then puts his lips on my neck and presses down his warmth and we are making love with our clothes on out here on the side of this road with all this rushing traffic flashing by and I am racing too, so much that I know I can’t take much more of this, I can’t.
“So I hope to be seeing you real soon,” he says.
“You’re just saying that now, Winston,” I say.
“Oh, so you think I’ll say something different tomorrow or next week or next month, is that it?”
“Winston, I’m forty-two years old.”
“I know how old you are.”
“And next year I’ll be forty-three and then I’
ll be forty-four.”
“So?”
“So this doesn’t really make any sense.”
I can tell he is as tired of hearing me say this as I am of saying it, but it is the truth, any way you slice it. He squeezes me a little closer as if he’s trying to reassure me that he is rejecting this whole idea and I can feel his heartbeat and then he lets out a long sigh. “Someone your age ought to know that anything that’s good hardly ever makes sense,” he says and then his weight drops and he takes two steps backward and looks down at me. “And if there’s a law written somewhere that says it has to, then let’s just break it.”
“YOU JUST DON’T know when to stop, do you, Stella?”
“Angela, would you do me a favor. Please call my house before you come over here.” I wish I could tell her how beautiful she looks right now but I can’t. Her skin is a copperish color and she is all aglow. Her hair has grown out and she’s wearing it in those thick dangling Shirley Temple curls. Her belly looks like a beach ball under her pink dress and she finally has some boobs.
“I haven’t been calling before I come over. Why now all of a sudden? You’re losing your mind, Stella. My God, he’s a child and you went back to Jamaica to sleep with him again—what is it with you?”
How Stella Got Her Groove Back Page 24
