by Hannovah
“No, we were at my cousin, Brian,” Joshua said, biting into a chicken leg. “Dad had his hands full with Mom, so I didn’t want to burden him with trying to entertain us.”
Ashley got up and left for the bathroom, so I took the opportunity to poke some fun. “You look so, so happy . . . it looks like you’re over Joanne.”
“Joanne? Joanne who?” Joshua asked with a smirk. “I don’t think of her at all. The only time I want to see her is when Ashley and I have kids.” He fantasized, “In the next few years, I want to be in a grocery store with Ashley and our four kids, and when we see Joanne, I will say to the kids, ‘Come. Come over here. Move away from that lady.’”
We laughed.
Ashley returned and, and I don’t know whether she knew, but her left breast was out of her opened blouse and bouncing happily with each step.
“Put it up,” I said pointing.
“Oh,” she said, shoving it back in place. “Sorry.”
She dropped herself into Joshua’s lap. Then grabbing his hands and pulling his arms around her, she wiggled her body into a comfortable position. Joshua smiled approvingly.
Through eating, Joshua pushed his plate aside and spoke about his academics. “Ray, I looked up my grades for last semester and I haven’t done as well as I usually do.”
“Ah-hah? Well, you had it rough with the divorce, you know. But you’re an A student. How bad were they?”
“Well, I got an A, a B, two C’s, and an F.”
Brandon’s eyebrows arched at the mention of F. “Don’t let life get in the way of your studies, son.” He waved a finger. “Drunk or sober, walk that line.”
“Umm-hmm. But I registered for seven classes next semester because I have to finish my degree next year.”
“Good for you. But seven classes? That’s a lot, seeing that you’re working as well.”
Joshua hugged his wife tighter and kissed the top of her blonde head. “I quit my job,” he said nonchalantly.
Ashley reached up and caressed the back of Joshua’s head above her, playing with his curly hair. “Yeah it’s no problem,” she said. “I make good money at the club sometimes two hundred sometimes three hundred a night so we can make it.”
“And I’m in the Reserves and I get a check from Uncle Sam every month,” Joshua added. He kissed her head again. “We decided that she would work, and I would go to school and take care of all the household chores. Truth be told, Ashley can’t cook to save her life. She’ll burn water. Plus, she’s not interested in cleaning and doing laundry.”
Ashley giggled at his comments, and I couldn’t help thinking that she was so different from Joanne who would never make a sacrifice like this to put Joshua through school.
“And we need to get another vehicle,” Ashley said. “Josh won’t always be able to take me to and from work he wanted me to open a bank account to save up some money but I can’t not with my record an all so I’ll just continue saving up my money in the shoe box under the bed until I have enough to buy a car.”
My heart melted. “You’re a sweet soul, Ashley.”
She smiled, and tilted her head back to gaze up into her husband’s eyes.
He whispered, “One day I’ll count all these freckles on your face.”
“Sure anytime.” She clamped her lips on his.
Joshua had a few light days at the start of his semester, and so he, Brandon and Ashley made use of their free time and worked like magicians on the guesthouse. When I got home one afternoon, later in the week, I went into the bungalow for the first time in months. Its ceiling was repaired with new popcorn tiles, and the walls were painted an attractive blend of colors. The living room had crown molding with matching baseboard; all light fixtures were changed to modern ones; and the new marble-like counter tops were so eye-catching. The following day, when I checked on it again, there was plush light brown carpet on the floor along with used, but nice, furniture. Our little 400 square-foot villa looked cozy and cute.
“Brandon,” I pouted as I stood in the kitchenette, “why won’t you spruce up the main house to look as nice as this?”
“I will Eddie. Sometime next year.”
“Promises. Promises.”
What a happy day it was, two weeks later, when Ashley bought herself a Geo Tracker. It was a small yellow, sporty two-door SUV, some years old, but in very good condition, and when they pulled up in our driveway she honked the horn to alert us, and in the process, the whole neighborhood.
I had just finished cooking, so I came out to inspect the vehicle and to share in her joy; but I had to do a double take. A large marijuana plant was painted on the entire hood, and although this was unusual, the green against the yellow really looked attractive. She informed me that she had bought the car a week ago and had immediately taken it to one of Joshua’s friends to get the ganja painting done. I know one thing: I can spot this truck from a mile away. Silly girl, I thought. Ashley was truly young and free.
Brandon emerged from the back yard, weed whacker in hand and the old straw hat on his head, to see what all the noise was about. At first he laughed at the painting, but afterwards he complimented Ashley on her choice of car and her creativity. Then he left us to continue his yard work.
Joshua opened up the tailgate and I took a peek inside. The trunk was clean, and on the floor were a portable sewing machine and two shopping bags: one containing clothing, and the other, wigs of different colors. Suddenly, the reality of the Ashley’s line of work hit me.
Joshua hoisted out the sewing machine and the bag with the clothing, and Ashley shut the door for him.
Mr. Browning knew that one of my talents was sewing, and that I had a machine at the house, so I was curious as to why he brought one to me. It turned out that he wanted me to show him how to alter and adjust some of his wife’s costumes, and at the same time to give him some pointers on the use of his new appliance.
“Hmmm!” Joshua said as he entered the house. “Lasagna! Edna, you must teach me how to cook this.” He dipped a spoon into the pasta and sampled it.
We decided to grab a quick bite. Brandon shouldn’t mind.
When we were done eating, Joshua fished out a costume from the bag: a black, lace bodysuit. The upper part of it was too large for Ashley’s thirty-two-B bosom, so we went to work, adjusting a few areas. While we were doing that, she informed me that she was back at Kamel Toe, but I didn’t even know she had left. She said that she had to leave because of verbal and physical fights with co-workers. Then she had gone to work at Fantastic Felines and that had lasted all of one week for the same reason. The same thing happened at Pussy Galore, after which she returned to Kamel Toe.
I never thought I would be aiding and abetting someone in this profession, but here I was. Done with the alteration, I let her try it on in the bedroom, and she shouted from there that it fit perfectly.
She returned and began folding the outfit to put it away, and it was then I noticed what looked like injuries to the palms of her hands. I reached out and stopped her to take a better look. Her finger joints had red, raised areas that would soon turn to corns or calluses; and the palms themselves were bruised. She said she got those from swinging on the poles. Then she pointed to her insteps, inflamed and scarred from performing in plastic high heels. My heart hurt.
Ashley shoved the bodysuit back into the bag and drew out the other item: a stretchy denim dress with a plunging V-line which she wanted to continue all the way down to her belly button. She also needed the hem of it to hang just above her butt cheeks. This adjustment was more challenging than the last one, and Joshua observed closely as I cut and hemmed the dress several times until she was satisfied. Ashley did a final try-on, and was elated that most of her boobs and butt were on display.
“Where’s Brandon?” she asked, whirling around. And then she answered her own question. “I forgot he’s outside.”
She grabbed up the keys to her Tracker. “I need to get some cigarettes,” she announced. “I’ll be back I�
��m going to the corner store.”
I thought, Dressed like that! Are you crazy? You look like a prostitute and the neighbors will think that I’m running a brothel. But if Ashley’s husband did not seem to have a problem with her going to the store like that, I had nothing to say.
I peeped through the window blinds to see if any of my neighbors were outside, and fortunately, only a few teenagers were playing basketball out there, and of course, they stopped when Ashley bounced out the front door. Gosh, I would have been extremely embarrassed if their parents were out there also. She waved to Brandon who was tending to the hibiscus hedge close to my window and he waved back with a smile but promptly returned to his work.
I left the window and found Joshua stealing a little bag of chocolates from our treat-bowl and he smiled a guilty smile. He was not in the least bit concerned with the behavior of his wife, and it seemed that he supported and trusted her one hundred percent, just like Brandon trusted me on my job.
Later, when I heard Ashley’s Tracker pull up, I resumed my position at the window.
As she approached Brandon and shook her chest a little, I prayed Father Lord, help him to resist.
Then she looked down at her boobs that were as good as out, and I heard her complaining to him, “They can’t seem to stay in they keep coming out.”
Brandon only smiled and continued with his landscaping.
The Brownings left for the beach shortly afterwards and I could only imagine what the other beachgoers were in for with Ashley.
“What did you think about Ashley’s outfit?” I asked Brandon who had paused from his chore to say goodbye to our guests.
He took a deep breath and leaned on his rake. “Red-neck hoochie-mama,” he said.
“I can’t believe that she went out dressed like that, and that Josh allowed her to.”
“Eddie, Josh has no control over this one, you know. He truly bit off more than he could chew.”
The Caribbean Organization of Miami Incorporated had planned a Saturday night cruise for islanders to come together and have some fun: a four-hour trip along Biscayne Bay. This was just one in a series of events planned for the next few weeks leading up to the Caribbean Carnival which was scheduled for the Columbus Day weekend. Yvette, our neighbor, was part of the organization and we always patronized her and her association. We would take the Brownings with us this year, the tradeoff being that they would pay for the parking, not to mention that they both planned on drinking and would need a designated driver.
We left home at nine p.m. and by nine forty-five we were stepping onto The Lady Biscayne, a posh-looking double-decker boat that could hold 400 passengers. Brandon preferred the lower deck because it was smoke- free and not as wild as the upper deck where the younger folks hung out and acted crazy.
There was a live reggae band performing, and right away my thoughts went to my son Stephen and Burning Bush, and how nice it would have been if they were the band entertaining us tonight. Then I thought about Maxwell who could not stand being on a ship at all, because it made him claustrophobic. Oh well.
The aroma of different foods filled the air on this totally enclosed lower deck, and I just knew that the food would not be disappointing.
The Lady Biscayne finally set off, and the Brownings straightaway made for the bar to get a head start on their drinking. We older heads strolled around, scouting, if perchance we may come upon a long lost friend. I did see an old girlfriend of mine and, after we greeted her, Brandon left us and mingled with the crowd on the dance floor. Next thing I knew, he was making his way hastily out of the throng. He pinched his nose with one hand and with the other he fanned it rapidly and signaled me that he was going upstairs.
I finished my yelling-over-the-music-conversation with my girlfriend, got some food and followed him. We got to the top and I shouted above the DJ music, “Why are we up here? I thought you didn’t like it up here?”
“Girl,” he said, still fanning, “somebody farted down there.”
I laughed.
“And that scent is not leaving my nostrils. God.” He was fanning vigorously now.
“I guess the smoke from weed and cigarette is better than a fart scent.”
“Ah-hah,” he replied, nodding.
We navigated through the crowded dance floor and tables and chairs, with our sights set on the exit door. Opening it, we stepped out into the open air, and edging our way among smokers and lovers, we found a space at the railings at the front of the vessel. This position would ensure that all smoke will be downwind and behind us.
“So much better,” Brandon said. “A little warm, though.”
As soon as his nose got free of the offending odor we went back inside, but took a seat on the upper floor because Brandon wanted to give that lower deck enough time to air out before he ventured back, and I needed to eat my curried chicken and rice.
While we sat enjoying the meal, the music and dancing, Joshua came up to the top deck, drink in hand, without his wife, Ashley. Before I could ask a question, he volunteered, “She is acting up down there, so I’m giving her some space.”
Brandon shook his head.
Holding up his drink Joshua boasted, “This is drink number seven.”
After some time, we all moved back downstairs and met up with Ashley who seemed to be in a foul mood with Joshua. As he tried to talk to her, she gave him the finger and on tippy toes, shouted repeatedly in his face, “Fuck you!”
We said nothing because we did not want to be cussed out too.
Joshua left her and went to the buffet, returning with a plate of jerk chicken with rice-and-peas. Ashley, by this time, had rejoined the thick crush of bodies gyrating on the dance floor, and without her husband at her side, strange men held onto her and wined. Ashley happily wined back; she was in her glee, dancing from man to man.
Mr. Browning ate, but kept a watchful eye on his wife between bites, sucking his teeth intermittently. Then, suddenly, he began to scowl and rub his tummy.
“I’m not feeling well. I drank too much,” he complained to me.
Of course you did. Remember, it was at least seven.
I lightly massaged his back and, soon, Ashley appeared out of nowhere.
“Honey is something wrong?” Her voice was tender.
“I don’t feel good.” Joshua griped, placing his head on her shoulder.
“Oh honey.” She hugged him and took over his care, kissing his cheek and rubbing his belly, and remaining there with him until the boat finally docked. When we disembarked, he leaned on her to walk to our car, and she continued to massage his back all the way. We drove off, but after a few miles Joshua asked us to pull over. Brandon did, and while the Volvo was still settling itself to a stop, Joshua had already opened the door and extended half of his body outside. He regurgitated his meal in spasms while Ashley caressed his back like if he was her precious baby.
“You’ll be okay honey you’ll be alright,” she consoled him. When he recuperated, she placed his head in her lap and tenderly stroked his face until we got home.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I was nervous at work on Monday.
Something, my gut or women’s intuition, was telling me that Dr. Joseph was not done trying after me, and that he had only left me alone for a season. When he did not show up at my office door again, I felt a sense of relief: no need for any elusiveness. The day went by smoothly except for an incident in the Chemistry lab of all places, where a female student went into an epileptic fit. Thank God that only a little acid was splashed on her colleague next to her, and that another student who happened to be a nurse helped out the situation until EMTs arrived to take both women to a hospital.
After the drama, I dismissed class and trekked over to Student Services where I filled out an incident report, and contacted relatives of both students.
On the way home, I stopped at the hospital to check on them. I didn’t have to – it was not part of my job, but I was concerned, especially for the epileptic, becaus
e she was still unconscious when the paramedics had taken her away. I found the acid-burned student sitting in the lobby, awaiting her dad; fortunately, her burns were only superficial, so she had been treated and released. But the other one was warded for tests and observation because this had been her first seizure ever. She was quite lucid now and I sat with her until her first relative arrived.
What a day! I thought when I finally pulled into our driveway.
The old white Camry was parked on the street outside our house, but the yellow Tracker was missing, so I knew that Ashley was not around. I greeted Brandon and our adopted son at our kitchen table, and Joshua informed me that Ashley had quit her job and was out looking for another one, but in a different field. He himself was dressed in a uniform with a logo on his shirt that read Quickie Mart. He said that he had to find a job, and that it was a long story. I did not pry, and then it hit me that his trade-mark bright smile was no longer there. Oh well.
After giving the duo the nutshell version of my incident at school, I left them and hit the shower. When I came back out to have something to eat, the men had deserted the area and gone to the office at the end of the hallway. I could hear their voices and I could see the door opened just a crack, and I wondered why all the secrecy. Well, I had to find out.
I prepared my meal, placed it on the table, and then, as carefully as I could, I tip-toed down to the office and peeped through the slightly ajar door. Brandon was out of my view and most likely sitting on the swiveling office chair next to the computer desk. Joshua was lying on his back on the futon with both hands laced behind his head, and he was looking up to the ceiling as he spoke.
“So the girlfriend that she made at work . . . on the nights when I studying, they go out partying or working. One time they went to work a four-day weekend in Daytona – Girls Gone Wild – which was no problem to me. But last night she said to me that she would like to bring the girl home.”
