“I don’t know, but I bet he tastes good!” Alton replied, and both of the house waiters standing guard beside the table chuckled but then went back to their serious on-duty stances.
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing! You guys are totally gross!” Zola complained.
“Okay! Okay! Okay! I’m totally sorry for grossing you out, future baby sister,” Adan said. He picked up a spoon and tapped at his glass, making a clatter. “Hear ye! Hear ye!” he began. “Now, if I may have your attention for a moment please. I need to make some announcements.”
Zena had taken in all of Adan in his loose-fitting white linen Havana shirt and trousers. He and Alton had only gotten to Bali two days before she’d arrived with Zola, but both men already had sufficient tans. Adan’s brown skin was a smooth pumpernickel now, and the white linen made his arms and face look like something to touch. She made sure to look away as he spoke. She spotted two dogs chasing waves a mile or so down the beach. No owner in sight, no people around at all; however, they still appeared to enjoy a kind of human fun on a beauteous evening between the black sky and black sand.
“First, I want to say I’m so happy we are all together,” Adan went on in her ear. “I’m so happy to share this amazing occasion with so many amazing—”
Zena looked out to the ocean as Adan continued his welcoming. There, she focused on one ship floating so far out she could only see its navigation lights meant to both confirm and reveal its location as it floated through the night.
“You know what? Let’s stop this right now?” Zena curtly interrupted Adan.
Everyone looked at Zena nervously, as if they’d been waiting for her to say something out of line or do something outrageous.
“What? What is it, Zena? Everything okay?” Zola asked carefully as she reached over and placed a calming hand on Zena’s knee.
“Yes, silly. I’m just saying—let’s stop all this welcoming stuff,” she said, adding more cheerfulness to her tone. “In fact, Adan shouldn’t be the one welcoming us all here anyway.”
“Who should be welcoming us, Zena?” Alton asked, and at that moment he sounded as though he fully expected the people from the local crazy house to show up to take Zena away in a straitjacket and human muzzle.
“You!” Zena said. “You two. The bride and groom should be opening the wedding weekend with a welcoming for their guests.” Zena looked to Adan for support. “I’m guessing you and I have been to the same amount of weddings. Am I correct? Isn’t that how it goes?”
“Yes,” Adan confirmed.
“Oh,” Zola uttered, as if none of that had occurred to her, though Zena knew she’d been to and even participated in a few of her line sisters’ weddings. “So, that’s cool.” Zola looked at Alton, who appeared just as surprised and also speechless. “Well,” she giggled girlishly. “I guess, we both say, ‘Welcome?’”
Alton nodded as if his betrothed had really done something, and he cavalierly repeated, “Yeah. Welcome,” before easing back in his seat comfortably.
Even Adan looked perturbed by this nonchalance.
“Come on! You guys have to do better than that,” Zena pointed out. “You sound like teenagers. This is your wedding. The most adult thing you could do. You have to do better.”
“It’s not that we don’t want to do better. We just don’t know what to say,” Zola complained.
“Okay! Okay! Well, in the interest of time, and so our lovely food doesn’t go untouched for too much longer, I’ll give a suggestion,” Zena offered. “How about you two stand and welcome Adan and me here. And then share something special with us. Say...” Zena looked around and snapped her fingers as if she was trying to find a solution, but the truth was that she’d planned this—she’d already used her interrogation skills to come up with the perfect prompts to cause contention between Alton and Zola. “You could ummm... I have it... You could tell your guests what you see in each other. Why you believe your mate would make a good husband or wife.”
Adan nodded at the suggestion and looked at Alton and Zola, who started getting up rather awkwardly like two teens about to give a speech before their classmates.
“Welc—” Zola tried, but Zena quickly stopped her.
“No, Alton should start,” Zena demanded. “He’s the man. The husband. He speaks for both of you...now.”
Adan nodded again, though he also looked as if this might have been a quizzical detail for someone like Zena, who only ever let him speak first when she had nothing to say when they were children.
“Well, it’s the twenty-first century, and I don’t see my soon-to-be wife as a second-class citizen,” Alton said sarcastically. “She’s my equal. My soul mate. But I’ll play along.” He cleared his throat and shook away his nervousness. “Welcome, everyone. My lovely bride and I are so happy to have you here this evening as we prepare for our nuptials. I believeith it was the good brotherith Common who saidith, ‘It don’t take all day to recognize sunshine,’” he went on in jest. “Well, I did recognize that sunshine in this badass chick beside me, and I’m never letting her put me in the dark again.”
Zena was staring at Alton and struggling to hide her frown of displeasure at the cute but out-of-place Common rap song quote. “And tell us, beyond being sunshine—because we all know that about Zola—what will make her a good wife?”
Alton bit his upper lip as he contemplated. A bright light from one of the tiki torches set up around the table sparkled behind him. Soon, he said, “She’s a good person. She’s nice. She’s nice to me. And she’s beautiful. And I love her.”
Zola swooned and leaned into Alton. “So sweet,” she said.
Zena smiled weakly and turned her attention to Zola. “And you—why do you believe Alton will make a good husband?”
Zola grinned at Alton, and she had to hold the grin for a long while because it took her twice as long as it had taken Alton to gather a response. So long, in fact, that one of the staffers beside the table seemed to lean in with anticipation.
Soon, Zola spoke to Alton as if they were alone. “Alton, you are comforting. You are so fine!” She smiled. “You are always sweet. You love me. You’re a good man.”
“Oh, babe!” Alton said.
One of the staff members wiped a loose teardrop as Alton kissed Zola.
Clearly unimpressed, Zena started a slow clap until Alton and Zola stopped kissing, and she offered a well-intentioned smile.
“That’s sweet,” she said. “Very sweet. And so original. No at all what I expected. I’ve heard so many brides and grooms respond to that very question and they say things like, ‘She’s good with money and children and has good credit and is godly,’ and ‘He’s stable and successful and intelligent and ambitious.’ Those are the kinds of answers I’m used to hearing, but I think what you two said was sufficient. It was well-meaning. It was beautiful. Right, Adan?” Her tone was indicting and a little sarcastic, but not blatantly attacking. She didn’t want to cause alarm.
Adan had clearly caught on to something, though, and was staring at Zena, trying to discover her point.
“Right, Zena. You’re right,” he concurred.
* * *
Bellies filled with so much rice and pork—even Zola had eaten her share—and everything else at the table, the foursome ambled to their rooms to shut it down for the night. Though they’d chatted about an evening stroll on the beach and even planned a midnight pool party, the days of travel, gross sensual demands of the new environment, good eating and the ocean breeze around them had everyone feeling completely exhausted or so thoroughly relaxed they could fall asleep at any moment.
While Zola, who announced that she didn’t want to sleep with Alton so she could be “chaste” before the wedding, had her own room in the main house, she opted to share a bed with Zena in the flat she’d selected toward the back of the property. The si
mple architectural offering was elegant and mysterious. Four walls of cool black polished concrete came together to create a kind of human-sized cocoon made for perfect sleeping.
When Zena got out of the shower, she found Zola sitting on the edge of the king-size bed wrapped in a towel. Zola’s hair was completely covered with leave-in conditioner. She’d split it into four sections and was busy twisting.
“What are you going to do with your hair for the wedding?” Zena asked. She was naked and standing before the vanity a few feet away from the bed. She’d discovered two mosquito bites on her arm and was dutifully applying Skin So Soft, a bite repellant and remedy Lisa had passed down to her daughters.
“I don’t know. I was thinking you could cornrow it up into a goddess knot or something. Like how you used to do when I was younger.”
“I don’t think my braiding skills are wedding day worthy,” Zena said.
“I don’t think I have a choice.”
“Ahhh. The black-woman travel dilemma,” Zena confirmed, laughing. “No one to do your hair.”
“Exactly.”
“You never know. There must be one hairdresser in all of Bali who can do braids! Some of these people here have some coarse hair!”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Plenty of folks look surprised to see us, though. It’s like they’ve never seen black people, period.”
“Alton said some guy at the airport asked to take a picture with him. Can you believe that?” Zola revealed. “Then after taking the picture, the man gave him a thumbs-up and said, ‘Michael Jordan!’”
“Ahhh. The black-man travel dilemma,” Zena confirmed, laughing again. “Everyone thinks you’re an athlete.”
Zola laughed, and then the sisters were silent as she finished her third braid.
Zena brushed her teeth and looked at her hairline. She’d plucked three gray hairs. While Lisa kept telling her not to pull them out, that the aggressive action would only invite more, she just couldn’t stand the sight of the white hairs.
“You hear that?” Zola said, looking at the door.
“What?”
“Listen.”
Zena stopped moving and listened, but she heard nothing.
“What?”
“It’s crickets.” Zola smiled. “Crickets!”
Then Zena could hear them, too. It was a simple buzzing that sounded like nothing until she tuned in, and then the crickets were chirping all around.
“Night crickets. Just like in Georgia,” Zola observed whimsically. “It’s beautiful. We’re literally on the other side of the world but still at home.”
Zena slid on her nightgown and headed toward her side of the bed.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Zola started, rather abruptly changing the subject. “About the things Alton and I should have said about one another when we listed what would make a good husband or wife.”
“I didn’t say you should’ve said anything. I said what you revealed was enough.”
“I know. I know,” Zola agreed. “But I mean like the other things were important, too. People don’t like to say it, but they are.”
Zena grinned internally and asked, “Like what? What things are important?” Then she tried to sound more nonchalant and less leading with, “I don’t really recall everything I said. Remind me.”
“You said other people have told you their fiancé/ fiancée was good with money or had good credit.”
“Finances? So you meant to say Alton is good with finances?” Zena asked naively.
Zola rolled her eyes at Zena. “Stop joking. You know he has no real finances to be good with. Not now anyway.”
Zena nodded.
“And when he does get money, we’ve been so broke for so long, we just spend it because we’re both so frustrated,” Zola added.
“That’s life with an artist.” Zena sat beside Zola and reached over to twist Zola’s last plait.
“But will it work?” Zola asked. “You work with people going through divorces all the time. Does it work? Like if Alton doesn’t make it. If he never gets his career together.”
“I’m not here to do that, Zollie,” Zena said. “I told you I’m just here to support you and Alton on your special day.”
“Cut the crap. Just answer the question.” Zola pulled away from Zena’s hold on her hair and looked at her.
“Fine.” Zena groaned as if Zola had really pulled her arm and none of this was planned. “There’s no right or wrong answer here. But I can say in my practice—money is most commonly at the root of divorce. That and cheating.”
Zola sighed.
“Look, low cash makes everything more difficult,” Zena said.
“But plenty of people with lots of cash have issues, too,” Zola pointed out. “You know that.”
“Low cash is an issue that can hit anyone. A rich man can have low cash issues if his wife is trying to be in a new Bentley every month. It’s nothing to have $50K in the bank if your mortgage alone is $10K. If the light bill is $1,500.”
“Good point,” Zola said. “You know, Alton is talking about getting a house for us.”
“Really?” Zena looked shocked. “Where?”
“Mr. Roy wants to give us their old house. He’s been lonely with Mrs. Pam gone, and he’s moving back to his family farm in Valdosta.”
“That’s wonderful. What a gift for you two.”
“Not really. I don’t want to live in our old neighborhood. I want something nice. I want something new. I want to stay downtown.”
“I could sell you guys my condo,” Zena offered easily.
“You’d do that?”
“Of course. I only owe like a couple hundred thousand on the loan. How’s Alton’s credit?” She didn’t bother to ask about Zola. Her credit was so bad, Zena was surprised Zola was deemed fit to sit for the Bar Exam.
“You owe that much? We can’t afford that. How much do you pay each month for the mortgage?” Zola asked with her mouth open in surprise. “Wait! I don’t think I want to know.”
Zola gasped and fell back on her pillow in time to hear a rolling wave beat out the crickets.
“I have so much to think about,” she declared, sounding deflated.
Zena turned off the lamp beside the bed before lying back on her pillow.
“Too late for all that,” she said, openly smiling in the darkness. “No cold feet allowed on this trip. You’re getting married.”
Chapter 6
Zena felt so rejuvenated by the bedtime discussion with Zola that she woke up in time for sunrise, endured a five-mile jog through the homey village outside Mahatma House, showered, blew out her hair and still managed to be the first person at the breakfast table. She wore a loose-fitting yellow beach dress and slid a red hibiscus she’d plucked during her jog behind her right ear.
The house chef greeted Zena with a cup of green tea that seemed oddly comforting in the early heat that invaded the outdoor dining area. She slid a plate of sliced exotic fruit onto the table and took Zena’s breakfast order.
After a while, Adan entered. He was wearing a pair of Hawaiian print blue-and-white swimming trunks and no shirt.
Zena glanced and looked away quickly. How odd was it that he wasn’t wearing a shirt? How odd was it that he was there?
She counseled herself that perhaps she should’ve expected these two things: his presence, his nude and muscular chest.
Zena suddenly hated herself for getting to the breakfast table first. She also hated herself for not having a T-shirt for Adan in her bag.
“Morning, Z,” Adan said, now standing beside Zena with his nude chest still wet from the pool.
He kissed her on the cheek and sat in the chair next to her as if he’d been doing this every morning of eve
ry day of the year.
The chef brought his green tea and took his breakfast order.
“You see Zola and Alton?” Zena asked. When she’d gotten to the room after her run, Zola wasn’t in the bed. She assumed Zola slipped off to Alton’s room.
“Yeah. They were arguing about something way too early this morning,” Adan revealed.
“Really? About what?” Zena leaned toward Adan but then quickly masked her interest.
“No clue. I heard Zola shout ‘condo’ and ‘credit,’ and I pulled my pillow over my head.”
Zena smirked and flexed her pinkie as she took the next sip from her tea.
“I also saw you running earlier. I was going to join you, but a brother is a little too slow these days.” Adan rubbed his stomach playfully. Zena watched as his fingers grazed his perfect abs and held back from swooning. “All work and no working out makes Adan a fat man!”
Zena found herself laughing. Adan could be funny. He could be really funny sometimes.
“You’re not fat,” she said. “Not at all.” Her voice let on that she’d gotten an eyeful of his body.
“Stop lying to me.”
“I’m serious. You’re in great shape.”
“So, you think I’m sexy?” Adan teased as he moved his hands back behind his head and flexed.
“I never said anything about ‘sexy.’” Zena rolled her eyes.
“Guess that’s a no.” Adan frowned and lowered his arms.
Laughing again, Zena realized then that she was having a conversation with Adan. She was in Bali, sitting at a table eating star fruit with her ex and having a civil conversation. And everything was okay.
“You’re pushing it,” Zena said sternly.
“Maybe I’m trying to push it.”
Just in time, two plates of what the chef had called “American Breakfast”—omelets, potatoes, bacon—were slid onto the table before Zena and Adan.
Under the Bali Moon Page 10
