“Justin came to take you out yesterday,” Melody said, grinning. “I told him you would be available at noon today. The pageant people called. You have an assignment tomorrow… and Geneva,” Melody called as she headed to the door. “I'm not your secretary.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Geneva smiled.
She headed for the breakfast room, where Pamela was drinking chamomile tea and screaming at somebody over the phone. She looked up when she saw Geneva and smiled bitterly. “Call me back.” She put down the phone.
Geneva shifted uncomfortably under Pamela’s gaze and started to dish out her food. She was ravenous.
“If it isn’t Miss Ghetto Queen,” Pamela said snidely. “I hope you know that nothing happens in this house without my knowledge.”
Geneva nodded as she buttered a slice of toast. Pamela was more amusing than hurtful to her now.
“I hope you realize that you have obligations, and you can’t just pick up and leave them because of your misguided feelings of lust for this Frog that you are attached to.”
Geneva bit into the toast and chewed as Pamela ranted and raved. It seems as if battles are fought everyday, she thought. Some battles were fought with words and others with guns. God, please let Froggie be all right, she prayed again for the hundredth time. Please God.
****
Froggie was all right. Bullets had grazed his lung and left leg and exited his body. He was in the Kingston Public Hospital in stable condition. The police had nothing to charge him with because his licensed firearm hadn't been used in the shootout nor did they have evidence to tie him to any crime. Besides, the Member of Parliament had spoken to the Police on his behalf.
“Geneva called again,” Nancy said to her son during her regular visit. “I told her what you told me to tell her.”
“You told her I was dead?” Froggie lifted his head from the pillows and winced. It seemed as if his whole body was in pain.
Nancy nodded.
“Thanks,” Froggie said as tears trickled down his cheeks. He didn’t care if his mother saw him crying. He did it for Geneva’s own good. One day, if she ever found out the truth, she would thank him. One day when she was married and had little Greenwoods running around the place, she would probably pass him on the road and ignore him, regretting that she had lowered herself to his level.
“She said she would buy me a house anywhere I want,” Nancy said.
Froggie nodded. “Geneva’s like that. She will help you.” Or is she just paying you off to forget her? An insidious little voice whispered to him.
“I'm going to tell her that I want the money instead of the house,” Nancy said, looking at her son. “And then you and I are going to start somewhere afresh, some other place. Probably America.”
“But she’s here,” Froggie said frowning. “I want to be close to her in case she needs me.”
“No,” Nancy said and shook her head. “You are dead for her. I told her we already had your funeral.”
Froggie turned his head away. “I saw her on television last night, she came third in the Miss Jamaica pageant.”
Nancy nodded. “It’s hard to believe she was one of us. Nobody in Black Lane who watched it would have recognized her. It’s time to move on, Froggie. No more Geneva, no more bar. Probably we should start going to church. I have been thinking a lot about God lately, and maybe we should do something about that. You realize how the real Christians look happy and content? I want that for us."
“Leave me alone,” Froggie mumbled. Nancy squeezed his arm and then left the room.
Froggie closed his eyes and his mind conjured up his memories of Geneva. Her smile, her eyes, her walk. It was true, he couldn’t stay in Kingston without her knowing that he wasn't dead. What would she do now that she was no longer under an obligation to him?
Froggie never knew he could have so much love for one girl; he had loved her enough to let her go. He closed his eyes and wiped the tears from his cheeks. Big men don’t cry, the voice in his head mocked him, but the tears continued to fall.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“You came third,” Melody squealed when Geneva went back stage. “Congratulations.” She was still on her crutches, but she hobbled up to her sister and held her tightly. “You or Hilary deserved to win, not Cynthia. You should have scratched her face good when you got the chance. When I saw her on the stage acting all innocent and worthy I wanted to yell that she was not a good person.”
“Well, at least Hillary got Miss Congeniality and the Most Aware prize,” Geneva said, talking into her sister’s hair. “So at least this competition isn't totally unfair.”
“Hello, Miss second runner up,” Justin said, dragging Geneva from her sister and hugging her tightly.
“Hello,” Geneva said with a smile. But behind her smile was a sadness she couldn’t get rid of. How could Miss Nancy have a funeral for Froggie without her?
“Well,” Pamela said, coming into the room. “We still have next year for you, Melody.”
Melody grimaced. “I would rather not.”
“You will,” Pamela said threateningly. She turned away from Melody and looked towards the door. “Oh, Ronald,” she said, smiling warmly as a tall gentleman who looked like a body builder came into the room. He looked to be in his late thirties.
“That’s Ronald. He was Dad’s friend,” Melody whispered to Geneva. “See, I wasn’t lying to you.”
“But he’s young,” Geneva sputtered.
“Diet and exercise.” Melody winked. “He is in his fifties.”
“Congratulations,” Ronald said, coming over to Geneva to hug her.
She hugged him back, instantly feeling comfortable in his presence.
“When can I talk to you?” she asked him seriously.
He looked at her so long that Geneva was beginning to become uncomfortable. “I wanted to come to the house tomorrow and catch up,” he said regretfully. “But I have to make a quick trip to Florida this evening. I hope to be back next week. Congrats again,” he said and squeezed her hand and moved into the crowd.
****
Geneva smiled and greeted people at the after party. She danced with some of them and basked in Justin’s attention, but behind her gaiety was the knowledge that Froggie was dead and also the anticipation that Ronald would shed some light on her father and his affair with her mother. She wanted to run him down and demand that he tell her everything that he knew, but he hadn't come to the party, so her wish for enlightenment would just have to wait until he got back.
She slept fitfully that night as she dreamt of people chasing her through Black Lane, taunting her that she gave up on Froggie too easily.
You wanted to give him up, Miss Nancy shouted at her from the top of the lane. He was not convenient anymore; you moved on to bigger and better things like Justin.
Mother Pusey joined her at the top of the lane, in front of an all black keys piano, singing a song entitled “Froggie is not Dead.” After every key she played, she looked sadly into Geneva’s eyes. Her mother stood to the side of Miss Pusey, her eyes filled with tears. I am sorry Geneva. I am so sorry. I made some bad choices in my life. Nancy was right, my real name is… The roar of Froggie’s bike drowned out her confession and he was looking at her with reproach in his eyes.
For hours Geneva tossed and turned in her bed and then finally got up, heading for Melody’s room. The tune that Mother Pusey was playing in her dream kept playing in her head, Froggie is not dead; he’s just lying in bed, just lying in bed.
She snuggled on the other side of the bed with her sister and finally fell asleep. She woke up at nine the next morning.
“Bad dreams last night?” Melody asked when Geneva finally made it downstairs groggily.
Geneva grunted and drank some orange juice.
“You should have some chamomile tea,” Pamela offered sweetly.
“Why are you being so nice?” Geneva asked, looking at Pamela blearily.
“Because you were actually placed in the to
p three of the competition,” Pamela said waspishly. “Which means you are not as bad as I originally thought. I even told Gonzalez we don't need him anymore.”
“Why, thank you,” Geneva exclaimed sarcastically.
Pamela picked up the newspaper that was lying on the table. “I won’t even need to introduce you to my friends. Here you are on the front page. Geneva Walters, third place winner.” Pamela cleared her throat. “That whore of a mother wasn’t all bad if she realized that a child should learn another language and even play the piano.”
“You spoilt the compliment by calling her a whore,” Geneva said, reaching for her favorite muffin.
“When you two have finished trading barbs, I want you to know that Ronald called this morning and said he would be here next Monday,” Melody said and looked at Pamela slyly. “That should be good news for you, Mother.”
Pamela grunted. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”
Melody poked Geneva in her side. “Mother loves her Ronald.”
Pamela ignored Melody and kept perusing the paper. “So are you going to do summer classes with Geneva or are you going off to Miami as usual?”
Melody sipped her orange juice and frowned. “I think I will go to classes with Geneva. After all, we are to spend the year together. Besides, Grandma hasn't aged gracefully, and she nags me worse than you do.”
Geneva laughed. “A second Pamela? How utterly frightening.”
“Mother has nothing on her,” Melody said, smiling. “Grandma is ten times worse. She is like your worst nightmare of a grandmother.”
“It sounds like all the women in your family are troubled except for you, Melody,” Geneva said with a laugh as she got up from the table.
“Before you leave,” Pamela said, looking up at Geneva. “I have arranged for your driving lessons with Mitchell, our main chauffeur, at seven a.m. sharp every morning. In the next few months you should be driving around on your own. You can use any of the cars in the garage, except mine.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Geneva replied and saluted.
Pamela grunted and continued to peruse the paper. “I can’t believe that Ambassador Hendricks allowed his wife to wear that hideous gown to the ball.”
“Let me see,” Melody said and got up to see.
Geneva went up to her room, feeling a little light-headed. She would soon have her own ride; she could go and look for Miss Nancy, wherever she might be, and see for herself if Froggie was really dead. The dream was still vivid in her mind, and she had to get to the bottom of the mystery.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Geneva slumped in her bed and rolled over. She was still contemplating the previous night’s dream. What if Froggie wasn't dead? But what reason would Miss Nancy have to lie to her?
She sighed. Her heart felt heavy and she felt burdened. Three years ago, when she had just met Froggie, she had been desperate. She had only had ten dollars in her pocket. Miss Pusey, her landlady and piano teacher, had died three months earlier and her children had come to claim the house. She had nowhere to go. Her mother had been in the public hospital fighting to breathe. She was wasting away, and Geneva had known that she didn’t have much longer before she died.
She had heard about Froggie—who hadn’t? She had lived on the outskirts of Black Lane when they lived with Miss Pusey, and she used to see him passing by on his bike. She had been in awe of him then; he looked so carefree and handsome, and from afar she could sense that he wasn't vicious or particularly violent. He had the support of the community and so became the unofficial leader; whatever he said was followed promptly.
With the ten dollar burning in her pocket and nowhere to live, she had this vague idea that he would hire her to be one of his dancers. They had go-go dancing every night and were always in need of girls. She had heard that the pay was good too and you even got extra tips if the men liked you.
Geneva’s mother had tried to shelter her as much as she could from the harsh realities of ghetto life, when she was sober, so Geneva didn’t go to many street dances, where she could have honed her dancing skills—but she knew enough to get by.
She walked into the bar, a blue-coated building with half-naked girls painted on the exterior in provocative poses. Above the door hung a Guinness sign. She was surprised at how spacious the interior was. It had a bar area with mirrors and drinks strategically arranged and a semi-circular counter which looked as if it could use a good polish.
A young girl was sweeping behind the counter and looked up when Geneva entered. She returned to her work without a greeting, and Geneva began to get anxious. Maybe she was there a bit too early; it was just eight o’clock in the morning, but she had nowhere to go that night and no money—Froggie was her only hope.
She looked down at her outfit subconsciously; her skirt was short and had holes in it, and her orange blouse was washed out and thread bare. This was the best outfit she had, except for the long black dress that she wore to visit her mother at the hospital. She didn’t think wearing the long black dress would be appropriate right now.
She glanced over at the stage area of the bar and felt her face warming. There were two poles in the middle of the stage, set far enough apart to accommodate five women at once. There were tables and chairs scattered across the room, and she remembered that the place was also a restaurant.
There was a door leading off the stage and another door that was slightly ajar. She jumped when a lady in a blue wig walked through the door and then turned back.
“I am not going to host any party with Winsome,” she said to someone through the door then she stomped through the bar, her blue platform heels tilting precariously as her fat feet hung over the sides. She looked at Geneva and smiled. Her teeth were surprisingly even and white.
“Rachel’s girl,” she said and shook her head sadly. “I heard bout her. That woman could drink more than a fish. One of my best customer ever. What are you doing here?”
“I came for a job,” Geneva said timidly. Up close, the lady seemed friendly enough, but Geneva was so nervous she felt as if she would flee if the lady said, “Boo”.
“Froggie!” the lady hollered, “here is a girl for you to hire. I am going home now. I just got back from Passa Passa…had to come back at four this morning for more liquor to sell.” She looked at Geneva and added, “See you later.”
She strutted out of the bar, and Geneva clutched the plastic bag with her clothes and then swung around and stared into big, chocolate brown eyes. It was him. He had come from behind the door and was standing in the bar.
He had on a white shirt and blue jeans. His hair was corn-rowed and very long, longer than her braids. He had a milk chocolate complexion and a straight nose. He was so handsome. She nervously swallowed when he moved. He studied her for a while and then said huskily, “I am Winston Reid.” He held out his hand and she took it. She could feel her fingers trembling.
“I am…” her voice had failed her, and even now when she was reminiscing, her face warmed in embarrassment. She had forgotten her name.
Her cell phone rang and she grabbed it from under the sheets where it was tangled. “Hello,” she answered breathlessly.
“Hello,” Justin said seductively. “I am hosting a 'before school gets you down picnic' today at ten. Are you interested?”
“Sure,” Geneva said, eager to escape her thoughts of Froggie and the sadness that seemed to be constantly with her. “Who else will be there?”
“Just you and me, doll,” Justin whispered.
Geneva swallowed. She was not ready for a relationship with Justin, and he seemed to assume that because Froggie was dead she was fair game.
“I don’t know Justin. I think it’s not such a good idea right now. I am still so sad and…”
“I promise to be on my best behavior,” Justin said solemnly. “I will keep my hands to myself.”
“Okay,” Geneva sighed. “I really wanted to leave the house anyway.”
****
They went
to Chapleton Gardens and sat beside the river. While they were driving to the beautiful gardens, Geneva had remembered that Froggie had taken her there a year before to celebrate her birthday. He had always professed to love nature and hated the hustle and bustle of Kingston. The gardens had given him the escape he wanted for a day. She hadn't really heard Justin after that. She knew she must have responded in the right manner to his questions and his teasing, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what they had talked about.
He had taken a huge hamper out of the back of his SUV and they had spread out blankets beside the river.
“What are you thinking about?” Justin said and looked at her curiously. His light brown eyes were playful and he seemed to be having fun.
“Nothing’” Geneva replied. Justin looked disappointed, so she scrambled around for something to ease her conscience about being with him, and not hearing a word, she said, “My mother.” She snapped her fingers when she said this.
He looked at her quizzically. “Your mother?”
“Yes,” Geneva said and bit into a grape. “She’s on my mind a lot lately. I am thinking that her past was more complex than I thought.”
“Because of your father?” Justin asked. He was gazing at her with adoration in his eyes.
“Yes, and the fact that in her sober times she was so bright. She knew many things; history was her favorite subject. She insisted that I go to school, but many times she couldn’t afford it. So when I was home and she was not as drunk, she taught me French. That’s the only distinction I got at CXC.”
“That’s unusual,” Justin said, frowning, “a ghetto girl knowing French.”
Geneva shrugged. “I used to hate it, but she insisted. I seemed to have a knack for languages. When we moved to Miss Pusey, she begged her to teach me piano.”
New Beginnings Page 8
