Settling into her lobby office, she’s happy to get back to work. If it weren’t for the steady flow of mellow guests turning over weekly and keeping her busy, she thinks Sterling would be getting on her nerves. “Think again,” she mumbles. “He’s on them already.”
Back at the beach, Sterling, in full recline on a dune, silently berates himself for his poor first stab at an initial financial deal with Sheryl. Yet through self-counseling he remains sure that there’s plenty of time left in the current tour season to set his money hook in Sheryl. “I’ll wiggle my way out of this corner,” he tells himself with a laugh, on the brink of cockiness.
Sinking into the sand, Sterling soaks up the sun while entertaining stray thoughts of how nice Oak Street Beach back home is this time of year. He congratulates himself for having bullied Sheryl into blowing off Kearns’s Florida pitch, keeping her based in Chicago, handy for Sterling. Once this sweet Jamaican vacation ends, he daydreams, and we go back home, it’ll be time soon for her to hit the road. This will give Sterling time to cultivate additional marks.
That night, over a late dinner on a starlit patio, Sterling apologizes for having played both the race and I’m-broke cards. He sees that the solution is for him to get a job, he says. “You’re totally right.”
Sheryl says, “Hey, I like the sound of this.”
Sterling milks his growing familiarity with the resort to get close to the hotel’s manager, Ronny Walker. Walker is a young on-the-rise Jamaican who works for a Spanish-owned island chain of resorts. During lunch with Sterling on an oceanfront veranda one sparkling day, Walker also provides an interested sounding board for Sterling’s self-aggrandizing tales.
“And that’s how I got through med school,” boasts Sterling.
“The world needs to look out for you,” laughs Walker.
Sterling regales Walker with alleged tidbits of the bawdy lifestyle he indulged in during his Indianapolis internship. The good thing didn’t last, though, thanks to the hospital’s going bankrupt just as he’d started his residency there. He and all his playmates scattered to the wind.
“Which is how I find myself here, mon,” he concludes, “a doctor without a hospital.”
Walker theorizes, “I suppose the slow pace down here gets to you.”
“On the contrary, my friend. Frankly, I can’t say I’d ever go back if I could find proper employment right here in Jamaica.”
Sterling is aware that the No Worries Resort and all the other hotels in his new friend’s chain employ resident doctors, with room and board also provided. It isn’t long before Walker comes to Sterling about an opening right here at No Worries. In addition to his being paid a steady income, his living accommodations will include an upgrade to a private bungalow at the far end of the beach.
Walker adds, “I’ll just need a copy of your diploma and licensing from the States to get you registered here.”
“Hey, no worries,” chuckles Sterling, knowing his cousins can forge anything.
“This even could develop into a career move for you with the company.”
“That would be a dream come true, my friend.”
Within days, the paperwork arrives, and Sterling moves into his isolated beachfront bungalow. He also gets familiar with his consulting room in the lobby, opposite Sheryl’s office. Now he will find out whether cramming self-schooled medical studies into his evenings the last couple years actually worked. Surprisingly, after just days on the job and a few extracted sea urchin quills to his credit, Sterling’s confidence borders on cocksure. Now, as a high-status No Worries figure, he feels the skids are greased for his continued courting of Sheryl. However, in his clinic one evening after work, she shows that maybe she’s not as easily impressed as he thought.
Sheryl wisecracks, “You sure worked fast on Walker. I’ll give you that.”
“How’s that?” he innocently protests.
“How’s about maybe that opening wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t played your cards so perfectly? Walker gets a kick out of having you around, and you know it.”
Sterling laughs, full of himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure.”
“Well, I have to say things did turn out nicely. I understand they transferred my predecessor elsewhere.”
“Right, so at least he’s not out of work.”
“The game of life.”
“I see—the game of life. I’ll remember.”
Sterling, meanwhile, is tripping out over his new Jamaican lifestyle. Who would have predicted any of this a year ago? He studies local history in his spare time.
Over rum and dinner one evening with Sheryl, who takes only a sip of her drink, he opines, “I think all American blacks should hold sacred everything about Jamaica.” With a touch of sincerity, he adds, “There for the grace of God go any one of us—and it’s just too bad for some of us that it’s always barely one step ahead of poverty.”
It’s not often that Sterling gets on a soapbox about racial inequities. But when he does, he leans into threatening postures, spewing barbs against the world and anything white, over all past and continuing injustices. He rants such things now under his breath at their table.
Sheryl remarks, “That has to include me, no matter how romantic you try to be.”
“Not true. Don’t say that.”
“Then what’s with all the posturing? At least with me. I understand history.”
Sterling denies posturing, adding that he doesn’t appreciate her bringing up such subjects.
“I didn’t bring up anything,” she clarifies. “I’m reacting to your blanket racist charges.”
“Oh, I can’t win with you. We can’t win with anybody.”
“If I could erase that legacy for you, I would, but I can’t.”
As whenever these types of moments occur between them, it all stops as abruptly as it began. They drop the subject, enjoying their dinner and view—always a saving grace, the view.
Over ensuing weeks, assorted plans of larceny dance through Sterling’s head regarding how best to fleece Sheryl. As they coast through their days working across the lobby from each other, filling their evening off-hours with island vibes and incredible sunsets, he senses that her sense of caution about him and his clothing business is growing lax. So he hopes.
One breezy beach night, he’s determined, here and now, to see if she finally will take the bait. They exchange small talk awhile about how their days have gone. Sterling boasts of his first really busy day in the resort’s infirmary. “Our resources may be small, but we delivered big today. All kinds of things coming in from the beach and pool—and nobody went off to dinner still bleeding.”
“Sounds like Walker made a great hire, all right,” ribs Sheryl.
Sterling laughs as a dozen simultaneous memories of the day pop up. This doctoring stuff gets pretty interesting. Smugly, he segues into his ground-floor opportunity rap. When he is done making his case, he asks, “How can you not see it? This brand is going global, and you can be an equal partner for only twenty grand! Twenty grand,” he repeats derisively, as if it’s chump change.
“Equal partner in what? I haven’t seen a single sample.”
“That’s the view from the ground floor! As soon as our patent gets through the courts, we’ll be sitting pretty with the coolest in-demand clothing line. The lawyers, though, are bleeding us dry. Truth is, we need a little money infusion to stay afloat.”
“Ah, the truth, finally. Well, it sounds pretty risky to me.”
“There’s always some risk, of course, but not so much here. Believe me, I wouldn’t steer you wrong.” He chuckles. “Because, baby, there’d be hell to pay if I did! Right?” He drags a smile out of her.
“Well … how about giving me till the end of the year to see how I’m standing?”
Sterling can’t hide his
disappointment. “A lot could happen between now and then.”
She holds firm. “We’ll talk about it then,” she promises.
“Just remember, it’s ground floor now, but by then … who knows?”
“Oh, I’ll remember, promise. But it’s a chance I’ll just have to take. We’ll talk then.”
“Till then, then,” he says with a smile.
They change subjects and continue with their night, with dancing in the mix. This night sets a new pattern that repeats throughout the sultry summer; he briefly touches on his clothing company updates, to whet her appetite; she listens indulgently, sometimes wondering if he’s maybe making sense. But always they go on to other things quickly, inextricably joined at the hip, so to speak, enjoying the exotic community together and building a wide range of local ties.
Sheryl almost forgets that the clothing company ground-floor opportunity still lurks in the background, despite Sterling’s occasional business updates. The truth is she’s learned to discreetly tune out whenever the subject is broached, without his being aware.
One afternoon while wandering about the Ocho Rios flea market, Sheryl entertains Sterling with tales of her travels. “So these KTC guys I worked with in Thailand just went totally bamboo. They left Kearns high and dry without warning—pretty much like I’ve done here.”
“You figure he thinks you’ve gone bamboo?”
“I’m sure that’s crossed his mind. But back then, the point of the story from my perspective was”—she chuckles fondly in recollection—“my workload tripled overnight.”
“I’m sure you were up to it.”
“Got me a promotion and a raise, actually.”
Before summer’s end, seemingly bona fide romantic feelings have gained a toehold in Sheryl’s heart, entangling the two more than ever. Crazy in love, she thinks, they talk away deep into their many tender overnight hours, always pointing to a blissful future together. It isn’t long before the inexperienced and totally ill-prepared Sheryl finds out she’s pregnant.
“My God!” she exclaims on seeing the home-test results. “I can’t believe it.” She’s freaked out and heavily conflicted over having turned into such a sinner almost overnight. Her actions of late suddenly seem so unseemly, especially after she takes the news to Sterling. He immediately talks of a quick abortion.
“What?” she protests.
“If there were any other way …”
Already at wit’s end, Sheryl now is doubly crushed to hear her lover talking so casually about such procedures. How could he go there so fast if he really loves me? she wonders. Why be surprised, though? she thinks as she recalls the way he dragged her into his cousin’s abortion woes. Woebegone and secretly fearing that she would be shunned by North Shore society types if she were to bear Sterling’s child, Sheryl acquiesces.
“It’s the right thing,” he tenderly assures her.
Sterling arranges what is pitched as a totally safe, quick, and easy operation, through some Rastafarian connections he’s been cultivating. The trouble is, if they want to maintain confidentiality for Sheryl, the logical facility is twenty kilometers away. In Jamaica, that’s like traveling to a distant country via sketchy roads. Their Jeep excursion up into the lush mountains brings a sense of adventure for Sterling, despite his fear of cars, but it’s a huge guilt trip for Sheryl. She hates the dark path to which she has led herself. Bailing out of the procedure continually crosses her mind.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she cries, bouncing in the backseat with Sterling.
“There’s no other way,” Sterling whispers, bouncing along with her.
Ultimately, they reach a ring of rural huts. The barnyard conditions of the so-called operating room into which she is herded are appalling. Totally ashamed, Sheryl manages to halt the course of their ghastly expedition.
“Dear,” counters Sterling in one final effort, “I’ll make sure they clean up the operating room, fast. I can understand how you feel.”
Sheryl simply says, “No way do you understand.”
Turning from a waiting team of two midwives, Sheryl ducks back outside the hut, expecting Sterling to follow fast. He does, along with their driver, and they leave.
“Lord, forgive me,” Sheryl begs over and over again.
“You haven’t done a thing yet, Sheryl. Don’t worry.”
She glances at him, blurting, “Yet? Like I did a thing with you to get here in the first place? All the rest, your only concern, well—that’s all just too gruesome to even consider.”
The most traumatic and also truly dangerous ride of Sheryl’s life continues. Each bump in the road stimulates pain in her innards that she imagines is similar to the pain she’s just dodged. Her idea of how the bloody crime scene would have looked turns her stomach. She wonders if she would’ve had any innards left after those midwives were done with her.
“Oh my God,” she groans in despair, feeling totally sick.
“Stay strong,” Sterling encouragingly suggests.
He puts an arm around her, attempting to provide comfort. It’s all she can do to keep from puking on him. Up front, their driver concentrates on the unpaved downhill road through the jungle, unaware of the drama behind him. Sheryl, disgusted with herself, slumps from exhaustion.
“Stay strong,” Sterling repeats, thinking he’s soothing her, unaware that she harbors a strong desire to let loose venting venomous thoughts on him.
The Jeep keeps bounding downhill, occasionally beating back overgrown brush. “Just get us back alive,” weeps Sheryl from a seated fetal position.
Back at No Worries, she feels more conflicted than ever. One moment she’s convinced she never could have lived with herself after aborting her child. The next instant she wonders if she did the right thing in bailing out at the hut. Maybe the midwives were highly skilled and their facilities sufficiently clean, though scary-looking to anyone not from the Jamaica hills. The underlying thought behind every other thought is that her naive carelessness with Sterling now will shadow her forever, with or without him in her life. She’s having his baby. She fully understands that it’s too late now, and only the Lord knows how this will affect her career.
In coming days, work takes over for both Sheryl and Sterling. But Sterling has seen Sheryl’s loss of faith in herself and figures it will play nicely into a series of mind-control games he has planned for her. Soon, if all goes according to his plan, she never will know what hit her, so to speak. He inwardly brims over with confidence, like any confidence man.
Sterling finds his status as an island doctor intoxicating, especially the aspect of getting days off, unlike Sheryl during a tour week or stretch of tour weeks. He gets covered by a doctor who rotates around the resort chain on a fill-in, where-needed basis. Most of his spare moments find him up in the hills, getting extracurricular schooling through the Rastafarians.
Since his comfy unemployment stretch, with Sheryl busy at work, Sterling has been pursuing long-ago advice from Uncle Austin—that if he ever has the chance, he should network with people who know the art of hypnotism. Here in Jamaica’s hill country, he has found the tropical Obeah religious sect of hypnotism and mysticism. Uncle Austin would approve, he thinks proudly.
Now that he is employed, Sterling no longer can drift to twice-weekly meetings with a local high lord in the art of mind control, Snake Gibb, and Sheryl will soon face a final deadline for reconsidering the midwives. Today the stars align between his day off and Sheryl’s busy schedule. With her glad to have him out of sight for the day, he heads for the hills.
Snake, tall and pushing sixty, remains vital with the physique of a much younger man. Salt-and-pepper dreadlocks and a calm intelligence command respect everywhere he goes. As in previous sessions with Sterling, Snake delves into intricacies of influencing another’s thinking. “There’s no reason, mon, ever to let anyone get the upper hand on
you. You always must maintain the upper hand in every way.”
“Teach me your ways,” Sterling boldly implores.
“If you listen well, you will learn, my friend.”
Snake grew up fearless in the Blue Mountains east of Kingston. He is the son of a respected town leader with roots to the Jamaican Maroons, runaway slaves who actually were let loose by their Spanish owners in 1655 as the British took over Jamaica. Generations of Gibbs, whose family name traces directly to a sugar plantation and slave owner, have practiced the ancient art of hypnotism. Snake also is a substitute father to his much younger and very beautiful kid sister, Miriam, who was conceived by their father, now long gone, when in his eighties.
“He became quite the rogue,” Snake likes to quip, “after my mother died. Miriam’s mother was the town beauty queen—and young, about like Miriam right now.”
So it is that Sterling has a life quite separate from the one Sheryl thinks they share, complete with a different cast of characters. Sheryl’s trusting nature and busy schedule have kept her too preoccupied in the past to worry about his lengthy disappearances. Now she would just as soon not be dwelling on him. Sterling is grateful for the ability to come and go as he pleases.
During all this coming and going, Sterling not only has become adept at hypnotism; he’s obtained an introduction to Miriam. “My lucky day,” he’s fond of telling her. Miriam stands like a Brahman against other young women of the village. Just nineteen, her beauty already is legendary throughout the mountain range.
Snake is proud to have his new American friend, Sterling, hanging around and promising to open a medical facility in their village. “You have no idea what this will mean to our village,” Snake said several weeks ago while giving thanks.
Like Sheryl, Snake has no idea that the alleged good doctor leads a double life. He believes Sterling is on a sabbatical from a Chicago teaching hospital and that he has turned it into a working vacation by helping out at No Worries. Understandably, Sterling is seen as a busy guy, with limited time to spend visiting the mountains. When he is around, Snake takes in Sterling’s tall tales of valor, believing he has unlimited potential to bring good to their ramshackle mountain village.
Heartstrings in B-Flat Minor Page 8
