by Fred Galvin
Add to all that the fact that when she moved she seemed to flow as effortlessly as her name came off the lips. As Ronnie toted my duffel and led the way into the house, Delyse had taken my arm and we flowed alongside behind her (at least she flowed; I don’t flow, but somehow I did feel light on my feet). I automatically bent my arm to secure hers and realized involuntarily how comfortable and natural it felt. I actually was a little light-headed.
What the hell? I was sixty years old and felt like a kid in his teens on a blind date that had miraculously turned out to be Marilyn Monroe, except this Marilyn’s hair wasn’t platinum blonde. Rather, it was deep black with elegant wisps of sliver. And instead of Marilyn’s blue eyes, Delyse’s eyes were jet black pools, like Ronnie’s. Her skin was the color of hot chocolate. Even though I was an inch or two taller, Delyse, when viewed from any distance, just looked tall and lithe. When she walked everything moved in perfect harmony – legs hips, shoulders, arms, her head didn’t seem to move up or down or to either side.
As we entered the house, I saw Ronnie glance over her shoulder again and smile mischievously. I’m sure the blank look on my face amused her. I thought I detected her wink at me again. Evil woman!
Delyse gripped my arm a bit tighter. “I’m sure you will be comfortable here, Dan. Brandon and I opened up this small inn when Ronika was but a small girl. We now use it only for special guests like yourself. Ronika said you had a reservation elsewhere. Please accept our offer to stay here with us as our guest.”
“Only if I am billed the going rate.” That was met with silence from both ladies. I had a feeling I would not be seeing a bill upon checkout. I knew when to surrender.
I asked, “Brandon?”
Ronnie opened the door of a room in the rear of the house and put down my duffel. “Yes, Dan. Brandon was Roje’s and my father.”
I picked up on her use of the past, rather than present, tense. My detective skills were still rapier sharp.
Delyse stopped walking and disengaged from my arm. “Oh, please forgive me. Yes, Brandon was my husband of twenty-five years.” She stared out a window to the sea.
Ronnie went to her side. “My father was taken from us six years ago rather suddenly. He had a heart problem.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” I had no more words and stood in awkward silence.
Ronnie rescued me. “He was a good man. He bought the Sea Nymph and started our charter business from nothing. Roje worked with him learning the business and gradually it became a success.”
Delyse turned from the window. “Dan, it will be our pleasure to accommodate you. Ronika has spoken of you as being her mentor and the primary reason for her successful career in New York.” She left it at that but it seemed clear to me that she wanted to say more as her and Ronnie’s eyes met. I figured perhaps Ronnie had not completely explained to her mother the rather sudden decision to return home and join her brother in the family business. I filed the thought away to discuss with Ronnie if an appropriate moment presented itself. Delyse flashed an electric smile. “I will leave you two to catch up. After you have unpacked and freshened up, please join me in the Flip Flop Lounge for an adult tropical beverage.”
“That sounds delightful. Thank you, Delyse.” Again, I felt a little lightheaded as I said her name. For a panicking moment I wondered if I had called her “Marilyn” by mistake. How old was I? Twelve?
She turned and flowed out of the room. I looked down to see if her feet were actually touching the ground but her long flowing tropical dress obscured them. I turned to see Ronnie looking at me with a smile that can only be described as devilish, like she was saying, Don’t even bother trying to hide what you’re thinking, you old dog!
Instead she said, “My my, Mr. Deckler. I do believe you may be, what’s the word, oh yes, you may be taken with my mother? That scene from The Godfather comes to mind, the one when Michael Corleone was walking in the Sicilian hills with his two minders and first encountered Apollonia. How did they describe it? He was hit by the Sicilian Thunderbolt. I may have just witnessed you being struck by the Jamaican Thunderbolt.”
I started to protest and she held up her hand. “Don’t bother, Dan. It’s okay. My mother is a striking woman and, I have to admit, you’re not a bad looking man, for your age.”
“For my age? Seriously?” I puffed out my chest, or at least tried to. “I’m in great shape. I didn’t even bring my walker on this trip and I plan on staying up at least until nine p.m. and maybe even later.”
She laughed. “Come, sit. I think I may need to make you wise-in-the-ways of Jamaican women before you join Mama for your adult tropical beverage.”
“Really? Isn’t this a little weird? After all, she is your mother.”
“Trust me. Actually, I am astounded that I am just fine with this. Something sparked between you two and I feel I need to arm you so you don’t get chewed up. Just listen and pay attention.”
I knew she was right. Something certainly sparked, at least on my part. If she noticed a similar spark in Delyse, well … “Okay, go ahead. Should I take notes?”
“Just pay attention. Jamaican women will never be described as delicate and frail. We are strong and independent and we can also be warm and loving with the people who are important to us.”
“You just described yourself perfectly”
“Quiet. Now you need to understand ...”
I raised my hand to interrupt like a kid in class (maybe I was twelve). “Question please. May I assume all these apply to your mother?”
“Oh, Dan. You have no idea. Now be quiet and learn.
“First, Jamaican women have wicked dance skills.” She proceeded to stand up, put her hands on her hips which she then gyrated with precision and grace. “I learned this from Mama.”
Yes, I had sat on all-night stakeouts with this woman. I was hypnotized. “Okaaay, go on please.”
“Second, we eat very well and very healthily and we are very good cooks. No junk food. Think back, in all our years together can you remember me ever eating a donut? All I ever ate at the EATS 24/7 was Flo’s delicious, and fresh, apple pie and a hearty breakfast, always with fruit.” I just nodded. She was right.
“Third, we are very passionate.”
She paused, eyes full of mischief. I filled the gap. “Now you’re scaring me.”
She laughed. “Certainly nothing to be afraid of. Think of our passion not only as lovers but also as fiercely loyal to family and to those close to us. I am very passionate about our friendship. Does that ease your mind?”
I wasn’t exactly thinking about her at that moment but I also knew when to be discreet. “Yes, thanks.”
She was enjoying this. “Fourth, and this one follows naturally from being passionate, Jamaican women know how to have a good time. Of course, this comes in degrees from being the ultimate party animals to simply enjoying someone’s company, engaging in mutually enjoyable activities, and everything in between.” Again, a pregnant pause, most likely she knew I was trying to peg Delyse into one of those categories. This time I didn’t bite.
“Finally, and you’re going to find this one more difficult to believe, don’t expect Jamaican women to be on time. We run on ‘island time’ which views time as relative.”
I thought for a moment. “But I never knew you to ever be late for anything in all the years we worked together.”
“Dan, when I said ‘island time’ I was referring to Jamaican Island time. When we worked together, that was Manhattan Island time. I always respected our professional relationship which required each of us to totally rely and depend on the other. That couldn’t have happened if you were constantly waiting for me to be somewhere. But now that you’re on my turf, well, let’s just say that you may notice that I no longer wear a watch.”
“But you were on time to meet me when I arrived.”
“Again, professionalism. I was representing Deveaux Charters. Here’s one piece of advice about Delyse; you may hear her say, ‘Me soon come.
’ That could mean anything from, ‘I’ll be right there’ to a few hours.” Again, the mischievous smile. “Although, I have to say from what I just witnessed with you two, when you hear ‘Me soon come’ you won’t have to wait very long.”
I started to think of all the possible things that could mean and quickly checked myself. “Okay, okay, I get it. Besides, I’m ready to chill and be very laid-back on this visit anyway. Thanks for the tips. Anything else?”
Ronnie turned serious. “I believe you will enjoy yourself here, Dan. My Mama is all of those things I described and more. She asked me many questions about you.”
“Oh shit. Now you’re really scaring me.”
Laughing, “Not to worry. There are so many things I know about you that I will never share because the opposite is true too, no?”
I joined her in laughing. “True enough. We certainly have plenty of stories about each other.”
“Okay, get yourself unpacked and freshened up and come on across to the Flip Flop. Mama is waiting to make you that adult tropical beverage.”
“Me soon come. See? I’m a fast learner.”
Eyeroll from Ms. Deveaux. “Yeah, we’ll see.”
~~~
Utilitarian: adjective. Designed to be useful or practical rather than attractive … perfect description for my room behind the Flip Flop Lounge.
It was small, but roomy enough for me. It was immaculate with a double bed, a two-drawer wooden dresser backed by a mirror, and a small round table with two chairs and one lamp. A miniature armoir served as a closet. I could hang up all four of my shirts in it but not much more. There was no TV but a compact fridge was in the corner, no doubt to keep cool beverages. There was no AC unit but open screened windows on two walls provided cross-ventilation and a ceiling fan kept the fragrant air moving. The room was a very comfortable temperature. The bathroom was barely able to meet the utilitarian definition with a toilet, a small shower, a smaller sink, no door, just a curtain that didn’t go all the way across. The shower was just wide enough for me to fit in. My mind immediately wondered how long the hot water would last. I could take fast showers.
No matter. I knew I would be comfortable and, anyway I figured I may be spending a few nights on the Sea Nymph.
As instructed, I unpacked my duffel, which took less than five minutes. I was prepared for whatever type of charter Roje and Ronnie had in mind. I had packed light as I always did when travelling, I brought one pair of underwear for each day! Jen would be proud. I did take a quick shower which felt wonderful. The hot water was plentiful and while under it I allowed my mind to wander.
From Delyse’s smile and Ronnie’s comments and amusement, it was apparent that I was obviously taken by Delyse. And by “taken” I guess I meant distracted, attracted, maybe a bit overwhelmed. Certainly Ronnie had noticed, as evidenced by her Jamaican Thunderbolt comment and I’m sure Delyse was not oblivious to my bumbling and boyish actions upon meeting her, although it wouldn’t surprise me at all if this was rather common for her. She was indeed a striking woman.
After decades of blissful marriage to Jen, whom I had considered my soul mate for life, I have to admit that I was not prepared to meet a sultry Jamaican woman my age, or maybe a few years younger, with an accent and voice like warm honey, and who moved with all her body parts in perfect harmony, not only with each other but also with her immediate environment.
Wow, did I just think all that? I sure did and in a matter of seconds as I let the shower run over me. I decided I needed to sober up emotionally and conduct myself more as a mature adult male rather than a hormonal twelve year old. Ronnie and Delyse had been kind enough to offer me accommodations as their guest and the least I could do was to act accordingly. Besides, I had to prepare myself for my very first tropical adult beverage. I had no idea what that meant, probably something with fruit and an umbrella.
As the shower water began to lose its heat I finished, dried with a surprisingly soft towel, and dressed in my only pair of shorts and a white t-shirt emblazoned with an image of the Jamaican flag. The latter was one of three I bought on amazon.com. As I looked at myself in a mirror I realized how pale I was. Gone for decades was the perpetual tan of my youth from endless summer days of surfing and the beach. Instead, my legs looked like two white out-of-bounds stakes on a golf course and my face could be the full moon. There was not much opportunity for catching rays in Manhattan’s canyons. But, I decided, this was all I could offer and, no doubt, would elicit plenty of abuse from my perpetually cocoa-brown former partner. After all, she never saw me in anything else but my detective attire of long pants or jeans, open throat button-down dress shirt, and usually a blazer, never buttoned, all over a pair of dark penny loafers or wingtips.
Now, my foot attire was a pair of flip flops which I bought for $4.95 at the Rite Aid drug store near my apartment before I left. Flip flops in Manhattan? The thought occurred to me that perhaps the gods-of-fate were messing with me in that they knew that I would be spending time in the Flip Flop Lounge in Montego Bay.
The image looking back at me from the mirror said something like, “Geez, Mr. Tourist, can you be any more stereotypical of the New York dork vacationing in a tropical paradise? All you need is a straw hat, plaid shorts, a striped shirt, and a camera hanging around your neck.” Ha! I was cool enough to know that no one used those kinds of cameras any more. Cell phones were the picture taking devices of choice now. So I guessed I’d have to hang my phone around my neck. At least it wasn’t a flip phone. New York dork indeed.
I walked the few steps from my room to the Flip Flop Lounge. It was open-air on two sides with a thatched roof giving it a tiki bar feel. There was a square bar in the center with tables and chairs scattered about, not unlike the scene one would remember from the TV show Cheers. In one corner was small platform with a setup for a musical trio, a drum kit, and two guitars on stands and a couple of small amps. A microphone stood on a stand. The atmosphere favored an open air environment which allowed patrons to walk in from nearly any direction and have a seat at a table. The cop in me wondered if that also allowed for cheap patrons to walk out without settling their tabs. I noticed that canvases could be easily unfurled to protect against any unsavory weather that may suddenly roll in. I estimated the main area could accommodate about 150 or so without being over crowded.
There were only a few customers at the relatively early hour, two at the bar and three tables occupied. Delyse was in the center of the bar pouring a drink. She looked up as I entered and smiled a smile that lit up the lounge. I could feel the twelve year old in me trying to emerge again and pushed him down. I smiled and waved in return. She nodded toward the couple in the corner.
As my eyes became accustomed to the ambient light I could see Ronnie sitting facing a young man. She called to me and motioned me to the table. “Come Dan, join us. You remember meeting my brother Roje in New York?”
“Yes, of course.”
Roje stood and we shook. I had always been of the opinion that when two men met, an immediate dynamic was established by the handshake. Maybe I put too much emphasis on it but I’ve found that I’ve only been proven wrong a couple of times. A firm, but not overbearing, grasp accompanied by eye contact conveyed confidence. If it was like shaking a dead fish, well, that sure projected quite the opposite. However if it felt like being stuck in a closing vise, that gave me the feeling he was trying to be impressive and manly and was probably neither one.
Roje Deveaux was tall and, at six feet three, he had me by a couple of inches, lean but broad shouldered, and had the weathered look of a man who spent much of his time on the sea. His calloused hand took mine firmly and he looked me squarely in the eye as we did when we first met.
With only a slight accent, he held my grasp and said, “Dan, welcome to Jamaica. It’s good to see you again. My sister continues to speak of you often with great respect and fondness. She says her career as a detective in New York was successful largely due to your guidance and support.” He held m
y hand a couple of counts longer than one would normally expect, his grip still firm. His gaze into my eyes seemed to become slightly more intense as if saying, You seem okay but make no mistake. If you ever cross my sister you will have to deal with me. Did he think I was in Jamaica to bring her back to New York to answer for Finacci’s death?
I held his gaze and grip as if to say, I am very fond of your sister. We have a special bond. You have nothing to worry about.
Then we unlocked grips. I glanced over at Ronnie who was taking this in and smiling. “Well, regarding her success in New York, she would have been just fine regardless of her partner. We worked well as a team.”
Roje pulled out a chair from the table. “Please, have a seat with us. We have much to discuss.” The last sentence was not said in a light-hearted way one would expect given the circumstances but rather in a serious manner implying to me that we would be discussing topics a bit more serious than simply the nature of our upcoming charters. I suspected I knew where the discussion would lead, considering the activities he and Ronnie were involved in on a particular dark and stormy night off Long Island’s south shore. I got an immediate impression that Roje was quite protective of his older sister now that she was back home in Montego Bay. I was on his turf now.
“Roje, as your mother and sister have so graciously accepted me as a guest, I look forward to spending time with you and would be happy to discuss any topics with you.” To lighten it up a bit, I added, “Are you a baseball fan, and if the answer is yes, please don’t say you follow the Red Sox like your insufferable sister.”
That made Roje smile which transformed his serious face to that of an amused big brother. “No, Dan. Actually I follow cricket. We take great pride in our national team. Are you familiar with cricket?”
“Probably less familiar than you are with baseball. A British acquaintance and I once spent an evening trying to explain cricket and baseball to each other. I came away scratching my head that a cricket match could go on for days and he was scratching his trying to understand how a player can fail at batting seven out of ten times for a career and still have a chance to be elected to the Hall of Fame.”