by Fred Galvin
Roje blinked. “Is that actually true? Fail seven times out of ten? What does that mean? And how can such a rate of failure qualify a player for baseball’s Hall of Fame?”
“It means he can average three hits every ten times at bat for a .300 batting average. There have been nearly 20,000 players who have played in baseball’s Major Leagues, that’s the top tier, and only slightly more than 200 managed to average .300 or higher for their career.” I paused, amused by the perplexed look on his Roje’s face; furrowed brow, pursed lips. Ronnie sat with her elbows on the table, her hands cradling her chin, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. I held up my palm defensively. “Please, don’t ask me how I know that. I just do. Ronnie can attest to the fact that I know an abundance of useless information.”
Ronnie looked at Roje nodded her head in agreement. “Oh, it’s true. Half of everything he says is worthless.” I made a face like a petulant teenage girl, Very funny.
“Oh, I believe you.” Roje raised his eyebrows and looked at his sister as if to ask, Where did you find this guy? And you worked with him HOW long?
Delyse flowed over to the table (I still wasn’t convinced she even had feet) with a tray of drinks. She put a bottle of Red Stripe Jamaican Lager beer in front of Roje, a Pepsi for Ronnie, and, yes, something with a sprig of what looked like mint and an umbrella stuck in an orange peel before me.
“Your tropical adult beverage, sir. Enjoy.”
“Thank you, Delyse. Will you join us?”
“Give me a few minutes. My help will be here shortly to take over behind the bar.”
She flowed back to the bar. Nope, still no feet visible below the long flowing dress. I was beginning to be convinced she indeed was gliding on air. Ronnie noticed me noticing her mother. “Daaaan?”
Embarrassed, I snapped my attention back to her and Roje. “Yes? Oh, so, what is this in front of me?”
“It is called an Old Jamaican Cocktail; lime juice, rum, bitters, a bit of cane syrup, and champagne. Really quite tasty. Give it a try.”
I stirred my drink with the straw and held up the glass. “Cheers.”
Roje held up his beer bottle and tapped my glass. Ronnie did the same to us both with her Pepsi. I took a sip. It was both sweet and bitter, if that’s possible. I couldn’t recall the last time I drank rum, if ever, but I actually could not discern any alcohol, a very dangerous thing.
“Well, Mr. Case? How is the Old Jamaican?”
“Very refreshing.” I realized Ronnie was not drinking her beverage of choice in New York which was usually a one-and-done gin and tonic. You’re having a Pepsi?”
“Yes, Dan, Pepsi. I’ve stopped gambling and drinking.”
I was surprised at that and glanced at Roje who was taking a long pull on his beer and looking at me over the bottle. “It’s okay, Dan. Roje knows it all. I’ve come clean. I figured I owed him that much given what I put him through.”
Wow, I guess the Elephant-in-the-Flip Flop Lounge sitting at our table was acknowledged. Was this the same elephant that was in the Jeep earlier? No matter. It’s work done, it lumbered out into the sunshine off to its next Jamaican assignment.
I had not planned on discussing what had happened to precipitate Ronnie’s sudden exit from New York to join her family in Montego Bay. Not my place. I had no idea how much she had shared with her mother and brother. If it came up, fine.
So, all I could manage in reaction was, “Okay, Ronnie. That’s a good thing, I guess. Are you sure you want me to be part of this?”
Roje put his bottle down. “Dan, from what my sister has told me about you, you have been part of this from the moment she wrote you her letter explaining her actions. Our actions. You could have gone in a couple of directions and you chose to support Ronika during the most difficult time of her life.” He raised his beer bottle in toast as did Ronnie with her Pepsi.
“Dan, I realized I had to stop gambling or I would spiral down to oblivion. My addiction essentially cost Louie Calzone his life and led me to that fateful night on the Sea Nymph with Roje and Finacci. My brother saved my life that night. After, I decided I would never again gamble and figured I’d stop drinking while I was at it.”
“But you never drank much, at least that I saw.”
“You’re right. I would always limit myself to one drink. But I suspected if I gave up my gambling addiction cold-turkey, it could morph into drinking as a substitute.” She held up her Pepsi bottle. “Since RC Cola isn’t available in Jamaica, it’s Pepsi for me. I figured if it’s good enough for you, it would be good enough for me.”
Roje looked a bit puzzled at that last comment.
“What your sister means is that I’m a Royal Crown Cola guy in New York and when I can’t get an RC, it’s strictly Pepsi. Coca Cola has never passed my lips.” Then I took another sip of my Old Jamaican. “But, I have to admit, this is pretty good. Rum, you say?” I was already feeling a slight buzz. I sure was a cheap date. Wait a minute, was I on a date? “I think I’ll go to the bar and order another from the maker of the Old Jamaicans. Another beer and Pepsi?” They both nodded. Ronnie grinned knowingly. Roje wasn’t quite there yet.
I sheepishly made my way between the tables. Delyse saw me coming and met me at the end of the bar. “How was your Old Jamaican, Dan?”
With all my strength I held myself erect (oh, geez) and replied as succinctly as I could, “Excellent, Delyse. It was my first and won’t be my last. My companions and I would like two things, if you will.”
She smiled that smile. “Yes?”
“We would like another round and we would like you to join us. And please, put the drinks on my tab including your pleasure. It is an honor being your guest but I insist on paying for the adult beverages and for Ronnie’s Pepsi.”
That made her chuckle. “Of course. I will be there shortly.”
Chapter 9: Urinal Protocol
Delyse brought the drinks to our table and sat down next to me. I noticed she also had brought an Old Jamaican for herself. She lifted her glass.
“To our guest from New York. Enjoy your visit to our country.”
Everyone followed suit. As I raised mine the umbrella fell on the table like a tiny parachute. “And to my hosts, oops!”
“Cheers!”
I moved to pick up the tiny umbrella and Delyse covered my hand pinning it to the table. “Its okay, Dan, leave it on the table. Let’s leave the Old Jamaican uncontaminated.” She left her hand upon mine for a couple of beats and I made no attempt to remove my hand from underneath hers. We made brief eye contact and I think I flushed, yes I believe I had digressed to twelve years old, a twelve year old rum drinker.
Both Ronnie and Roje noticed the exchange which brought a grin to Ronnie and not-a-grin to Roje. The subliminal messages were, Ronnie: Cool, Dan. Go for it, and Roje: Careful, man. That’s my mother. The message I was most interested in was hardest to read, Delyse. She had a look that said This is exploratory at this point, but so far, I may be interested. It was accompanied by a captivating Mona Lisa smile. I looked down at my drink then at my shoes. Yes, I was twelve again.
While looking down at my shoes, I noticed Delyse had crossed her legs. I took the opportunity to attempt once and for all to catch a glimpse of feet, but to no avail. Her long dress went all the way down. The detective in me assessed the evidence I had gathered and reached a conclusion: She had no feet. She definitely glided inches above the floor.
We all made small talk and ordered some food. I’m a weenie when it comes to spicy food. Jen used to laugh at me when I would have to pat my brow with a napkin when we ate a pepperoni pizza. So, with Delyse’s help, I managed to order a meal that I could actually eat without breaking into a sweat. At Roje’s urging I switched to beer and I had to admit, the Red Stripe Lager was very refreshing and packed a punch much stronger than the Buds I was accustomed to. The beer combined with the two Old Jamaicans had me quite tipsy.
After two Old Jamaicans and two Red Stripes, I excused myself to use el baño or vo
y a ver a un hombre sobre un caballo which is Spanish for going to see a man about a horse or, in my case, an eohippus. (For the uninitiated, the eohippus was a now extinct, very small, pre-historic horse. Get it?)
At this point I believe it is appropriate to take a second or two to familiarize any uninitiated females with the curious world of the Urinal Protocol.
Now, as you read on, please remember that I’d had a long day of flying, dodging a molestation accusation by my headphone-wearing flying companion, watching Katie The Picker in action, being driven through the Jamaican not-jungle (which sure looked like a jungle to this New Yorker), dining on bammy and jerk chicken, having to absorb the stories of good and bad duppies, rolling calves, Ol’ Hige, a woman who can catch bullets with her ass, and, without any warning, being struck by the Jamaican Thunderbolt thrown my way by a beauty who glided above the ground. My resistance was low as were my brain functions.
The Urinal Protocol is unique in that it is not learned. All human males are born with an innate understanding of its rules. Just a few:
When it is time to go, it is bad form to ask any other males at the table to join you, as is the custom of females. One never looks across the table at a fellow male and asks, “I have to see a man about a horse. Wish to join me?”
When entering the bathroom, quickly take a visual survey to determine the number and spacing of urinals not in use.
Always take an available urinal with open urinals on either side.
Better yet, walk to the urinal at the end of the row but, again, only if the penultimate urinal is vacant.
Taking a urinal directly adjacent to one being used is to be avoided if at all possible. If no other option is available, do not make eye contact with your neighbor. Stare at the wall or straight down. Never stare to the side and especially never to the side and down.
If there are only three urinals and they are all vacant, never take the middle one as you will be putting the next gentleman to walk into the room in an uncomfortable (in more ways than one) position in that he will be unable to adhere to rule three above.
If the room is so busy (airports restrooms are notorious) that the only option is to squeeze in between two occupied urinals, then get in and out as quickly as possible; eyes front, no conversation unless you are acquainted with your neighbor (just having met on the airplane doesn’t count), and if you must look down, only look straight down. Glancing sideways may lead to an unfortunate confrontation (see rule five above).
If the Men’s Room is closed or out of commission for some ungodly reason and you’re stuck having to use a Family Restroom or worse, a Unisex, both of which have no urinals, then all bets are off. In such instances I’ve always been tempted to leave the seat up but never had the balls to do so. If you so-dare and a woman is waiting to come in when you leave, then leave with haste.
When done, a couple of shakes is permissible but one must be prudent and not overdo. Also, be mindful of “dribbling without the ball.” Remember the age-old adage, “No matter how much you shake and dance, the last drop will always go down your pants.”
Lastly, I regard rinsing off one’s hands as optional. Of course, if in the act of shaking and dancing (see rule nine above) some stray droplets get on your hand, then it’s mandatory. But if not, well why bother? Let me explain. If you think about it, you should actually rinse before going. I mean, I’m not sure where my hands have been but I sure know where the rest of me has been. So a rinse before pulling Mr. Johnson out would be wise.
I should also mention that should a man ever have to use a ladies’ room, then he should be certain entry is restricted when in there, be extremely careful to adhere to rule nine above and put the seat down when finished, unless of course he’s feeling adventurous, and invisible, can outrun any woman, or has a death wish.
Women would not understand the Protocol, nor should they. They would most likely react with, “Seriously?” accompanied by a major league eyeroll or a look like they were smelling something foul. I’m sure there is an equivalent Stall Protocol for ladies to which men are totally oblivious, as we should be.
Anyway, I digress. If there are any females still with me, my apologies. Please read onward.
As I stood releasing the excess Old Jamaicans and beer, Roje joined me and in the classic male way, we both stood, whizzing into the urinals (an open one between us, of course), and looking straight ahead. I thought I had a pretty good idea why he had joined me and it wasn’t to compare cosmetics and talk about companions of the opposite sex which is what I always suspected were the reasons females went to the Ladies’ Lounge in twos.
He said to the wall in front of him, “Dan, so far, I like you.” I noted the so far and started to reply but he kept speaking. “And I know Ronika likes you. More importantly, she respects you.” His command of English was impressive. I had figured he would be fairly fluent, given his business required him to interact with clients who spoke English as a first or second language. But his fluency was several levels above that and his accent was barely discernable.
He paused long enough for me to insert, “But you haven’t quite gotten that far yet, right? You’re still waiting for respect to kick in.”
He didn’t answer directly. Staring straight ahead at the wall inches from his nose, “It has been my experience that the most genuine respect is earned and, once earned, it remains, only to be lost by betrayal or deep disappointment.”
We both finished, shook, and zipped up at the same time, an unwritten rule in the Protocol.
While rinsing our hands, I turned to address him directly. “I hope I will earn your respect, Roje.”
He reached for a paper towel and we stood face-to-face. “I do also, Dan. A huge step to that end will be how you treat my mother. It seems clear to me, even so soon, that there is an attraction between you two. My mother is a fine woman and respected in our community. Ronika and I are fiercely devoted to her.”
I held his gaze. Suddenly I was stone sober. “Roje, you and Ronnie have nothing to worry about.”
His look into my eyes told me I had passed this test. “Good. Shall we return to the ladies?”
Chapter 10: The Flip Flop Lounge
Roje and I returned to the table and joined Ronnie and Delyse. Ronnie looked at the two of us knowingly. “Did you two have a nice chat?”
Roje replied, “Yes, we did. I believe we have an understanding.”
That seemed an unusual answer but at the same time there was a silent understanding at the table. A new Elephant-in-the-Lounge had started toward us but decided his presence was no longer required. He turned and lumbered out into the tropical night, off to his next assignment.
Ronnie just nodded and Delyse said nothing. After about five minutes of small talk Ronnie yawned and stretched her arms. “I’m tired. Roje, we have a busy day tomorrow. Dan, tomorrow we’ll discuss the special excursion we have planned for you. I’ll call you in the morning and we’ll go for breakfast.”
Roje looked at his watch then back up with raised brows as if to say, You’re tired? Seriously? Ronnie’s stare and almost imperceptible nod toward the door said, Yes, you idiot. Let’s go so we can let Mama and Dan have some time together.
The light went on in Roje’s eyes. “Yes, let’s go. Good night Mom, Dan. See you in the morning.” Then he gave me a look that carried the unmistakable message, Remember our discussion in the baño. I nodded in return.
Delyse took in this little charade and after Ronnie and Roje left she smiled at me. “Well, that’s full circle, isn’t it? Usually it’s the parent who leaves the kids alone with a subliminal warning. So Dan, do I need to be wary of you? Are you an honorable man where ladies are concerned?”
I laughed lightly. “I have to state that no one has ever accused me of being dishonorable, at least that I know of, so I guess that’s a start although I suspect you can handle yourself without any problem. ”
She laughed along with me. “While that is a true statement, I have the feeling that I ma
y be able to lower my defenses with you.” We clinked our glasses and drank. She motioned to the bartender who brought over another round and two plates of what looked to me like bite-size meatballs. I looked up at her questioningly. “These are Jamaican jerk meatballs. They are light and not very spicy, very easy on the system. Try one.” She took a toothpick, popped one in her mouth, speared another and held it out to me. I accepted it off the toothpick, expecting it to be too hot for my spicy-food-weenie tastes. To my surprise, I did not break out into a sweat. Rather, I found it to be deliciously mild and succulent. I nodded my approval. She smiled.
Delyse had an air about her that put me at ease. Her face seemed to always be ready to smile and her eyes, while jet black and somewhat piercing, still seemed soft, if eyes can be so-described. She popped another meatball in her mouth, chewed calmly, and took a sip of her drink. Then she leaned back and crossed her long legs again under her flowing colorful dress. Nope, no feet yet. I had to admit to myself that I was captivated.
“So Dan, Ronika has told me a great deal about you, yet I suspect she hasn’t told me fully enough. I do understand that the bond of detective partners in the New York City Police Department is a strong one. I got the impression that over the years you have become both somewhat of an older brother to her bordering on a father figure. Ronika has always been a strong and independent woman but she has said how she relied on your experience and professionalism to guide her throughout her career.” She left that hanging with the clear impression that she expected me to pick up the ball and expand from my perspective.
While I was very eager to learn more about this alluring Jamaican woman sitting next to me, I understood her need to know more about the man with whom her daughter had spent so many hours of her career and whom she had called partner. Also, no doubt she sensed my attraction to her which was an additional motivation for her to peel a few layers off the Deckler onion. I hoped that the attraction was mutual which could also fuel her curiosity.