OKAY. SO WHEN it stops raining I get dolled up for dinner like I’ve been doing and I go to the dining room and fill my plate up with something anything and the Canadians come to my table and Ben says, “Stella, are you going to karaoke tonight?” and I look up at them in the somnambulant manner which seems to have taken over my whole being since this afternoon and I say, “What time?”
Sasha is smiling as usual and looking more and more like I Dream of Jeannie because her hair is in a ponytail perched on top of her head and hanging down in these long blond swirls and Ben is ogling me like say yes and then she says, “Come, Stella. For fun,” and I’m thinking, What the hell, I have no date tonight no plans nothing except this, so I say, “Okay. But what time does it start?”
To my surprise Sasha says, clearly, “Nine o’clock,” and her husband gives her a big squeeze.
“She’s getting better every day,” he says, and there she goes again with that plastered smile.
After I fill up on whatever it was I ate I head toward the game room and play the slot machines for about twenty minutes and then Norris comes over.
“Hi, Stella,” he says. “So I guess you know that Winston’s gone,” he says, and gives me this satisfied look.
“Yes, I know,” I say. I’ve been wondering all along but didn’t want to think too much about it but I wonder if Norris is gay because he is almost too sweet for my tastes and now it seems he’s a little too concerned about my interest in Winston.
“It’s really great he got the job, don’t you think?” He looks at me out of the corner of his eye as if he’s hoping to find evidence of disappointment in mine.
“Oh yes. I think it’s great. A great opportunity.”
“He won’t be back,” he says.
“I know that, Norris.”
“You guys were hitting it off there though for a while, hey?”
“He’s a nice kid,” I say.
“Yeah, well, anyway you’re coming to the disco after karaoke?”
“I don’t know, Norris.”
“Oh come on, Stella. It’ll be fun. Karaoke is always fun and Bevon the DJ has already told me he will play ‘Shy Guy’ and ‘Crazy’ by Seal just for you.”
“How sweet,” I say and realize I have used up all my coins, that it’s hot as hell in here and I have not won anything.
I go back to my room and remember I have not talked to my son in quite a few days and that I have also not thought about him all that much if at all until now and as I reach to pick up the phone I realize I cannot call him but I decide to leave a message on his dad’s answering machine anyway and all I say is that I am in Jamaica and I am having a wonderful time and I miss you and I hope you will be able to bring some fish home but if not we can always get some from Safeway.
I decide it’s time to call my sisters and I just pick up the phone and dial a number and wait to see which one answers. “Hi,” I say.
“Girl, what took you so fucking long to call me I’m like been worried about you and shit thinking maybe your plane crashed or you got kidnapped or something but since you didn’t what’s up? You having fun got any yet are the men fine or what?”
“Vanessa, stop it. First of all, Negril is gorgeous and I’m having a great time. I needed this vacation in a major way. Have you been feeding the fish, Dr. Dre and Phoenix?”
“Yes, I’ve fed the little critters but Paco’s been doing it too so if they’re like waddling or floating on top of the water all puffed up and shit when you get back don’t blame me. So what’s going on, Sis? Tell me something good. Tell me something nasty!”
“You won’t even believe it if I tell you.”
“What what what?”
“Girl, I slept with a twenty-one-year-old boy.”
I can hear her laughing uncontrollably into the phone. She finally gathers her composure and starts to chuckle, and then I join in, and when we are finally out of laughter she says, “Hold up a minute. Now repeat that again. Please.”
“I said I did it with a twenty-one-year-old, and it was good and he was rather amazing but he got a job and had to leave and I kind of liked him, Vanessa.”
“You can’t even be serious? Wait a minute. No. I like the part about fucking him. Let’s go there. What was it like, tell me all the details, but what do you mean you ‘kind of liked him’?”
“Well, I didn’t like just fuck him.”
“Oh, don’t tell me you guys like made love and shit.”
“We did. That’s exactly what we did.”
“You fucked him, Stella. Get real. Is he Jamaican?”
“Yep.”
“So is the rumor true or what?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? You didn’t see it? Well, you had to feel it.”
“No I didn’t see it and yes I felt it and all I can say is that it felt—what difference does it make what size it is? That is not the point I’m trying to make here.”
“Yeah, well, just what point might that be?”
“The point is that he is very nice and manly in more ways than in bed.”
“Are you gonna get some more or not because Lord knows your dead ass could use as much as you can get. So are you like turnt out, girl? Did you have to go all the way to Jamaica to get your groove back on by a . . . how old is he again? Did you really say twenty-one?”
“Well, actually he won’t be twenty-one for a couple of months.”
“Wow. Like there’s a big fucking difference, huh! Anyway all I can say is You go, girl!!!”
“Vanessa?”
“What?”
“Don’t tell Angela. She won’t get it.”
“Get what?”
“She’s so . . . you know.”
“Say no more. I know how to keep my mouth shut but you know she’s worried as all hell about you, so you should call her for a hot minute.”
“I will after I finish talking to you.”
“I need to ask you a big favor, Sis.”
“What now, Vanessa?”
“Don’t say it like that, damn. You have the right to say no.”
“First tell me what it is. You’re already driving my car.”
“Can I borrow a thousand to fifteen hundred until I get my income tax refund?”
“Would it be an invasion of privacy if I asked for what?”
“No problem. I’m behind in a few bills.”
“What else is new, Vanessa?”
“My car insurance is about to lapse.”
“So I shouldn’t even ask why you’re behind, should I?”
“Same old same old. Checks don’t stretch but so far.”
“You said when you get your income tax refund. Now tell me something. Is it July?”
“I filed late. I’m good for it, Stella. Just let me know if you’ll do it so I can write this check.”
“Wait till I get back. But you know you still owe me close to six hundred from Christmas, or did we forget?”
“We haven’t forgotten.”
“Don’t, Vanessa. I am not a bank. Got it?”
“Got it. Now,” she says, sounding relieved, “are you like blacker or what?”
“About four shades. You could say I’m bronzed. How’s Chantel?”
“Too grown. But she’s fine.”
“And work?”
“Motherfuckers still dying left and right. I’m about tired of working in ER really. All these gangbangers killing each other and shit is getting old. I can’t take too much more of it. I’m serious.”
“Well, lots of their stupid-ass parents are baby boomers like the majority of adult Americans which means they should’ve been hip to Malcolm and Martin and they should’ve had sense enough to teach their kids—especially their sons—what’s up and if they had’ve these kids probably wouldn’t be out there blowing each other’s brains out stabbing each other like death is a joke like they’re going to get a chance to do this again and if they like made an audiotape of The Autobiography of M
alcolm X required listening—since they won’t read anything—in say third grade maybe these kids would know that the war is outside not inside, don’t you think?”
“I love you, Stella. You should’ve been an evangelist in a church for the fucking profane. But anyway, Sis, I’ve gotta go. Gotta clock in. Send me a postcard and enjoy that young man!”
“I will,” I say but just as I’m about to hang up I hear her yell out: “Take one little vacation and in a matter of days you turn into Sally the Slut!”
“You go straight to hell, Vanessa.” I try to wipe the smirk off my face. “And I love you too.”
I stare at the phone because I am not in the mood for talking to Miss Tiddledywinks but she might be on the verge of a nervous breakdown or probably just itching to call 911 in Jamaica so I dial her number praying she’s at like Target or Strouds or the Price Club picking out new eyelet comforters or something but when she answers I change my tone. “Angela?”
“It’s about time you called. Why didn’t you call when you first got there so somebody would know you arrived safely? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Damn. If you didn’t get any telegrams, that should’ve told you I arrived safely.”
“Forget it, Stella. It’s simply called consideration. That’s all. Are you having any fun or what?”
“I’m having a ball.”
“Have you met any interesting people?”
“Yes.”
“With or without clothes?”
“Well, both. Sort of.”
“You didn’t, Stella.”
“Yes I did, Angela.”
“What is with this Jamaican business that makes undressing so compulsory?”
“Don’t let it worry you, Angela. I just wanted to call to say hello and let you know that I’m having a ball.”
“Well, have you done anything in the water yet?”
I wanted to say, If I get lucky again, but instead said, “I’ve been parasailing scuba diving snorkeling water bicycling and Jet Skiing.”
“Damn. And it’s only Saturday. All this in three days?”
“When it’s already paid for, you do as much of it as you can.”
“So how are the men?”
“What men?”
“The Jamaican men.”
“They’re mostly American and they’re all in the NBA or NFL and they’re all with their wives or girlfriends.”
“So that means you haven’t met a soul who’s available?”
“Nope.”
“I told you you shouldn’t have gone by yourself, didn’t I?”
“But I’m still having a great time, Angela.”
“Yeah, right. The signal you’re probably sending out is: Hey, I’m alone and I like it this way. I’m off limits, out of bounds, and I don’t need a man. I’m just fine by myself thank you very much.”
“That is ridiculous. I do not emit any such spray of any kind.”
“It’s your body language, Stella. You can be hard, you know. Well, maybe hard is too harsh a word. But you can be very businesslike, downright cold. No eye contact whatsoever and I’ve seen you carry yourself in such a way that no man would even dream of approaching you. To be honest, I’m beginning to wonder if you don’t prefer being single.”
“Sure, I want to spend the rest of my life alone.”
“Whatever you do, just please do not come home telling us about some tropical fling you’ve had with some Jamaican guy and you’re in love and what have you. Those island romances don’t count because they’re not real. Those guys all want to become citizens, so they’ll sweet-talk you if they think it’ll get them to the States. Just keep this in mind if you even come close to warming up to somebody.”
Skip the subject, Stella. “Is Evan coming home for the summer?”
“No. He’s interning with a sports recruiting company. He’ll be home for a week before school starts, sometime in mid-August. Why?”
“Just curious. Be nice to see him.”
“You just saw him at Easter.”
“I know. Does he still have that same girlfriend?”
“Don’t ask me about her, okay?”
“I just did.”
“She’s pregnant.”
“Again?”
“Yes. But this time she’s keeping it.”
“No!”
“I’m three minutes from flying there and snatching it out of her. This was all planned. And Evan is too stupid to realize that he’s been set up.”
“How many months is she?”
“Would you believe four?”
“Whoa. She’s on a serious mission, huh?”
“Evan wants her to move on campus with him and get married.”
“Can we switch to another topic? I can’t handle this right now. I am on vacation and I don’t even want to believe that the words you just uttered about my one and only favorite nephew are even close to being true.”
I can tell Angela is crying. I’m wondering if it’s due mostly to those pregnancy hormones kicking in. “Angela, are you all right?”
“Yeah. I’m just so fucking angry at Evan for being such an idiot. I don’t understand how he could fall for the okeydoke like this. Jennifer is such a manipulator and. . . oh forget it. This will be handled, and I’m sorry for ruining your mood.”
“It’s okay. But look, Angela, tonight’s karaoke and it’s starting in a few minutes.”
“Oh, wow, now that sounds like fun. But before you hang up I want to tell you that the babies moved.”
“No shit!”
“No shit. It’s so weird feeling two of them.”
“It’s been so long I can’t remember what one felt like,” I say.
“You’re the one who should be having a baby, Stella. It would be good for Quincy to have a little brother or sister.”
Oh please, not this baby business again. Especially under the circumstances and all. I am really getting tired of listening to these unsolicited opinions and I’m especially sick of watching these over-forty women having their first child and acting as if the world is like supposed to stop. I do not would not dream of could not even fathom changing another pissy poopy Pamper or getting up in the middle of the night to a screaming I-need-a-bottle baby. No thank you. Angela wants to repeat herself and she’ll remember soon enough how hard it is, especially when she watches her husband curl up into an even tighter knot each time she jumps out of that bed to go bond with the little crumb snatchers. I did my baby number. I love my son. But you couldn’t pay me enough money to get pregnant at forty-two years old and if I did, when it was born I’d probably already be its grandmother. “As soon as I get home and find a brand-new husband we’re going to get right on top of things so to speak and start working on adding to our family at our earliest convenience. How’s that suit you, Angela?”
“You go to hell, Stella. But seriously. Have a great time and try to stay out of trouble.”
“Not to worry,” I say.
“What did you say?”
“Nothing,” I say. “Bye, Angela. And I love you too.”
Boy, and I thought my life was sad.
• • • •
It is time for karaoke and I drag myself down the pathway and say hello to the night workers and go upstairs to the piano bar and sure enough it is filled to the brim with people mostly white people and they are singing up a storm and the words are on the white wall and they hand me a book and say pick a song and I am not at all into this. I go downstairs and find myself walking into the empty disco where Bevon the DJ is testing out his selections for tonight and I ask him if he’ll play Diana King’s “Shy Guy” and he says sure and he does and I stand on the dance floor by myself and dance and then he plays one of my absolute favorites by Seal, “Dreaming in Metaphors,” and then “Groovin in the Midnight” by Maxi Priest, “Open Your Heart” by M People, and after “I’m Ready” by Tevin Campbell I have swerved swayed and swiveled until this sadness this hollow feeling overwhelms me and I say thank you and
get out of there until I find myself taking a shower and putting on my cotton pajamas and sliding under the covers which do not smell like anything at all and I spend hours trying to shut down my brain and heart to rid them of him his image his scent those fucking kisses until I guess I finally fall asleep.
• • • •
I am running on the beach this morning but my feet feel like lead and why is it that this beach seems longer and it’s already hot too damn hot and why does it have to be so hot so early in the morning? Huh? I pass quite a few people on the beach, two of whom to my surprise are black women. They say hello and give me the thumbs-up and I think it is nice to see yourself outside yourself sometimes and it is also a nice feeling when black people acknowledge each other.
I continue with my normal routine after I run. I do the breakfast thing but Winston does not appear and I pretend that I’m not thinking about him but I have to make myself blink sometimes because it seems as if I see his translucent form walking right through these tables and heading in my direction. The two women I saw on the beach stop at my table with their trays. “Mind if we join you?” the taller one asks.
“Not at all,” I say.
We introduce ourselves. The tall one’s name is Tonya and although I guessed that she’s a model it turns out she’s a surgery resident at Massachusetts General Hospital in Cambridge. She barely looks old enough to be a candy striper. Patrice is an anesthesiologist at St. Luke’s in Manhattan and she looks Puerto Rican or like she’s mixed with something; her skin is flawless, a smooth creamy shade of brown, and her hair is long and thin, bone straight and black, and as soon as they start talking I’m sure they’re both from the South somewhere but it turns out to be Chicago and they’ve been friends since elementary school. I tell them I’m from Chicago too but I grew up in the burbs and so did they and we like bond immediately because of the strong geographical factor. I tell them what I do for a living and once we get all this over with we sort of feel like, well, like three girls on vacation. “What made you guys come to Negril?” I ask.
How Stella Got Her Groove Back Page 13