• • • •
Quincy is in the backyard, swimming with nine little boys, and I am pretty much reading one of the books I started reading when I was in Jamaica. I am calm but at the same time anxious. I haven’t heard from Win-ston even though I Federal Expressed his gift box along with a friendly letter wherein I basically told him how much I enjoyed his company and that this little package was an expression of my desire to put a smile on his face and how much I enjoyed meeting him spending time with him and how astonishing and powerful his kisses were. In fact I was totally honest and told him that they and he himself had a rather profound and lingering effect on me and that it is disturbing in a way because what in fact happened over there? Could he put his finger on it? and if not maybe we shouldn’t question this maybe we should just pay attention and participate and not worry about it and I think I said something about passion being too underrated and how when you feel it deeply it resonates and you can’t push it out away somewhere else and how innocent he felt to me how innocent he made me feel and I haven’t felt this light inside in years and I thanked him for being Winston Shakespeare and wished him luck in the future and regardless of what happened I hoped he would stay in touch because who knows one day I might be at his wedding and then almost as an aside because I didn’t want to give him the wrong impression that the sex was what has made me feel like this because it isn’t, it just added to what was already beautiful what was already in progress, I told him how much I enjoyed making love to him the way he made love to me in such slow motion and that I get chills when I think about it so I try not to, but chills aren’t bad once you get used to them—yes I did say all this. I also told him it would be perfectly okay if he called me collect to let me know when he got the stuff because I Federal Expressed it before I had a chance to change my entire attitude which seems to be fluctuating from one side of the color wheel to the other minute by minute and I am getting to the point now where I can justify any one of these opposing viewpoints aka emotions depending on my mood.
Right now I’m tense. Maybe I went a little overboard with the shopping. Maybe he’ll be scared shitless. I decide that I should not be sitting here thinking about how some twenty-one-year-old is going to respond to a gift pack but instead I should be thinking about what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. However, I am drawing a blank and do not really want to go there at this moment in time and space so I don’t.
I tell the children not to drown while I’m gone and that I am going on my run which I admit I lied to Krystal about because I told her that I’d run the day before but the truth is I’ve only been out twice since I’ve been home and I told her that someone had spotted some mountain lions up in the hills behind my house where I run and all she had to say to that was run a different way which made sense and so right now I am strapping my heart rate monitor around my chest and I put the watch portion of it on my wrist which begins to beep until I press the little button.
I am doing my stretches when I hear the phone and Quincy jets by me dripping wet. “Would you answer that, please?”
“Sure, Mom,” he says and picks it up. “Hello. Sure. Who? Winston? Sure. Just a minute, please,” he says and holds the phone up in the air. “Mom, it’s somebody named Winston and he’s got an accent.”
“Is it collect?”
“I didn’t hear the operator if it is. Mom, can we have some microwave popcorn and some Snapple, please?”
“Yes,” I say and take the phone.
“Thanks, Mom!”
“And stop running through the house wet before you slip and break your neck!” I say but I cover the phone as I say it. My heart is pounding away, my heart rate monitor is beeping, which means I’m already in my target zone which normally doesn’t happen until I’ve been out for at least ten minutes. This does not surprise me. “Hello, Winston,” I say.
“Hello, Stella,” he says and begins to laugh. “I have never been so surprised by something in my life.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come on. All those nice things you sent me. I don’t understand. It was so thoughtful of you to think of me that way and wow, I don’t really know what else to say, a huge thank you, I mean I am still in shock actually.”
“It was only a few CDs a few T-shirts a pair of sneakers one pair of sunglasses and a little CD player.”
“Easy for you to say that. No one has ever done anything like this for me before. Never. I can’t thank you enough. It was so sweet of you, but why did you do it?”
“Because I wanted to make you smile.”
“Well, it worked. It’s working. I can’t believe this. Everyone here is so envious because they had the box at the front desk apparently for quite some time and word finally got to me that I had a package from America and I knew it had to be from you and when I saw your name I felt so good it wouldn’t have mattered if nothing was in the box really.”
“Well, I’m glad, Winston.”
“I’m not kidding. I really appreciate all of these things. It’s like Christmas in July. Sooo, how are you?”
“I’m fine. About to go on my run.”
“Guess what?”
“What?”
“I found out that I can get time off in three months’ time and I loved your letter. You have a way with words you know and I have read it at least seven times already.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I kid you not. . . . I sure wish you were here,” he says.
I sigh. “Do you really mean that?”
“Yes, I do. I think about you so much it’s starting to wear me out. Why? What’s going on, Stella?” I can hear him laughing.
“Maybe I can arrange something.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Yes. I’m coming back.”
“You’re serious?”
“Very.”
“How soon?”
“How about two weeks from now?”
He’s chortling. “Wonderful! This is great! You’re not joking with me, are you?”
“Nope. But I’m not coming alone.”
“And who will be accompanying you?” His tone is deeper.
“My son and my niece.”
“Oh, fantastic!” he exclaims in a higher voice.
“So think about it for real, Winston. Do you think you really want to see me again?”
“Now that’s a ridiculous question, Stella.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure,” he says. “I want to see you again. Is that clear enough?”
“Well, we’ll be staying at the Frangipani this time.”
“I’ll see if I can get two days off in a row. It might be tough since I just started and I have no seniority but I’ll see if I can switch with someone. You are something,” he says.
“And you’re sure about this, Winston?”
“You’re not listening to me. My only concern is if everything will be okay with your son. I mean I’m not sure . . . you’ll have to tell me what you want me to do.”
“He’ll be fine. We’ve got a two-bedroom villa with an up and downstairs.”
“Sounds like a place I could live in,” he says.
“You can for one night at least.”
“You mean I can spend the night?!”
“If you want to.”
“I would love to. What day are you getting in and what time does your flight arrive? I could try to meet you guys at the hotel.”
I am tickled orange. I am grinning my ass off. I am happy. I am feeling like Mary Poppins, as if I could float right up through my skylight, I mean what is really going on here, Stella, I mean what is it that this young man does to you over the telephone no less that gets you all gaga and gooey? I do not know and I do not care I am just glad that my heart is ticking and he is helping me with the beats. “I’ll let you know the exact day and time,” I say.
“Stella, could you do me a big favor when you come?”
“What’s that
?”
“Would you bring me some junk food from America?”
“Junk food? What kind of junk food?”
“Oreos.”
“As in Oreo cookies?”
“Yes.” He chuckles. “And a bag of Lay’s potato chips and any kind of candy but Skittles.”
“You are serious, aren’t you?”
“Very. These things are too expensive here in Jamaica. But only if it’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble,” I insist. “No trouble at all.”
“And I am looking forward to seeing you, Stella. This is—all of it—everything is such a nice surprise. And I’ll be glad to meet your son and—your niece, is it?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll cook something special for you while you’re here.”
“Something spicy?”
“Something very spicy.” He groans.
We say goodbye and I am like fucked up all over again but I pull myself together and actually run for a whole hour without stopping, something I’ve never done in my life.
• • • •
“Girl, are you on drugs or something?”
“Shut up, Vanessa. Please don’t put me through this.”
“Put you through what?”
“Why and how come and all that.” I am sitting on the family room floor with my portable phone, flipping through interior design magazines as I am thinking about doing a little redecorating sometime in the near future and am trying to get ideas although I already have a few of my own that I like.
“Girl, look, I say go for it. I’m just glad you’re taking Chantel. You’ll be giving me a break. And hey, you should take whatever form happiness comes in when it comes your way. I mean hey, when you get right down to it, what is the big deal?”
“Are you on drugs?”
“No. I’m not the sister who has the problem with this young man. If everything you told me is true he sounds pretty mature and sincere if you ask me and I wouldn’t worry too much about what anybody says. Shit, this is your fucking life, Stella, and besides, I haven’t seen you this upbeat and happy since I don’t know when.”
“Thank you, Sis. I appreciate that.”
“And check it out. Seems like ever since you got home all I see and read about are like older women with younger men and hey, you’re not the only one taking a step back instead of forward, and you know what?” she says, sounding angry, and I’m not sure where she’s coming from.
“What?”
“Men have been dating younger women for fucking centuries and does anybody say anything to them? Look at Hugh Hefner with his one-foot-away-from-the-grave ass. Didn’t he marry that bunny who had just barely graduated from high school and hasn’t she had like two kids by him?”
I almost spit out my cappuccino. “Yeah, but I do think she was in her early twenties.”
“Same fucking thing. Anyway you should check out the statistics on this stuff. I say go for it and forget all the bullshit. Besides, did you know that I’ve heard that Marvin Gaye’s first wife was like seventeen years older than he was?”
“Nope.”
“Yeah, and Clark Gable too. They say that motherfucker married two women who were old enough to be his mama. So I wouldn’t be tripping if I was you. I’d run and get some more of him if it’s as good as you say it is.”
“It’s not the sex that’s moving me.”
“I didn’t mean it that way—you’re just taking it that way.”
“I just want it clear. I like sleeping with him but I like him more.”
“You made your point, now let’s cut to the chase. You know my money is funny so I don’t know how much spending change Chantel’s gonna be taking over there to Jamaica. What’s up with that?”
“Go to hell, Vanessa.”
“Gotta ask,” she says. “And how are you like in a position even though I know it’s none of my business to be like the world traveler and you don’t even have a job anymore?”
“Good investments. Something you’d know nothing about. So bye,” I say and hang up.
• • • •
“Quincy!” I yell.
I get no response so I run to the bottom of the stairs and yell louder: “Turn that mess off and come down here so we can bond!” He is listening to TLC again which is all he plays it seems and he has also started closing his bedroom door and Lord only knows what he might be doing in there but I don’t want to know.
“Mom?” he says, hanging over the railing.
“What?”
“Can we bond up here in my room?”
“No. I said come down here right now and I’m your mother so do what I tell you to do or die.”
“I’m coming.” He runs down the stairs and we sit side by side on the bottom step.
“Will this bonding session take a long time?”
“So what if it does?”
“I’m doing a drawing and the paint is wet.”
“I’m sorry. Then I won’t keep you long.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m all ears.”
“Well, that’s certainly the truth,” I say and he falls over against me which makes me fall into the wall and then I give him a big hug and I say, “Okay. Let’s get serious.”
He sits up straight and tall. “I’m serious.”
“You know when I told you I had a lot of fun in Jamaica?”
“Yes.”
“I also met someone over there.”
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s about time!”
“Chill,” I say. “Anyway his name is—”
“Winston. Mom, do you think I was born yesterday or what?”
“Yes. Winston.”
“Too bad you had to go so far to find him, huh?”
“Be quiet, Quincy.”
“So we’re going to see him in Jamaica of course, right?”
“Right.”
“I just want you to know that he is not my boyfriend, he is just someone that I like.”
“I’m happy for you, Mom.”
“There’s a little problem, though.”
“What kind of problem?”
“He’s a little younger than I am.”
“How much younger?” he asks.
“Well, he’s not quite thirty.”
“Mom, age ain’t nothing but a number,” he says. “Is that it?” he asks, standing up. “Mom?”
“What?”
“Are we finished bonding? I mean is there more you want to tell me?”
“No,” I say. “But do you know what you’re really saying here, Quincy?”
“I think I just said that age ain’t nothing but a number.”
“Where’d you hear that—on MTV or what?”
“It’s on Aaliyah’s CD. It’s a cool song. You’ve heard it, Mom. They play it on Wild 107.”
“But Quincy. Winston is not on that or any CD—he is a real person.”
“Mom, what are you so worried about?”
“Who said I was worried?”
“Well, if you weren’t, why’d you have to say it was a problem. It’s only a problem if you make it a problem. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?”
I want to pop him upside the head and hug him at the same time. “Yes, it is,” I say and feel like a little girl who’s getting yet another lecture from her father. “Wait. One more thing.”
“Yes?”
“Would you like some eggs for breakfast?”
“Mom, of course not. Don’t you know that eggs are full of cholesterol and saturated fat and cause heartburn and are a hazard to your health?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I didn’t have a clue.”
I JUST KNOW the plane is going to crash because I am having entirely too much fun this summer despite the fact that I have lost a job though it meant absolutely nothing to me emotionally and spiritually even if the money wasn’t bad but I do believe that God works in mysterious ways which is why I don’t have that job anymore
and why I am feeling so much relief and, well, glee actually and I think it happened at this time in my life for a reason and yet somehow deep down inside I am feeling as if I will probably die very soon of some fatal disease which is why I yell to Chantel and Quincy to come stand over here with me in the first-class line where I am upgrading all three of us for a mere three thousand dollars because if I’m going to be dead soon my insurance policy will cover all my unpaid credit card bills. If tragedy does happen to strike while we’re up inside the clouds my soul won’t be all that far from heaven but it would certainly be nice if I could have another chance to press and seal my lips against Winston’s just one more time which if God really is fair He or She would grant me a final pleasure before I go and if there’s time an hour or two of some nuggies would be like frosting on the cake if it’s not asking too much. That’s what this is really all about: not the sex part, but the sense that for some stupid reason I am feeling like those emotionally handicapped women they write self-help books about who don’t feel as if they deserve to be happy or that they’re entitled to it. But if I were to dig a little deeper I’d know that this too is a bunch of bullshit because none of the logic applies to me. I mean here I am in the middle of my life which basically means I can look forward to even more than what I’ve already done which seems like a pretty good position to be in considering what the alternative is. So while I buy two packages of Oreo cookies a super-saver size Kit Kat one Three Musketeer a Butterfinger a PayDay three bags of Lay’s potato chips—plain, barbecue and sour cream and onion—I add all this stuff up and I come to the conclusion that I have earned the right to some happiness and by golly I’m going to get me some.
• • • •
The kids love the first hour of the van ride and how they manage to sleep through the second one fails me. When we pass the Castle Beach Negril my heart jumps. Those low lights are lining the driveway, illuminating the hibiscuses so that they look as if they are actually dancing, and in less than a minute we arrive at the Frangipani Hotel. It is peach and pretty even at night. Although it is only eight o’clock it has been dark since about seven. When we get to the check-in desk the kids are already heading toward the swimming pool which is lit up bright blue. A Jamaican woman dressed in a colorful African print dress with a tall gelé wrapped snugly around her head is singing a beautiful ballad and swaying her hardy hips back and forth on a big stage behind the pool and I can see that this is a lovely hotel and watching the long line of guests in front of the massive buffet suggests that the food is going to be good too.
How Stella Got Her Groove Back Page 21