by Hannovah
“Listen,” he countered. “Cataracts run in my family, you know. I can’t be too careful.”
It was just an excuse, I knew, but whatever.
I whipped out a book that I had brought along and opened it up to where I had stopped reading weeks ago. Then I checked for my plastic cup filled with ice-cold fruit punch and it was right where I placed it, sweating a watermark in the left pocket of my chair. A small packet of cookies rested open in the right pocket. I was good to go.
I got into my reading and it was so interesting that I was able to easily blank out the noise of the kids frolicking, and the waves roaring and crashing. The story was going well until I began reading the same line repeatedly for the last couple of minutes. Without fuss, I put down the book and picked up my drink for a quick refresher and it was only then I noticed that everyone had left me and gone into the water. I joined them.
We had a great time. A holiday is a nice thing to look forward to, but it’s just that it goes by too quickly. And as we packed up our equipment to leave at sunset (Brandon and I did not care to wait for the fireworks as we had seen more than enough in our lifetime) I really looked forward to the company of these folks again, along with others, at our Saturday bash.
And before I knew it, it was here: Quadruple Seven Pool Party day.
The sun was just yawning when we got up to begin our outside clean up, and I figured we had a three hour window of comfort before the heat became unbearable. Brandon was pressure washing the pool deck with a noisy machine when he stopped and reached into his pocket for the phone. It must have been on vibrate, because I did not hear it ring. Good thinking, Ray. Whoever it was, the conversation was brief, and upon its conclusion, Brandon approached me with a baffled look on his face.
I stopped cleaning the patio chairs and asked, “What’s up?”
“Josh just called saying that he’s sorry to disappoint us again, but he won’t be here for the big splash. He and his new girl, Ashley, will be moving in together tonight.”
“What?”
“Ah-hah,” Brandon said, nodding. “He has to go speak to her folks in Daytona and then get her belongings from Orlando. They should be here in Miami in a few days when his class project is over.”
I was confused. With my hand on my hip, I checked, “Are you sure of what you’re telling me?”
“Eddie, how I bought it . . . that’s how I sell it.”
“This is too soon,” I remarked, laying my cleaning rag on the patio table. “They just met.” I couldn’t believe it.
We succeeded in beating the heat before it beat us. The pool was sparkling and the surrounding areas were spic and span. Yvette came over and hung up Hawaiian looking decorations on the fences and, along the top of D Luv Joint, she hung a skirt of colorful frills. Then she left, promising to be back later with some Jamaican food.
Presently, a car pulled up. It was my cousin Cynthia who drove over from Ft. Meyers for our pool party as she had done every year. Cynthia and I were cut from the same bolt of cloth, and although I was a few inches taller than her petite five-foot five, one look at us revealed that we both belonged in the classroom. Yes, she was an educator also: an elementary school teacher. We were model thin, and I dare say that clothes fit us well. My cousin was thirty-nine years old, and single . . . and reserved. And Brandon was two hundred percent certain that she would never get married.
“Hi Halle,” she said smiling, and embraced me.
“Hi Berry,” I countered, returning the complement.
“Oh, Edna, whenever I see you, I feel so good because I know I’ll be looking good forever.”
“Oh, you are too, too kind,” I said.
We entered through the back for her to greet Brandon. After their hug, they had a routine of words to go through and Brandon was always the initiator.
“So what?” he asked, pretending to be surprised, “No boyfriend yet?” And he peeped over the back gate towards where her car was parked, looking for a man.
She blushed, but answered, “I told you that most of the young men are blind.”
“You said that about the men in Toronto. But how about the men in Ft. Meyers?”
“They’re blind too,” she giggled like a little girl.
“Ah-hah.”
Then we left Brandon to handle the setting up of his stereo system and karaoke music because we had cooking jobs to do. Cynthia loved to cook, especially to grill. But there was not going to be much grilling today because the menu was Chinese; we figured that most everyone would have been barbequed-out from July 4th. The women would bring fried-rice or lo-mien, and the men would bring drinks and ice. Among other dishes, I chose to prepare sweet-and-sour pork, and spicy chicken wings. Maxwell’s girlfriend, Lia, would bring eggrolls which people just can’t seem to get enough of it.
So, I got busy and fired up my portable two-burner gas stove that was stored on a table outside. That’s the thing about exotic cooking; you have to do it outside because of the smell. It takes over the whole house, getting into your closets and everywhere. It takes a while for the AC to filter it. Heck, the AC actually spreads it around.
We were done with everything around four p.m. and by then I was so hot I had to take a dip in the pool to cool down. Brandon joined me, but Cynthia did not want to get her pretty hairdo wet, so she went indoors to cool off and rest.
It was a good thing my husband and I weren’t skinny dipping because suddenly we heard a banging at the wooden fence gate, and saw eyes peeping through the slats. Brandon got out of the pool and opened the gate. It was one of our friends with her husband and their four kids, along with two pots of something. The youngsters, each one a couple inches shorter than the other, were already dressed in swimsuits and goggles, and armed with floaters.
“Hi Uncle Brandon!” they sang in unison and rushed in.
While he was yet responding, they kicked off their flip-flops and headed in my direction.
“Hi Auntie Edna!” they chimed at me.
The kids did not wait for my response. Four big splashes drenched me and swamped the entire decking of the pool.
“I hope you don’t mind,” their father said. “They couldn’t wait until seven ‘o’ clock.”
“Not at all,” I said. “Let them have fun.”
The party had begun.
Brandon cranked up the stereo with music, and I left him entertaining the family under D Luv Joint while I got myself ready for the party. The music was so loud I could hear the sweet base from Celebrate Good Times pulsating while I was in the shower. But our neighbors were cool with the noise. They have never complained or called the police, and how could they when they were always invited.
When I returned outside, the number of visitors had grown from six to nineteen, including Cynthia, Yvette, Maxwell and Lia, and the pool was making its own waves from people cannon-balling and jumping in. The music was jamming like in a real party, and folks who were not in the water were dancing so much I was sure they would have needed a chiropractor tomorrow.
The backyard smelled like a Chinese restaurant and Cynthia ran a grill with hot dogs and hamburgers for all the kids and some adults too.
Brandon interrupted the music after a while to begin a karaoke session, and of course, people came up to perform but mostly, they made fools of themselves: all except Maxwell, Mr. Entertainer himself. He did Michael Jackson’s I’m Bad with all the snappy dance movements that went along with it, and the crowd, now grown to thirty-something people, loved it so much they begged him for more. He loved that, and indulged them.
Then, old and young alike tried their skill at Limbo dancing to test the limits of their flexibility. It was all in the name of fun. If Stephen, our older son, were here, he would have performed card tricks, and his friends would have created crazy water games to add more excitement to the bram. And if Joshua were here, I’m sure he would have brought out his steel drum and played something. Well, maybe next time.
All in all, the Quadruple Seven Party was swe
et, and at the end I was happy and tired.
Cynthia bid us goodbye right after breakfast on Sunday because she had a long commute back to Ft. Meyers. Then Stephen called me to tell me that he heard our party was great, and he mentioned that he wanted to have a small splash for his band when they came home in a couple weeks. A little while later Joshua called to talk about the party too; Maxwell had post-mortemed the whole thing with both of them.
Then Joshua asked me, “Do you have any vacant apartments?”
I knew where this was going. Joshua needed a place for himself and his new girlfriend. But I knew Brandon’s policy about renting to friends and family: bad business. I had to think fast. My mind fluttered to come up with a story, but I had nothing. I usually can’t concoct something as fast as my husband could.
Joshua had a good memory. “I know you were evicting one of your tenants. Is he gone yet?”
The tenant was gone alright, and the apartment was ready for renting, but I said, “I don’t know, Josh. Hold on. Let me get Brandon.” I did not want to interfere in my husband’s financial affairs, and besides, I was a horrible liar.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I pulled Brandon away from his TV sports.
After briefing him about the situation, I handed him the phone to do the dirty work. Brandon had no sign of dishonesty in his voice as he greeted the young man before breaking the bad news. “Sorry man, all occupied. That guy eventually paid me my back rent and my court costs, so he’s back on track.”
Although I felt awful, I understood Brandon’s guiding principle that family and business don’t mix. But then I got to wondering if Brandon lies to me without me realizing it, and I flinched at the thought. Oh well.
“Yes, sure I could do that. No problem man,” Brandon said, concluding. “See you guys when you get back.”
“He and Ashley,” Brandon hung up and said to me, “are coming to Miami soon and will come to visit us on Tuesday. Joshua has no rental history here in Miami and he wants me to pose as his old landlord.” He nodded, “I could do that.”
I was anxious to meet Joshua’s new girl.
I pulled Brandon away from his TV sports.
After briefing him about the situation, I handed him the phone to do the dirty work. Brandon had no sign of dishonesty in his voice as he greeted the young man before breaking the bad news. “Sorry son, but they’re all occupied. That guy eventually paid me my back rent and my court costs, so he’s back on track.”
Although I felt awful, I understood Brandon’s guiding principle that family and business don’t mix. But then I got to wondering if Brandon lies to me without me realizing it, and I flinched at the thought. Oh well.
“Yes, sure I could do that. No problem,” Brandon said, concluding. “See you guys when you get back.”
“He and Ashley,” Brandon hung up and said to me, “are coming to Miami soon and will come to visit us on Tuesday. Joshua has no rental history here in Miami and he wants me to pose as his old landlord.” He nodded, “I could do that.”
I was anxious to meet Joshua’s new girl, a Canadian like me.
On Tuesday, I went gallivanting to Walmart and the mall, and on my return, I got directly to cooking, and soon the old white Camry pulled up, and I peeked through the shutters to catch an early glimpse of the couple. I had to do a double take; I could not believe my eyes. “Ray, did he tell you that she was white?”
“She’s white?” Brandon shared my surprise.
“I thought he only liked black girls.”
“Well it don’t matter. A man is a man, liking all attractive women. And besides, most Canadians are white. You’re from there; you know that.” He hustled to the window and we stared at the couple who was now out of their car and in plain sight.
“Hmmm,” Brandon smiled, and then tried to suppress his happiness. This time he was not wearing sunglasses, so I saw all the excitement in his eyes, though he would deny it if I pointed it out.
The girl was sexy without a doubt. Tight black shorts that rose up to her hips, exposed her plump strong thighs, and, I would imagine, some of her butt cheeks too. Ashley looked about thirty years old, and could not be taller than five-foot-six. Her abs were flat below her pink midriff top, and a jewel glittered from her belly button just like Joshua’s white teeth were doing once again. Joshua wore shorts and a T-shirt, and, arm in arm, he and his blonde chick trudged toward our door, their flip-flops slapping loudly on the concrete driveway.
Brandon let them in, and greetings and introductions were exchanged. The girl had blue eyes, freckles on her face and a gold, star-shaped stud on her nose, and I couldn’t help thinking that she looked like Lindsey Lohan, only not as pretty. And when she smiled, I saw that her teeth were short and widely spaced like those of a child. She was not a Miss World, but she was a hot number.
Throughout the little introductions, I did not hear a Canadian accent, so I inquired, “Where in Canada are you from, Ashley?”
“I’m not from Canada, I’m from Daytona.”
“And your folks?”
“Daytona I would like to visit Canada one day I heard you had a party last Saturday I’m so sorry I missed all that food and drink.”
I smiled at her, but I was a bit mixed up. There was no Canadian heritage. Did I hear wrong?
I entered the kitchen with Ashley behind me while the men went into the den where Brandon turned on the radio and some Caribbean music was playing. And to my surprise, Ashley sang along.
“You know these songs?” I asked, while checking on my pot.
“Oh yes I love soca I saw Machel in concert when he came to Tampa and I was wining like this the whole time.” With legs apart and hands in the air, the girl gyrated her hips, and went down to the floor and came back up. “I wined behind the big truck at the carnival in Orlando,” she went on. “I go to every carnival I hear that there is a big one in Miami in October but I’ve never been there hopefully Josh will take me there this year I am a big soca fan just a few days ago I down-loaded some soca to my ipod.”
I didn’t know these songs or singers, but I was impressed that a non-Caribbean person knew so much about the music and carnivals. And she knew how to wine very well, a trademark of a Caribbean person; I had seen them on TV and videos, and when I went out with Yvette, my Jamaican neighbor. What I knew about that culture, I had learnt from her.
I was mystified at the young woman’s cultural diversity, so I pressed one last time. “How do you know so much about the island culture?”
“I have lots of Trini friends in Orlando my boy Tommy helped to set up the carnival in Orlando this year I helped with making some of the costumes I like doing that kind of stuff I like arts and crafts my dog John introduced me to the roti shop I eat there at least once per week and Dre has a Caribbean stall at the flea market he sells island flags rings headbands perfumes shea butter cocoa butter.”
As she spoke, her tongue flickered strangely in her mouth.
With the table laid, we signaled the guys to join us.
Ashley said, “I just love the beaches here I wish we were staying on the beach the seawater is so clear and blue not like Daytona.”
I asked, “Where are y’all staying right now?”
“Still rooming with my buddy in Fort Lauderdale . . . for now,” Joshua said. “Yesterday we went to the beach. And we also stopped to look at some apartments right down the street from FAC.”
“Honey what’s FAC?” Ashley inquired.
He paused from slicing the vegetables in his plate and replied, “Florida Automotive College. See, if Ashley gets a job and needs the car, I could walk to school, or I might even get a bicycle.”
Attempting some small talk, I asked, “So what did you all do for Fourth of July?”
“I was in Daytona,” Ashley replied while sipping on her ice-tea.
“And I was in Orlando,” Joshua offered.
“Oh,” I said. “I thought that you all spent the Fourth together?”
“No. I was at a friend.
” Joshua was abrupt, and his guilty eyes peered over his glass, begging me to end this topic.
Something did not add up in my head. I know Joshua was spending the holiday with a Canadian-American girl, and by the weekend they were moving in together. I shoved a spoonful of mac-and-cheese into my mouth and began to chew on it.
Brandon apparently was puzzled too. “So, when did you all meet?” he asked.
Ashley volunteered, “The Friday after the Fourth it was July sixth when I met Josh the love of my life.”
Then I got it. Ashley was not the Canadian that Joshua first mentioned. Heck, she even said she was not a Canadian. So it must have been another woman that he spent the Fourth with. God, I’m slow.
Brandon, showing no surprise, pried further. “Where did you all meet?”
“At a club in Orlando,” she beamed.
“So . . . so let me get this straight,” I jumped in, blinking like there was something in my eyes. “You met on the sixth and moved in together on the seventh?”
“No, we moved in together that same night of the sixth when we met,” Joshua proudly remarked. “Why wait when you know it’s right?”
We continued eating, but truthfully, these young people were giving me a headache.
After the meal, the guys returned to the den while we girls cleared the table and tidied up the kitchen. But as soon as Miss Central Florida excused herself to the bathroom, I arrested Joshua for confirmation of my thoughts. “Didn’t you meet a Canadian-American girl around the third?” I whispered.
“Yes, but that was a different girl. I wasn’t feeling the other girl. I really like Ashley. We have so much in common. You know that Joanne was boring; she didn’t like to party or hang out. It was only church and bible all the time. But Ashley, she doesn’t mind the little partying, drinking and smoking. I tell you, we are twins. She’s my soul-mate.”
Joshua looked genuinely happy, and I was glad for that even though I did not approve of their quick moving-in. But he was grown and he had sense. I hoped.
We were all sitting in the den when Blondie returned, promptly smooched Joshua on the cheek, and sat in his lap. Then she took his arms and wrapped them around her. The recliner was strong, thank goodness.