by Simone Kelly
Olivia and I took a two-day trip to Kingston while in Jamaica. It was a bumpy three-hour ride from Ocho Rios with some of the worst A/C ever.
Our saving grace was the scenic route of breathtaking hills. Oh, it was beautiful! I had a sense of pride as we drove through the towns that my ancestors called home. Jamaica’s rich history was part of my heritage, too, and I couldn’t wait to learn more.
When we were settled into the Spanish Court Hotel in Kingston, I called the last number I had for Aunt Daphne. I had jacked it from True’s cell, but it was disconnected. However, I soon found out that if you knew the last name of someone in Jamaica and the town they live in it’s not hard to get more information. Professional snoop was my side job. I was able to trace Aunt Daphne to her business, Daphne’s Delights, and some locals knew exactly who she was when I asked at the front desk of the hotel.
I sat on the edge of my bed and nervously dialed. It was still early afternoon, so I hoped she would be in her shop.
“Hi, may I speak to Daphne please?”
“Yes . . . Good afternoon, ah, who is calling?” She seemed intrigued by my voice.
“Kylie Collins!” I tapped my leg nervously.
Silence and then I heard something drop.
I said it again, “Kylie? Your niece. Ummm . . . Paulette’s daughter?” I tried to refresh her memory.
“Oh, mi darling, I know! I know who you are! I just can’t believe it. And you sound just like your mother, Paulette. And you’re here? I see a Kingston number!” Her voice cracked. “You both here? Kiss mi neck!” She was overjoyed.
“Well, no, just me and a friend. I had to track you down.”
“I never knew what happened to you! Your mother never stayed in touch, she always moving and never letting anyone know anything. So glad you knew to look for mi!” She laughed. “My gooooodness, I long to you see you, man! Where are you staying? You must come see your cousins.”
“I know, I know! I can’t wait. We’re here only one more day, then we go back to Ocho Rios.”
“Oh, is that where you staying in Ochi? Okay, well tomorrow it is. I will move everything around for you, mi love.”
Tears were welling behind my eyelids as I listened to her excitement. My auntie! My family was happy to see me. They were not the nasty “damn Jamaicans” my mother painted a picture of.
While I was still on the phone, Olivia was coming out of the shower and looking at me for a sign of good news. I nodded my head yes and pointed to the phone. She came over and high-fived me with a damp hand. It stung and we both laughed.
Aunt Daphne planned to pick us up for brunch the following day. Thinking back now, I realized it was one of the best days of my trip.
I know I’ll have more than enough time to dig around and find out what is really going on. Bamboo chimes at the door began to jingle. True must be coming in. I quickly put my photos back inside my purse and got up to help her as she juggled her massage table and the mail.
“Hey, sweetie!” her soft voice cooed. She was tired, pale, and her makeup had worn off. True was very light, could almost pass for Spanish, depending on what day it was. Even though she looked out of it, her gentle smile let me know that she had made out okay today.
“Hi, True! Long day?” I kissed her on the cheek.
She ran her fingers through her blown-out bleached-blond ’fro. It was frizzy and cracklin’ dry. She needed a hot-oil treatment badly.
“Oh yeah, I was working like a dog, but my last client, Mr. Wallace, was feeling generous today, so I’m not complaining.” Her ear-to-ear smile transformed into a half scowl. “Are you going deaf?”
I muted the TV to silence the piercing sirens from a car chase scene. “What did he tip you this time?”
She reached inside her bright yellow halter dress and pulled a crisp $100 bill from her cleavage. She waved it in the air.
I raised my eyebrows. “A hundred-dollar tip! Aren’t your massages only seventy bucks?”
“Yes, but they don’t all finish with a happy ending.” She let out a throaty laugh as she picked up Phantom. Lifting the cat high in the air, she talked baby talk to her. “Riiight, baby? Mommy knows how to stroke that nice tip right out of Mr. Wallace.” She rubbed her face against Phantom’s fur.
I picked up her massage table and placed it on the cream fur rug in the den. “Whatever floats your boat,” I replied.
She sat down with Phantom on the floor in the living room. “Speaking of floating your boat, Ky . . . Wait till you hear this one! Before Mr. Wallace there was this older black woman, Theresa Kingsley—I’ll never forget that name now! I’ve seen her only once before. I got a weird flirty vibe from her, but I thought she got the hint that I’m strictly dic—”
“Aye, True . . . please . . .” I put my hand up like a stop sign.
She laughed and continued, “Get this! I got in the room and she was butt naked with no sheet. I told her to lay on her stomach and put the sheet over her. I must admit she had a nice body for her age, she’s gotta be in her late fifties. She works out a lot or something.”
I shook my head, scared to know where the rest of this story was going. I started to act like I was walking away.
“Kylieeeeee, listen!” True was giggling. “Theresa goes, ‘What, you don’t like what you see?’
“I had to put on my sternest face and say, ‘Ma’am, I’m a massage therapist. I see naked bodies daily.’
“Then she goes, ‘Ohhh, well I heard you give very gooooood sensual massagezzzzzz.’ She was damn near purring as she said it. Remember Lady Eloise from Boomerang? Eartha Kitt played her?”
“True!” I laughed. “Oh Gawd, that is hysterical! Did she call you Marcussssss, too?”
“She might as well have. I still did the massage and had to just wrap her hands in the sheets, since she kept leaving them in the way so I could brush by her. What a freak! I’m like ‘Lady, are you for real?’ She even said, ‘You can do whateverrrrr you pleassssssse. You have full rein. Full reinnnnn.” True exploded with laughter now.
“What? Are you serious? True!” I laughed so loud it scared Phantom out of her lap.
“Yes, girl, fuuuuull rein.” She shrugged. “Too bad I am not a lesbian. I would have been a happy camper today. I kept it professional, though. She was waaaaay too desperate—I started to think that maybe she was a cop or some shit. They have been cracking down on massage parlors doing special add-ons.”
“I ain’t bailing you out for that mess!”
“Don’t worry. I just gave her a pretty intense glute rubdown. I kinda wanted to see if she had implants there, too. But it was all her ass. She was squirming the whole time. Maybe she wasn’t a cop. She gave me a nice tip, too.”
I winced. “Oh, True, gross, aye . . . enough!”
She pointed for me to take her massage table off her rug and put it near the hallway. I cringed at the thought of jerking off some fat old banker or giving a horny lesbian sensual massages for tips. I slammed down the massage table a little harder than I should have.
True could tell from my energy shift that I hated how she told me everything. Sometimes she acted like she wanted a sister, not a daughter. “Don’t act so disgusted, Kylie. If it weren’t for these hands, you would have never made it through college!” She held her hands up in the air and admired her palms. “If you don’t get up off your ass and start looking for a new job you might have to join me.”
I plopped back down on the orange chair and reached for the remote. I stared into the screen at the Law & Order TV detectives and tried drowning out True’s complaining. “I’ll pass. I just haven’t found the job for me. They all pay crap.”
I was lying. I’ve actually been sort of looking and sort of enjoying the beach and this mini-vacation.
“This isn’t New York, baby. The pay is lower, so you can’t be too picky. I can get a hundred and fifty dollars for a massage in New York, but can only squeeze out sixty-five to eighty-five dollars here.”
I hated her choice of wor
ds just then.
She sat down on a floor pillow next to my chair and dusted Phantom’s hair off the big orange flower design on her skirt.
“Look, I don’t mind you living with me so that you can hold on to your cash and save for your place, but I also know how prissy you are. I want to be able to bring a friend over here sometimes, but I don’t want to hear your shit.”
“Yeah, I’m not really looking forward to that.”
“Well, it’s my house, remember that.”
I looked at my mail that she’d dropped on the table. Bills, nothing but damn bills. More than twenty thousand dollars of student loans and credit card debt is what I was drowning in. At least I didn’t have rent, and I had to buy only groceries and gas. Besides, it’s only right. I remember when True had fallen on some hard times. A drummer she was dating broke up with her for messing around with the guitar player in his band. According to her, it was a hot night of getting high and a three-way gone horribly wrong. She ended up with the guitar player in the end. His name was Stroke—for his guitar-playing skills, that is. She should have seen that one coming with a name like that.
She bummed off me for a good six months after that. I didn’t ask her for a dime, and she sure didn’t offer, either. True slept on the couch in my one-bedroom in Brooklyn and at least every other night she had Stroke over. Not to mention she also had a number of other dudes, half her age, over. My Jennifer Convertibles couch was a revolving door. I couldn’t even walk around in my nightgown in my own home, for fear of what strange men scratching their balls I’d find in my living room.
I don’t know what kind of magic cootchie True has, but it’s like a magnet that makes these grown-assed men crawl to her with their tails between their legs, wallets in hand. She still, however, has a hard time keeping a man around for longer than a year, so I’m not sure if it’s their money or her magic that wears out first.
I crumpled up my last piece of junk mail offering me another consolidation credit card deal and sat on the couch.
“Ky, did you do the laundry today?”
True looked at the mountain of laundry bags in the hallway and then back at me. Isn’t it obvious that “no” is the answer? Why ask?
“No, I’ve been out most of the day. I didn’t get to it yet.”
She gave a long sigh. “Out all day doing what, tanning? That’s the least you can do, Kylie Rain.” I know she’s pissed when she calls me by my first and middle name. “You aren’t looking for a job like you should be and you aren’t paying rent. You—”
I blew out hot air. “I haven’t been home all day and please, True, I’ve been here for only a month and don’t plan on staying for more than two. You lived like a queen in my place for more than six months and did I let you ever lift a finger?”
True’s nostrils flared. She got up and put her hand on her hip and pointed the other one at me. Her Jamaican accent made a special appearance whenever she got upset. With her chin high, she said, “Listen ’ere, you ’ave some dayaaam respect. I’m your mother. I shouldn’t have to do anything. You are still my child. I carried your ass for nine months. You remember dat. Don’t forget who raised you.” She took an exaggeratedly deep breath.
I sat back and smiled. I wanted to tell her, “Yeah, I remember who raised me! James and Florida Evans from Good Times, the Jeffersons, Martin and Gina from Martin, and my favorite father, Mr. Ingalls from Little House on the Prairie.” When she was out and about gallivanting with her man of the month, she dumped me in front of her nanny: the twenty-five-inch TV.
“Look, I’m going to take a walk. Excuse me.”
“You’re excused.” She walked off with her usual sashay to her room. I learned long ago to just end confrontations before they exploded. And I figured since I can’t quite shack up with Jacques the sexy psychic, I have nowhere else to go.
Chapter 5
Jacques
My flight arrived last night and as soon as I got in the taxi at LaGuardia Airport, I felt good. I took in the essence of it all. I loved the bright lights, the cobblestoned streets, the loud sirens, and even the offensive smell of Broadway after it recovered from wild nights in SoHo.
I was ready for a new adventure, even though I would miss the sun and Vicky. Every three to six months or so, I set up appointments with my New York City clients. That’s where I got my start, so I have to make time for my loyal clients who were the foundation of my business. Besides, I miss the energy of the city, and I get to see my little brother, Hicham, and my mother when I go back.
My mother would always say that no city in America could compare to Paris. She didn’t really appreciate New York like Hicham and I did. Nothing could measure up to New York in my eyes. I love the wild personalities and many ethnicities that season New York City’s diverse stew. I moved to Miami two years ago for a more relaxed lifestyle and to be in the sun. However, the fast pace, the skyline, and, let’s face it, the delis, pizzas, and bagels just cannot be duplicated.
While in town, I stayed at my mom’s old loft on Mercer Street, which Hicham moved into a few years back. It was definitely an experience seeing my brother on his own, fending for himself and not being babied by our mom or some ditzy model who he met on the job.
I walked around observing the changes in the loft since his most recent girlfriend, Rachel, the bikini model, left him. It had been only a month and he’d wasted no time in turning it back into a bachelor pad, full of empty beer cans and pizza boxes underneath the couch.
“So, what happened, man? I thought Rachel was ‘the one.’” I asked to be polite but I’d known she would catch on to his antics sooner or later.
“Yeah, I thought so, too, but she was getting a bit too clingy. Questioning my whereabouts, searching my pockets, finding numbers.” He laughed. “You know, finding red hair in the shower . . . She’s a brunette.”
I shook my head as I watched my brother pull a shirt over his scrawny chest. Always one in need of attention, his gray T-shirt said in bold white letters I’D FUCK ME.
Standing at six three, slim and lanky, he looked like a featherweight. But his persona gave off a cocky Muhammad Ali vibe, as if he could take on the world. He resembled our mother, with his fair skin and bone structure. No one knew where the tall lankiness came from, but we guessed it was somewhere in our genes. We didn’t really look much alike at all, but we could pass for cousins.
Hicham shrugged his shoulders. “Hey, I’m getting back to my old self again, gotta build my stable of women back up. Rachel missed out, so exit stage left, biyaaaach! There are plenty of women in line, ready to take her place,” he said nonchalantly. He really thought he was the man.
“Who taught you to be so damn cold? You definitely didn’t learn that from me.” I mushed the side of his head with my finger.
“Of course I didn’t. If I looked like your Olivier Martinez, Entourage-niggah-looking ass, I would have bitches all over this house like Hugh Hefner. You don’t even know, man. I’m a good-looking brother—this I know—but you know you the pretty one in the fam.” He rubbed the top of my head and fluffed up my hair.
“Yeah, yeah. You might be right about that.” I grinned. I hated when he called me pretty.
Hicham pretended to smooth back his hair as if I’d messed it up when I pushed him. He didn’t have much hair, just a low buzz cut. “I was getting soft, man, all lovey-dovey and shit. I gotta get back to the real me for my column. You know I’m syndicated now in more than a hundred blogs? I’m even getting radio and TV interviews. Small stuff but still . . .”
“I know, I know, you told me.” I thumped him on the back. He’d told me about twenty times since last week.
“Man, I need to have my shit tight. Stay true to the game. Remind dudes that they should stay focused.”
I nodded intently. “Right, right, stay true to the game. It’s a game all right!”
“Come on, Jacques, committed dudes ain’t reading my stuff. My audience wants advice from a player. A man who knows the terrain.” He
moved his hands up and down in an hour-glass motion and pumped the air with his crotch.
I scratched my chin. “And that would be you, huh? Stop!” I couldn’t hold back my laughter. “Please stop!”
He laughed at himself, too. “Man, you don’t even know. Chicks keep throwing it at me now more than ever. It’s like they love that I talk so much shit. The meaner I am, the more they want it. They read my column to get advice, too. I had to start adding in some love for them, so they know a little somethin’.”
“You, my dear brother, are an anomaly. Still amazes me.” I couldn’t hold back anymore and my grin turned into a laugh.
“Whatever, man, you need to drop that cop bitch and join the game, player. It’s fun on the other side.”
“Hey, hey . . . watch it!” I pointed at him. “Vicky . . . her name is Vicky.”
“Oh yeah, Vicky. Yo, she still a freak?”
My eyes brightened from a flashback. “Well, you know . . . we have fun. We keep it interesting.”
“So, you gonna wife her now?” Hicham tilted his head from side to side.
“No, no . . . we’re still calling it dating for now. But I don’t have to have ten women. We spice it up. That’s what you need to learn how to do, Mister Playa! You get bored too quickly. Keep sticking that thing in everyone you meet, it might come out with something on it that you don’t want.”
He sat on the arm of the couch across from me. “Oh, no, no, no. I give chicks a full inspection. Bright lights and all.” He pretended to smell his fingers. “Make sure it smells right, no bumps and lumps. My bitches are thoroughbred. Dimes only. Believe dat. I always wear a condom, too. So . . .”
“Right, right . . . condoms don’t cover everything.”
He looked agitated and waved his hand in the air. “Yo, let’s change the subject.”
“Hicham, just be careful. It’s not all fun and games out there.”