Hot Pink in the City

by Medeia Sharif

  "So you want one meeting?" I ask.

  "Yes, and you don't have to agree to anything after that."

  Nasreen clears her throat. I'm feeling ill. These men are no good. They tricked us into coming here today, and they're tricking me into a date with the yucky guy at the register. Who knows, maybe by the end of this trip I'll really be married. But I can't be, since I'm only sixteen. I picture them kidnapping me to a state where I'm legal. What am I getting myself into, and all for a tape?

  "Can we think things over and call you tonight?" I ask. "I have to see when I'm free. My Uncle Farhad is not a permissive man, you know."

  "Sure," Wahib says. "We'll expect a call tonight. We live upstairs and we share the same phone line as the store."

  "You'll hear from us tonight," Nasreen says.

  I say a shaky good-bye and leave. Across the street is the school with summer sessions. Kids exit the building, and they're quite cheerful considering they're spending their summer hours at school. I would hate summer school. They're carefree as they sprint across the schoolyard, throw balls, and laugh with friends while I'm miserable thinking about how everything has snowballed out of proportion. A destroyed tape has led me to two perverted men who want me, and they have proof I was on TV when I shouldn't have been.

  "Maybe we should just tell your father the truth," I say. "Yes, he'll never trust us again. Maybe he'll never want me to visit again, and I know my parents will be ashamed of me."

  "Or we can press on," Nasreen says.

  "How are we going to stall these guys?" I ask.

  "Hold on a minute." Nasreen stops in her tracks. Waiting by a bus stop are the three guys we saw leaving the store before we arrived. They're all young, two slender and one a little pudgy. Two are brunet and one has light brown hair. They're all laughing and talking in Arabic. I don't know much Arabic, but Nasreen is still as she listens on.

  "What are they saying?" I ask.

  "I'm not sure, but I know Arabic dirty words when I hear them."

  One of the men takes his brown paper bag and pulls the video half out. I see a woman with curly black hair, lips red and shiny like the skin of an apple, and straps of a dress lining her shoulders. No, it's lingerie.

  The men laugh some more, and the one guy showing off the video slips it back into the bag.

  "Did you see what I just saw?" I ask.

  "Yes, but I'm not sure," Nasreen says.

  "Me neither."

  "If it is what I think I saw, then we'll have something on those two brothers."

  "Which will cancel out what they have on us..." This fills me with excitement and hope.

  "There's just one way to find out."

  "How?"

  "We must take it," she says.

  "What do you mean?" I ask.

  "We need to go over to them and take one of their bags."

  "We can't steal," I say.

  "Sure we can," Nasreen says. "I'll do it if you're such a wuss, but the thing is you're the athlete and the runner."

  "You're right. I don't want the men to chase and overpower you. I'll take it."

  "Don't worry about me," Nasreen says, squeezing my arm. "If we lose sight of each other, just go home and I'll meet you there."

  I'm destroying tapes, hiding in closets, kissing strange boys, and two yucky men are blackmailing me... I might as well add mugging to the list. I'm turning into a criminal.

  A bus pulls up. I watch the men through the glass and metal of the bus shelter. They stand up. One by one they get on the bus. The last guy, the one with light brown hair, is waiting to move forward, his foot up in the air to get on.

  I run around the bus shelter in a counterclockwise motion, reach the man, snatch the paper bag out of his hand, and run as if I'm on the PE field.

  "Hey!" he yells behind me.

  He isn't as fast as I am. No one is. I'm a soccer star, scoring the most goals on my team. No one can beat me. I run one long block followed by a shorter one along quiet, residential streets that don't have lights, but I do pause at a few stop signs. I hear "bitch," "thief," and "stop that mugger," but no one is stopping me. I'm too fast, with my vision and entire being focused on winning. The words the man is saying would normally hurt my feelings, but I'm too pumped with adrenaline, as well as curiosity. I want to know what's on the tape. What are Wahib and Tahir selling behind that curtain of theirs, where they didn't want us roaming inside of when we were there last week? The police could arrest me for this, which would mean more trouble for me, but I don't think that's going to happen.

  I see a police car to the right of me, with a tall, thin officer in uniform stepping out, so I turn left at a corner. No, no, nobody will catch me. I will not only find out what's on this videotape, but I'll have that Umm Kulthum tape. I'm doing too much, working too hard, to fail.

  The man's voice dies down, and then I stop hearing him. I've lost him. Maybe he stopped where the police car was to report me to the officer. I need to get to a subway, fast. I've run for so long that I don't know where I am. I see small buildings, stores, and children playing. It looks similar to the neighborhood of the store, but I know I'm farther away.

  I look around, thinking Nasreen may spot me. She doesn't appear, which is okay because she told me to go home if she couldn't catch up with me. I step inside a grocery store and ask the cashier where the closest subway station is. This'll be my first time alone in the subway. If someone told me days ago to travel alone on the subway, with no guidance from friends or family, I would've said no. This is the new me. I listen to the cashier tell me how many rights and lefts I need to make, and I'm out.

  I take the trip by myself. In the train, when everyone looks absorbed in a magazine, newspaper, or window-gazing, I look into the paper bag without pulling the video out. I have to stifle a groan of shock... everything about the two brothers makes sense.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  I don't want to walk in on Auntie by myself, so I walk around the block a few times. When I pass the playground Omar isn't there, which is a blessing. I don't need him wondering what I'm doing by myself, without Nasreen. We're like each other's shadows this summer.

  Every time I see someone with spiky, black hair, I walk toward the person. After a few false alarms, it's really her. "Hey!" she yells from across the street. She jaywalks to catch up with me. "I was looking for you but figured you were so far ahead of me you couldn't find me."

  "Yes," I say. "I made it here alone. What an experience. I can't believe I did that!"

  "I know. You're a soccer star, or so you've told me since I haven't watched you play. I know you can dance, and now I know you can mug and run. You were amazing! Good for you, for us. Let's go inside and look at the contents of that bag."

  We've learned our lesson regarding Omar. He's not at home, but we're not taking any chances of him walking in on us. Nasreen sticks a chair under the doorknob, and we settle on the floor. The paper bag is in my lap, and I upturn it onto the carpet. The video tumbles out.

  THESE WOMEN AREN'T WEARING YOUR JADDA'S PANTIES

  NASTY, NAUGHTY MIDDLE EASTERN BABES

  A LUSTFUL VIRGIN BRIDE, TOUCHED FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME

  Along with thinking that whoever wrote the smutty blurb for this video was ripping off Madonna, I'm disgusted. Jadda means "grandmother," and the woman on the tape certainly isn't wearing big granny underwear but itty-bitty pieces of fabric. I've never seen porn before. I look at the young lady on the cover who's wearing a corset, panties, and garter belts. She has thick eyebrows, dark eyes, and curly hair... she could be a relative or family friend. It's incongruous that she's a porn star. My parents always told me that Western girls did things like this. No, they're wrong. All types of girls end up in porn.

  "Whoa," Nasreen murmurs. "Arabian porn. Who would have thought this existed?" She picks up the video and looks at the lingerie-clad model and the blurb, which is in English and Arabic.

  "So those two icky brothers are selling porn in the back of their store," I say.<
br />
  Nasreen slides the video from the cover. "Too bad we can't watch this now," she says, shaking her head. "I'm sure my parents and Omar will go out this week to do something, and then we'll get to watch."

  "I don't want to watch this!" I say. "I've never seen porn, and it's just -- just -- I don't know... wrong."

  "Don't be a prude. I'm curious, so I'm gonna watch it with or without you." She opens her closet and puts the tape in the bottom, under a mishmash of magazines and clothes. We'll both be dead meat if our relatives find us in possession of such a thing.

  "Okay, let's get to business," I say. "Obviously, they don't want everyone to know they're selling porn. It's in a backroom, and they're not advertising it in the front of the store."

  "And there's another major detail," Nasreen says.

  "Which is what?" I ask.

  "There's a school in front of them. I read somewhere that porn stores can't be near schools. That has to be one reason they're selling porn on the down low. What they're doing is illegal!"

  Once she says that golden word, illegal, I'm elated. Even back in Florida, sometimes my parents drive past adult stores, and none of them are near any schools because of zoning laws. "Let's get them," I say.

  We discuss a plan, but then I worry that we're two young women facing two bigger men. "I want to call someone to help us," I say.

  "You're right," Nasreen says. "I know some guys who'd be willing to rough these two up for us, but they're out of town for the summer."

  "I know a guy... Abe."

  "But you barely know him."

  "I know, but he did give me his number, and he seems interested in me. I told him my family wouldn't want him calling us, so maybe I've discouraged him. I did give him the payphone number, but since we're not always home I have no idea if he's called me or not. Let's call him. Who knows? Maybe he'll want to be a part of our crazy plan to get the tape from the brothers and get back at them for all the agony they put us through."

  "Okay, go call him," Nasreen says.

  Auntie pulls out the vacuum, so I don't have to worry about her hearing my conversation with Abe. I step outside to use the payphone.

  I call, and he picks up on the second ring. I'm tongue-tied at first but then slip easily into conversation.

  "I've been trying to call the number you gave me, but there's no answering machine and some weird guy picked up and yelled at me."

  "I'm sorry, but this is a payphone," I say. "I hope the guy wasn't too rude."

  "No, just loud and he asked me if I'm the devil," Abe says.

  "Which you're absolutely not."

  He tells me he has two extra Madonna tickets since his Aunt and Uncle can't make it to Madison Square Garden next week. Can I go? Nasreen is welcome to join us. Well, isn't that sweet, considering that she wasn't very nice to him?

  Even though I'm dying to go, it feels odd to receive something so huge. I've watched my parents protest large gifts, which I've also done, so that instinct kicks in. "Are you sure?" I ask. "You want me to go?"

  "Of course," he says. "I don't really know too many people up here, and at the audition you mentioned you love Madonna."

  "I sure do."

  "So come with me."

  "Okay!" I say. I don't think about asking Uncle's permission or my parents'. I'm going. I'll find a way to go. What a blessing this is, to see my idol in concert when I so badly wanted to win or buy tickets. The opportunity has come to me. I forgot to bring her tape with me, which led to all this, and now I can see her live, in the flesh in front of me. I'm breathless.

  "I look forward to going with you," he says.

  "I can't wait!" I say.

  "My relatives aren't too keen on the music anyway, and they made other plans for that night," he says. "It was passed onto them by someone else."

  Now they're being passed onto me. "Thank you for offering these tickets," I say when I'm able to breathe again. "You have no idea what it means to me. Thank you, thank you, thank you... Oh, I'm sorry to spring this on you when you've been so kind to me, but I need a favor..."

  I explain what I want him to do to help us get the Kulthum tape. I worry he'll think the arrangement is too complicated, but Abe agrees to visit Wahib and Tahir's store tomorrow afternoon to assist us with our stakeout. "It's no problem," he says. "It might even be fun."

  We're going to bring those brothers down. I call them next and tell them I agree to their terms and I'll be there tomorrow, around the time Abe is supposed to arrive. My voice is phony and sweet, as if I'm willing to go on a lunch date with Tahir. Wahib sounds so smooth and smug, as if he's getting his way. Tahir can take me out for lunch... in his dreams. Those two will be on the receiving end of our ambush.

  ***

  "I'm going to need your help talking your dad into letting us go to the Madonna concert next week," I tell Nasreen when I'm back inside. I give her a description of the two phone calls and how we're going to meet the brothers tomorrow. Then I linger on the fact that Abe has Madonna tickets.

  "Uh-oh," she says. "Let me think about this."

  "How can we approach your dad about this?" I wonder. "And I don't want to lie either. I'm tired of hiding things with all this cloak-and-dagger stuff I've been doing this summer."

  "We can tell him we scored tickets from some people who couldn't go and we're going in their place -- that is the truth, right? I'll also say it's your dying wish to see Madonna in concert. I'm sure he won't fuss too much when he'll want to please you."

  "Yeah, that sounds good. We're two girls who just happen to be going with a guy I just met. When I get back to Florida I want to keep in touch with Abe."

  "Come on, Asma. You barely know him."

  "I know, but it's what I want. The magic of a summer fling, to meet someone and instantly like him. And maybe this is more than a fling if we can see each other in Miami."

  "I don't know what it is you have with him. Well, at least someone is getting her way."

  I feel bad for Nasreen. The college brochures on her desk are constant reminders of her wish. I have an idea to help her, so I'm going to put it into action. But, just like the call to Wahib and Tahir, I can't do it alone.

  "Do you have the pictures you took of Omar's notebook?" I ask.

  "Yes."

  "We need to approach him with them now," I say. "We can get our money back from him. Also, I think he can help you leave this place." Then I launch into plan-building. Two plans in one afternoon. The first to get the tape and the second to sway Nasreen's parents to let her leave home.

  "Your mom wants to see a sign from the heavens telling her it's okay for you to leave, then that's what we'll give her," I continue. "Superstitions are supposed to happen naturally and by accident, but we can bring the superstitions to her."

  "By faking them?" Nasreen says.

  "Exactly," I murmur. "Instead of waiting for the signs, we'll make them happen."

  "Umm, okay," she says. "It's kind of strange, but it might work."

  Nasreen grabs the envelope of pictures from a desk drawer, and we head to the alcove. The only time we've been behind the curtains was when we snuck in when Omar was out. This time we want to be invited inside. Nasreen knocks on the wall. The sound of a clicking joystick stops, and the curtains part. I'm in front of Oz.

  "What do you want?" Omar sneers, flashing angry eyes at us.

  "Can we come in?" I ask.

  "Okay, but just for a minute. I had to put this game on pause."

  Omar sits on the sofa, and Nasreen throws the envelope on the coffee table. "The jig is up, you little twerp."

  Omar picks up the envelope. His jaw drops as he fans out the pictures in his hands. "You invaded my privacy!" he says. "How dare you."

  "How dare we?" I say. "You rob us blind just because we were using your dad's radio, meanwhile you're gambling."

  "Hand us back our money or else I tell Mom and Dad," Nasreen says. "They'll never believe their precious little son is capable of this, but we know better. The negatives a
ren't in that envelope, so don't even think about doing anything with those pictures."

  "Cut to the chase," Omar says. "What do you want? Just the money?"

  "Yes, our money and something else," I say.

  Omar wipes his face with his hands and his body slumps, his form becoming smaller on his sofa bed. The mighty prince has fallen. "What else?"

  "Let's face it, Omar, you probably want the place all to yourself. You know Nasreen wants to go elsewhere for college. If she leaves, you can have her room."

  "Hmmm, it would be better than this little space," Omar says, looking around the alcove.

  "But you know your parents are resistant to the idea," I say. "We need your help convincing them otherwise. We're especially going to play on your mom's belief in superstitions, which will also influence your father."

  "I'm listening..."

  I reveal my ideas in full to Nasreen and Omar. "It's worth a try," Nasreen says.

  "It's crazy," Omar says. "But I can help."

  "Great." Yes, my plan to help Nasreen is a bit crazy, but it's better than doing nothing. Nasreen pouting, crying, and collecting brochures will get her nowhere. If she wants to leave New York, we have to think outside the box. I might be a quiet suburban girl from Florida, but I still have dreams to fulfill. My friends back home think that unless I'm on the soccer field I stay on the sidelines not doing anything, but they're wrong. I'm getting what I want. Sure, some things take longer to acquire than others, but I believe everything will fall into place, Pollyanna that I am.

  ***

  For the first night since getting here, there's no closet time. We go to bed early since there's a full day ahead of us. I sleep well, unaware of any disturbances outside my window. The silence, whether I imagine it or not, almost feels like home. I think back to my quiet little street in Miami, aching for it, the first feelings of homesickness burrowing their way into my heart. Even though New York is a blast with both the good and the bad, it's too much excitement. I want my old life back, although I know this experience will change me forever. When I get back to Miami I might surprise people with crimped hair, kisses, and secrets.