The Rolexxx Club - Anniversary Edition

by Meta Smith

  “St. Thomas is pretty,” Ginger stated.

  “Uh-huh...” Desiree waited for a reason to get hyped.

  “Plus, I know a couple of fine-ass niggas, they’re brothers, and they’re gonna take us dancing and shopping and to eat and stuff.”

  “They got money?” Desiree queried.

  “My my my, don’t we catch on quickly, little protégée? Slow your roll!” Ginger chuckled at Desiree’s gold-digger attitude.

  “Well, do they?” Desiree insisted.

  “They do all right. St. Thomas is real small, so for there, yeah, they’re ballin’ out of control. They got a nice-ass crib up in the mountains and you can see the beach. They got some tight little whips too. But, nena, you should see them! Girl, they are fine as hell! Their faces, their skin, their bodies...oh my God! I don’t think you can begin to understand how fine these niggas are!” Ginger closed her eyes, hugged her body, and shuddered as if the mere thought of their beauty were unbearable.

  “Well, damn. Now I really wanna go. I’ve got to see these niggas.

  They’re brothers, you said?”

  “Yeah, I fuck with the older one, but his younger brother is cute to death. You’ll like him. Plus, we can lay out on the beach and tan. We can

  just be beach bums for a while but still make some bread on the side. I need to recharge my batteries, nena. I’ve been kind of stressing lately.”

  “Why?” Desiree inquired.

  “Just some bullshit.” Ginger brushed off the question. “There are spots over there that are so calm and so peaceful, nothing, absolutely nothing, can bother me there. No ghosts can haunt me there. I can be free, totally free, even if it is only temporary.” Ginger smiled faintly, her eyes distant. In spirit, Ginger was already lying on the pale white sand, soaking up the St. Thomas sun.

  Desiree thought Ginger was the freest person she had ever known. She had money, clothes, jewelry, a nice car, and everything else a girl could want. On top of that, she was smart and she was beautiful.

  “How come you don’t feel free now? You’ve got it all, and you call the shots.”

  “Then I guess it’s true what they say, ‘More money, more problems,’ “ Ginger replied, a tear rolling down her cheek. She brushed it away quickly and went into her room.

  DESIREE FELL ASLEEP THAT NIGHT RUNNING FROM GHOSTS. IT

  was a fretful sleep; the sweaty palms of things she couldn’t elude kept clawing at her, mauling her with their despair. Distorted images flashed through her head; voices dragged like a record being played on the wrong speed.

  “It’s all your fault! It’s all your fault!” a voice taunted from nowhere, singsongy and teasing like a schoolchild.

  “It’s not my fault! Not my fault!” Desiree bolted upright in bed, her skin moist with perspiration. It took a long time, but finally, she was able to get back to sleep.

  The next morning Ginger was her usual self, focused on paper and not problems. Desiree, however, was a bit unsettled. When Ginger asked her what was wrong, she blamed it on being nervous, so they smoked a fat blunt to calm their flying jitters. They ended up speeding to the airport because they’d gotten too high to concentrate on leaving soon enough to arrive on time. They caught their plane by a hair, arriving just as an attendant was about to close the door to the ramp leading to the aircraft that was taking them to St. Thomas. Desiree had never heard of Presidential Air before, and prayed they weren’t some shiesty airline that skimped on safety. Out of breath and disheveled, they flopped into the

  first seats they came to; the plane was practically empty.

  Ginger and Desiree got toasted when the liquor cart came I around. They chugged miniature bottles of Jack Daniel’s and then sipped on Heinekens while Dez stared out at the cotton-candy clouds that floated in the snow-cone-blue sky. At least the airline didn’t skimp on the liquor. The plane hit some turbulence and shook like an earthquake, causing her stomach to lurch. She grabbed the airsickness bag just in case. Ginger looked at her and laughed.

  “I don’t see how you can’t be scared shitless,” Desiree moaned, clutching her stomach.

  “Girl, I came to America on a raft. It takes more than this to scare me. Besides, I’m not afraid to die. I wanna see what’s on the other side anyway,” Ginger slurred. “Break on through to the other side! Break on through to the other side!” She sang the Doors classic happily, shaking her hair wildly. Desiree cracked up. Then the plane dipped and dropped a few hundred feet. Ginger threw her arms up in the air like she was on a roller coaster. Desiree threw up in the barf bag.

  The plane made a brief stop in St. Croix, landing on a teeny little strip of concrete surrounded on all sides by the lapis-blue Atlantic. Frantic that they would miss the runway and plunge into the ocean, Desiree began to hyperventilate. She was in tears by the time the plane made its way to the Charlotte Amalie airport on St. Thomas.

  “I’m never flying again!” she grumbled as they deplaned.

  “You’ll get used to it, shawty. Death can come at any time, and you’re safer in a plane than you are on the street anyway. Besides, if you don’t fly, how you gonna get back?” Ginger teased.

  “I’ll float over on a raft.”

  “Well, you better make sure you do it from Cuba, because if you come from Haiti, they gonna try to send your ass right back.”

  RED, THE OWNER OF THE CLUB WHERE THEY WERE WORKING

  met them at the baggage claim.

  “Damn, he’s fine,” Desiree mumbled under her breath. She took one look at Red, a six-foot stunner with dark, wavy hair and Asian eyes and felt self-conscious. Her hair was a mess, she was sweaty, and she smelled like throw-up. This was not a great way to start a vacation, even if it was a working vacation.

  “He’s married with like ten kids by fifteen different women, a total

  waste of time.” Ginger rolled her eyes and slipped on her Versace shades. Desiree thought that if Red was half as fine as the dude she was supposed to meet, she was in for a treat.

  Red took them to the Windward Passage Hotel and got them settled in. The hotel staff was far from friendly or accommodating. They treated Red with a certain level of detached respect but rolled their eyes and sucked their teeth at Ginger and Desiree. Ginger later explained that the locals hated the strip clubs. The women all thought that the dancers were out to steal their husbands and boyfriends, and some of the men thought American women were lazy or stupid or stuck-up, or at least fronted like they did so as not to make waves with their women. She also warned that they would have to be on their p’s and q’s, because the women would try and cause them some static.

  They took the night off and went to dinner at the Greenhouse Café. A lot of tourists were there, all inebriated, mostly white, dancing off-beat to the ska rhythms a reggae band skanked out on a small stage. They could barely eat in peace; every man in the joint was enthralled and captivated by their beauty. All the food they could consume and all the liquor they could drink were theirs for the taking, compliments of their admirers. Desiree loved the feel of all eyes on her and all the attention she was commanding. They staggered to their room shortly after 2 a.m., and passed out from too much food and too much drink.

  Desiree awoke from her semi-coma to the sound of insistent pounding in her head. Coming to her senses, she realized the pounding was the housekeeper banging on the door. Before she could respond, a heavyset cleaning woman entered and began tidying up the room. She rustled and bustled and dusted, then stood in between the room’s double beds.

  “Uh, as you can see, we’re still sleeping. No thank you.” Ginger spoke without opening her eyes. The woman rolled her eyes and sucked her teeth at them.

  “Motherscunt,” she muttered through her gritted teeth. Ginger sat straight up in the bed and threw back the covers.

  “Did you call me a motherscunt? Well, did you?” Ginger’s eyes flashed with anger.

  “Good night,” the maid answered, as was traditional in St. Thomas no matter what time of the day, and then dragge
d her bloated body out of their room, making sure to take as long as she wanted.

  “You backwards bitch! It’s daytime! Say good morning! I swear y’all are so country! I hate this fucking hotel! Y’all always want to start shit. That’s okay, though, y’all won’t be getting a penny of my money. Motherscunt!”

  she spat at the woman’s flabby backside.

  “Yo! What the fuck was that all about? What the hell is a mother skunk or whatever the fuck y’all were saying?” Desiree asked Ginger.

  “Motherscunt means your mother’s cunt. It’s a major insult. Basically, that bitch called us a cross between a motherfucker and a cunt. That’s their worst insult. It’s some old island shit,” Ginger fumed. “I’m telling you every time I come to St. Thomas some bitch got to throw shade. It ain’t my fault these bitches are fat and ugly. Some of the pretty ones be okay. But those fat, old, ugly hos are the worst! They wish somebody would pay to see them naked. Shit, it’s more like somebody would pay them to put their clothes on. I keep telling Red, don’t put me in the Windward Passage, but he always, always does!”

  “What you wanna do?” Desiree asked.

  “Let me call Red. He gonna pay for tonight and tomorrow somewhere else, and it better not be somewhere fucked-up. He needs to put us in an apartment!” Ginger yanked the phone off its cradle and began to dial.

  “What the fuck?” She paused, listening to the voice on the other end. “You need to connect me to my number right now. Excuse me? Oh hell no! Y’all are trippin’... you know what, fuck you!”

  Desiree danced around in front of Ginger, trying to find out what had gone down. Ginger pulled the phone out of the jack and threw it across the room. “Fuck these motherfuckers!”

  “Yo, Ginger! Hello?! What just happened here?” Desiree grabbed Ginger, who was pacing angrily back and forth.

  “These motherfuckers wouldn’t connect my call. They said they had a code of conduct in this establishment, and I do use the word ‘establishment’ lightly, and that we broke it. They told me that we needed to vacate the premises immediately.”

  “What did we do?” Desiree’s mouth was agape. What the hell had

  Ginger gotten her into?

  “We ain’t do shit! Come on and pack your bag. We’re outta this shithole.”

  They dressed quickly and brushed their teeth. Desiree looked around the room to make sure they hadn’t left anything behind before they stormed out. Desiree was grateful her suitcase had wheels, because Ginger walked full speed ahead. She marched to the desk and threw the key at the clerk.

  “Shove this key up your ass. Fucking hater!” she spat. Her wide-bodied bag knocked over an end table and a display shelf filled with brochures.

  “Oops,” she sneered, then tossed her hair and left the building.

  “What we gonna do now?” Desiree asked. “Don’t worry. I’m a call Derek and Fuzzy.” “Who?”

  “Derek and Fuzzy, the brothers I was telling you about.”

  “Please tell me you’re hooking me up with Derek,” Desiree remarked. “Nope, Fuzzy is all yours.”

  “What kind of bullshit is this, Gin? We’ve been kicked out the hotel, everybody except drunk-ass tourists acts like we’re the fucking devil, now you’re trying to set me up with a nigga named Fuzzy? Man, I’m ready to go home.”

  “Just shut up and watch the bags while I use that pay phone. Gimme some change.” Desiree emptied the pockets of her jean shorts and gave Ginger a handful of change. She sat atop a suitcase, folded her arms, and pouted. It was hot as hell, hotter than Miami. Plus, she was getting hungry. It all made her quite irritable.

  Ginger returned minutes later, practically skipping. “They’ll be here in five minutes! I called Derek’s cell, and they’re down the road. Stop acting like a baby and put on some lipstick,” Ginger demanded.

  “Man, I’m hot. It’s too hot for makeup. And I’m hungry,” Desiree whined.

  “Well, at least put on some clear MAC Lipglass. Your lips are looking a little crusty there,” Ginger kidded, but Desiree was in no mood for jokes. “Yeah, whatever,” she remarked dryly, whipping out a tube of Lipglass and slicking some on.

  The boom from Derek’s Range Rover introduced them before they actually appeared. Ginger’s ears immediately perked up, and she smoothed out her top and fluffed her hair. She was grinning ear-to-ear when he rolled down the black-out tinted window. A haze of marijuana smoke emanated from the car, and when it cleared, there were two of the most handsome men Desiree had ever seen in her life.

  “Good night, baby.” Derek’s baritone voice boomed as he swung his car door open. He stood at six feet three inches tall, was the color of Hershey’s syrup, with a bald head, dark brown eyes framed by a fringe of dark lashes, and the body of a god.

  “Good night, baby,” Ginger gushed.

  “Oh shit!” Desiree’s chin practically touched the concrete. She stared shamelessly as he wrapped his arms around Ginger and gave her a kiss. Then she saw Fuzzy. He was even finer than Derek! Desiree stood mute waiting for Ginger to break free from Derek’s embrace.

  “Desi, this is Derek,” she introduced them after finally releasing her

  lip-lock.

  ‘’A pleasure, Desiree. Ginger’s told me all about you.” His accent was driving her wild.

  “And this is Fuzzy,” she said to Desiree. He removed his shades, nodded, and then replaced them. He began staring out of the passenger window like she wasn’t even there. Desiree now wished she had taken the time to put on some makeup.

  After I freshen up, he’s definitely gonna check for me, Desiree thought, determined to get his attention. I’m gonna make sure of it.

  Derek and Ginger caught up in the front seat while Desiree and Fuzzy rode in silence in the back. They headed around a few curvy, narrow streets to a dim alley.

  “We can get something from Crazy Cal’s, and then I’ll take you to the guesthouse. I know the owner personally; he’s a friend of mine. I’ll check you in and pay for it,” Derek explained to them, then stopped at a tiny restaurant to get them something to eat. Desiree went in with him so she could see what they had to offer.

  “So what you think about Desiree?” Ginger asked Fuzzy in the car. “Ain’t she cute? Y’all will like each other.”

  “Nah, she’s not for me,” he replied.

  “What? She looks like me. I know you don’t think that I’m ugly.” Ginger rolled her neck and frowned up her face.

  “Nah, it’s not that. She’s not ugly. She’s pretty But she’s maaga.” “What the fuck is maaga?”

  “Skinny. She looks like a little girl, a baby. I like women. I need my chicken with some meat.”

  “That’s my protégée. Believe me, she’s a woman. And she’s not skinny at all. I keep telling her about wearing them baggy-ass clothes. I can get her to dress right when we go out, but any other time she insists on that tomboy shit. But her body is tight. Trust me,” Ginger said, campaigning for her friend.

  Desiree and Derek came back to the Rover with bags of food. Desiree had already dipped in her bag and was munching on some fried fish. Ginger gave Fuzzy an encouraging look, then refocused her energy on Derek. Desiree decided to try to engage Fuzzy in some small talk. So far, he hadn’t said a word, and she was dying to know if his voice was as sexy as his brother’s.

  “So why do they call you Fuzzy?” she asked. He grinned, and Desiree felt her insides grow hot. He faced her, his eyes faintly visible behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses.

  “Because the gals them say me goatee feels fuzzy when I’m downtown,” he offered suggestively; then chuckled and stroked the dark, smooth hairs of his immaculately groomed goatee. Desiree wondered if he could tell that she was wet from the mere thought of his tongue touching her. Suddenly, she realized why Ginger wasn’t stressing about money, or anything else, for that matter. Maybe it was the combination of the flora and salty ocean air, the exotic aromas rising from the street vendors’ carts, and Fuzzy’s cologne, but she felt intoxicated. It was li
ke Fuzzy had her under some spell and she couldn’t break free. She thought of the Miss Cleo psychic-hotline commercial, the one with the girl with the burgundy weave claiming, “I think someone put roots on me; what should I do?” She knew what she was gonna do. She was gonna fuck Fuzzy. Even if she didn’t make a dime, she was gonna get that dick.

  THE FOLLOWING WEEK WAS MISERABLE FOR DESIREE. THE

  men at the club weren’t feeling her at all. They all kept claiming she was skinny, even though she had a big ass and terrific legs. She was far from anorexic, but the men acted like she was a dancing skeleton. She managed to scrape up two hundred dollars a night, but after rolling with Ginger she was used to making at least four hundred on her slowest of nights. And to make matters worse, she hadn’t seen Fuzzy since they first met. Ginger’s days were filled with Derek this and Derek that. Occasionally, Desiree tagged along with them, but after accompanying them to St. John she decided to let them have their privacy. They’d hugged and kissed so much that she only felt worse for being a third wheel. There were other men on the island who tried to holler, but Desiree had her heart set on Fuzzy. Besides, the other men had all been broke compared to Fuzzy.