by Alex Wheatle
He went to the kitchen and poured himself a tequila and Coke cocktail. He squeezed in drops of lime juice and opened a packet of cheese and onion crisps. He returned to the lounge and browsed for Miami hotels four-star or better. He glanced to the ceiling, took a sip of his drink, grimaced and continued his search.
Chapter 25
South Miami Heights
Three months later
THE FLIGHT HAD BEEN NINE HOURS LONG and Juliet was waiting outside Miami International airport on a sidewalk in an underpass in her beige three-quarter-length slacks and sky-blue top. The humidity and the exhaust fumes were making her feel nauseous and she looked for somewhere to sit down. She couldn’t find any bench or seat so she sat down on the pavement. She took off her sandals to air her feet and flex her toes then put them back on again. She watched a Spanish-speaking family trying to fit their suitcases into two taxi cabs. A few yards away an old man was sitting in a wheelchair smoking a cigarette. They exchanged weary glances. Juliet recognised a black guy who had been on her flight. He was greeted with hugs and kisses by family members who relieved him of his luggage and led him away.
Where the fuck is Brenton? Juliet said to herself. She wiped her forehead with a handkerchief and took a swig from her bottle of mineral water. She noticed that most of the cars that went by were big-wheeled 4x4s and the sound of their engines amplified and echoed around her. She took out her mobile phone, remembered not to dial the international dialling code and called Brenton. ‘Where are you? I’m dying a death out here!’
‘I’m here, man,’ Brenton answered. ‘Just coming around. I’m in a pick-up truck. I’ll be with you in a sec.’
‘A pick-up truck? Hurry up! It’s so steamy here. I feel like I’m going to faint.’
Juliet snapped her mobile phone closed and just as she took a long gulp from her bottle, Brenton appeared in his mud-splattered Ford pick-up truck tooting his horn. Juliet smiled with relief. Trust Brenton to drive the dirtiest car I’ve seen today, she observed. Thank God he’s here though.
A nearby motorist wasn’t happy at the way Brenton cut in on him. Brenton ignored the cursing driver and parked his truck at an angle. He jumped out and bear-hugged his sister, kissing her on the left cheek. Juliet gasped for air. He was wearing a white vest, lime-green khaki shorts, open-toed sandals and his sunglasses were balanced on the top of his shaved head.
‘About time!’ she said. ‘I thought you were going to meet me in arrivals.’
‘Do you know how expensive it is to park a pick-up at the airport?’
‘You cheapo! I could’ve got lost in there!’
Brenton picked up Juliet’s sky-blue coloured luggage and dropped it into the back of his truck amongst various building materials and power tools. He noticed that even her handbag was sky-blue.
‘Don’t be so rough with the luggage, man,’ Juliet complained. ‘That’s all new. You know how much that cost me? And what if it rains?’
‘Man! You’re seriously grumpy. I’ve got a plastic cover in the back if it rains. Bad flight?’
‘As it goes, yes! I didn’t have a window position and I was stuck in the middle seats beside this overweight woman who had a cough.’
Brenton laughed. ‘Breanna had the same problem when she came over. I thought you woulda booked first class and t’ing, you know, with you being an MP and t’ing.’
‘I can’t fly first class,’ Juliet said. ‘I’m an MP representing Lambeth. How will it look if I’m seen flying first class?’
Brenton shook his head. ‘Anyway, you’re here now,’ he said. ‘Get in. We’ve got about a forty-five-minute drive to my place.’
Juliet stepped inside Brenton’s cab. Brenton ran around the other side and climbed into the driver’s seat. He closed the tinted windows and switched on the air conditioning. Alpha’s Can’t Get Over You chirped from the truck stereo. He kissed Juliet again on the cheek then he signalled left and pulled away. As they emerged from the underpass Juliet had to put her sunglasses on to shield her eyes from the sun’s fierce glare.
‘I was hoping you’d get in a bit earlier,’ said Brenton. ‘From three o’clock the traffic really starts to build up.’
‘Customs took forever,’ she said. ‘They took my fingerprints and asked me to look in this camera thing. Then they asked me to empty my flight bag.’
‘So that’s why you’re so fucked off,’ Brenton reasoned. ‘They don’t mess about with security here. And you being an MP doesn’t matter a shit. No one over here cares a damn about what happens in England. Most people here didn’t even realise there was an election in the UK this year.’
Looking at the palm trees that lined the road, Juliet sighed and enjoyed the sensation of the air conditioning cooling her body. ‘You don’t get any little Ford Fiestas or Vauxhall Corsas here, do you. Most of the cars are so big.’
‘Yep,’ Brenton nodded. ‘Americans love their cars. Mind you, you need your car in Miami. Public transport is shit. Not like London.’
‘So how did you cope without a car when you first come here?’
‘I had to take a taxi to work,’ said Brenton. ‘It cost me nuff dollars but I soon got myself a second-hand ride.’
‘A second-hand ride?’ Juliet laughed. ‘You’re starting to chat like an American.’
‘Ride. That’s what they call it out here. You want me to stop for anyt’ing? I haven’t had time to do any shopping and there’s not a damn t’ing in my fridge. I thought you wouldn’t mind if I took you some place for dinner. What you saying?’
‘Yeah,’ agreed Juliet. ‘We could do that. I need a shower though and a change of clothes.’
‘Alright,’ said Brenton. ‘Just got to get myself on US One and it’s more or less a straight drive once we’re on it.’
‘US One?’ queried Juliet.
‘The South Dixie Highway. Like the main road through this part of Florida. It was well confusing when I first came over. Got lost nuff times and it took me ages to get used to driving on the right. When I came up on the junction I was always looking the wrong way. I always looked right when I should’ve been looking left. I do it automatically now though. Seriously, I’m all safe and t’ing.’
Juliet looked out of the window. All the roads seemed to be in straight lines, she observed. No hills and hardly any curves.
She glanced at Brenton and thought he looked really well. His skin looks so much better. Nice and toned. There’s a bit more definition in his muscles; especially on his arms. He’s a bit darker than the last time I saw him. He’s still got his square jaw. Not a pinch of fat on that. His abs looking kind of alright too. How old is he now? What? Forty-one? Forty-two? Jules, you’re getting old, girl. Can’t even remember how old Brenton is. Two years younger than me. Yeah, he’s forty-two. Anyway, he’s looking good. Working in this weather must keep him fit. And his eyes. Breanna’s definitely got his eyes.
‘So what have you got planned for me?’ asked Juliet.
‘I live close to the zoo,’ said Brenton. ‘Gonna take you there tomorrow. We’re gonna share a bike and look at some animals, ride on a giant turtle’s back and tickle a lion’s mane and t’ing.’
‘Share a bike?’ wondered Juliet.
‘Yeah. They got these tandem bike things. Much easier getting around the zoo on them. It’s a big space. Me and Breanna were tearing around the place on one. You up for it?’
‘Er, yeah, why not?’
‘On Sunday I’m gonna take you down to the Keys,’ continued Brenton. ‘The drive down there is wicked, going over all these bridges over the sea. There’s a nice beach at Big Pine Key. I go down there every few weeks or so. Really nice. They say on a good day you can see the tip of Cuba. I’ve been there nuff times and I couldn’t see shit but you get my drift; the view is wicked and t’ing. Biscuit and Carol loved it there and Floyd and Sharon. Oh, that reminds me. I’d better pick up some t’ings to eat and drink for the drive to the Keys.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ offered Juliet.
/> ‘No, no! You’re gonna be tired from jet lag and t’ing in the morning. You sleep in.’
Juliet peered through the window again. The palm trees looked so much taller seeing them live than in the photographs that Breanna brought back home, she thought. Every couple of miles or so there was a shopping mall or a fast-food restaurant, Juliet observed. No corner shops or newsagents here. She glanced up at the traffic lights that seemed to be held up by thick wires and slim poles. ‘Is it hurricane season yet?’ she asked.
‘Just coming into it,’ answered Brenton. ‘Didn’t get no serious breeze last year though.’
‘What happens to the traffic lights when you get a storm?’
‘They blow about a bit,’ Brenton replied casually.
Fifty minutes later, Brenton turned into a short drive and pulled up outside his bungalow in South Miami Heights. Juliet climbed out of the cab. She could feel the intensity of the late-afternoon Miami sun but she could only admire his house. Brenton had landscaped a small front garden where he installed a little oval-shaped pond. Bright flowers fronted the garden; Juliet couldn’t guess what they were called but she was quite taken aback that Brenton of all people would plant flowers in front of his house. The stonework of the building was painted peach and the arched light-brown roof tiles complemented the peach nicely. The pathway that led to the front door was lined with round white stones the size of footballs. The windows were covered in mosquito grilles and French-style wooden shutters. She noticed American flags fluttering in a few front gardens in Brenton’s street and she wondered what the neighbours would say if Brenton strung up a Lion of Judah flag. They’d probably think he’s a terrorist, she chuckled.
Collecting Juliet’s luggage, Brenton led her to his front door. He turned the key, pushed the door open and ushered Juliet inside. She walked into the light-brown ceramic-tiled reception area and staring at her from the opposite wall was a framed image of a young denim-clad Bob Marley strumming his Gibson guitar. To the left of the reception were the kitchen and the laundry room. Through a door beside the Bob Marley picture was the lounge and to the right was a hallway that led to the three bedrooms. There was a small teak coffee table in the reception area and resting on it was a glass vase of orchid lilies; Juliet closed her eyes and breathed in their fragrance.
‘This is really nice,’ she remarked. ‘I love how you’ve used the colours here. Really nice.’
‘To be honest when Sharon and Floyd first came out here,’ Brenton explained, ‘Sharon kinda advised me on the colour t’ing. She’s good at all that kinda t’ing.’
‘She is,’ Juliet nodded.
‘Let me show you your room,’ said Brenton.
He led Juliet along the hallway and she looked at the framed photographs of legendary footballers, Pele and Maradona, hanging from the walls and there was one of the cricketer, Sir Vivian Richards. Brenton turned right and showed Juliet the bedroom that overlooked the front garden.
‘It’s all clean and t’ing,’ said Brenton putting down the luggage. ‘Breanna slept in here. I hoovered it out last night and Ajaxed it and t’ing. The ceiling fan wasn’t working but it’s sorted. The TV remote is on the bedside cabinet. I was gonna buy you some magazines but I haven’t a clue what you like.’
Suitably impressed and sniffing in the scent of red and orange roses in a vase on the dressing table, Juliet put her handbag on the bed and sat down in a chair next to the window. ‘Since when have you been interested in flowers?’ she asked.
‘Oh, that was probably Shyanza’s influence.’
‘Shyanza? You never told me about her?’
‘She was a girl I was seeing.’
‘Was? What happened?’ Juliet asked, opening her handbag and taking out a mint.
‘T’ings didn’t work out. She came from a big Nicaraguan family and she had all these married older sisters. I think her main ambition in life was to become a married sister and that’s all she ever went on about … apart from flowers. With that and the fact she was so damn Catholic, t’ings didn’t work out.’
‘Sorry to hear,’ said Juliet.
‘She could really whine up her hips and dance though,’ Brenton revealed, a nice memory forming itself in his mind. ‘And as I said she loved flowers. On Sundays she would stick a flower in her hair before she went to church. She looked real … Every week or so she would get me to buy flowers and put them in the kitchen, in the reception area and in the front room. I just kinda carried on the habit and I thought it would be nice if I put some flowers in your room … if you don’t like them …’
‘No, no. It’s a nice touch. And I’m sure she looked really pretty with the flower in her hair.’
Brenton opened the wardrobe. ‘There’re towels and flannels on the top shelf,’ he said. ‘Do you wanna cold drink? I’ve got some mango and grape juice in the fridge. My ice machine is bruk; meant to call someone out about that but there’s ice in the freezer. Haven’t got any wine. Have to get some later. I know you love off your wine.’
‘I’ll have mango, please,’ said Juliet kicking off her sandals.
Brenton went to the kitchen. Juliet looked around her surroundings. She placed her feet down on the ceramic tiling, kicked off her sandals and enjoyed the cool sensation on her naked soles. She let herself drop on to the bed and closed her eyes. She opened them again and stared at the three-rotored ceiling fan. She recalled the first time she made love to Brenton. She smiled. A street kid back then, she thought. But look at him now.
Brenton returned with Juliet’s drink. Juliet chuckled as she could see about ten ice cubes in the glass. ‘I’m going to take a shower,’ she said. ‘Got to get out of these clothes. I must stink.’
‘Alright then,’ said Brenton. ‘You’re next to the shower. Holler if you want something. I’m, er, I’ll just be in my room. It’s the end bedroom.’
Juliet watched Brenton depart before she opened her suitcase to find her shower bag and toiletries. She decided on her beige three-quarter length cheesecloth trousers and a white T-shirt to wear afterwards and she wondered where Brenton would take her for dinner.
After showering, Juliet wrapped her pink, full-length towel around her and put on her pink flip-flops. She came out of the bathroom and into the hallway. ‘Brenton!’ she called. ‘Brenton! Do you have a laundry basket? Somewhere to put my dirty clothes?’
Emerging into the hallway, Brenton had his mobile phone pressed to his left ear. He took a long look at Juliet standing opposite him. ‘I’ll call you back later,’ he said into the phone. ‘My sister’s just come in from London. I might come in on Monday to check the foundations and shuttering.’
Walking slowly towards Brenton, Juliet took the phone out of his hand, led him by the other hand to her room, placed the phone on the dressing table and kissed him on the lips.
‘Juli–’
She placed her arms around his neck, gazed into his eyes and kissed him again on the forehead. ‘No point me kidding myself anymore,’ she said.
They stood there kissing each other softly, looking at each other, stroking each other’s cheeks and foreheads, and smiling. Juliet arched back her neck. Brenton kissed her throat and the entire length of her collarbone. He unwrapped her towel. It fell to the floor in a heap. Brenton pulled off his vest. Juliet helped him.
‘You’re gonna need another shower,’ he joked.
Juliet laughed out loud. She pulled down his khaki shorts. They fell onto the bed. Juliet hit her head on her handbag. Brenton massaged and kissed it better. He pulled off his boxers. As she lay on her stomach Brenton kissed her from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine. He delighted in watching the tiny pimples of her skin. They took their time getting to know one another’s bodies once more. They did not speak in fear of spoiling the vibe. They spoke with their eyes as they pressed their cheeks and foreheads hard together. He moved down and circled her nipples with his tongue before sucking them. She could feel his hard muscled stomach rubbing against her and she arched her neck again
, raising her knees. She caressed his shoulder blades and she could feel his longing in every movement. Brenton kissed and licked further down her chest and stomach and she could now sense his growing energy and excitement. The kissing became harder, almost violent. The hand that had caressed her inner thighs was now pressing down. She felt her legs being spread apart. She wanted him to enter her at that moment but he was wildly pawing and squeezing her backside and kissing and licking her. She glanced at the top of his perspiring head. She opened her legs wider, inviting him to enter her. He came back up and started to kiss her throat once more. He nibbled her ears as his fingers stroked her cheeks. She could feel his manhood pressing on her stomach. She slid further up the bed, opened her legs even wider before linking them around his back. Brenton entered her but after two minutes or so, turned her over on to her stomach and entered her again. He cupped her breasts as he made love to her and she could feel his perspiring temples against her neck.
Afterwards, Juliet lay on top of Brenton, resting her head on his chest. Brenton was stroking the top of her head. ‘I was thinking on the plane about the possibility of this happening,’ admitted Juliet.
‘I’ve always thought about the possibility of it happening,’ laughed Brenton. ‘Every day. Since … since … you know. Nothing changes, does it? After what? Twenty-four years?’
‘Twenty-five,’ corrected Juliet. ‘And four months.’
‘You’re an MP. I’m out here. We’re meant to be what? Wiser? And here we are. The best feeling in the world!’
‘I know … what are we going to do?’
‘If … if you come over here,’ said Brenton. ‘Then as far as I’m concerned you’re not with him.’
‘He’s my husband, Brenton.’
‘Is he your husband now?’
Juliet thought about it. She looked at Brenton’s naked body. She looked at her own. She observed how blissfully happy he was. She finally shook her head.