“Tiera is hot right now,” the salesgirl gushed. “She’s one of my favorites.”
“Mine too.” LaChina returned her smile. She folded her arms and stared at the wall of CDs. I hope that they don’t call the padded wagon on me, she thought to herself. “In fact, I like her so much that I’ll take them all.”
The salesgirl removed one CD from each of Jamaica’s previous albums, and then perkily glided to the counter. LaChina shook her head, exhaled loudly, and followed behind her. The salesgirl had not understood.
LaChina reached behind the counter and grabbed a large, blue, plastic bag. On her way back to the shelves containing Jamaica’s CDs, LaChina shook the bag, filling it with air and opening it widely.
From the counter the salesgirl watched in astonishment as LaChina raked the entire collection of Tiera CDs into her bag, and then tossed the bag over her shoulders and staggered back to the counter. Her freckled face had turned pink, by the time LaChina reached the counter and tossed her black credit card onto it.
The store’s silence made LaChina turn around. All eyes were on her.
LaChina smiled sheepishly and shrugged her shoulders. “I mean, I’m a really big fan.”
When Jamaica and Tameer strolled into the store, they smiled at LaChina as they walked past her. She smiled stoically standing at the store’s entrance, accompanied by two large plastic bags filled with merchandise. Neither Tameer nor Jamaica noticed the bags at her feet.
Upon reaching the rap section, Tameer again glanced at LaChina, who was still standing near the entrance, with a mannequin-like smile plastered across her face. LaChina waved at him.
“I’m sorry,” Tameer said to Jamaica.
“What?” Jamaica asked, not understanding why Tameer was apologizing.
Tameer shifted his gaze from LaChina to Jamaica. “I’m sorry because I thought that you were the one who was crazy.” He turned back to the display and continued to browse.
Jamaica ventured several feet from Tameer, and coughed loudly to attract LaChina’s attention. When LaChina finally peered in Jamaica’s direction, Jamaica waved for her to join them. LaChina vigorously shook her head.
Frowning, Jamaica again waved for her friend to join her, although this time even more vigorously. Her motioning was answered by a large exhale from LaChina. Again, Jamaica frowned, but this time it was a frown of confusion. LaChina answered by folding her arms, exhaling, and stepping to the side.
Behind the spot where LaChina once stood, was a life-sized, cardboard cut-out of Tiera, the award-winning songstress. The massive poster caused Jamaica’s eyes to fly open wide. She quickly began motioning for LaChina to step back in front of the poster.
LaChina rolled her eyes at her friend. She knew what she was doing.
“Here it is!” Tameer proclaimed. He reached for the CD that he had come for.
“Are you ready?” Jamaica inquired nervously. She desperately wanted to grab Tameer’s arm, and drag him from the store.
“Oh, yeah. Well, hold on,” Tameer told her. “I’mma look around and see what else they have.”
Jamaica put on her best entertainer’s face and smiled nonchalantly. “No hurry. Take your time.”
LaChina watched excitedly as a store clerk entered from the rear of the store. She knew deep down in her heart what was inside of the boxes he held inside of his hands. She watched in horror as he headed for the Tiera section, and once there, started to restock the shelves.
“Shit!” was what came out loud. Her outburst caused a few stares, but she no longer cared. Tameer was browsing along a path that would take him too near the R&B section, and she couldn’t chance the fact that he may keep going into that section.
Leaping into action, LaChina quickly accosted the store clerk, removing several boxes of Tiera CDs from his hands. To his astonished silence, she hurriedly placed the CDs that he had stocked on the shelves, back inside of the box, and then raced to the checkout counter. Again her credit card flew onto the counter, this time stopping next to the hand of another speechless clerk. Again, LaChina could only shrug her shoulders and smile apologetically.
“I mean, I’m a really, really, big fan,” she said sheepishly.
While Tameer ventured up to another checkout counter, Jamaica strolled up to her life-sized cardboard cut-out. She stood in front of it, placed her hand onto her hip, and examined the poster carefully. She didn’t recall posing for this particular picture, but it didn’t matter. Jamaica knew that thousands of pictures such as this one existed. The record company had thousands, her fans had thousands, and the magazines, newspapers, and tabloids all had thousands. It came with the territory.
Jamaica breathed heavily, and then turned toward the counter to see what Tameer was doing. Fortunately, he was pulling money out of his tattered billfold and not paying her any attention. The clerk helping him, however, was peering around the store in an effort to avoid staring into Tameer’s wallet. His glance passed by Jamaica, and then by the poster of Jamaica, causing him to do a double-take. His mouth fell wide.
Nonchalantly, Jamaica turned back toward her effigy and examined it once more. Back at the counter the clerk began to stutter. He lifted his hand and pointed in Jamaica’s direction, desperately trying to make his words flow coherently.
“Shhhhhhh!” was what he heard.
The clerk glanced in the direction of the sound, only to find an non-smiling LaChina leering at him, with one finger still posed over her lips. She looked as though she meant business. The clerk looked back at Jamaica, and then again at LaChina. LaChina balled her tiny fist tightly, and waved it in the air toward him. He got the message, and quickly shifted his gaze toward the counter.
Jamaica exhaled once again, and using her right hand, pushed the cardboard poster over onto its side, causing it to fall forward onto its face.
“I look fat!” she said to the fallen poster.
“You look beautiful,” Tameer told her as he approached. “You ready to go?”
“Yeah, let’s go,” Jamaica told him. She placed her arm inside of his, and stepped over the fallen poster as they exited the store.
“Hey, was that…”
“Of course not,” LaChina interrupted the querying clerk. She turned to her freckle-faced cashier and pointed to the bags of Tiera merchandise near the door. “Give that away to the kids that come in.”
LaChina pushed the boxes of CDs that she had just purchased across the counter toward the clerk. “And these too.”
LaChina turned, and haughtily strutted through the store’s exit, stepping over the fallen poster as well.
Jamaica strolled out of the motel’s tiny bathroom, tying her towel tightly around her. “China, I need a car.”
“For what?” LaChina asked.
“To get around. Tameer’s car is dead.”
Jamaica made the sign of the cross and giggled. “And may it rest in pieces.”
LaChina gobbled another hand full of popcorn and began crunching. “So, what do you want me to do about it?”
Jamaica reached into the bowl and grabbed a hand full of popcorn for herself.
“Duh!” She crossed her eyes and tossed the popcorn into her mouth. “How about buy one?” she said sarcastically.
“What kind?”
“I don’t care,” Jamaica answered. “No, wait. It has to be used.”
Jamaica spun and braced herself on the cheap, rickety, motel table. “I can’t believe I said that.” She spun back toward her friend. “China, what’s happening to me?”
“Something that should have happened a long time ago.”
Jamaica frowned. “Funny.”
“No, serious. Anyway, I’ll call around and take care of it.”
“I need one now,” Jamaica whined.
“You’ll have it first thing tomorrow. I’ll have one delivered—dents, scraps, scratches, and everything.”
Jamaica tilted her head to the side. “Not too bad.”
“Of course too bad. Jai, the record store
was a close call. We have to play this one through.”
LaChina gathered her paperwork which was sprawled across the bed, and set it neatly to one side. “That reminds me, the little girl at the shoe store.”
“Right.” Jamaica nodded. “She recognized me.”
“The hat’s not good enough,” LaChina told her. “Sunglasses, Jai, even inside. I would prefer it if you wore a ponytail and a bini hat. It’s starting to get cold, so a bini or a hooded sweatshirt won’t draw any stares.”
Jamaica shrugged her shoulders. “Right. You’re the boss.”
Jamaica walked to the bed and sat down next to LaChina. She leaned over, placed her head against LaChina’s head, and then gave her friend a great big bear hug.
“You always take good care of me,” Jamaica told her.
“Whatever.” LaChina was unfazed. “You’ll be calling me a bitch tomorrow.”
“It’s only because I love you.” Jamaica smiled.
“How sweet.” LaChina gave her an obviously fake smile, and then sat up in bed. “So, where are you two going?”
Jamaica ran her fingers through her damp hair, sending it over her shoulders and down her back. “Well, we haven’t been to the local amusement park, or to the Riverwalk yet. The pictures I saw in the magazine made them both look pretty fun.”
“Yeah.” LaChina nodded slowly. “And it won’t be that many people at either of them because it’s off-season. Great choice.”
Jamaica rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Will you stop worrying and be young again!”
“Sure.” LaChina nodded. “When we get back to New York, and you start being Tiera again. Until then, I’m going to do what I’m paid to do, which is worry.”
Chapter Thirteen
“Oh my God, it’s so beautiful out here.” Jamaica clasped Tameer’s hand, as they slowly strolled along the banks of San Antonio’s famed Riverwalk. It was a constant flowing, never-ending bank of clubs, restaurants, cafes, lights, music, dancing, and good-natured reverie. Jamaica glowed in the lighting. It danced across her face, offering only tantalizing glimpses of her beauty, one section at a time. “Do they have these lights all year around?”
“Well, they keep them strung, but they only put them on after Thanksgiving, and they’ll stay on until sometime after New Year’s.”
Jamaica turned, and again marveled at the millions of sparkling lights draped over the trees that stood majestically along the banks of the crystal blue river. The lights danced across the reflecting river, like children dancing across an elementary school stage. They were beautiful in their clumsiness, genius in their impreciseness.
The lights were strung along the banks of the river, as well as over the bridges that transversed it. Against the crystallized blackness of the crisp, South Texas skies, the colorful lighting gave the bridges the appearances of eerily magical floating structures. It was fantastical.
“Look at the way the lights reflect off of the river!” Jamaica pointed giddily. “Oh, this is so beautiful!”
Trying to be cool, Tameer simply nodded. “Yeah, it is.”
The lighted barges floating by with a crowd of tourists made Jamaica even more excited. She tapped at Tameer’s arm frantically. “I want to ride. Can we ride?”
“Of course,” he told her. “We’ll have to walk a little further down the river to get to where the riverboat tours start.”
“Okay.” Jamaica nodded. She rubbed her stomach. “But, I’m still hungry and I wanna grab something to eat. We’ll ride after dinner.”
Tameer nodded in agreement. Tonight, Jamaica was the boss.
They continued strolling leisurely along the banks of the river, taking in the sights and sounds, as well as its wonderful smells. It was almost like touring the world by nose. There was sauerkraut, weinersnitzel, polish sausage, and exotic French cuisine. There was gumbo, crabs, shrimp, and lobster. Fried egg rolls, and sweet and sour chicken. And of course, pizza, hamburgers, and hot dogs. The restaurants along the banks of the river constituted their own virtual United Nations. Almost every culture or country in the world was represented. The combinations of the various cuisines made them even hungrier.
“There!” Jamaica pointed. “Let’s eat there.”
It was a large Mexican restaurant, nestled along a set of rocks which jutted out into the leisurely flowing river. It was the screaming red lights, as well as the shouts from the Mariachi band, that had attracted her attention.
Together, Jamaica and Tameer sat down to an abundant meal of sizzling beef, flaming chicken, Spanish rice, beans, fresh guacamole, fresh, handmade tortillas, Spanish salsa, Spanish canales, and salted margaritas.
The margaritas had been made with an expensive imported liquor, a famous brand of Mexican tequila, freshly squeezed lime juice, sugar, salt, and an imported rum. They were exceptional.
Jamaica downed drink after drink of the lime-flavored concoctions, barely tasting their alcoholic content. After a while, she became giggly.
The mariachi band, making its rounds, soon arrived at their table. The band’s serenade lasted only a brief moment, as Jamaica, emboldened by her lightheaded state, stood and interrupted. She removed one of the mariachis’ large sombreros, motioned for them to continue their ballad, and then extended her hand toward a slightly inebriated Tameer. Also emboldened by his liquid courage, he took her hand and stood. Jamaica wrapped her arms around Tameer’s shoulders, pulling him close. She wanted to slow-dance to the Spanish ballad. The mariachis had something different in mind. They broke into a series of party yelps and screams, and switched the tempo of their music. The restaurant once again came alive. Jamaica came alive.
She twirled, with a continuous stream of laughter pouring out of her, and broke out into her best senorita dance, making Tameer struggle to keep pace with her. She was contagious.
The restaurant soon erupted into a lively fiesta of food, laughter, and dancing, as others, emboldened by their inebriated state, began taking to the floor. One of the mariachis’ hats was soon tossed onto the floor, and a circle quickly formed around it. Together the patrons laughed and performed a lively, but highly distorted, variation of a Mexican hat dance.
The crowd loved Jamaica’s partnership with an elderly Hispanic gentleman, and broke into a wild frenzy of hand clapping and foot stomping with each of her twirls. Smiling and laughing, she spun and dipped, turned and whirled, tapped and stomped. She was radiating, intoxicating, utterly addictive. Tameer stood back inside of the crowd, and watched her perform.
Clearly, she was the most beautiful woman in the restaurant, yet she didn’t lord her beauty over anyone. In fact, she shared it. From older Hispanic man, to older Anglo man, to older African American man, she twirled and danced, enlivening all, and sharing her beauty with them. She took an elderly Hispanic woman by the hand, and danced slowly around the sombrero with her. The crowd truly loved her.
There was something about her, Tameer thought, as he watched her twirl. The way she was so relaxed performing, dancing, and mingling with the crowd. She had a relaxed beauty about her, an inner comfort, a quiet confidence with people. She was definitely at home performing.
It was the little girl in the wheelchair who did it. Jamaica’s laughter, hugs, and dancing with her had been genuine. Not sympathetic, not out of pity, or a demeaning sort of compassion, but a genuine sharing of life, of love, of laughter.
It was Jamaica’s flying parka, her bouncing ponytail, and the way her earrings clinked against her soft caramel cheeks as she danced. It was her baggy jeans, it was the way her hiking boots moved when she spun. The easy smile, the flying sombrero tied around her neck, that slapped against her back whenever she suddenly changed directions. He watched it all. Tameer folded him arms and watched as this star twinkled brighter than the millions of sparkling lights providing her backdrop. Tameer watched, and slowly, he fell in love.
“C’mon, Tameer!” Jamaica called. She clasped his hand and forcefully pulled him into the clapping, dancing, whooping crowd. Tog
ether they danced, laughed, and partied for several hours, before Jamaica remembered the boat.
The riverboat was not very crowded because of the chill in air, and the time of the evening. It was late.
Jamaica wrapped herself up inside of her coat, and Tameer wrapped himself around her. The cool breeze radiating from the river made it necessary.
“You’re getting protective, aren’t you?” Jamaica asked, with a teasing smile. She was glad to have his warmth. It felt comfortable, cozy, trusting.
“Yeah, I am,” he answered matter-of-factly. “Are you cold?”
“Yes, a little.” Jamaica nodded. “Why, are you going to give me your jacket?”
“No.” Tameer shook his head. “But I’m going to wrap my arms around you and hold you close.”
“Mmmmm, even better.” Jamaica rubbed her head against his chest.
“Jamaica,” Tameer said softly.
“What?” His answer was barely audible.
Tameer didn’t reply, and that caused Jamaica to look up. He peered down at her, and their eyes met. She now knew what he wanted, and it made her smile.
My God, she thought. He looked like a cute, little, lost puppy.
Jamaica knew that Tameer wanted to kiss her, but she also knew that he was afraid to. She decided to make it easy on him. She closed her eyes and slowly leaned forward.
Tameer wanted to jump for joy, and shout hallelujah, but that would have definitely ruined the moment. So instead, he also slowly leaned forward. Their lips met, for the second time since they’d met. But instead of saying good-bye, this kiss was about forever. Their tongues touched, slightly at first, then more so after they became comfortable. The warmth of each other contrasted greatly with the chill of the night air, which whistled crisply across their faces. They warmed each other, and both imagined how wonderful it would be to warm the other totally.
The river barge moved gently to the banks of the walk, to pick up more passengers. Jamaica rose.
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