You know what? I’m going to just leave it alone. I’ll always have my memories, and who knows, I might just meet another victim very soon. Wish me luck.
xx.
Five
Jaylah walked into Osteria Basilico and looked for Jourdan. Even though it was a Thursday, the Italian eatery was brimming with people. After scanning the main floor, she headed downstairs, inhaling the aroma of melting cheese, handmade pasta, and decadent tiramisus.
The week had been hectic. Jaylah turned in another article on a show at the Southbank Centre, journeyed to Stonehenge just to say she’d seen it, and interviewed fashion designer Ozwald Boateng about his Made In Africa Foundation. Her freelance gig at Glamour seemed a lot less like a test, and more like she was actually part of the team. Hillary had already emailed her a list of events to cover for the next three weeks, ensuring she would not only see more of London, but also add some pounds to her bank account.
Jaylah loved the spike in her balance when a deposit hit her account. Two hundred fifty pounds didn’t sound like a lot, but it was nearly twice that amount in American dollars. And considering London is one of the most expensive cities in the world, every little bit helped. Jaylah’s rent was already paid through the summer, so whatever she made working for Glamour gave her some breathing room. Still, she swore off any extravagant spending sprees, choosing to bank her checks and rebuild her “in case shit happens” fund.
Jaylah spotted Jourdan sitting at a small table in the corner of the room and chuckled to herself. She and her new BFF were matching. Again.
“Hey girly,” Jaylah said, kissing Jourdan on her cheek. “I see you’ve been in my closet.”
Jourdan chuckled, glancing at her teal blouse and Jaylah’s turquoise dress. “Looks like it, yeah? Glad you made it, I’m starving!”
“Me too, I haven’t eaten all day. I got caught up transcribing my Boateng interview.”
Jourdan grabbed her friend’s hand, “Isn’t he lovely?”
“He’s absolutely everything. I had a hard time focusing on what he was saying.”
“I can imagine. Want to share a bottle of Pinot Grigio?”
“Sure, I just need to eat some bread first. I’m not going to have a repeat of the Pimm’s Cup debacle.”
Jourdan rolled her hazel eyes, “That debacle landed a gorgeous man in your bed. Did you ever call him?”
“No. I don’t want to get tied up in anything serious. I’m just here to have a good time.”
“He could have been a lot more fun. You should have at least kept him in rotation in case you need his…services,” Jourdan teased.
“It would just be one more tie I’d have to sever when I leave, and—“
“Like me?” Jourdan cut in, looking directly at her friend.
“Of course not! You’re stuck with me.”
Jourdan put her menu down. “Have you considered staying on after the summer? Things with Glamour seem to be picking up. Maybe it’ll turn into something. Would you stay?”
“I hadn’t even thought about it. I’d need way more money than what they’re paying me. I mean, I spent about $8000 on rent for the summer. That’s,” Jaylah tried to calculate the amount in pounds, “a lot.”
“There are cheaper places you know. Your flat is pretty posh.”
“I’m sure, but I’m a bit of a snob, and I already love that one. Besides, I don’t think I can actually move here. Aren’t the laws pretty strict?”
“People move all the time, Jaylah, you’d just need to be sponsored. And I’m sure if Glamour wants, they can vouch for you.”
The thought of staying never crossed her mind. She moved to London for the summer to clear her head and hopefully get her life and her career back on track. The end.
But was it?
She had to admit that she was beginning to feel at home, and even alive, in the Queen’s city. She landed a gig, albeit a freelance one, at one of her favorite magazines; she had an amazing best friend who she loved like a sister; and she finally felt free enough to take chances. But was she really ready to trade in her sundresses and sandals for heavy coats and rain boots…permanently?
“I’ll think about it,” Jaylah said, already wondering how she could pull it off.
* * *
Jourdan and Jaylah spilled onto Kensington Park Road stuffed with balsamic vinegar and olive oil dipped bread, mushrooms topped with smoked mozzarella, and the most delicious braised veal either of them had ever tasted.
“I hate you for ordering that chocolate mousse,” Jaylah said.
“We were celebrating. What celebration is complete without chocolate mousse?”
The pair giggled as they strolled arm and arm down Pembridge Road.
“You’re going to have to roll me to the Tube,” Jaylah said, patting her too-full stomach.
“No Tube, we’re going to this little place I know ‘round here. We can dance it off.”
“I don’t think I can even move. I’d looked like a beached whale trying to dance right now.”
“At least you’d be a cute one,” Jourdan winked. She pulled out a cigarette and steered them onto Portobello Road.
“You should stop smoking.”
“You should start.”
“You’re going to kill me. Hello? Secondhand smoke?”
“At least you’ll die happy.”
“According to you.”
“That’s all that fucking matters,” Jourdan said, taking a long drag on her cigarette and blowing a smoke ring in Jaylah’s face.
Jaylah cackled so hard her back began to hurt. “I hate you!”
“I hate you too,” Jourdan said, catching her friend’s contagious laughter.
* * *
“Here we are,” Jourdan said, ushering her friend into the Mau Mau Bar.
The tiny place was teeming and felt like an intimate house party. Music posters and artwork lined the pub’s red walls and a disco ball cast glittery shadows on the ceiling. The small patch of dance floor was overflowing with bodies, and to Jaylah’s surprise, Jourdan found an open seat, which they squeezed in to share.
“Isn’t this great? I love this place,” Jourdan said, looking around the room.
The DJ stood perched above the crowd, spinning a soulful house song Jaylah couldn’t quite place. She swayed to the beat and watched the throng of dancers. There were two things she loved about partying in London: (1) unlike L.A., people actually danced, and (2) club goers were always so diverse. On any given night you’d find people from every corner of the world smashed together on a dance floor.
“I’m going to the bar. Want anything?” Jourdan asked.
“No, I’m ok.”
Jaylah continued watching the crowd, which was a mishmash of hipsters, bohemian types, average folks, and business people looking for an escape from their hectic workdays. As she scanned, her eyes landed on a man on the opposite side of the room. Perhaps it was his tailored shirt and slacks, or maybe it was the way his sable skin glistened under the lights as he danced. Whatever it was, she couldn’t stop watching him.
The man was tall, but moved without any trace of awkwardness. He glided to the music and allowed his feet to stomp in time with the rhythm. Jaylah figured he was alone because he didn’t talk to, or even look at, anyone nearby. He just sipped his drink and danced. She happily watched.
Jourdan returned carrying two beers.
“I said I didn’t want anything.”
“I know,” her friend said, handing Jaylah a Stella.
She took a sip, then tipped the bottle in the man’s direction. “Look.”
“Ooh, nice,” Jourdan said, “Here alone?”
“Looks like it.”
“Go over and talk to him.”
“Not yet,” Jaylah said, taking another swig. “But I will.”
“Come on, time to burn off that meal.” Jourdan grabbed her friend’s hand and escorted her to the dance floor.
The pair slowly swayed in time trying to warm up to the energy of the
crowd. It was hard to move in the crush of people, but somehow they found their way. They were still holding hands when Jaylah spun her friend around in a tiny circle. Jourdan returned the favor, before the pair danced back-to-back still keeping time. When the DJ switched the tune, Jaylah and Jourdan fell into lazy box step, moving together like they’d practiced the routine at home. The crowd parted for the women as they each took turns freestyling in the spotlight. Jourdan’s energy bubbled over in exaggerated shimmies as she hopped around to the beat. Jaylah’s moves were more subdued and sensual. She swayed her hips and allowed her arms to do the work, extending them above her head and bouncing her shoulders to the music. Her hands undulated in smooth, slow waves and she moved her torso with the grace of a belly dancer. When they were done with their cameos, Jaylah and Jourdan once again came back together, coasting on each other’s energy.
“I love you,” Jaylah mouthed to her friend.
“I love you too,” Jourdan said in return.
For the first time in months, or maybe even years, Jaylah felt happy. Tucked away in a tiny club with a best friend she’d barely met, but couldn’t picture her life without, she truly was happy.
And then she saw him. Starring at her from across the room.
Now, Jaylah thought to herself, now it’s time.
* * *
Jaylah let the crowd’s tide carry her over to him. She continued to sway to the rhythm as she inched closer to his side. When she “accidentally” grazed his arm, Jaylah seized the opportunity to find out who he was.
“Do all of the black men in this city date white women or what?” she asked instead of saying hello.
“Excuse me?” he said, completely caught off guard.
“Well, I’ve been here a month and I’ve seen black men with Asian women, white woman, Indian woman, but not black women,” she said, tempering her words with a sly smirk. “I was starting to wonder if I was invisible.”
He looked her over, “Now…I don’t think that’s possible.” He extended an easy smile. “I’m Johnny, what’s your name, love?”
She noticed the sharp angle of his nose then, causing her to stop and take him in. His eyes were disarmingly generous and the hint of a decidedly un-British accent danced on the tip of his tongue.
“I’m Jaylah. Where are you from?”
“Peckham.”
“No, no. Before. Were you born in London?”
“No. Moved here from Ghana when I was six,” he pointed to her empty beer bottle, “want another?”
“Sure.”
As he walked away, Jaylah noticed the outline of his strong, sleek back and footballer’s body. She thought his arms were easily sturdy enough to lift her, and he moved with a quiet confidence that said he could own any room if he wanted.
In that moment Jaylah knew: she had to see him naked.
* * *
“Here you go,” Johnny said, handing Jaylah another beer.
“Thank you,” she said, trying not to smile too hard. “Just got off work?”
He smoothed the wrinkles forming in his cuffed dress shirt. “How can you tell?”
“Lucky guess,” she said, trying to suppress the smile still tugging at her lips. “Come here often?”
They both chuckled at her corny line. Although she had been drawn to him since she first laid eyes on him, she felt unsure of what to say.
Jourdan found her just in time. She turned to Johnny, “I see you’ve met my sister.”
He raised an eyebrow, “Sister?”
“She didn’t tell you?” she asked, looking at Jaylah in mock disbelief. “When our parents divorced they moved her to America and left me in this bloody cold hell hole. And I’m the one who needs the tan!”
The women snickered. “This is Jourdan,” Jaylah said, “my sister.”
She pressed her face close to Jaylah’s. “Don’t we look alike?” Jourdan asked before grabbing Jaylah’s beer and taking a long sip.
“I can see the resemblance,” he said, playing along.
“I’ll let you two chat. There’s a man over there I need to make out with. Jay, you cool?”
“Yes, dear. Go. Kiss. Have fun!”
“Always,” she said, before heading back across the room.
“Your sister’s an interesting character,” Johnny said.
“She sure is. What about you? What makes you interesting?”
Johnny shrugged. “I’m pretty boring.”
“Oh come now. I’m sure there’s something. Crazy girlfriends, brushes with the law, weird habits—something.”
“Nope, none of that,” he gulped down his beer, “I work too much to be interesting.”
“We’re going to have to change that,” she said. “Come.” Jaylah grabbed his hand and led him to the dance floor.
Johnny walked so close she could feel the heat jumping off his body. As they moved through the crowd, she’d stop suddenly, causing him to bump into her, feeling something new—sturdy chest, muscled legs, a large bulge—each time. When they’d snaked their way to the middle of the floor Jaylah turned and rested her hands on his shoulders as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
“I already know you can dance,” she told him, “I saw you.”
“I saw you too,” he said, before laying a hand on her hip.
They swayed together exchanging flirty glances, coquettish smiles, and touching just enough to excite them both. Jaylah let her fingers lightly trace the back of Johnny’s neck as they moved in unison. She could feel him loosen just a bit as tension slipped from his shoulders. She pictured herself kissing him then, but held back. She wanted him to make the next move.
Jaylah spun around and danced with her back to Johnny. He pressed into her and wrapped his arms around her waist. She felt safe nuzzled in his arms, and her brain skipped ahead to what it would feel like to wake up beside him, energized after a night of lovemaking. Even though she rarely cooked, Jaylah fanaticized about serving him breakfast in bed. Griiiiiiits, she thought as the Jill Scott line popped into her head.
She leaned into him and moved her hips in time with the beat. She placed her hand over his and he entangled her fingers.
They danced, fused together, for nearly an hour speaking with their bodies, instead of words, neither one daring to let go.
Jourdan found them and broke their trance. “Hey, if you’re going to get the Tube, you best head out. It’ll be shutting down soon.”
Jaylah was confused. “Wait, what time is it?”
“Almost midnight. I’ve got to get back to Shepherd’s Bush as well. Ready?”
Jaylah looked at Johnny, she didn’t want to leave. “I can take the night bus.”
“To Highbury? That’ll take forever,” Jourdan warned.
“I can give you a lift,” he said, “I live in Camden.”
Jourdan searched her friend’s face for hesitation, then took out her phone. “Smile,” she commanded, snapping a picture of the pair. “See this?” she asked him. “If anything happens to my sister I’m going straight to the police. Got it?”
He shook his head and chuckled. “Got it.”
Jourdan gave Jaylah a hug. “Call me in the morning. Don’t forget,” she said before leaving.
“Your friend is crazy,” Johnny said, still laughing.
“She’s just a bit protective,” Jaylah said, heading back to her seat to collect her things.
“How long have you know each other?”
“Almost a month.”
“A month?” Johnny repeated, confused.
“I know. But we’re like those Horder twins,” she said. He still looked perplexed. “You know those little girls? They had the same parents, looked alike, and loved the same things. Only difference? One was black and the other was white.”
“Ahh, yes. I remember reading something about them in the Guardian,” he finally said.
“That’s Jourdan and me. We just clicked and we’ve been kinda inseparable ever since.”
Johnny stepped aside t
o let her exit the club first. “I hope you don’t mind walking a bit. I had a dinner meeting in the area and parked near the restaurant.”
“Not at all. It’s actually quite nice out tonight,” Jaylah said, appreciating the warm weather that had descended on the city. “It finally feels like summer.”
“Yeah it does,” he said, moving to the outside of the sidewalk. Jaylah appreciated his nod to old school chivalry. “So, you’ve been here a month? Where’s home?”
“America,” she said instinctively.
He laughed, “I can tell. Where about?”
“Oh, right. Los Angeles.”
“And you wanted to come to London?” Johnny sucked his teeth.
“Why does everyone say that? What’s the saying? Familiarity breeds contempt? I just needed a change of pace.”
“Sounds like,“ he pretended to be deep in thought, “A bad break-up.”
Jaylah wondered if he was asking because he hoped she was single or if he thought women were so fragile after losing a lover they needed to flee to another country to mend. “Something like that,” she said.
“How long were you two together?”
“Five years,” she said, wondering if she should tell him the truth.
He winced. “That has to be tough.”
They walked in silence, minutes passing between them. Although Jaylah liked being able to reshape her history to make herself seem less like a failure, she didn’t want to lie to him. She couldn’t.
“Actually,” she said, breaking the quiet, “I lost my job. I…got fired.”
Jaylah rambled to fill the lull between them. “I’m a writer and I was working for a paper in L.A. One day my editor calls me in to say they’re letting me go. Just like that,” Johnny listened; she kept gushing. “No warning, no conference to say, ‘Hey you need to get your shit together, Jay.’ Just…fired.”
She felt her cheeks getting hot all over again and her voice cracked. “You know what’s the worst part? I spent five years there, even though I knew I could do so much better, because everyone else thought I was this huge success. ‘Oh, Jaylah has her name in the paper. Oh Jaylah gets to go to concerts for free, Oh Jaylah is so lucky,’” she said, nearly in tears. “I followed the rules, I did what everyone expected, and in the end, what did I get?”
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