How Stella Got Her Groove Back (14 page)

W
HEN
I
WAKE
up his aroma pervades not only my pillows but the whole room. He was definitely here, I think. It was not a dream. No. It was real. He was real. I shower in lukewarm water and decide on thick white running shorts and matching top which I put on in slow motion. The foam soles on my sneakers are a nice cushion as I jump two and three steps at a time and head toward the beach. This morning I seem to float along the shore, as if my feet don’t feel the sand at all. The sun has just barely risen and yet the sky is already royal blue and there are absolutely no clouds whatsoever. The ocean is serene, no waves. I can’t believe it as I walk into the water with my sneakers on and see a society of silver fish swimming around my ankles. They are so beautiful that I stand there watching them for a long time.

I can feel the heat from the sun on my shoulders as I walk back to the beach, take my sneakers and socks off and sit down on the sand. I am the only one out here. It is my beach. When I look out at the ocean where it drops off and disappears it feels as if I could run on top of the water to the very edge and what I would find would probably be a waterfall. This is how weightless I feel right now. As if somehow in the middle of the night my soul was visited by something divine something—I don’t know—but whatever it was and whatever happened I feel different today than I did yesterday. Lighter, as if a breeze could go right through me. Amazing.

And then I think I smell him. I turn to look and he’s not there and I can only smile. And to think. I didn’t have to teach him anything. I told him so before he left. “I didn’t have to teach you anything, Winston,” and he sort of chuckled and said, “Oh yes you did,” and I said, “What?” and he said, “I’ve never felt such tenderness before, and boy,” he said with a sigh, and he was about to say something else but he just rolled me back over on top of him and I kissed him gently and said, “I could kiss you forever,” and he kissed me back and said, “You can, you should, I would like that,” and then I heard myself say, “Do you have a girlfriend?” and he said, “No,” and I found that a little hard to believe and so I said, “Why not?” and he said, “Because I haven’t met anyone I really like,” and I said, “Come on, Winston,” and he said, “What? I’m serious,” and since he sounded like he was I said, “Okay, so what qualities are you looking for in a girlfriend?” because I was just curious and I wanted to know if he’d really thought about this and he said, “Well, one thing I know for sure is that she’ll definitely be older,” and I sort of picked my head up and looked down at him and once again he was wearing that I’m-not-kidding-you look and I said, “But why does she have to be older?” and he said, “Because girls my age are silly. All they’re looking for is someone who has a nice car and lots of money and is willing to spend it all on them.”

“Well, that’s true of a lot of older women,” I said, laughing. “At least in America. But I’m not one of them.”

He laughed too. “In Jamaica money and status are everything.”

“How so?”

“Well, where you live and what kind of house you live in is very important. It matters. A great deal. And the women here? A lot of them don’t work. They stay at home and mind the children and cook. The husbands earn the living.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to be in that position. I can and do pay my own bills,” I said.

“I know. You’re different,” he said and I found myself kissing him again and it wasn’t like I was even trying.

“So what else?”

“I don’t know.” It felt like he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, as if I was doing too much talking, but then he said, “But I hope she’ll be a lot like you.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You. You’re outgoing and I would have to say very brave because you came to Jamaica all alone and you didn’t know anyone here. You seem smart and you don’t act as if you’re playing games because you came straight out and told me what you wanted to do and here we are and it’s kind of nice, you know, not to have to play any games.”

“What kind of games have you played before?”

“None really, but I’ve watched other people. Then again, there are some girls, you know, they pretend to like you but they really don’t.”

“You ever been in love, Winston?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?”

“How would I know?”

A fabulous question. “Well.” I sighed, because I’d never actually told anyone what I thought being in love feels like and it required some thought. “I’d say it’s when you sort of crave being around a person because he makes you feel extraordinarily good and your adrenaline seems higher and everything moves at a faster rate and you can’t seem to get enough of that person.”

“Nooo, I’ve never felt like that.”

“Have you ever been hurt?”

“My feelings have been hurt. Yes. Sure.”

“You have any pets, Winston?”

“What?”

“Pets? You know. Animals that hang around your house and you give them a name and perhaps feed them in their very own dish.”

He laughed. “Yes. I’ve got two dogs of no special breed and four lovebirds.”

“Would you consider yourself an animal lover?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever lost a pet that you loved?”

The expression on his face changed. “Yes. I had a horse for six years and it got some kind of disease and had to be put to sleep. That kind of messed me up.”

“You had your own horse?”

“Yeah. My parents own ten of them, but Simeon was mine.”

“So you’re a good rider?”

“Used to be. I’m not as fond of horses as I once was. What about you? You look like an animal lover.”

“Well, my son and I have a dog, a cat and some fish.” There was now a sudden silence. “So,” I said.

“So,” he said. “What are your plans for tomorrow?”

“Parasailing,” I said.

He nodded and kissed me again. He could be habit-forming, I thought, as I looked at him. If only he weren’t so damn young.

“What about afterwards?” he asked.

“Why? What are you gettin’ at, darlin’?” I said in a southern accent, and he cracked up.

“Would you like to have dinner again?”

“What exactly do you mean by ‘dinner’?”

He looked confused. “I mean we could go into town. Get away from Castle Beach. I’d like to see you in another setting. Under different circumstances. This place is beginning to feel closed in, no?”

“Yes. But you know what, Winston?”

“What?”

“I think we should do
this
again. Don’t you?”

“Definitely,” he said with a smirk and then we both burst out laughing as he squeezed me tighter and I pushed my fingers through his hair over and over and over until the back of his head was resting in my palms.

“So let’s skip dinner.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes.
You
can be my dinner.”

He chuckled. “So does that mean
you’ll
be
my
dessert?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “Absolutely.”

“All right,” he said and we lay there awhile longer, but because I was a guest at the hotel and if anyone saw him coming out of my room it could ruin his chances of working here, he got up in the middle of the night, put his clothes on and gave me another of those luscious please-don’t-go kisses and left quietly. I looked at the cold candles and giggled out loud because I was glad I hadn’t needed them after all. I then buried my face as deeply as I could in the pillows and sheets so I could smell him all over around and through that white cotton until I started feeling all marshmallowy inside and then it hit me that if I wasn’t mistaken I’d been turned out by a twenty-one-year-old boy!

And now, as I gather up my wet socks and sneakers and head back toward my room, I am shaking my head in total astonishment. And who do I pass? Old man Nate. He looks better, like he should always get up early and do something.

“Hey, good-looking,” he says.

“How goes it, Nate?”

“Not as good as you, I can see that. What—you been out here running and got your shoes wet?”

“Sort of.”

“Having a good time?”

“Oh yes, I’m having a great time.”

“Un-hun,” he says like he’s been a Peeping Tom or something.

“You going to Karaoke Night tonight in the piano bar?”

“I’m not sure. I hadn’t heard about it.”

“It’s always fun.”

“But I thought you just got here, Nate.”

He chuckles proudly and I can’t help but watch that fat gut of his writhe. “I told you, this is my eighth time down here in the last three years. I was one of their first guests after they built this place. I love it here.”

“I do too,” I say and begin walking. “Maybe I’ll see you later,” I say.

“Well, if you’re going to the beach today, better get out here early. It’s supposed to rain. Maybe even have a little thunderstorm today.”

I simply nod even though I’d love to say: Excuse me, Mr. Weather God, but this is Jamaica. Not America. It is early July. It is summertime here. Not the rainy season. Nate doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.

• • • •

After my shower I change and go to the dining room and this place is beginning to feel like home. I see the familiar faces and some new ones as I stand in line to get my Belgian waffle which the young brother who cooks them seems instinctively or predictably to know I want as I approach the long table and pass right by an assortment of other foods which I totally ignore. I look around for an empty table and do not see Win-ston anywhere and then I chuckle because I’m thinking he’s sleeping in because he’s young and still growing.

I eat my breakfast alone which is kind of nice and then I gather up my towels and head for the beach. I find my chaise and put my tote with all my junk in it underneath and one of the workers says to me, “When are you gonna snorkel with us, mon? You look like you love the water every day, come on and snorkel with us today.”

“What time?”

“Nine-tirty and one-tirty.”

I look at my watch. It’s nine-twenty. “Maybe later, or tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll be looking for you, mon. And wear that bathing suit.”

He laughs as he drags the boat out into the water. I lie there for the next hour or so and though it is so hot so early it’s hard to believe when I slide my suit down that I am again two shades darker. I turn over on my back and fall asleep. What wakes me is the volleyball game. It is eleven-fifteen. Ben the Canadian sees my head pop up and he yells, “Stella! Get over here! We need you!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” and I get up.

I play hard and well. The members of the other team, who weren’t here the last time I played, are automatically assuming that because I’m a woman I’m going to play like one is supposed to play and I guess a woman isn’t supposed to be strong or athletically inclined however athletic she may look, so they do not expect me to serve or hit the ball as consistently as I do. They probably thought the first couple of times were a fluke but when our team kicks their butt thanks to a few of my very own Monica Seles–like serves, a major statement is made and I think registers clearly on their little weenies.

We play until twelve-thirty, at which time I go back into the water, and as I’m standing there something hits me. I did sleep with a twenty-one-year-old boy last night, didn’t I? And I did immerse myself in him like he was a real man and I have been thinking about him all morning and I did ask him if he would want to do this again tonight, didn’t I? I did. You did, Stella. Yes, you did. What if he wakes up this morning thinking, Oh my God what did I do last night with that old woman? Why did I say I’d meet her old ass again tonight? All I wanted was some pussy and now she’s like wanting to see me again and this is a resort and there is no way for me to hide or get away from her which is why I’m staying in my room until I know she’s come in from her jog and had her breakfast and I will eat lunch before she finishes her volleyball game or parasailing. That’s what he’s probably thinking, I think as I head toward the dining room.

Well, not to worry, Winston. I’ll let you off the hook. It was good and everything but I’ll get by without getting some again. I think. One more time would’ve been nice but hey, you’re young and footloose and fancy-free and you don’t need some old broad coming down here on vacation treating you like some gigolo or something, so I can like back off, no problem, mon.

I see him sitting at a table, a hundred or so white ceiling fans spinning high above his head, and I notice the mountain of food on his plate and laugh. If this stuff weren’t free would he be eating so much? He seems to be looking around the room and when he spots me he smiles and I smile because to be honest I was thinking that if he didn’t see me I could pretend that I never saw him and maybe take my plate outside and let him completely off the hook and then this evening I just wouldn’t show up and since I never told him my last name he wouldn’t have to phone and wouldn’t just show up at my room, at least I don’t think he’d do something like that, but I wave to him and he motions me to come over so I do.

“Hi, Winston,” I say, standing behind a chair.

He is looking at me kind of strange, as if something is behind his eyes, some kind of story, but it’s clear that he is trying to figure out how to tell me that even though he had a good time last night he can’t come tonight, so I’m like ready for this.

“Would you join me for lunch?” he says.

“I’m really not that hungry,” I say.

“Well, would you sit down for a few minutes?”

I hesitate for a minute, thinking, Oh he wants to tell me this shit sitting down, well hey no problem mon, but I do not take my yellow tote with the furry monkey from my shoulder.

“Are you all right?” he asks. He looks worried.

“Sure. How about you?”

“I’m fine,” he says. “Fine.”

“Good,” I say and start looking around the dining room.

“You look like something’s on your mind,” he says. “And it doesn’t look good. Did I do something?”

“No, you didn’t do anything.”

“Were you not so satisfied last night?”