Two Thin Dimes (14 page)

T
he lighting was dim. The darkness of the room allowed the flourescent blue lighting which rounded the stage, and the massive mirrored columns throughout the room to show brightly. Its blue radiance reflected off the numerous chrome fixtures scattered throughout the room, creating a cool, modern ambiance.

The atmosphere inside of the room was expectant, restless, festive. Jamaica leaned back inside of her thick, overstuffed, blue leather chair, and sipped patiently on her gin and tonic. She watched as the first act appeared.

He was a young comedian. Slick, hip, urban. He dressed well for a comedian, Armani, she noticed. It spoke volumes about his talent. This guy was in demand, and he got paid.

“Welcome to the Comedy Club on The River Walk, my name is B, and I'll be your worst nightmare for the next ten minutes,” he told them. “Like I said, my name is B, but all of my friends call me BB. I want y'all to know, that it has absolutely nothing to do with my hair, though. Hell, if that was the case, it would be a whole lot of people in here named ‘Nappy'!”

The crowd laughed.

“And quite a few named ‘Ugly,'” the comedian continued. He pointed. “And this one over here would be named ‘Fat Ass'!”

The audience laughed hysterically.

“Damn, I'll bet your momma and daddy were fat too, 'cause that shit you got has got to be generational!”

The crowd responded with laughter, whistles, and cheers.

“Oh, so y'all like fat jokes, huh?” the comedian asked.

The crowd clapped wildly.

“Okay, well try this one,” he told them. “Your momma is so fat, when her beeper goes off, people think she's backing up!”

The crowd went wild.

“Your momma is so fat, when she wears her yellow raincoat, people run after her yelling TAXI! Your momma is so fat, she left home with high heels, and came back with flip-flops! She is so fat, she has to iron her pants in the driveway! Your momma is so fat, she puts on lipstick with a paint roller!”

The crowd was laughing out of control. The young comedian nodded, laughed, and continued.

“Your momma is so fat, she sat on a quarter and got two dimes and a nickel! She is so fat, she sat on a dollar bill, and blood came outta George Washington's nose! Your momma's so fat, her senior picture had to be an aerial view! She is so fat, that she qualifies for group insurance! Your momma is so fat, I swerved to avoid her on the road, and I ran outta gas! Your momma's so fat, she sells shade in the summer! Your momma's so fat, her nickname is DANG! Your momma's so fat, she's got tan lines from the refrigerator light!”

By the time the young comedian finished, the crowd was laughing hysterically. He bowed politely.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is B. Brown. I hope that you enjoy the show. Good night, and God bless!”

“Yeah! Yeah!” Jamaica stood laughing and clapping wildly. She even ventured a few whistles. It felt good to applaud someone else's talent. “He's good, huh, T?”

No one answered her.

Jamaica turned toward Tameer's seat, only to find herself alone. Curious, she remained standing, and gazed around the club in a vain effort to find him. She could not.

Where in the devil did that boy go now
, she wondered.

Soon, the clapping subsided, and Jamaica had to take her seat.

In all probability, he went to the restroom
, she told herself.
Well, he sure did miss a good act.

Tameer's voice was what drew her attention to the stage.

“I…I had written a poem to read, but I don't want to read it anymore,” he told the audience. “Upon coming here, I realized that it didn't really say everything that I wanted to say. So, I guess I'll wing it instead.”

Silence engulfed the audience, and all eyes in the room were now trained upon him. Nervous, and visibly showing it, Tameer cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and pressed on.

“My life had some unexpected turns, and I found myself lost. I found myself having my dreams shattered, and not being able to pick up the pieces and move on. You know how when you know, or always have known, how things in your life would be? Well, that was how I was. I had a plan, and it was a pretty good plan. But you know what? I didn't have a backup. I was devastated, reeling.”

Tameer walked down the steps leading from the stage, and into the audience. Jamaica's hands were covering the lower half of her tear-filled face, wiping away the moisture. It hurt her to hear him say those things. Tameer continued, as he slowly walked toward her.

“I went on with the motions of life, but not on with life. I could see the colors, but I didn't understand them. I could smell the fragrances, but I didn't recognize them. Then…then one morning God sent me an angel. One morning he gave me two beautiful sunrises. One in the sky, and another in the form of a gift named Jamaica.”

Tameer stopped in front of a balling Jamaica and stared into her eyes. “I…there…there's not one night that goes by, that I don't fall down on my knees and thank Almighty God for her. She…she gave me my dream back. She gave me life, she gave me breath, and now I feel as if I can't breathe without her.”

Tameer held the wireless microphone in his fidgety left hand, as he slowly knelt down in front of Jamaica.

“Jai, I love you. I don't want you to leave. I…I know that I don't have anything to offer you right now. I have no money, I can't give you diamonds, or expensive furs. I can't give you exotic cars, or a big, fancy house. But, Jamaica, I promise you this. I will love you for all time. I will love you when my last breath leaves my body. I will love you on Earth, and I will love you in Heaven. I will love you while you're young, and I will love you when the years have gone by. I will love you deeper than the furthest depths of the mightiest oceans, and more infinite than the stars in God's Heaven. For in you, I have found my Heaven. Don't ever leave me, Jamaica. Don't ever take my Heaven away.”

“I hate you, Tameer!” Jamaica screamed.

Tameer closed his car door and engaged his alarm system. “What are you talking about?”

Jamaica wiped another tear from her face. “Because you…I just hate you!”

Tameer walked around the car and wrapped his arms around Jamaica. “That's not what you said at the comedy club.” He smiled and pulled her close.

Jamaica placed her hand in between their bodies and pushed away.

“That's why I hate you! You…I've never met anybody like you!”

Jamaica broke away from Tameer's rapture and walked into the street. It was cold, and with each of her breaths, puffs of smoke appeared in the air.

“Before I met you, my life was simple,” Jamaica continued. “I knew everything I wanted to do, I had everything I wanted. I was happy.”

“And now you're not?”

She stomped the ground hard. “Damn you, Tameer! That's not what I meant! You know what I'm trying to say. I…I…I don't know anymore.” She folded her arms and frowned in frustration.

Tameer smiled and closed in on her.

“Well, my life is clear. I don't know why yours is so confused.”

“Because, Tameer, I already had a life before I met you. And now I have this life with you, and it's just as good.”

Tameer laughed. “Jamaica, you don't have to choose! Just make me a part of the life you already have.”

Jamaica unfolded her arms, and walked to Tameer. She lifted her hand and caressed his face.

“Baby, I wish it were that simple.” She turned away from him, and again folded her arms. “I wish life were that simple.”

Tameer walked up behind her, and pulled her close.

“Life is what you make it. If you make it complex, it will be complex.” Gently he rocked her from side to side. “Feel how warm it is in my arms?”

Jamaica closed her eyes, and leaned her head back against Tameer's chest. It did feel good in his arms. She wished they could stand there, with him holding her all night long.

“Tameer, I love you. I…I don't want to leave you.”

“Then don't.”

Jamaica turned and faced him. “Christmas…. After Christmas, I'll tell you something about me, and then we'll decide.”

“Tell me now.”

Jamaica shook her head. “No, not now.”

It hurt him that she didn't trust him enough to tell him or feel that she could share with him. He stepped back from her, and tried in vain to create some levity.

“What, are you a man, or something?” he asked with a smile.

Jamaica folded her arms and shifted her weight to one side. “Ha, ha, real funny. Was I a man last night?”

She shook her head and turned away from him. His attempt at levity only angered her. She had too much on her mind right now, for his stupid jokes. But still, she didn't mean to slam the door on him so hard. She smiled at him again.

“You watch too much Springer,” she told him.

Tameer laughed, and his laughter became infectious. She joined in.

“Jai, whatever it is that you have to tell me, I'm sure it can't be that bad.”

She shook her head. “It's not, trust me.”

Jamaica turned away from him.
Trust me
, she thought. He wouldn't be able to do that after she told him who she was. She wouldn't be able to say those words to him any longer, after all of the misleading that she had done. She had lied to Tameer for weeks.

Tameer wrapped his arms around Jamaica again. “I'll wait, but if it's not such a big deal, then I don't see what the big deal is about telling me now. Whatever past you have, whatever mistakes you've made, Jamaica…I love you.”

It hurt her even more. Still, she turned and kissed him.

“I love you too,” she whispered.

A drop of moisture landed on Jamaica's nose. It was followed by several more drops on her uncovered face. She peered up into the sky.

The snow was thick, moist. It fell in solid clumps of moth ball-sized crystals, thin at first, but it quickly turned into a solid sheet of continuous snowfall. She loved it. He loved it. Quickly, the child came out in both of them.

Jamaica extended her arms out to her sides, turning her palms toward the pinkish-blue, evening sky. She stepped away from Tameer and looked skyward, as the crystals fell onto her face and melted on contact. Her smile was enchanting.

“I love the snow!” she shouted.

“Enjoy it,” Tameer told her. “It doesn't happen often around here.”

Jamaica stared at Tameer in disbelief.

“Really?” Snow was a given in New York, especially around Christmas.

Tameer nodded. “It happens every eight to ten years. But when it does happen, it's a gift from Heaven. A miracle almost.”

Jamaica peered up into the puffy snow-filled sky and smiled. “A miracle.” She nodded. “I like that. God's granting us a miracle.”

T
he first snowball she threw landed against the headboard, disintegrating and sending puffs of liquid crystal falling down upon Tameer's face. The coldness startled him into consciousness. He awoke in time only to present Jamaica with a better target for her second snowball.

Tameer's arms flew up to his face after the snowball hit, in case Jamaica had prepared a third.

“Dang it, Jamaica! That stuff is cold!”

“It's supposed to be cold, silly, it's snow!”

“Oh yeah, well, how would you like for me to show you how it feels?” Tameer asked gruffly.

Jamaica smiled like a child about to show their parents their newly captured garden snake. She produced a third snowball which she had hidden inside the pocket sewn into her hooded sweat shirt.

Tameer's hands flew up to block it.

“What are you going to do with that?” he asked. Goosebumps appeared over his shirtless torso, as he imagined the frozen compacted snow striking him.

Jamaica took a step backward toward the door. The wetness from being outside caused her fleece-lined Ugg boots to squeak. Tameer looked down toward the floor where the noise had come from, and the snowball was lobbed.

It landed on the top of his head, and splattered onto the nakedness of his back, causing him to let out a wild Banshee yell.

“War!” he shouted, pointing at a running Jamaica. “You have started a war!”

Tameer leaped out of bed wearing only his polka dot boxers, and pursued a fleeing and screaming Jamaica down the creaking stairs, and out of the front door.

Tameer was naturally faster than Jamaica. Her bulky clothing and hulking jacket made her even easier to catch. He quickly tackled her, and they fell into the dormant, wet grass and soft mud hidden beneath three feet of soft, wet snow, which cushioned their landing. Jamaica's bright red-and-yellow knit bini flew off of her head upon impact, sending her hair flying all over her face. Neither cared.

Jamaica quickly broke away from a nearly naked and freezing Tameer, and was able to form the first snowball. Her quick launch scored a direct hit against Tameer's bare chest. His snowball returned, though with much more force, and scored a direct hit on Jamaica's now frozen forehead. They laughed and screamed, and they engaged in an impromptu snowball fight, with only the screaming red convertible Mustang in between them.

“I'll show you!” shouted a ducking Tameer. His teeth chattered in mid sentence.

“I don't think so!” came Jamaica's reply, as she ducked and headed around the corner toward the rear of the vehicle.

Tameer knew Jamaica. He changed directions quickly, and headed for the rear of the vehicle as well. He knew she would try to catch him behind with a juicy cold shot to his back. He was right.

They bumped into each other on all fours at the rear of the Mustang. She screamed in surprise, and he tackled her.

Tameer was the more athletic of the two, thus, he was able to quickly maneuver himself into a dominant position. He rapidly pinned Jamaica down onto the ground, using his knees to hold her arms in place. Once finally in control, he nodded and smiled at her.

“I told you I would get you!'

Tameer began stuffing snow inside of Jamaica's sweat shirt, bra, and panties. The coldness of the snow made her wiggle fiercely.

“I'm sorry!” Jamaica shouted. “Aaaagh! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!”

Tameer continued stuffing. “Nope! I'mma show you!”

“You cheater!” Jamaica screamed and wiggled and kicked. “It's cold!”

“No shit! It's snow, it's supposed to be cold. Isn't that what you told me in the room?” He smiled even wider. “I'll bet you'll think twice about lobbing snowballs at a sleeping man again!”

“I quit!” Jamaica screamed.

“You quit?” Tameer asked. He shook his head and kept stuffing. “Nope, say you're sorry!”

“I'm sorry!”

“Say I'm sorry, Uncle Tameer!”

“What?” She stared at him.

Tameer began stuffing even more snow inside of her clothing. “Okay.” He shrugged his shoulders. “If you want me to keep going.”

“Okay! Okay! I'm sorry, Uncle Tameer!” shouted a freezing Jamaica.

“Say, ‘pretty please, with sugar on top'!” Tameer commanded.

“Okay! ‘Pretty please, with sugar on top'!” Jamaica repeated.

Tameer leaped up off of her, and ran into the apartment. He shouted back at her from the safety of the doorway.

“Sucker!” Quickly, he turned and disappeared inside.

Jamaica rose slowly, spitting snow out of her mouth, and brushing off her sweat shirt and jeans. Her hair was wet, which caused it to hang long in its normal silky-looking form. Standing in the middle of the yard, she shook her free-flowing hair, tossing it back over shoulders. She was determined to get Tameer. No one would get the best of Jamaica Tiera Rochelle. No one!

Jamaica leaned forward, to lift her snow covered bini from the ground, and her long, wet, silky locks fell forward covering her face. Again, she slung it back over her shoulder. Shaking her bini free of snow, she stretched it into a pouch, and set it down on the convertible's khaki, fabric top. Slowly, Jamaica bent down, and began making snowballs to get her revenge against Tameer.

Shamika had been privy to the whole thing. It made her sick. She had sat in the window and watched the entire despicable affair. The chase, the tackle, the snowball fight, and Jamaica's surrender. Their giddiness was like watching
The Partridge Family
. Or even worse,
The Brady Bunch
. Shamika wanted to spit.

They were obviously in love, however, this was less important to Shamika than being able to see Jamaica without her bini. She knew Jamaica, but couldn't place her. It wasn't so much her face, Shamika thought, it was the hair. She knew the hair.

She wanted that hair. She had discussed it, admired it, praised it, coveted it, and even tried to grow it. Dashawnique had told her that she couldn't get it, because those people spent years growing it, and always under the care of a five-star beautician.
Those people
, she thought.
Hmmmm, those people. They had the time to grow it, and the money to spend on it. Those people
.

Shamika shook her head, because it couldn't be. It couldn't be! What would she be doing in the Courts, sleeping in the Courts, and running around with a boy from the Courts! It didn't make sense. Again, she shook her head. But, the more she watched, the more she realized, that she knew that hair.

Tiera was a mega star, an actress, a model, a songstress, hell, she was a living legend! It couldn't be her, Shamika was certain. Tiera was in New York. Hell, she had just released a new video. Shamika shook her head again. No way, it couldn't be.

Shamika's thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of her niece. The disturbance frustrated her.

“Tai, I told you to go play in the living room!” Shamika yelled. “Do you want me to spank you?”

Tai, a precocious five-year-old, who was for all intents and purposes going on thirty, shook her head in the negative. She, like any other five-year-old, did not want to be spanked.

Shamika pointed. “Then go in there and play!”

“But Auntie, Kenitra broke my doll!” Tai told her. She held up the two pieces of her toy.

Shamika exhaled loudly. “Give it here,” she told her niece.

Shamika held out her hand, and Tai held out hers as well. Frustrated, Shamika took the doll's body form her niece's right hand, and the doll's head from her left. After a quick examination, she forcefully plopped the doll's head back onto its plastic body, making it whole again.

The doll's sequined, chiffon outfit had matching sequined high-heeled shoes. Its skin was a polished walnut tone, and its eyes a deep emerald with flecks of almond, were almost catlike in appearance. But it was the doll's hair that did it: long, silky, and honey-brown, it hung down to its lower back.

Shamika turned the doll over and examined its face. It took only a few seconds before she tuned to her niece.

“Tai, did you wet this doll's hair?” Shamika asked.

Frightened, Tai stepped back, looked down, and shook her head. “Yes…”

Shamika nodded. “Did you dip this doll's hair in the toilet?”

Tai shook her head. “No, the sink.”

“It's okay, baby. Auntie owes you a big hug!” Shamika wrapped her arms around the child, and embraced her tightly. “I didn't mean to yell at you, okay?”

Tai smiled and nodded. She loved her aunt to death.

Shamika caressed the doll, and looked out the window where a now fully dressed Tameer, and a silky-haired Jamaica, were once again engaged in a snowball fight. Shamika lifted the doll against the window, and shifted her gaze continually between Jamaica and the doll, comparing them. Shamika turned to her niece.

“Tai, come here, honey.”

Tai approached, and Shamika lifter her onto her knee, so that she was able to peer out of the window. Shamika pointed.

“Look.”

Tai's beautiful doelike eyes flew open even wider, when she spied her heroine outside of their apartment throwing snowballs. Tai covered her mouth with both her tiny hands and gasped.

“It's T…T…Tiera!”

“Are you sure?” Shamika asked.

Tai nodded.

Shamika kissed her niece on the forehead, and gently lowered her to the ground. She turned and stared out the window once more, and again compared a life-size Jamaica to her tiny Mattel counterpart. Tai tugged at her housecoat.

“Auntie, can I go outside and play with Tiera?”

Shamika waved her hand. “Later, honey, right now auntie is busy.”

Shamika stared out the window, closely examining Jamaica and the doll again. After several moments, her conclusion was reached.

“You bitch,” she said softly first. Quickly her anger built. “You…fucking, mega-rich, snowball-throwing, man-stealing bitch!”

Frightened, Tai ran from the room in tears.

“Grandma, Auntie is calling my Tiera doll bad names!”