Two Thin Dimes (9 page)

“O
h 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. Together 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.

“Wait!” Tameer held up his hand. “They'll take us back down the river.” He wanted to kiss some more.

“C'mon.” Jamaica reached into the boat, and grabbed Tameer by his jacket collar. She had other things on her mind.

Puzzled, Tameer followed Jamaica as she strode confidently into the nearest building. It was as if she knew where she was, and exactly where she was going. Tameer wondered whether he had done something wrong, whether he had been too forward, or whether he had come on too strong.
But then again
, he told himself,
she did kiss back
.
Maybe it was the cold. Maybe Jamaica wanted to get out of the cold for a minute, and enjoy the warmth of a building.
Suddenly, she stopped and turned toward him.

“Wait here,” Jamaica commanded.

Tameer nodded obediently, and then watched as she rounded a nearby corner.
That's it
, he thought, s
he just wanted to use the restroom.
Tameer stood for several moments, rubbing his cold hands together, before spying a comfortable place to sit down. He started towards it, just as Jamaica rounded the corner again.

“C'mon.” She nodded for him to follow, as she strode past him.

Tameer raced to keep up. “Where are we going?”

Jamaica turned and placed her finger over his lips to silence him, as they entered into the elevator. The elderly couple on the elevator smiled at them politely, and Tameer returned the gesture. The remainder of the trip in the elevator was spent watching the numbers above the door.

On the thirtieth floor, Jamaica exited, and waved her finger at Tameer, motioning for him to follow. She strutted down the wide, posh hallways with a fierce determination. It was as if she were on a special mission, and nothing was going to stop her.

“Where are we going?” Tameer asked again.

Jamaica stopped at a room, and inserted her card into the slot next to the door handle, causing the door to pop open. She turned to Tameer.

“I'm going to teach you not to start something you can't finish.” Jamaica turned and strutted into her still-rented suite at the Marriott on the Riverwalk.

Still standing in the doorway, Tameer swallowed hard, and thought about how wonderful God was, and how he would have to go to church for an entire year to pay this back. Tameer also knew that he had to ask.

“Jamaica, are you sure that you want to do this? I mean…it isn't the alcohol, is it?”

Jamaica began undressing as she approached him. “Oh, yeah, it's the alcohol. But I'm not drunk. I feel good, mellow, but most of all, extremely horny.”

Jamaica's threw her blouse across the room, and allowed her jeans to drop to her ankles. “It's been a long, long, long time. Boy, you are in trouble.”

She could hear LaChina's voice shouting into her ear.
You go, girl!
It made Jamaica smile.

Although she was moist when Tameer tried to enter into her, he couldn't. When finally, after much patience, she worked him inside, they both nearly screamed—she because of the girth, length, and depth to which he plunged; and he because of the soft vise which he found clamped around him. They both gave each other a tremendous amount of pleasure. All told, that night they coupled three times, she came twelve. He exhausted, she relieved, and they finally entered into a deep, relaxing, all-consuming sleep.

Tameer marveled at Jamaica's beat-up convertible Volkswagen Golf. “I can't believe you had the nerve to talk about the Gray Ghost!”

Tameer ran his hand across the door, feeling some of the extra dents and scratches that Jamaica and LaChina made prior to Jamaica picking him up from work the previous night. “The Ghost would tear this Barbie Mobile up, from stoplight to stoplight.”

“I don't think so!” Jamaica protested as she unlocked his door.
Besides,
she thought,
I know my Murcielago would run rings around your little Korean thingy, if this one couldn't
.

Tameer plunged inside of the car and smiled at her. “You're lucky the Gray Ghost is in retirement.”

“Tameer, the Gray Ghost wouldn't even start! That car has been in retirement.” She smiled coyly. “You just kept driving it.”

Tameer threw his head back in laughter. “So what is this thing's name?”

“Name?” She turned to him. “What do you mean, name? It doesn't have one.”

“It doesn't have one!” Tameer said, feigning shock. “That's bad luck, you have to give it a name. You have to give it a name and talk to it, and it'll take care of you when you need it.”

“Okay, how about Betsy?” Jamaica asked.

He shook his head emphatically. “Something original. Hey, turn left at the light.”

“How about Lucy?” Jamaica asked.

“Lucy? Why Lucy?”

Jamaica shrugged her shoulders. “I don't know. Kind of like,
I Love Lucy
. She is red, and Lucille Ball was a redhead.”

Tameer nodded and smiled. He slapped the car's dashboard. “Okay, Lucy! I like it!” He turned toward Jamaica. “Now your car officially has a name, she officially has a soul, and now you have to treat her like it.”

Tameer shook his finger at Jamaica. “Watch, she'll take care of you.”

Jamaica smiled. “You're crazy.”

“No watch. She'll get you through snow, rainstorms, floods, traffic jams, and hot summer days. She won't ever break down in the middle of the freeway, and she won't ever run out of gas on you, on a deserted stretch of highway. You'll always make it to a safe place, I guarantee it.”

“And if you're wrong, I'm going to call you and you're going to come and get me.”

“Yeah, in what?” Tameer asked. “Hey, turn left here.”

“So how are you getting to work and school and stuff?”

“VIA and Nike,” Tamer told her.

She stared at him puzzled. “What's that?”

“The bus and my tennis shoes,” Tameer answered.

“Public transportation?” She felt nauseated.

Tameer nodded. “Yeah. You seem a little put off by that.”

Jamaica shook her head. “No, I'm familiar with public transportation.”
Air France, Swiss Air, Lufthansa, British Airways.

“Well then, how about this?” Tameer turned slightly in his seat and faced her. “We'll catch the bus downtown and ride the horse-drawn carriage and see the sights around town.”

Like hell I will!
Jamaica put on her entertainer's smile. “Sounds like fun.”

“Okay, then.” Tameer nodded. “We'll do it right before you leave.”

“Can't wait.” Jamaica smiled.

“Turn right here, and stop,” Tameer told her.

Jamaica turned right, pulled to the side of the road, and stopped. The question was bouncing around inside of her head and so she had to ask him.

“Why here?” Secretly she thought of the possibility that Tameer was living with someone.
A woman! He has a woman!

“I live just a few blocks over, this is cool,” he answered uneasily.

“But I can take you all the way home.”

Tameer shifted in his seat, and slowly shook his head. “No, you can't.”

You bastard!
It
was
another woman! Jamaica's face contorted, but she managed to maintain her composure.

“Why not?” she asked dryly.

“Well…” Again he squirmed. “I don't think I ever told you about where I live.”

Jamaica's eyes caught his, and he looked down. That was when it dawned on her. It wasn't another woman, it was his pride.

Jamaica caressed Tameer's hand softly. “Tameer, I don't care about where you live.”

“I do.” He leaned over and kissed her on her cheek. “I'll see you later.”

Tameer climbed out of the vehicle, and Jamaica watched in silence as he jogged through an alley, scaled a fence, and then disappeared.

Before Jamaica could stick her key inside of the motel room's lock, the door flew open and LaChina yanked her inside.

“Stayed out all night, huh?” LaChina asked, tapping her feet rapidly on the worn motel carpeting.

The question caused Jamaica to blush. “Yeah.”

LaChina, tongue in cheek, folded her arms and peered around the room. She was trying to be nonchalant. “Where'd you stay last night?”

Jamaica knew what LaChina wanted to hear, but she was determined to make her wait. Jamaica strode to the table and set her keys down.

“At the hotel,” Jamaica replied matter-of-factly.

LaChina's foot tapped even more frantically against the floor. “Hmmm, at the hotel, huh? Any guest?”

Jamaica smiled. “Maybe.”

Jamaica's coolness frustrated LaChina. She knew the game that her friend was playing, so she decided to play a little also. LaChina approached Jamaica, and leaned forward and began sniffing. Jamaica recoiled.

“What do you think you're doing?” Jamaica asked.

LaChina continued her sniffing. “I'm sniffing for sex.”

“Oh my God!” Jamaica's hands covered the lower half of her face. “And just what, may I ask, does sex smell like?”

LaChina was really enjoying herself now. She knew how to embarrass her friend. She leaned forward and sniffed again.

“It smells like that,” LaChina said, pointing toward Jamaica's neck. “Like…like hotel soap. And it has this certain look to it also.”

LaChina turned and took several steps away from Jamaica. “It looks like…like a person without lip gloss. Like a person who didn't take any combs or hair care products, and just hastily tied their hair into a ponytail. It…it looks like the glow of a new moon.”

LaChina spun rapidly and faced Jamaica. “You got you some last night! You go, girl!”

LaChina began leaping up and down like a teenager after passing a driver's test. “Jamaica gave up the booty! Jamaica gave up the booty!”

Jamaica screamed, ran to the bed, and grabbed a pillow, and then threw it at her friend. “You're crass!”

“Uh-un, girl! Tell me how it was! How was Mr. Tameer!” LaChina waved her hand snapping her fingers through the air. “Mr. All State, All Star, All Nation, Mr. put a smile on my sister's face, a strut in her step, and a glow in her cheeks!”

“China!” Jamaica turned even redder.

LaChina rushed to Jamaica, clasped her arms, and hugged her. Using all of her strength she pulled Jamaica down onto the bed. “I want every detail, don't leave out anything! Right down to where he pulled your panties off with his teeth!”

Jamaica shook her head. “He didn't do that!”

“Lie to me, Jai! Embellish, exaggerate! It's been a long time for me, and I need to hear some good stuff!”

Jamaica lifted her hands into the air and spread them apart, indicating length. “And that's not an embellishment.”

LaChina's hands flew to her face and she gasped. “Oh my!”

After several moments of contemplation, LaChina sheepishly leaned forward. “How old did he say his brother was?”

Jamaica recounted the previous night's events, and then headed for the shower. From the bathroom, she called out to her friend.

“China, what's the deal with the local radio stations? Do we have any strings to pull?”

“Yeah, with a couple,” LaChina answered. “The label can twist arms with most of the others, why?”

“I need a one-man contest.”

“Jai, what are you talking about?”

“Tameer needs to win,” Jamaica said, as the shower came alive.

“Girl, I thought he won last night!”

Jamaica's head appeared from around the door sill. “Ha, ha, very funny. Anyway, I was talking about a car.”

“A car!” LaChina sat up in bed.

“He needs a car, China. He goes to school and work, and he rides the bus. Besides, he came up with some crazy idea about me catching the bus! Baby, he needs a car.”

LaChina tilted her head to the side. “A car, Jai?”

“China, how much money do I have?”

LaChina exhaled. “A lot.” She knew where Jamaica was going with this.

“Over one hundred million?”

“Of course, Jai.”

“Over two hundred million?”

LaChina folded her arms. “Yes.”

“Over three hundred million?”

“Okay, Jai, I get your point.”

“Good.” Jamaica disappeared back into the bathroom.

LaChina shook her head. “He was that good?”

“China!” A bar of soap flew from the bathroom toward LaChina, missing her by several feet.

“Okay, okay.” LaChina held up her hands. “What kind?”

“I don't know, you figure it out.”

LaChina already knew the answer to her next question, she just wanted to get a rise out of Jamaica. “A Mercedes, Jai?”

“It don't get that good!” Jamaica shouted from the shower.

LaChina laughed. “Let me see…” LaChina's finger tapped at her chin for several moments, before she snapped it. “I've got it! I have the perfect car for him!”

“Under thirty thousand!” Jamaica shouted from the shower. “Something not too ostentatious!”

“Then it's perfect,” LaChina told her. “I'll call the radio station and set things up.”

“Do it now, China!” Jamaica told her.

“Jamaica, the myth is that after you get laid, you're supposed to be mellow,” LaChina replied. “Take a cold shower, and stop trying to give orders. It'll get done!”

LaChina lay back down on the bed and lifted the bulky, cheap, motel phone. She stared at the telephone for several moments before rolling over and staring at the motel's stained ceiling. “Twelve times?”

“China!”