Aching For It (5 page)

Okay. I understand. You really can’t expect a tigress to
completely change her stripes, but I had to think long and hard about
delivering my baby sister to the gates of House of John. Not that the gay
bordello didn’t know how to protect, satisfy and accommodate the few
adventurous women who wandered its way, with its eclectic mix of gay, bisexual,
experimenting, and straight gay-for-pay
bugarrones
. But the difficulty
of setting my judgments aside exposed my own morally hypocritical
infallibility.

I tried my best to talk her out of it, but she was hell-bent
on getting hers, leaving Étie and me to our romantic selves while fulfilling
the societal-sanctioned desires of her nature in a country that was, for a
price, ho groove friendly.

Argue with her reasoning?
Well it was good enough for
you, Junie.
What could I say?

That night, Étie was adequately forgiving when Frankie
profusely and sincerely apologized. But the idea, as he in no uncertain terms
expressed to me earlier, of his sister-in-law/wife in name only booking board
and boys at House of John made him queasy and uneasy, almost as gut-gurgling as
her grabbing his privates the night before. But what we both had to realize,
Étie and I, was that Frankie was indeed free, black and way over twenty-one,
capable and rightfully deserving of making her own decisions with regards to
her leisure entertainment, in spite of our misgivings. And given the delicacy
of our truce, it was best to leave well enough alone.

I had earlier contacted Cedric Whitehead, the proprietor of
House of John, hoping that a last-minute reservation could not be accommodated.
No such luck. Cedric was as congenial and accommodating as he was when I had
availed myself of his services prior to meeting Étienne. It wasn’t often that
he received requests for heterosexual liaisons. But the growing trend of
African American women—
zanettes
, according to an
Essence
magazine
article Frankie had devoured voraciously—wanting what their gay male
counterparts had been getting for years, was a game changer. Many of the gay
male DR bordellos, including House of John, realized the obvious. Women were as
willing to pay for dick as gay men. Women were the new johns.

The next day, Étie and I delivered Frankie, bags and sexual
expectations packed, to the front door of House of John. Étie waited in the car
while I escorted my sister in and introduced her to the smiling hotelier. They
took an immediate liking to each other and Cedric promised me that he would
take good care of her, as if she were his own sister, prompting further doubts
in me about my big brother duties.

Frankie hugged me gleefully, like a high school senior
headed to her prom.

“You have plenty of condoms?” I whispered in her ear.

“Do I have stupid written across my forehead?” she answered,
shooing me out the door.

The ride back to the resort started out in a mournful
silence both Étie and I were painfully aware of. Then suddenly there was music.
Étie had turned on the radio and the sound of lilting merengue filled the car
as soothingly as the warm coconut-scented breezes that flowed through the
wide-open windows. He touched my knee then found my hand and held it. He
glanced at me and smiled then turned his sight back to the road. I smiled too.
I looked out the window and noticed just how bright the sun was against the
clear blue sky, and how it too seemed to smile down on the dancing waves of the
Caribbean that bordered the road we drove along.

“How you say it, baby?” Étie asked, squeezing my hand
gently. “Francesca is free, black and over twenty-one…and so are we.”

Étie was so right. It was time for us to enjoy the precious
few days we had together without the specter of my sister’s activities hanging
over us.

Once we reached our room at the resort, we got out of our
clothes and put on our swimwear then headed toward the white sands and warm waters
of the resort’s private beach. We placed two chaises together, slow-lathered
each other’s legs, thighs, backs, stomachs, chests and necks with sun block and
tanning oil then laid out on the chaises underneath the warm sun, allowing the
song of slow waves kissing white sand to lullaby us into a soothing siesta
filled with lovely, carefree dreams.

When I finally woke, the crimson sun had nearly fully dowsed
beneath the sea’s horizon, only a quarter slice visible, reflecting its
iridescence against the dark but sparkling water. The beach was nearly empty
save for slim and handsome bare-chested resort attendants in white khaki
shorts, dragging scattered beach chairs and chaises to their overnight
stations, stacking them as carefully as one would tuck in children. I looked
down at Étie, soundly asleep and tucked fetus-like on the chaise next to mine.

I touched him gently. The softness of his skin shivered me
nicely. I kissed his shoulder then his cheek.

“Baby?” I whispered in his ear.

“Hmmm?” he purred with a slow yawn and a slower stretch.

“Time for us to go. The beach is closing and we need to get
ready for dinner.”

“Okay,
Papi
,” he said, smiling and easing up to me,
pecking me softly on my nose.

We showered and dressed in matching white linen pants and
shirts, Étie’s giddy idea, and I loved it. It made me feel like a kid again,
enjoying the sweet pleasures of my first high school crush. We were dating,
courting, romancing each other. Love was in the air and everyone around us
seemed to know it.

And then my cell rang.

It was Frankie. I felt a tinge of guilt as I noted her name
on the caller ID. After all, I could have at least checked up on my baby
sister. But instead Étie and I had dozed on the beach and now sat across from
each other, goo-goo eyed and giddy, small lit candles flickering between us,
with nary a thought for her well-being.

“Frankie?” I said into the phone with a fake singsongy glee
in my voice.

“Well halle-fucking-lujah!” she answered with a lilt of her
own. “It sounds like somebody is having as much fun as me.”

“Good for you,” I responded with a guilt-releasing sigh. “Is
Cedric taking good care of you?”

“Oh God, Junie,” she gushed. “He’s been absolutely wonderful
to me. He reminds me so much of Daddy.”

“Well, I’m not so sure Daddy would be amenable to pimping a
stable of tricks off on his baby girl.”

“Is that judgment I hear from the pot calling the kettle
black?”

“Sorry. Now you
are
all right, right?”

“Baby, I am the essence of fabulosity! No pimples for me.”

“Good.”

“Better than good, Junie. Everybody has been so friendly. In
fact, one of the gay guys here, an American from Shreveport, hooked me up with
this fine-ass Rico Suave type.”

“Who?”

“This big-dick, hot-ass
bugarrone
who rode me into
the sunset like I was Trigger on the giddy-up.”

“No need to kiss and tell, Sis.”

“No kiss and tell, Big Bro. I’m singing soprano in the choir
at the pearly gates of love.”

“Love?!”

“Well, not exactly love, but the lust got pretty damn close
to it. And besides, didn’t you come down here and fall in love?”

“Yeah, but not with a
bugarrone
.”

“God, Junie, you really
are
judgmental.
Bugarrones
can’t have love too?”

“You’re right,” I demurred, anxious to get off the phone and
back to my baby, who was patiently taking in the sound of waves and music.

“I am definitely getting me some more of that,” she
declared, pulling my focus.

“Pace yourself, Sis, okay?”

“Shit, I think
he’s
the one who needs the pacing. I
think I kind of wore his little Dominican ass out this afternoon. But he’s
coming back over tonight and I am hot and ready.”

“Okay, if you need me for anything, you call me, you hear?”

“Don’t worry, Junie. Edgar’s got everything I need.”

“Who?” I asked with enough of a sudden panic in my voice to
draw Étie’s attention.

“Edgar,” she repeated. “My
bugarrone
.”

“Describe him,” I demanded coolly.

“Dick to his knees, thick as kielbasa and just as spicy…”

“Describe
him
, Frankie, not
it
!”

And as she began to, I was realizing my worst fears.

My sister was fucking Étie’s ex-boyfriend!

Suddenly a new panic set in.

“Sis?” I began quietly, cautiously.

“Yeah?” she responded, oblivious to my suspicions.

“The American you met down there, the one from Shreveport,
the one who introduced you to your
bugarrone
…”

“Yeah?”

“What’s his name?”

“Edgar.”

“No, Sis. Not the
bugarrone
. The dude from
Shreveport.”

“Oh! Sylvester,” she said, numbing me. “Sylvester Winfrey.
And guess what, Junie. He’s Oprah’s cousin!”

Étie could tell by the look on my face that something was
not quite right and needless to say, his assumption couldn’t have been closer
to the truth. I mean, this six degrees of separation scene was turning into a
truth stranger than fiction. Now all I dreadfully waited for was the other shoe
to drop.

“Actually he says he knows you.”

“Is everything all right, baby?” Étie finally asked, noticing
the beads of sweat dotting my forehead.

“You there, Junie?” Frankie was asking over the phone at the
same time.

“Hold on a second, Frankie,” I said into the receiver,
pulling it away from my ear before she could respond then covering the mic with
my hand. “Étie, baby, I need to finish this call with Frankie, okay? I’ll be
right back.”

“Is she all right?”

“Yeah, yeah, she…she’s fine, but I need to talk to her,” I
managed to say with an unconvincing smile as I stumbled up from the table and
almost knocked over my drink. “I’ll be back in a jiff.”

“How did my name come up?” I scold-whispered into the phone
as I bumbled my way from the table toward the open-air exit that led to the
dark beach.

“Huh?”

“How did my name come up, Frankie?”

“Well, being the only lady on the premises, I did engender a
bit of an admiring stir and everyone wanted to know how I knew about the place.
So Cedric introduced me around and obviously he knew that you knew Sylvester,
so he happened to mention to him that I was your sister, which lit Sylvester up
like a Christmas tree.”

“I’m sure it did.”

“So when we started chatting and I let it be known what I
was looking for, he told me he had just the right piece of Dominican trade for
me. And Junie, I have to tell you, when he introduced me to Edgar, he
introduced me to my sexual destiny! I mean, the things Edgar and I did
together—”

“I don’t need to hear it, Frankie. Back to Sylvester.”

“Oh my God, Junie, Sylvester and I are thick as thieves. In
fact, he’s sitting right here with me now. We’re having Cuba Libres. He’s
keeping me company until Edgar gets back. Would you like to say hi?”

Before I could protest, she’d handed her phone over to
Sylvester.

“Jesse,” Sylvester oiled on the other end of the line with
lascivious delight.

“Hey, dude. Whaddup?” I asked, disguising my disdain with a
faux-thug cool.

“Well now, isn’t this a small and interesting world?”

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?”

“I mean, your sister, Jesse. She’s an absolute hoot. And
what a looker. My God, if I were straight—”

“Yo, man, this is my sister you’re talking about.”

“It’s a little late for big-brother prudery, don’t you
think?”

“She’s still my sister, Sylvester.”

“All I’m saying is that looks definitely run in the family,”
he said, another tired hint of the running flirtation he’d plagued me with
since first we met. “And she and Étie?” he continued. “Now that’s rich.”

“Excuse me?” I said, losing a bit of my cool.

“The marriage. You go, boy! Bring your man home by any means
necessary!”

Now I was pissed. Truly pissed, at him
and
at
Francesca. I mean, as if the thought of her having sex with my partner’s
ex-boyfriend wasn’t bad enough, the idea of her palling around and sharing our
business with a tired piece of shit like Sylvester Winfrey was just too much
for me to bear.

“Listen, Sylvester, great talking to you. Could you put my
sister back on the phone?”

“Sure. Take care,
mon cher
.”

“Junie?”

“Francesca,” I whispered sternly, as if Sylvester could hear
me, “why the hell would you tell Sylvester about the marriage?”

“Why not?” she asked innocently.

“Don’t let on!” I warned in a panic.

“Huh?”

“Don’t let on what we’re talking about.”

“What
are
we talking about?”

“You telling that son of a bitch about you and Étie being
married!”

“Oh Junie, don’t worry, he’s cool.”

“No he’s
not
! And don’t let on! Look, let me talk to
you later.”

“Junie, I’m going to be busy later, remember? Edgar.”

“Tomorrow then.”

“Not too early, I think I’m going to be sleeping in late.”

“And don’t say anything else to Sylvester.”

“Well that’s crazy.”

“About me and you and Étie. He doesn’t need any more details
than he already has.”

“God, Junie, you are so paranoid.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“I sure hope Étie gives you some tonight. You need some
stress relief.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Francesca.”

It was enough to ruin a perfectly good romantic candlelight
dinner, but as angry as I was, I was not about to let that happen. I tried,
best as I could, to pull myself together before I got back to Étie at the
table. When I got there, I sat easily and answered his questioning face with a
reassuring smile that revealed I was a better actor than I ever thought I had
the ability or desire to be.