Ameera, Unveiled (35 page)

As we reclaimed and packed our dance bags, Sybil flew in the door with Jennifer.

“Where were you?” Kelly asked. “Your head could’ve been in a refrigerator!”

“We hit a sand bar and had to wait on rescue,” Jennifer said with a bit too much eye contact. I noticed Sybil trying to hide a grin.

It was obvious Jennifer had gotten lucky with her Italian stallion and lost track of time.

“Guys, Lara landed about one fifteen and breezed through Immigration,” Sybil changed subjects. “She should be pulling into the drive about three fifteen. Can we be there a few minutes early? She promised she’d call five minutes out.”

I looked at the clock hanging over the weights: two forty-seven. “I’ll run my stuff back to the room, grab a pair of shorts, and meet you guys in the lobby,” I said. Everyone mumbled the same plan.

“I’ve gotta get back to my room and grab the banner,” Jennifer said. “See everyone in the lobby.”

We parted at the fork and headed toward our rooms. “I’m glad Lara’s joining us,” Polly said. “Especially on Jennifer’s birthday.” We swerved into the path to our front door.

As Polly and I got to the lobby, belly dancers were arriving from all directions. Melody was just behind us. Kelly and Denise were speaking with the girls at the front desk. Sybil and Ruth were lounging on couches.

“Where’s Jennifer?” I asked, looking around for the banner-laden birthday girl.

“She looked pretty disheveled,” Polly said, mincing no words. “Probably erasing evidence from the scene of the got-laid crime.”

“Hey, it’s her birthday,” I said.

“I’m so excited Lara’s coming,” Kelly said. “She’s the biggest hooker of all.”

“I don’t know about that,” Polly said. “You looked like a pretty big hooker at lunch. You married a man you’d never met.”

Denise and I laughed.

“But there’s no Internet photo this time . . . that we know of,” I said.

Before we continued, I heard Jennifer jingling and calling, “Ladies, she’s just down the road. We need to get in place.”

All eight of us marched like ducks in a line off the property, asking the security gate to allow us to pass to Flasher’s Corner. The guard looked amused as he lowered the metal chain for us to step over it.

Jennifer handed one end of the banner to Denise, and she unfurled it diagonally to the mosaic wall. We all nestled into a spot between them.

“Make sure you look naked,” Jennifer said. “Pull up your short hems and lower your shoulder straps.”

I peeled down my straps but the banner was short and my long legs fought the hem of the shorts I’d chosen. I looked to the side at my partners in crime.

“Kelly, your shorts are still sticking out,” I said, pointing at the blue hem.

“Damn, I’m too short for this,” Kelly said. She ripped off her shorts and threw them behind us. Flasher’s Corner was now baring Kelly’s thong.

“Alrighty, then,” I laughed, looking down the driveway for the shuttle. Several minutes passed and I began to feel ridiculous. But was anything normal in our lives this week? A few pedestrians cheered at our posed welcome. Whoever wasn’t holding up the banner waved back.

“Here she comes,” Jennifer said at last.

We watched the shuttle pulling onto the property. We all assumed erect poses and waited for the shuttle to get closer so we could properly greet Lara. As the van neared, I saw a flash within. Excellent, a Kodak moment.

When the rear lights passed us and entered the security shack, we rolled up the banner, pulled down our shorts, and pulled up our straps. Or, in Kelly’s case . . . re-dressed.

“Let’s welcome her to Hedo!” Jennifer said. We rushed to meet Lara in the lobby.

As we crested the lobby sidewalk, she was pointing out her suitcases to Corn. He saw us coming and smiled.

“Ladies, you having a good time?” he asked.

“Wonderful! This is another of our lovely ladies—Lara,” Sybil informed him. “She’s Jennifer’s sister. And it’s Jennifer’s birthday today. Excellent gift, huh?”

He looked at Jennifer and Lara. “Beautiful sisters.”

“I knew you were up to something,” Lara said. She raised her camera. “I’ve got a picture. Hey, Jenn. Happy birthday,” she added, hugging her sister.

Sybil initiated a zaghareet. The staff looked up.

“What do I do now?” Lara asked.

“Check in,” Sybil said. “You’ve got your own room. Let the bellhop know the room number. He’ll take your bags.”

“What’s the plan?” Lara asked. “Is it Mardi Gras night?”

“We’ve got a reservation at the Italian restaurant,” Jennifer said. “We don’t need to change into our Mardi Gras outfits till after dinner.”

“Ladies, I’m off to work on a couple of more issues on Grand Lido. See you tonight,” Sybil said. She and Ruth left the lobby.

“I’m gonna take a nap,” Melody said.

“Ready to get a little sun?” Polly asked me in front of Kelly and Denise.

“Yes,” I said, looking at Denise and Kelly. “Wanna go?”

“Absolutely. I deserve a beer after my five-minute marriage and public consummation,” Kelly said.

We were halfway through our beers when Jennifer and Lara strolled toward us, sipping cranberry and vodkas.

“Welcome to Jamaica, mon.” Denise raised her glass to Lara. “Happy birthday and greetings to the Forte sisters.” We toasted them. “How’s the room?”

“Nice. It looks over the grounds. But there’s a mirror over the bed!” Lara said. We all laughed.

Lara unzipped her cover-up, exposing her Confederate-flag bikini. We all stared.

“What? Never seen a bathing suit?” she asked. “Terry bought it for me when he heard I was going to Jamaica.”

“Terry?” we all asked together.

“A girlfriend begged me to go out with this guy on a blind date,” Lara said. “He’s got a Harley. You know how much I love to ride a Hog.” She gave us a naughty look. “He’s so sweet. I think I like him.”

“Why the bikini?” Kelly asked. “If he’s got a Harley, is he a rebel? Like that movie star?”

“No, he’s a redneck!” Lara said. “A ponytailed, leather-jacket-wearing, loves-to-fish redneck.” We laughed with her.

“Love’s in the air for the Forte sisters,” Denise said, using her best country accent. “Jennifer’s gone ’n found her a for’ner. A real Eyetalian.”

Lara didn’t look surprised. “Was he as handsome as she described?”

“If he was a woman, Radd would call him a ‘Goodaz,’” Polly informed her. Jennifer and Lara looked puzzled. “That’s another Jamaican slang for a sexy woman.”

“So tell me what’s happened so far,” Lara asked, reclining with sunglasses over her eyes.

“Where do you wanna start?” Polly asked. “Kelly’s marriage, Rick’s Cliffs, or Baby Daddy?”

Lara sat up and raised her glasses. “Baby Daddy?” We shook our heads and laughed. She looked at Jennifer, who puckered like a nursing baby. “Okay, we’ll start with that one.”

27

I stood in front of the Italian restaurant. I loved my strapless, black, one-piece dress. My ribboned shoes looked great with it.

“Still kinda odd to find an Italian restaurant here,” Kelly said, a standout in her salmon halter-style dress.

“How much odder than the Japanese hibachi one?” Denise asked. A red corset flattered her newly slim body.

Sybil’s face lit up, and dimples appeared with her big smile. “There’s the birthday girl.”

Jennifer was walking toward us in a red-halter maxi dress, hair slicked into a bun. I loved her makeup. Naturally, she’d glittered everything before she’d left her room.

“You look beautiful,” I said. Maybe it was just her new tan, but she glowed.

“Thanks, guys,” Jennifer said. “It’s been a memorable birthday. And it’s Mardi Gras night! I’m starving.”

“Jenn’s been burning some calories today,” Polly laughed.

Jennifer made a kissy face at Polly then gave her an Italian arm signal that even I understood.

“Hey, if the jet ski fits,” Denise said, eliciting another round of laughter.

“Lara, I can’t tell you how happy I am you got to join us,” Sybil said. “You look sexy too.”

I looked around our circle and saw nine elegant women. I couldn’t imagine a more warm and bonded group. I was feeling more and more like one of them.

“Let’s eat,” Lara said. “There wasn’t much on the plane.”

Sybil opened a heavy wooden door and ushered us in. As we followed the hostess, it was obvious the dining room patrons noted our presence.

I picked up a food menu. They’d put Jamaican spins on Italian food. There were a few standard dishes, but Italian snapper wasn’t normally paired with rice and peas. Jennifer handled the wine and drink orders.

A staff member came around the corner with flowers. “For Jennifer?” he asked, searching the tables.

“That’s me. Wow, who did this?” Jennifer asked. She pulled the card with a beautifully manicured and hennaed hand. As she read it, her eyes teared and I swore her heart floated.

“Who are they from?” Lara asked.

“Massi,” Jennifer said.

“Can you read the card? Or is it too private?” Kelly prodded. We sat reverently, respecting her decision.

“Buon compleanno, amore mio,” Jennifer read aloud with a great Italian accent.

“Aw, ‘Happy birthday, my love,’” Lara interpreted. We clapped and showed our support for the timing of his offering.

Our first course arrived.

As we chattered, our plates emptied.

While the waitress cleaned the tables, Sybil stood and flashed her big, dimpled grin. “Ladies, we’re halfway through our week and Lara’s here,” she said, pausing for us to zaghareet Lara. “Today is Jennifer’s birthday,” she continued. We took the cue and sent another zaghareet for Jennifer. “So I just can’t stand it anymore. I’ve gotta tell you . . .” She paused and looked around the room. “We’ve got a thirty-minute show tomorrow at 7:30 p.m. across the street at Grand Lido!”

A very pregnant pause followed as we looked at her face and she mouthed the word “Yeah!” If I ever understood the term “girls gone wild,” it was at that moment.

“Sybil, you did it!” Jennifer exclaimed.

The room buzzed. I was the only one not speaking.

Sybil tinked her glass to regroup. “Jennifer, I need you to reduce our one-hour show to a thirty-minute show. We’ll practice in the morning in the disco. Happy birthday!” she raised her glass one more time and sat down.

My head buzzed as I wondered what the new lineup meant for me. Could I get out of a couple of dances? Before I could explore that thought, dinner was delivered.

“Wow, the portions are generous,” I said to Kelly. I looked at Jennifer’s plate and saw something fried topped with Parmesan. I felt full but poked at my meatballs.

As we enjoyed our dinners, a line of costumed guests blew a whistle and serpentined through the main dining room, entering our space. The leader wore chartreuse and a black zebra-striped blazer complemented by a black cowboy hat with cheetah print on the rim. He was surrounded by men dressed in zoot suits and gangster wear. The women wore black, skimpy, dominatrix costumes. Among the pimps and hos was a man dressed as a Catholic priest.

I leaned over to Kelly. “The head guy is Baby Daddy.”

Kelly shrank back into the booth.

“I hear there’s a birthday girl,” the pimp said. We all pointed at Jennifer to avoid any confusion as to who he should set his animal-print sights on. “We’re searching Hedo for honorary members of our Pimps and Hos Club. I think you’re the total package.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a naughty button, and reached over to pin it on her dress.

“What does it say?” Kelly whispered to me.

“Looks like the sign at the beach, ‘Wicked,’” I told her.

There was a commotion at the end of the table. Sybil, Denise, Ruth, and Melody were looking at something I couldn’t see going on at the end of our booth. Suddenly, I saw a small woman crawling across Lara and standing on the booth, shaking her booty over Jennifer’s chicken marsala.

Lara left the booth to hang out with the dominatrix. Kelly and I scooted out toward Sybil’s side of the room, watching the pimp’s ho give Jennifer a lap dance for her birthday.

Suddenly, the tablecloth rustled and Jennifer looked down at her lap.

“Oh my!” Jennifer exclaimed as a black hat peeked through.

It was the hat of the zoot-suit man. The pimp’s entourage encouraged their buddies to be wicked at Jennifer’s expense. Her demeanor was nothing short of grace and endurance. Trying to control my laughter, I heard Sybil’s snark and saw her struggling to sit up straight. She and Ruth slumped on each other at the sight of Jennifer being accosted—head to toe—by the swinger group. Denise wiped tears from her eyes with a napkin, avoiding losing as much eye makeup as possible.