Hot Pink in the City (18 page)

Nasreen slides the video from the cover. "Too
bad we can't watch this now," she says, shaking her head. "I'm sure
my parents and Omar will go out this week to do something, and then
we'll get to watch."

"I don't want to watch this!" I say. "I've
never seen porn, and it's just -- just -- I don't know...
wrong."

"Don't be a prude. I'm curious, so I'm gonna
watch it with or without you." She opens her closet and puts the
tape in the bottom, under a mishmash of magazines and clothes.
We'll both be dead meat if our relatives find us in possession of
such a thing.

"Okay, let's get to business," I say.
"Obviously, they don't want everyone to know they're selling porn.
It's in a backroom, and they're not advertising it in the front of
the store."

"And there's another major detail," Nasreen
says.

"Which is what?" I ask.

"There's a school in front of them. I read
somewhere that porn stores can't be near schools. That has to be
one reason they're selling porn on the down low. What they're doing
is illegal!"

Once she says that golden word,
illegal
, I'm elated. Even back in Florida, sometimes my
parents drive past adult stores, and none of them are near any
schools because of zoning laws. "Let's get them," I say.

We discuss a plan, but then I worry that
we're two young women facing two bigger men. "I want to call
someone to help us," I say.

"You're right," Nasreen says. "I know some
guys who'd be willing to rough these two up for us, but they're out
of town for the summer."

"I know a guy... Abe."

"But you barely know him."

"I know, but he did give me his number, and
he seems interested in me. I told him my family wouldn't want him
calling us, so maybe I've discouraged him. I did give him the
payphone number, but since we're not always home I have no idea if
he's called me or not. Let's call him. Who knows? Maybe he'll want
to be a part of our crazy plan to get the tape from the brothers
and get back at them for all the agony they put us through."

"Okay, go call him," Nasreen says.

Auntie pulls out the vacuum, so I don't have
to worry about her hearing my conversation with Abe. I step outside
to use the payphone.

I call, and he picks up on the second ring.
I'm tongue-tied at first but then slip easily into
conversation.

"I've been trying to call the number you gave
me, but there's no answering machine and some weird guy picked up
and yelled at me."

"I'm sorry, but this is a payphone," I say.
"I hope the guy wasn't too rude."

"No, just loud and he asked me if I'm the
devil," Abe says.

"Which you're absolutely not."

He tells me he has two extra Madonna tickets
since his Aunt and Uncle can't make it to Madison Square Garden
next week. Can I go? Nasreen is welcome to join us. Well, isn't
that sweet, considering that she wasn't very nice to him?

Even though I'm dying to go, it feels odd to
receive something so huge. I've watched my parents protest large
gifts, which I've also done, so that instinct kicks in. "Are you
sure?" I ask. "You want me to go?"

"Of course," he says. "I don't really know
too many people up here, and at the audition you mentioned you love
Madonna."

"I sure do."

"So come with me."

"Okay!" I say. I don't think about asking
Uncle's permission or my parents'. I'm going. I'll find a way to
go. What a blessing this is, to see my idol in concert when I so
badly wanted to win or buy tickets. The opportunity has come to me.
I forgot to bring her tape with me, which led to all this, and now
I can see her live, in the flesh in front of me. I'm
breathless.

"I look forward to going with you," he
says.

"I can't wait!" I say.

"My relatives aren't too keen on the music
anyway, and they made other plans for that night," he says. "It was
passed onto them by someone else."

Now they're being passed onto me. "Thank you
for offering these tickets," I say when I'm able to breathe again.
"You have no idea what it means to me. Thank you, thank you, thank
you... Oh, I'm sorry to spring this on you when you've been so kind
to me, but I need a favor..."

I explain what I want him to do to help us
get the Kulthum tape. I worry he'll think the arrangement is too
complicated, but Abe agrees to visit Wahib and Tahir's store
tomorrow afternoon to assist us with our stakeout. "It's no
problem," he says. "It might even be fun."

We're going to bring those brothers down. I
call them next and tell them I agree to their terms and I'll be
there tomorrow, around the time Abe is supposed to arrive. My voice
is phony and sweet, as if I'm willing to go on a lunch date with
Tahir. Wahib sounds so smooth and smug, as if he's getting his way.
Tahir can take me out for lunch... in his dreams. Those two will be
on the receiving end of our ambush.

***

"I'm going to need your help talking your dad
into letting us go to the Madonna concert next week," I tell
Nasreen when I'm back inside. I give her a description of the two
phone calls and how we're going to meet the brothers tomorrow. Then
I linger on the fact that Abe has Madonna tickets.

"Uh-oh," she says. "Let me think about
this."

"How can we approach your dad about this?" I
wonder. "And I don't want to lie either. I'm tired of hiding things
with all this cloak-and-dagger stuff I've been doing this
summer."

"We can tell him we scored tickets from some
people who couldn't go and we're going in their place -- that is
the truth, right? I'll also say it's your dying wish to see Madonna
in concert. I'm sure he won't fuss too much when he'll want to
please you."

"Yeah, that sounds good. We're two girls who
just happen to be going with a guy I just met. When I get back to
Florida I want to keep in touch with Abe."

"Come on, Asma. You barely know him."

"I know, but it's what I want. The magic of a
summer fling, to meet someone and instantly like him. And maybe
this is more than a fling if we can see each other in Miami."

"I don't know what it is you have with him.
Well, at least someone is getting her way."

I feel bad for Nasreen. The college brochures
on her desk are constant reminders of her wish. I have an idea to
help her, so I'm going to put it into action. But, just like the
call to Wahib and Tahir, I can't do it alone.

"Do you have the pictures you took of Omar's
notebook?" I ask.

"Yes."

"We need to approach him with them now," I
say. "We can get our money back from him. Also, I think he can help
you leave this place." Then I launch into plan-building. Two plans
in one afternoon. The first to get the tape and the second to sway
Nasreen's parents to let her leave home.

"Your mom wants to see a sign from the
heavens telling her it's okay for you to leave, then that's what
we'll give her," I continue. "Superstitions are supposed to happen
naturally and by accident, but we can bring the superstitions to
her."

"By faking them?" Nasreen says.

"Exactly," I murmur. "Instead of waiting for
the signs, we'll make them happen."

"Umm, okay," she says. "It's kind of strange,
but it might work."

Nasreen grabs the envelope of pictures from a
desk drawer, and we head to the alcove. The only time we've been
behind the curtains was when we snuck in when Omar was out. This
time we want to be invited inside. Nasreen knocks on the wall. The
sound of a clicking joystick stops, and the curtains part. I'm in
front of Oz.

"What do you want?" Omar sneers, flashing
angry eyes at us.

"Can we come in?" I ask.

"Okay, but just for a minute. I had to put
this game on pause."

Omar sits on the sofa, and Nasreen throws the
envelope on the coffee table. "The jig is up, you little
twerp."

Omar picks up the envelope. His jaw drops as
he fans out the pictures in his hands. "You invaded my privacy!" he
says. "How dare you."

"How dare we?" I say. "You rob us blind just
because we were using your dad's radio, meanwhile you're
gambling."

"Hand us back our money or else I tell Mom
and Dad," Nasreen says. "They'll never believe their precious
little son is capable of this, but we know better. The negatives
aren't in that envelope, so don't even think about doing anything
with those pictures."

"Cut to the chase," Omar says. "What do you
want? Just the money?"

"Yes, our money and something else," I
say.

Omar wipes his face with his hands and his
body slumps, his form becoming smaller on his sofa bed. The mighty
prince has fallen. "What else?"

"Let's face it, Omar, you probably want the
place all to yourself. You know Nasreen wants to go elsewhere for
college. If she leaves, you can have her room."

"Hmmm, it would be better than this little
space," Omar says, looking around the alcove.

"But you know your parents are resistant to
the idea," I say. "We need your help convincing them otherwise.
We're especially going to play on your mom's belief in
superstitions, which will also influence your father."

"I'm listening..."

I reveal my ideas in full to Nasreen and
Omar. "It's worth a try," Nasreen says.

"It's crazy," Omar says. "But I can
help."

"Great." Yes, my plan to help Nasreen is a
bit crazy, but it's better than doing nothing. Nasreen pouting,
crying, and collecting brochures will get her nowhere. If she wants
to leave New York, we have to think outside the box. I might be a
quiet suburban girl from Florida, but I still have dreams to
fulfill. My friends back home think that unless I'm on the soccer
field I stay on the sidelines not doing anything, but they're
wrong. I'm getting what I want. Sure, some things take longer to
acquire than others, but I believe everything will fall into place,
Pollyanna that I am.

***

For the first night since getting here,
there's no closet time. We go to bed early since there's a full day
ahead of us. I sleep well, unaware of any disturbances outside my
window. The silence, whether I imagine it or not, almost feels like
home. I think back to my quiet little street in Miami, aching for
it, the first feelings of homesickness burrowing their way into my
heart. Even though New York is a blast with both the good and the
bad, it's too much excitement. I want my old life back, although I
know this experience will change me forever. When I get back to
Miami I might surprise people with crimped hair, kisses, and
secrets.

We wake up early. To kill some time I play
with our accessories for the stakeout. I take handcuffs out of my
purse and put one cuff around my left wrist. It's tight, and I wrap
the other cuff around my right wrist more loosely. I pull my hands
apart a few inches, the only leeway the cuffs allow me. So this is
what criminals go through. The handcuffs are toys, but they look
like the real thing.

"Stop playing around with those!" Nasreen
says.

"I can't help it," I say. "They're fun."

"I knew there was a kinky side to you."

Nasreen sits at her desk, looking through
college brochures for the millionth time. They all look appealing.
They have autumn colors of brown and green with wide lawns and
majestic, old buildings. Students are using microscopes, making
pottery, and doing math equations. Everyone looks interested and
engaged as they leave their childhoods behind to join the adult
world. These brochures make me want to look for colleges soon.
Nasreen has studied them so much that they're wrinkled and bent. I
recognize a few of them as recent ones that arrived in the mail
days ago. Nevertheless, they look worn, read endlessly by
Nasreen.

"We'll get you there," I whisper.

Nasreen looks down at her collection of
brochures, her eyes black pools of mascara and shadow. I wonder if
she wears that much makeup to hide what's behind her eyes. Deep
down I know she has a soft side. I see that every time she wants to
help me, and her desires are transparent when she talks about
leaving New York.

Nasreen puts her brochures in a neat pile on
her desk. "You ready to go?" I ask her.

"Yes, let's get that tape."

For the first time, out of my own will and
not because I'm going to a funeral, I'm wearing all black, matching
Nasreen's wardrobe. It's for our mission to get the Kulthum
tape.

Chapter Twenty-t
wo

Abe lives closer to the store than we do. I
call him on the payphone and he tells me he's just about to leave.
That means he should get there a little earlier than us as planned.
I turn to Nasreen and cross my fingers. I know how the subway
system is and we've been stuck in tunnels in delayed trains, so we
decide to leave now. If we're early, we'll watch Abe from across
the street.

The sky is overcast, and it drizzles on and
off. Omar opts to stay inside. He looks at us talking on the phone
through the kitchen window. He may be a snoop, but he doesn't know
about all the things we've been through. It feels good that we can
go about our business without him tattling on us. He can't say,
"Baba, Nasreen and Asma are sneaking out doing something
suspicious." Nasreen has the negatives and photos in a safe place,
in the bowels of her closet.

We're on the subway, on another long ride to
Wahib and Tahir's store, and we're hoping this will be our last
time going there. When we get to Brooklyn, we sit on the steps
outside the school. Sure, we're wearing black, and sunglasses are
hiding our eyes since we're on a stakeout, but we fit in. We could
pass as girls waiting for siblings to come out.

I see a familiar figure inside the store.
"It's him!" I gasp.

"Oh, him," Nasreen says in a lackluster tone
when she sees Abe. She doesn't seem to take to the idea of my
summer fling. She only sees Abe as a vehicle to get what we need:
the tape. Abe looks out at us, and then we lose sight of him as he
goes deeper into the store. I feel scared for him, as if the two
brothers are more than porn peddlers. They remind me of the witch
in Hansel and Gretel. Maybe they lure men with nude women and they
never come out of the store again. But that's silly, since I've
seen their customers leave intact and gloating on the wings of
their freshly bought porn.