Ameera, Unveiled (27 page)

Three hours, one peacock henna, and a shower later, I walked downhill toward the Japanese restaurant with Polly. Jennifer, Sybil, and Ruth were just ahead of us.

“What a day,” Polly said. Her ruffled top complemented her dark complexion and white capris.

“You certainly took one for the team,” I remarked. “Let’s see what happens at class time.”

“There’s Kelly in blue . . . again,” Polly observed.

“Jennifer looks amazing,” I said. “How can a girl make herself so sexy?” I wondered aloud.

Ruth was in a bland calico summer shift. Sybil was cute in a black embroidered spaghetti-strap dress.

“Kat, you’re sexy too,” Polly said, looking at my white pants and halter top. “You really sell yourself short.”

“There’s a difference between perception and reality,” I discounted her compliment. “These women have embraced the troupe’s mission statement. They’re confident, not afraid to stand out in a crowd. I’m still tiptoeing in.”

“Kaaat, Polllllly,” Jennifer shouted across the room. We waved. Jennifer made me smile anytime she acknowledged me.

“I think she’s adorable,” I whispered to Polly. “If we were guys, would this be a bromance? What’s it called if you admire a girl?”

“Girl crush.” Polly winked at me as we joined the group. We were the last to arrive.

“Welcome!” Sybil shouted. “Grab your seats.”

A pretty Jamaican waitress flipped the switch on the grill’s heater. She went around the stainless-steel table and took our drink orders. We filled the room with chaotic chatter. I noticed other tables filling with festively dressed guests. The biggest difference between us and them was a lot of glitter.

“I hope they don’t cook shrimp tonight,” Kelly said. She sat between Denise and me.

“Just make sure the chef understands you’re allergic,” Denise replied. Her white ruffled sundress flattered her tan. Salads with ginger dressing were promptly served.

“Kelly, how long’ve you worked in research?” I asked.

“Since I started on my masters and then my PhD. About four years,” she said. “I feel like a professional student.”

“I admire that. I never went to college and really wanted to,” I said, realizing I sounded a little wistful. “I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I was good at what I did for a living.”

“I lived on student loans . . . lots of ’em!” Kelly said. “What’d you do?”

“I got tired of working McDonald’s and the Piggly Wiggly deli,” I said. “My pastor’s wife got me a temporary job at a law firm. I kept getting promoted, worked for my own attorney, and found my way to a sole practitioner,” I summarized. “We did a lot of private adoption and general legal work.”

“So you’re really smart,” Kelly said.

Smart? My mind went back in time to my decision to marry the pastor’s son when I was nineteen. Church and husband discouraged birth control. Before my first anniversary and barely twenty years old, I was a mother.

“Depends on the subject,” I said before I dove into my salad.

“Here comes our chef,” Polly said.

A young Jamaican carried a stainless chafing dish filled with rice, meat, and veggies. A tall, red Japanese hat sat atop his head. After he’d placed the tray on his workstation, he bowed in Japanese fashion. The Jamaican venue and the presentation of Japanese restaurant traditions amused me.

“Good evening,” he said with a slightly heavy accent. “My name is Jomo. I be your chef.”

“Good evening, Jomo,” our group said. He bowed again and gave us a warm smile. He oiled the heated surface of the grill, smeared it with wide swoops, and held the stainless-steel spatula, banging and flipping it to his other hand.

“Do you find any of this out of place?” I asked Kelly.

“I think we’re the only things that’re out of place,” she stressed, grinning. She remembered to say, “Jomo, I’m allergic to shrimp.”

“No swimps tonight,” he said. “No worries.” He focused on his task, searing hunks of chicken breast and dumping a bowl of white rice to the side of the grill. As we chattered about the day’s events, he squirted sake on chicken and threw a match. While he tossed the flaming chicken, Kelly’s eyes shot open.

“Jomo, could I come back there and get a picture of me spanking you?” she asked. Laughter filled the air as cameras were grabbed. Jomo looked perplexed but invited her to step around.

As he started playing with the chicken, Kelly acted as if she were spanking him, holding the pose while flashes went off.

“Can I pretend to cook and you spank me?” Kelly asked boldly. Without a word, Jomo handed her the spatula and knife and stood behind her. Imitating her spanking, he held a pose. I looked at Denise, who was shaking her head and laughing.

“We warned you, Kat,” she said. “Okay, Kelly, we’re hungry. Let the man do his job.”

Everyone clapped as he ladled portions on our waiting plates.

Jennifer leaned toward me. “Let’s try to find him tonight,” she said—the “him” being her mystery man. Her sea-foam-colored dress bordered with sequins barely concealed her voluptuous chest. Her bright brown eyes were alight with mischief.

“Of course,” I said. “I told you: I’ve got your back. And again, thanks for the beautiful peacock.”

Kelly overheard us. “Let’s try the piano bar. He didn’t look the disco type,” she suggested. “I wonder why he’s here.”

“Anyone gonna watch the show?” Polly asked. “I hear it’s got fire in it.”

“I’m gonna get ready for pajama night,” Jennifer said. “Need to look extra special.”

Sybil stood and we all looked at her. “Really quick. Have fun tonight. But, remember, in the disco is at 7:15 a.m. Front desk’s looking for a CD player.” She held up her club soda, “Who are we, ladies?”

Simultaneously, like a football team in a huddle, we yelled, “Palmetto Oasis.” People at the other tables looked our way. I hoped they knew it was a belly dance troupe and not a swingers group.

“I’ll go to the show with you, Polly,” I said. “Jennifer, we’ll look for you around eight at the main bar.”

“In all my hotness,” she promised and blew us a kiss.

“She seems so happy and relaxed,” I said, watching her sashay down the hallway out of sight. She greeted guests and staff as she walked. Still marketing, I told myself.

Ten minutes into the show, the dining room audience dwindled. The fire on the limbo pole blazed, and a thin Jamaican dancer performed each lowered level. Colorful female dancers reciprocated his taunts. The live band played until the final pole was less than ten inches from the floor. The staff girls deferred to the limbo man as he bent and passed the flames by the hair of his chest.

“Boy, shows don’t hold the diners’ interest, huh?” I asked, looking at the stragglers. “I’d be discouraged if I worked here.”

“Maybe they need a new show,” Polly suggested. “I hear there’s a new group in town. There’s a rumor they solicited on the Nude side.”

“I’m kinda bored. Wanna get ready?” I asked. She nodded and we left for our room. As we climbed the slope, lingerie- and pajama-clad guests passed us. A woman in a white-lace demi bra and garter belt laughed at something a man in happy-face boxers said and waved at us. “Hey, aren’t you one of the belly dancers?” she asked Polly.

“Absolutely,” Polly replied. “Remember: we’ve got a class in the gym after lunch . . . 1:30 p.m.” She smiled warmly, focusing on their eyes instead of the amount of skin in our visual.

“I’ll try,” she promised before they continued to their destination.

“How cool was that? It’s working,” I said.

“It’s eight o’clock,” I said to my roommate as I checked out my outfit. “If you’re still dressing, I might meet Jennifer.” The black corset made me look sleek and buff. The black cocktail pants made my outfit elegant. Elegant in Hedo. I smiled at myself.

Polly peeked out of the bathroom. “I’ll be done in less than a minute.”

I plopped on the bed to check my camera battery. I’d probably bring it back to the room at some point. I hated carrying a pocketbook. Steve usually kept my stuff in his pockets. “Do you know what Rick’s Cliffs is about?”

“It’s a cliffside looking out on the Caribbean,” Polly answered. “They’ve got a diver who climbs a tree and dives about thirty feet into the ocean. Lots of tourists dive off the lower cliffs. There’s a café with light snacks and drinks. So it’s also called Rick’s Cafe.” She picked up a bracelet. “Ready?”

“Cute corset,” I said. “Red looks good on you. Can’t believe we both picked corsets for pajama night. Maybe we should do the A Night at the Roxbury head bump.” We laughed.

“Let’s meet Jennifer and prowl,” Polly said, bumping her head toward the door.

I looked one more time in the mirror over my bed. “At least black is slimming,” I said.

“You’re one slinky black Kat,” she said as we left the room.

As we walked, I felt energy in the air. Maybe I was better rested from the arduous trip we’d made the day before. We turned the corner and saw masses of people between the main bar and the walkway to the outside bars. Jennifer and Kelly were waiting in line at the dining room bar.

“Kat, look at your sexy self!” Jennifer exclaimed. “Tell us what you’d like to drink and we’ll get it.” She noticed Polly. “Hot mama, Polly!”

“Chardonnay, please,” I requested.

Jennifer’s beige negligee top revealed a beautiful gold bra. She’d secured a glittered orange hibiscus over an ear. Whatever she was saying to the patron beside her, she was holding his attention.

“Don’t think she’s got a clue how much energy she emits,” I said. Polly nodded agreement. Kelly and Jennifer handed us our cocktails.

“Who are you talking to?” Polly asked.

“One of the swingers from Tulsa,” Jennifer said. “He saw us when we went over to their pool today. Said his girlfriend’s interested in the class.”

“Let’s look around,” Kelly suggested. “I wanna see what everyone’s wearing. Maybe we’ll find your stallion in hot pajamas.” Jennifer giggled as we followed Kelly toward the pool deck.

“Hey, where’s Denise?” I asked. Kelly was uncharacteristically un-chaperoned.

“She started feeling bad after dinner. Wanted to stay in so she’ll feel better by practice in the morning,” Kelly advised. “Oh no. Look, y’all.”

Two guests shuffled toward us in blue- and pink-footed pajamas carrying little signs. It was the couple from the night before with The Velvet Rabbit Club.

“That’s a little disturbing for some reason,” Jennifer said softly. She held her smile as they headed our way. She broke the tension, “Having fun?”

The man in the blue-fleece-footed pajama held up his sign and looked at Jennifer’s chest. Baby hungry. Needs to eat, it read. He leaned forward and Jennifer graciously offered Kelly. As he turned to Kelly, she jumped behind Polly. I walked to the other side of the pool chair. His partner wore a matching pink onesie. Wordless and speechless, we waved and walked away.

“Y’all look back. It gets better,” I said. We turned and saw the drop seat in the pajamas was down, mooning us. I looked at Jennifer and broke out laughing. “I couldn’t make this stuff up! Steve’ll crack up.”

“Don’t say ‘crack’ so soon, Kat,” Polly said, as she broke into laughter. “Jennifer, I think you’ve made a lot of new friends. Very colorful ones at that.”

“Their group comes here every year from Miami. He said it’s like summer camp for adults,” Jennifer said.

“From what I’ve seen so far, they’re good poster children for Hedo,” Kelly said. “Did I say children? I gotta get this out of my head. Thanks for throwing me to . . . the children!”

“Look at it this way, Kelly. There’s only one pajama night!” Polly amused herself again.

Ahead were two older men wearing police officer uniforms talking to Sybil and Ruth. Sybil seemed amused, and Ruth was focused on what they were saying. The cop ripped off a ticket and gave it to Ruth.

As we approached, I overheard him scolding Ruth for a cleavage violation. “Next time I see you, your hem should be shorter and there better be cleavage!” he said.

“Yes, sir,” Ruth said, grinning and tucking her ticket in her shirt pocket. The policeman turned to leave and spied Jennifer.

“That’s good use of cleavage,” he said, pointing at Jennifer’s negligee. “Good job, lovely lady. You too, corset girls.”

“What about me?” Kelly asked, sounding left out.