Ameera, Unveiled (28 page)

“Turn around,” he said. Kelly obeyed. He felt for a panty line. Kelly’s eyes revealed her surprise at this action. “Good job. Party on, ladies.”

Jennifer hid her snicker until he left. “Kelly would pass the ass pat! Surprised you didn’t moon him.”

“Very funny,” she said, poking out her tongue. “Besides, my maxi dress is too long to get up that fast. And I will not make the photo gallery that way twice.”

“Where’re you ladies headed?” Sybil asked.

“Piano bar,” Jennifer said.

Sybil grinned and gave us a thumbs-up.

“Ruth and I are gonna check out the water-sports board,” Sybil said. “Anyone interested in snorkeling this week?”

We all nodded and I pretended to clap my hands. “We’ll tell you the schedule tomorrow at practice. Good night.”

“Let’s go hunting, ladies,” Jennifer said.

We followed her to the piano bar. As we got closer, I heard a Frank Sinatra song. It reminded me of my childhood. Little did I know, as a young girl, that I’d be listening to someone playing it at a clothing-optional resort while wandering around in a corset.

We opened the piano bar doors and were flooded with light. The pianist switched from Sinatra to Elton John.

Jennifer panned the rooms as we walked toward the bar. There were no signs of stallions. Just a bunch of badly clad pajama guests.

“Who dressed these guys?” Polly asked. They were checking us out.

“Sometimes what you can’t see is more interesting,” I said. “I’ll stay covered, thank you very much.”

“Even if it’s a footed onesie?” Jennifer asked.

In unison, we all said, “Ewww.”

We spotted unoccupied seats at the side of the piano and settled in for a few songs. We chatted as the pianist played James Taylor and started on Jimmy Buffet.

“Anyone ready to walk?” Kelly asked after a few minutes.

“Yeah, I’m between hot and bored,” Jennifer said. As we started to leave, she approached the bar. She then handed us refills and said, “Let’s go.”

“Let’s stop by the disco,” Kelly suggested. “Maybe he’s looking for you.”

“It’s not open for another forty-five minutes,” Jennifer said.

“We’re staff. Jazz’ll let us in,” Polly said. “Come on, we’ll get dancing and feel better.”

“He may’ve left the resort anyway,” Jennifer reasoned. “Or maybe he just had a day pass. Geez, why am I acting like this? We only looked at each other.”

“Hey, he was hot,” Polly said. “Probably the best-looking man here.”

Down the stairway, sinking into the blue-pool abyss, we presented ourselves to the hot Jamaican bouncer, Jazz.

“Ladies, you look lovely,” Jazz said, bowing and opening the door.

“You too,” Polly said, looking over her shoulder as she passed him.

“Simmer down, missy,” Kelly warned as we headed straight to the dance floor.

Although it was early, people were hanging out at the bar. I smiled and waved as I followed Kelly. Polly joined Kelly on the dance floor while Jennifer and I found a spot on the bleachers by the window.

“Starting to recognize some of the hedonists?” I asked Jennifer.

She paused. “See that woman in the pretty see-through lace negligee with the attractive man wearing black-silk pajama bottoms?” She discreetly pointed toward the bar. I nodded. “They were on the Nude side today. They said they like to come down once a year and lose their clothes with another couple. He works in finance.”

“She’s elegant looking,” I said. The man and woman got their drinks and joined a couple on the bleachers across the room from us. “It’d be fun to guess what people do. I know a lot back home who couldn’t see the pursuit of pleasure involving taking their clothes off,” I added.

“I think there’re a lot of nice people here who are looking for outlets from long winters or strict social standards,” Jennifer said. “I hope we get some of them in our class.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you . . . when Polly and I were going back to the room to change, a couple stopped us to ask if we were part of the belly dancer group,” I said. “So I think the walk made an impression. Maybe y’all should do it again,” I grinned, nudging her arm with my shoulder.

We shifted our focus to the inflowing crowd. As we looked away from the dance-floor exhibitions of Kelly and Polly, we assessed the pajamaed patrons.

“Jennifer, look,” I said. The silhouette in the disco doorway was tall and confident. “It’s him.”

“Don’t leave me,” she pleaded, sipping hard on a tiny, black straw.

“I won’t,” I reassured her.

We watched as the object of Jennifer’s affection scanned the room like a true cinephotographer, looking for his best shot, his tight-fitting blue jeans grounded with expensive European leather slip-ons. I wouldn’t have categorized him as participating in pajama night, but he could easily pull someone into a bedroom.

“Geez, he’s as handsome as Steve,” I said. “Why’s he at Hedo?” Before I’d finished, they’d locked eyes again. The energy was electric.

“Kat, we’ve gotta talk. Want me to get you a drink?” Jennifer asked, hiding her unfinished drink on the bleacher rail.

Although I knew I wasn’t ready for another, especially in light of the 7:00 a.m. disco practice, I said, “Sure, get me a new one. On me.” We laughed, and off she slinked toward the bar. I suspected her destiny loomed in the Hedo shadows.

Kelly and Polly caught Jennifer’s departure and shrugged the “what’s up” body language. I shot back a thumbs-ups while Foreigner played in the background. Jennifer was acting innocent and strolling over toward his shadow.

I watched as he gently stopped her to take her hand and kiss it before he walked her back to the bar. I doubted he was American.

In spite of my tired eyes, I was determined to stay and not kill her joy. I walked to the dance floor and danced around Kelly and Polly.

“Kat, this group’s so much fun. They can’t wait for our class,” Polly said.

“The stallion’s in the building,” I whispered.

Polly’s eyes widened. “Seriously?” she asked. I nodded. Kelly joined us as Rockas started playing a Tina Turner tune. She said, “Let’s check him out.”

“I’m game,” I answered. We walked into the bar and looked for Jennifer and the stallion. When we saw them, it was obvious that they were locked in deep conversation. Nevertheless, we approached them.

“Hey, girl,” I said. I then assumed a businesslike tone. “We’re calling it quits so we can meet at the disco tomorrow morning. What’cha think?” I asked but knew she would send back the I’m-okay-so-you-can-leave response.

“I’m really tired too, but I’ll finish my drink first,” she said, fingering her White Russian. “Be in the disco by seven fifteen?”

“Yep,” I said. “We’re shot. I’ve gotta get Kelly back to her room since Denise isn’t feeling well.” I looked directly at the mystery man. “Hey, I’m Kat Varn . . . and you are?”

“Massimiliano Sarrochi,” he said in a romantic Italian accent. “Please call me Massi.”

“Nice to meet you, Massi,” I said. “This is my friend, Polly Taylor. Jennifer, see you in the morning.” She gave me a smile, reassuring me that it was okay to leave.

They returned to a conversation that excluded us.

“Polly, can we get Kelly home?” I asked.

“She insists,” Polly answered sarcastically. Kelly was talking to the swinger group. We efficiently extracted her by locking arms and giving them a wink as we headed to the door.

We climbed the disco stairway, chattering about enamored Jennifer. “So his name’s Massi and he’s got an Italian accent,” I said.

Kelly fished through her small purse. “Y’all, I can’t find my key.”

“Wanna go to the front desk?” Polly asked.

“No, I’ll just wake Denise,” she answered. “Man, she’s cranky if she gets up from a sleep. And she wasn’t feeling good either.” Kelly shuddered, anticipating the annoying door knocking. “Y’all will come with me?” Her Southern accent made it hard to resist participating in poking the bear in her room.

“Absolutely,” I said.

We took the right fork as she led us to a room with a porch light on. Simultaneously, we took a breath as she knocked. We waited. Fifteen seconds later, Kelly knocked again and added, “Denise, I can’t find my key.”

The doorknob rattled. A sleepy, bushy-haired Denise opened the door and robotically returned to her bed.

“Sorry, Denise,” Kelly said. “Thanks, y’all,” she whispered to us. “See you at the disco in the morning.”

Polly and I closed the door quietly and headed back up our path.

“What a day,” I sighed.

21

My cell phone alarm went off at 6:33 a.m. Polly was long gone. She’d grabbed her props and headed to the gym before our first practice. It was kind of nice to have the room to myself. This was the only time I wanted a solo. As I pulled my hair into a ponytail, I asked,
How’re you doing, Ameera
? She smiled. She was ready to see the disco in a different light—daylight.

Armed with my gypsy skirt and coin scarf, I left the room, welcomed by early-morning birds in full voice. Sunshine made the dew glisten.

“Morning,” I said, after I’d stepped into the disco and was making my way to the blond-wood dance floor that brought a flashback of my skipping lessons. “Wow, what a mess.”

Abandoned plastic cups, upright and tipped over, left puddles of cocktails. I looked for a safe place to lay my skirt. Ruth, reading my mind, pointed to a bleacher where several props rested.

“Thanks. What are y’all looking for?”

“A plug for the CD player. They locked the DJ booth, and I don’t see a way to reach the outlet on the other side of the glass,” Sybil said. They were searching behind the bleachers.

“Since it’s below the pool, the receptacles are probably high,” I said. I patted myself on the back for that piece of trivia I’d learned from contractor hubby. I walked into the bar and saw one by a TV in the corner. “If you don’t find one in there, we could unplug this television.” I started to feel the heat. The air conditioner was off, and sun radiated through the large window behind the dance pole.

Melody, Denise, and Kelly soon joined us.

“I don’t even wanna know what’s on the floor,” Kelly said, scrunching her face. “Sure looks different in the morning.”

“We’re only running through the show once,” Sybil said. “We’ll be at breakfast before eight thirty. Where’re Jennifer and Polly?” Kelly and I looked at each other and smiled.

“Jennifer met her stallion last night,” Kelly said. “He’s an Italian stallion. We left them chatting there,” she said, pointing to the pool window over the bar.

Before anything else could be said, Polly and Jennifer strolled through the arch.

“Welcome to Hurricane Disco, now known as Disco Hell,” Denise said, opening her arms to them. “Getting a little warm with the rising sun, huh?”

“Somebody get this plugged in by the TV so we can start,” Sybil said, holding up the CD player.

Polly put her stuff on the bleacher and took it. “Gimme a minute,” she said.

“So tell us!” Sybil said as she reached for her hip scarf.

Jennifer’s grin widened and she fluttered her eyelashes. “His name’s Massi and he’s from a small town outside of Rome,” she spilled. “I can listen to his accent for hours—in fact, I did!”

“Is he here with the swingers?” Kelly asked. The room tinkled with hip scarves being tied while we focused on Jennifer’s budding romance.

“No, he works for a travel group in Rome,” Jennifer said. “They sent him to Jamaica to visit and photograph resorts for their web page. He leaves Wednesday afternoon.”

From the bar, “Pathway to Goa” blasted from the boom box. Polly adjusted the volume and rejoined us.

“I want all the details after practice,” Sybil said. We nodded agreement.

“Jennifer, you’ve got the lineup. First dance?”

“It’s Patty’s,” she said. She rummaged through an embroidered bag and pulled out a rumpled list that she glanced over. “Everyone know their spots? The audience will be by the bay window that looks into the bridge.” She pointed between the pole stage and the bleachers. “Whoever isn’t in a dance can start the music in the other room . . . okay?”

“Let’s do it,” Sybil said when Jennifer finished.

We lined up and left a space for Lara, who’d be joining us in twenty-four hours. We steadily went through group dances and solos.

As Melody started the Gypsy music, our quad of sassy gypsy-skirted characters swished and circled each other. I noticed a couple watching us practice. Without stopping, I announced to the girls, “We’ve got an audience on the bridge.”

Kelly turned, looked, and waved. “That’s the couple from yesterday. She’s supposed to be coming to class today.”

As we progressed from dance to dance, others stopped to observe, including some Hedo staff. The air grew hotter as the sun rose. We hydrated often as we crossed the finish line of our practice.

“My sugars must be down,” I said to Polly. “I’m feeling a little nauseated.” She nodded as she swigged the last of her bottled water.

“Good job, ladies. Go eat, hang out, and be at the fitness center by one thirty,” Sybil said, wiping her brow with a small towel. Ruth disconnected the boom box.

We wasted no time exiting our hot dance box.

“I’ll meet y’all at the dining hall after I drop my stuff off,” I said.

Some of the hip scarves still jingled, attracting the attention of guests. Jennifer waved and greeted them like a prom queen.

“I swear she’s walking on air,” I said to Polly. We entered our room and threw the skirts in the open suitcase. I headed to the bathroom to dry my sweaty bangs. “How does she do it? I look like a drowned rat!” I heard Polly laugh over the roar of the blow dryer.