Ameera, Unveiled (31 page)

As she spoke, five barely clad guests entered the fitness room. They headed straight to Jennifer.

“Is this the belly dancing class?” one asked. I remembered her from naughty night with one of the swinger groups.

“Yes, welcome!” Jennifer focused all of her attention on the group. “We’re just about to start.” She washer-machined her hip scarf. “Grab a hip scarf so you can make pretty noises.”

Several members of the troupe dug into their bags in response to Jennifer’s invitation. It amused me that our students picked through the pile discriminately. One student shook each scarf before she settled on a purple one with four rows of silver coins.

While we assisted the newcomers in proper scarf dressing, the pretty nudist couple from the disco joined us. I watched as Sybil guided them on properly displaying coin scarves over their bathing suit cover-ups. The energy in the room felt giddy and girlish. I sensed a couple of guests were looking for something naughty. I was sure we’d disappoint them by the end of class.

“Hello,” Jennifer said, drawing the students in with a honeyed voice. She introduced Palmetto Oasis, where we were from, and our goal to give them a fun class in which to feel pretty, have fun dancing, and even bring the lessons back to their men—seducing them with newfound powers.

The students giggled in delight.

“I’m going to show you the three module basics,” Jennifer led the class. “Just have fun with them. It’s a warm-up so no one pulls something on their first day.”

The CD player blared a tune that was part classic drum and part world fusion. As we ran through an unscripted routine, I couldn’t help but notice through the fitness center’s glass walls a parade of nudists headed north on the sidewalk. Most ignored our activity, but sometimes someone would stop and flash us, imitating the current movement being demonstrated. I suppressed laughter, trying to focus on the ladies in the room.

As students chatted and jingled their scarves, Jennifer shifted gears. “Okay, ladies, I wanna show you something specific that you’ll love, and it isn’t all that hard. As you just experienced, dance is movement. But belly dance is also talking with your body. I wanna show you an arm movement that falls under module two. Tonight, you can do homework with your boyfriends or hubbies.”

“Without a hip scarf?” one of the students whined.

“This works Nude or Prude!” Jennifer teased as she extended her right hennaed hand toward the left side of the room. “I want you to picture yourself scooping out a peanut butter jar. A sexy peanut butter jar,” she stressed. She made eye contact with each woman as she scanned the room, scooping invisible peanut butter jars.

I was amazed at how funny the ladies found her simple challenge. As easy as it seemed, I noted several of the troupe assisting the students they stood beside. It took me back to my first classes with Sybil. There weren’t enough students to go around, so I participated silently in back.

Ending the class, Jennifer put three moves together as a combo and walked us around in a circle, transitioning to another cheerful tune. Then we cooled down for two minutes.

“We hope you enjoyed the class and would love to see you tomorrow,” Jennifer said, as she untied her hip scarf. “Oh, and please return your hip scarves to the front. We’ll get them back to their owners.”

I watched the ladies laugh and untie their jingly Hedo toys. As they approached Jennifer, they hugged and their manner seemed to confirm that they’d be coming back on Wednesday.

As we sent off the last student, Sybil turned and motioned us toward her.

“Great job, ladies,” she said. “Jennifer, you had them. I think they’ll spread the word.” She sounded like a coach after a ball game. “Enjoy the rest of your day. But remember Rick’s Café shuttle. They’ve bumped us to four thirty. See you in the lobby. Should be a great sunset.”

She turned to leave and threw a kiss.

We gave her a big zaghareet.

23

“Ready, Kat?” Polly yelled.

“Give me one more minute,” I said, pulling my hair into a ponytail. “You jumping?” I added a Tibet prayer-bead necklace to my stonewashed tank top.

“No, I’m not doing my hair again before theme night,” she said, standing with the front door open. “You?”

“No. Hurt my back earlier this year in a car accident,” I said, looking for my flip-flops. I didn’t confess my inner voice that said,
Don’t do it.
I grabbed my purse before we headed down the path. “Looks like we’ll see the sunset,” I said, staring at the beach as we entered the dining room.

The voices at the end of the hallway grew louder when we neared the reception area.

“There’s our group,” Polly said, heading to the red couches.

“I brought my video camera in case anyone wants to jump,” Jennifer announced.

I patted my small purse, checking for my camera.

Kelly jumped up and down. She was wearing a cotton cover-up sundress over her bathing suit and had pulled her hair back in a ponytail, which made me think she was serious about the jump. “I can’t wait. I’m scared, but I can’t wait,” she repeated.

“Looks like we’ll be sharing our ride,” Polly said, nodding at the strangers in our group. “They were smart, they brought cocktails.”

I counted four couples walking ahead of us.

“Don’t you wanna do it with me?” Kelly was pleading with Denise. Denise smiled but shook her head. Melody was quiet, looking tan in her white shorts and tank top.

“This should be fun in spite of it being a tourist trap,” Polly said. “Hope the folks in the bus with us have a sense of humor if we get loud.”

“I’d bet on them not taking offense. We are at Hedo,” I said.

Sybil boarded last to count heads. She said something to the bus driver as he closed the door. Before he’d driven twenty feet, the riders had broken into cheers.

Kelly’s signature “Woo-hoo” exploded enthusiastically.

The driver looked into the wide rearview mirror and gave us a warm Jamaican grin. “Ladies and gentlemen, my name’s Corn,” he said. “Welcome to your ride to Rick’s Café. It’s about nine minutes away . . . if you’re a crow. So we’ll wind our way along the coast for about twenty minutes.”

I stared out of the window as our bus struggled up the first hill, heading for the coastal highway. Between gaps of tropical palms, water shifted from sapphire blue to lime green. Our tired horse of a bus hugged the road shoulders. I tried to ignore the grinding gears as we made hairpin turns and climbed elevations at a snail’s pace—accelerating like NASCAR on the downside of a hill and threatening to take a corner on two wheels.

“Okay, no guardrails, steep banks, and a Jamaican Jeff Gordon,” I said. Polly laughed as she watched my facial expressions.

“Sybil’s in marketing mode,” Polly said, looking backward.

Sybil had walked to the back of the bus and stood chatting with some Hedo guests.

“Kat. You okay?” Polly nudged me several minutes later.

“Just listening, looking, and figuring it out,” I said, staring out the window. “I hope what I’m learning and feeling will last beyond Jamaica.” We passed small shacks with more laundry lines from which colorful clothing gently floated in the sea breeze. “Hey, we’re headed to another adventure,” I added.

Jennifer turned on the camera and panned the shuttle to record video memories.

As we hit the parking lot, employees of Rick’s waved in our direction to usher into a newly reconstructed building. The sidewalks and stone walls looked indestructible. A live band played from another level of the structure.

We wandered toward a burgundy couch with complementary chairs strategically placed to overlook the cliffs and sunset. Before we’d barely settled in, a waitress appeared and took orders for our first round of drinks.

She advised, in very good English, “Sunset’s in about one hour. The diver’ll dive maybe four more times.” She looked at a plastic watch and pointed at a spot at the wall. “You may want to go watch him in the next ten minutes and order appetizers first. I can save your place.”

We thanked her, gave her our drink orders, and sank back into the comfy outdoor furniture. We listened to the distant live music against the screams of tourists as they watched and jumped into water off the cliffs. It was as if each of us had exhaled to make another memory.

Almost immediately, our drinks arrived. “Can you bring us some appetizers and make sure everything gets on my credit card?” I asked her when no one was looking. She nodded and opened her paper order pad. Collectively, we decided on several heavy appetizers and she shuffled off.

“I loved class today,” Melody said. “Those ladies were delightful and so game.”

Kelly added, “I’m glad we’re doing something different tonight though. I’m having a blast with all the guests. And I’m gonna jump, y’all!” We gave her a huge zaghareet.

“We aren’t gonna get a great sunset. Looks like this may be the best time for a group picture,” Ruth said, pointing to a corner on the deck. As we moved, Sybil grabbed a waitress to take the photograph of us posing beside the rail.

As I rejoined my drink, Ruth announced, “I’ll dive with Kelly.” I watched as Sybil’s radar perked. I looked at Ruth’s outfit. It didn’t look planned for jumping off a twenty-foot cliff.

“I don’t think we’ve got a lot of light left to jump, ladies,” Sybil warned as we cleaned the last of the food from the tapas plates. “We’d better go check it out.”

I looked over my shoulder and noticed the diver climbing a dead tree. He scampered up its trunk confidently.

“Hurry, y’all,” Kelly said, rushing to grab a good spot to witness the plunge.

He walked on small boards nailed between dead tree trunks as if they were a balance beam. Grabbing a small branch, he leaned toward the water, dangling his feet in the air. As he swung back and forth, defying gravity, the crowd’s faces and eyes reacted to the antics. He returned to the wooden boards and centered himself.

“This is it,” Sybil said.

Dramatically, he tiptoed, raised his arms, and held our attention a bit longer before he somersaulted two times during his thirty-foot plunge, parting the waters with a minimal splash.

“I’m doing it!” Ruth exclaimed, pulling her ponytail loose.

Kelly shed her cover-up, throwing it at Denise before she skipped down the cliff stairs.

“Sure you don’t wanna jump, my daredevil friend?” I challenged Polly.

“And mess up a perfectly good hairstyle? Miss my chance to meet my own Italian stallion on the edge of Rick’s Cliffs?” she answered. “No, I’ll just watch and look fabulous.”

“Excuse me,” Kelly said, as she pushed and weaved through the crowd.

Their attention was divided between watching the diver and the patrons taking turns plunging off lower walls. I looked over the stone wall and could see the shadows of coral heads speckled in line with the dive. Pre-teen Jamaican boys treaded water, signaling by hand what areas to avoid. Ruth and Kelly approached the open space, looking for a watery bull’s-eye.

“Kelly, they’re pointing away from where you’re looking,” Ruth advised, poking Kelly’s arm and pointing at the brown spot. The boys were shouting the word rocks. “I think they want us to aim there.” The young boys nodded agreement and kept pointing away from the rocks.

The previous tourist diver made it to the ladder surrounded by young apprentice divers.

Ruth paced and took several breaths. She and Kelly discussed their strategy. Jennifer kept the camera rolling.

With one more breath, Ruth stepped back, took three giant strides, and plunged off the wall in her street clothes. My eyes followed her as she entered the water feet first. She disappeared for at least an eight count before popping up in the sea froth and waving ecstatically to us.

“Woo-hoo! I’m ready,” Kelly shouted.

We watched Ruth swim toward the ladder flanked by young Jamaican chaperones.

“We’re waiting on you, Kelly!” Jennifer editorialized as she continued to film.

“Jump, hooker!” Denise cheered Kelly on.

Finally, without a woo-hoo or comment, Kelly stepped back in her little floral bikini, pinched her nose, and dove toward the designated spot. She hit the water cleanly and disappeared. When she pierced the surface, she gave us a huge thumbs-up.

A minute later, Ruth and Kelly rejoined us, giddy over their accomplishment. Jennifer kept the camera rolling, acting like a reporter interviewing them and recording their excitement.

“I’m doing it,” Sybil announced. She ripped off her false ponytail and flung it at Jennifer.

Laughing and still recording, Jennifer put the hairpiece in her bag. Ruth and Kelly stood off to the side, dripping and encouraging Sybil to go for it.

Sybil followed the fingers of the young trainees below, pointing out the rocks.

From behind the camera, Jennifer shouted, “Make us proud, Sybil! Do it for Palmetto Oasis!”

I kept my eye on Sybil as she hit the water with pointed toes and a tiny splash. We held our collective breath as we watched for her to resurface. For a second, I panicked. But in true Sybil style, she broke the surface and proceeded to float like a mermaid. Our group cheered.

The sun was almost gone when Melody checked her watch. “We’ve got thirty minutes to catch the free shuttle back,” she said.

“Let’s head down. Maybe I’ll be drier by the time the shuttle arrives,” Sybil suggested as she rejoined our group.

We saw the diver climbing the tree for one more performance.

“Aren’t y’all glad we got a picture with him when we got here?” Denise asked.

Sybil, Ruth, and Kelly looked at each other’s dripping apparel and hair. Cackling, they nodded agreement. Jennifer pulled out Sybil’s dry, fake ponytail from her bag, causing another round of laughter.

As we joined the shuttle line, I hoped the ride home wouldn’t be too chilly for the wet ones. Jennifer replayed her video for Sybil and Ruth. The live band faded, and I heard disco music in a separate corner of the property.

Disco? It reminded me that we’d an early-morning practice before I snorkeled with a few of my new sisters. Tomorrow was Jennifer’s birthday. Lara would arrive too. Hump Day would be a good day for the Forte sisters.