Welcome to Dubai (The Traveler) (20 page)

Jonah laughed at the idea herself. She said, “I know, right. I still don’t think your father understands how incredibly
hot
you are to the young women out here, even when you’re not trying to be.”

“Yeah, I bet the old man had his ways with women too,” Gary said. “After all, he did score with my mom.”

“Ahhh, I’m not gonna touch that,” Jonah commented.

“So when am I gonna meet him?
Ever?”

Jonah sighed, noticeably. “You dad decides when the time is right. I have no control over that.”

“You’re right. It’s too early in the morning for this anyway. So just tell the old man that I’m fine. If he wants to know anything more, you tell him to ask me himself.”

For all Gary knew, his father could have been around him countless times at ball games and events without making himself known, perhaps even at Gary’s graduation from Louisville. Nevertheless, the cat-and-mouse game between them continued.

Jonah admitted, “You have a lot more patience than I would have. If my father were still alive, I would have pressed the issue five years ago.”

Gary heard her out and paused to think.

“Ah, let me not put any ideas in your head,” Jonah responded, backtracking.

“Yeah, it’s too late for that. You tell the old man I need to see him as soon as I get back from Dubai. You’re right. I should have nipped this in the bud a long time ago. And I’m assuming that you’re tired of it now too.”

“That didn’t come out of my mouth,” Jonah told him.

“Actually, it did. But don’t worry, I won’t tell him you said anything. You just let him know that our little game of charades is over. I need to see who he is.”

Jonah paused again to compose herself as a show of seriousness. “I’ll be sure to tell him that you said that,” she promised.

“Thank you. Now let me get back to sleep.”

The problem was that Gary had left his blinds open while staring out at Dubai’s skyline the night before, so the sunshine was already blasting through the windows that morning. On top of that, with a sudden growl of his stomach, he was hungry. And the combination of sunlight and hunger forced him to stare up at the ceiling, wide awake.

“I guess it’s time for room service,” he commented. And he climbed out of bed.

Chapter 21

Ramia was overjoyed that morning. She had a lot on her mind and was already ironing her clothes to perfection—a lime-green, orange, yellow and brown floral sundress to wear with brown leather sandals. She even had a matching brown leather purse.

Basim opened his eyes in bed and wondered what was going on with her, moving around so early. It was barely after seven in the morning. They would not be leaving out for more than another hour. He had never seen her prepare so early.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean, what am I doing? I’m getting my clothes ready to get dressed.”

“This early? It’s only seven o’clock.”

“Yes, and you still have to drop me off at the hotel before you make it to work on time.”

“But why are you so consumed by your dress? Are you meeting someone?”

It was the right question, but Ramia planned to dodge it.

“No, I just want to look my best and to look for a second job at the mall. They want nice girls working at the malls,” she gushed.

“I thought you wanted the job at the hotel.”

“Yes, I do, but if I don’t get it, I have to look my best for the jobs at the mall.”

Basim stretched his arms and legs and climbed out of his bed to begin getting ready himself. His young cousin had been a constant issue of concern, yet her enthusiasm for life energized him. He wanted to do better in his own life because of her. Ramia made him think of experiencing more and setting higher aspirations for himself. Maybe he could go to the university and learn a profession as well. Why should he settle for store shopwork if he could do more?

Basim’s young and wired cousin made him consider options that he had not thought about before. Several new considerations crossed his mind as he walked into his tiny bathroom to shower that morning.

Ramia will make someone a great wife if they could ever manage to keep up with her,
Basim mused.

But the young man had no wife of his own, afraid that he could not afford to offer a woman a home.

What kind of life is this for any man?
he thought.
We spend all of our days and nights in this place to provide a playground for the wealthy of the world, and what do we get out of it? A few hundred dirham a week to spend on ourselves or to send home to our families. Then what?

While taking his shower, Basim’s mood swung from optimism to gloom in a matter of minutes. Higher aspirations could do that to a man—make him feel how far away he was from achieving them. Sometimes it was easier to think of nothing.

When Basim was dressed and ready to leave for work in his uniform of a yellow shirt and tan khaki pants, his mood had turned completely sour, but he was not willing to reveal it. He was determined to show his cousin nothing short of complete faith in Allah. But all humans had their doubts. Why should one man feel blessed over another? Was it all by design? Basim began to question everything.

In near silence, he led the way out of the building and into the guarded streets of Deira. Ramia followed closely behind him as they reached his modest blue sedan to head downtown and to work, as he had done for the past two years. Before he owned a car, he had caught the bus to work. And although it was not much to brag about, at least he now owned his own means of transportation.

Noticing his cold silence, Ramia asked, “What’s wrong?”

Basim shook it off as he opened the passenger side door for her.

“It’s nothing. I’m just trying not to be worried about you.”

Ramia grinned and slapped his shoulder. “That is something. Stop being so worried. I’ll be fine.”

She climbed into the car and strapped on her seatbelt.

Basim nodded and walked around the car to climb behind the driver’s seat without arguing. That struck Ramia as peculiar as well.

“Is it really bothering you that much that I want to walk around downtown?”

Basim smiled and attempted to make light of it.

“Maybe if you had a chaperone I would feel better about it.”

You mean like a handsome American named Gary?
Ramia kept that to herself. She didn’t want to give her cousin a heart attack. But he was asking for it.

“Don’t joke to me if you don’t want me to joke back to you,” she warned him. She then thought about his own dating possibilities. She had not seen her cousin with a lady friend since she arrived there months ago, and he had not introduced her to any.

“Basim, do you like any girls here?” Ramia asked her cousin tentatively.

With that, she got his undivided attention. Basim grilled her from behind the wheel and said, “Of course I like girls or
women.
What kind of question is that?”

Ramia smiled at his alarm. She said, “I just wanted to ask, because you have not introduced me to anyone or been out on a date since I’ve been here.”

“And nor have
you
,” he snapped at her absentmindedly. He said it mostly out of defensive irritation. But then he caught himself. “If I were to even allow it.”

Ramia frowned and said, “If you were to
allow it? Really?” She
was more amused than upset by his comment. Basim was showing her a strong hint of his social immaturity. She did not believe that her cousin knew how to act with a woman or at least not with any confidence. He seemed to be a workaholic who would marry late in life if at all.

“What do you think of the foreign women who enter your store to buy things? Are you attracted to any of them? What kind of girls do you like?”

Ramia quickly became fascinated by the subject, and she knew that it would irk him.

“I do not even
think
of such things. I like Muslim women, and I will marry when I am able to provide for a wife.”

“A
wife?
You have not even dated anyone.”

Basim continued to frown. “Dating is not as important as preparation. You can date a woman all you want, but if you are not prepared to offer her a home, a family and safety, then what is the point?”

“Love, romance, surprise,” Ramia answered in order. She had been preparing herself for a relationship conversation with her cousin for
weeks.
She believed that she needed to express it to him sooner or later, because she was not a virgin and she did not plan to allow him to treat her as such.

Basim shook his head and mocked her. “You have been following too much of Western society. And with your concept of love, romance and surprises, without proper discipline and preparation under the laws of Allah, you are sure to have cheating, heartbreak and then divorce.”

He continued, “Have you followed those trends from Western society?” Basim knew the divorce numbers well. He had studied them to convince himself that the Muslim way of courtship and marriage was correct and much more stable.

“Well, at least it would be more unpredictable and fun,” Ramia countered.

“Unpredictably bad,” her cousin argued. “And then the fun would run out.”

Despite their difference in age of seven years, Basim’s average stature, his studious looks and his clean baby face made him look not much older than she did. Ramia suspected many women could easily view her cousin as too young to take seriously.

“Do you get overlooked by women?” she asked him, almost teasingly. She was not bothered by his traditional Muslim views at all, she just knew that she felt differently.

Basim faced his cousin. “Why are you so curious about my social life? What
is
this?”

“You are my cousin, and I am only concerned about you. I love you, and I do not want to see you so lonely and overworked.”

Basim held his composure and took a deep breath at the wheel. They were nearing the downtown area and the International Suites, and he was anxious to drop her off. “Why, do you have someone in mind you would like for me to meet?” he finally challenged her.

That stunned Ramia, but she was up for the challenge.

“I could find one for you,
easily.
But she may not be Muslim. She could be Taiwanese.” She had just the woman in mind who was very attractive and pleasant enough to date an inexperienced man, and Ramia was almost certain that Basim had not had much experience with women. He was far too rigid to let himself go.

Basim nodded and pulled into the loading and valet area at the front of the International Suites. It was a twenty-seven floor building of brown-tinted glass, and he was suddenly happy to get rid of his probing cousin.

“Now make sure to call me whenever you head to a new destination.”

“You mean like, when I leave the mall to have a dinner with a hot German man?” Ramia teased him.

Her cousin was stunned and speechless. He looked as if he would turn into stone any second.

Ramia felt sorry for him. She smacked his arm. “I was only joking.” But Basim remained frozen.

“Are you trying to ruin my day at work?”

By the time Ramia climbed out of her cousin’s car, she was more irritated than sympathetic. Her cousin was being overbearing, and it was no longer sweet. However, her teasing him had not helped the matter.

I will not allow him to make me feel guilty about becoming a woman,
she told herself as she marched toward the rotating doors.

Inside the car, Basim continued to watch her, hypnotized, as if wondering if he should allow her to walk alone, until finally, he acquiesced.

“I must leave her safety in the hands of Allah and wish her well today,” he mumbled to himself. Nevertheless, when he drove off, he thought to himself,
She better call me!

Chapter 22

Ramia walked into the International Suites, past the eyes of the United Arab Emirates police at the front of the lobby, and headed over to the information desk.

“What times does management review applications today?”

The Indian woman wearing an all-black hotel-staff uniform paused. She sat behind the counter of the information desk in peace, but Ramia’s question stumped her.

“Review applications?”

“Yes, I handed in an application earlier this week to work here, and I wanted to see if I could get an interview.” She was being very polite but was also assertive in her desire to get a job.

“I see,” the Indian woman responded. “Let me check with management.”

The middle-aged woman was secretly impressed, and she saw no reason why the hotel management would not hire such a beautiful young woman.

“Yes, I have …” She looked up at Ramia to get her name.

“Ramia Farah Aziz,” she added with a radiant smile. The Indian woman repeated her name and made her own pitch, “. and she is very prepared for an interview.”

Then she listened while Ramia waited.

“Okay … Okay … Okay …”

As soon as she tells me something good or bad, I can get ready to head over to the Hilton,
Ramia told herself. She remained excited about the prospect of meeting the handsome American man again, if she could be that lucky.

Finally, the woman smiled and nodded. She hung up the phone and said, “The manager pulled your application and said he can speak to you later on today if you are still available around one o’clock.”

Ramia couldn’t believe it. She was using her job quest that morning as an alibi to see if she could find the sexy American. But she had hit pay dirt, or at least a face-to-face to score another job.

“Oh my, thank you. Thank you,” she repeated. Her excitement was genuine.

The older woman asked her, “What position are you applying for?”

Ramia pointed and answered, “Registration.”

“Yes, that’s what I thought.”

As the two excited women made small talk at the information desk, a security guard for the next shift, who was dressed in a black security uniform, walked briskly past them on his way to the basement camera room. The Arab man was right on time for work and walked with a happy bounce in his step. He reached the heavy exit door to the basement and entered the stairwell with no idea what he was walking into.