November 2, 2010
Daily Sagittarius Horoscope
Look how far you have come Sagittarius.
today is a great fay for reflection and spending
time being proud of how well you accomplished
what you desired. Bask in the glory of your
resilience and don't let anybody bring you down.
"...
Like a flower bending in the breeze
Bend with me, sway with ease
When we dance you have a way with me
Stay with me, sway with me.."
"Trey, stop!"
Emma felt his feet grazing her toes as he'd lifted her off the ground and she pressed her forehead to his shoulder to stop her head from spinning. He was chuckling at her weak smile and it rumbled cheekily, airily and not so masculine but more genuine. Without his shirt and dressed only in navy blue pinstripe dress pants that were hanging slack at his waist, Trey was dancing with her that morning. Dean Martin's 'Sway' had come on her Pandora and Trey immediately started mouthing the words casually in the bathroom. Emma had laughed at his hairbrush that doubled as a microphone while she'd been putting the last of her small makeup army away.
She'd done nothing really worth noticing in the cosmetics department. But her skin was much oiler those days and so she had to be careful to add a little powder foundation to her routine with light blush for depth. She had a single line of the blackest eyeliner every on with a few swipes of voluminous mascara and Chapstick. The simplicity but darkness made her eyes seem a little almond shaped. Which she loved.
She had been on the way to her closet when Trey grabbed her hand, cupped it in his, and wrapped an arm around her midriff. Suddenly she was dancing, twisting around the bathroom until he needed more space. She whined cutely, in a mood because she had had heartburn that morning. His good vibe was infectious and before she knew it, without her consent, she was dancing too, rubbing her hips against his and beckoning him to 'sway with her' as well. Their legs tangled and Trey practically dragged her around in his clumsy leading, his head back while he sweetened the air with his perfect voice. Emma turned her head to lay on his shoulder and close her eyes. They swayed tranquilly when Emma finally gave up her struggles and simply let him hold her in the soft lamplight of morning. He even let her put her feet back on the ground once she'd stopped fighting his urge to dance.
When she looked up he grinned in good nature at her and she could do nothing but show him a lazy grin of her own.
Then his face took on a more austere look and he let her go abruptly.
"You tryna make me late or something," he accused with a snarl. Emma's jaw dropped and the beginning of a smile broke over her features. Trey shook his head and kept his façade going at her gaping features. "You know you outta be ashamed of yourself. Never tryna see a black man make it."
"Whatever!" she laughed walking around him.
"I'm serious!" He followed behind her back into the bathroom where her iPad had been propped against the sink behind her faucet. She b-lined for the closet. "First you turn in your two week notice, then you try and make me late so I'll get fired. Then I'ma have ta spend all my time here with you. That's what you want hunh?"
Emma shook her head and pushed clothes towards the wall with the door on their hangers, deeming them to thin or small or just not what she had in mind to wear that day. Her grin was very composed. "Trey I asked you if you thought I should take some leave for work in November and you fired me!"
"I ain't fire you girl I suggested you quit!" He was in the bathroom brushing his hair in the vapor of his bath. She'd gotten up before him that morning. After playing with her hair for the better part of an hour, she'd put it in a safety bun with a part on the left side of her head to try and add some diversity to the style. She tapped her index finger against her torso with her hands on her hips dressed in a pair of sky blue bikini underwear and a black satin bra. Her stomach protruded just barely still and inside her, her baby was the size of a lemon.
She was thirteen weeks pregnant.
"That's not how you said it," she murmured distractedly. Emma flicked at the tag of a pair of golden beige wool slacks and made a face at the number. She could do nothing with a nine anymore.
"Well, that's how I meant it."
"But that's not what you said Trey. You told me I wouldn't have a job when I came back."
"I said you might not so there was no point in coming."
"What does that even mean?"
Emma pulled a hanger down and looked over the sexy grey pencil dress she'd worn once or twice before that season. The neckline had been what hid her first few bruises inflicted by Trey after their time at the house off the lake. It was much too tight now and she did not have to try it on to discover that. She spied a plaid forest green and burnt orange and purple skirt of wool and cotton. She pulled it down and checked the tag. I can do this, Emma thought. I can get in this.
She threw the skirt over her arm and then turned to her button downs pressed against the wall behind her closet door to make rooms for Trey's thousands of shirts. She found a white one. Almost immediately she shook her head and put it back, opting for one of her sweaters and a tunic or something to keep her from getting hot. The button downs were showing stress as of late and it was embarrassing.
And she became hot very easily.
Emma was looking through her sweaters when Trey responded that that meant very clearly that he didn't want her 'workin' in there for them crackers no more.' Emma found some black tights in her panty drawer and some boots from two winters ago to wear. She grabbed a very form fitting burnt orange blazer with short sleeves and made of a shiny material.
"You full of shit," she rolled her eyes at his reflection while she walked from the bathroom with her bundle of clothing. Emma didn't work for a legion of 'crackers' she worked for him and she was very aware of that fact while Trey was attempting to put a spin on a very unconvincing story.
She dressed herself, smiling in satisfaction at the skirts stretch that allowed her to tuck her silk material cream colored blouse into it. She pulled at the loose shiny fabric for a little slack. She folded back the sleeves over her blazers cuffs and then sat down to put on the black boots with the modest, thick two inch heel.
Trey screamed that she hurt him with her words. She snickered and knew that she didn't. He was improving all his reasoning and he knew it. He'd tried to fire her. Or insinuate that he would find someone to replace her in November if she decided to take the time off.
While Emma finished zipping up her shoes she pondered her wardrobe. Those days she had to be very careful about the clothes she decided to wear. Any outfit could easily become a disgrace. In the end Emma had to change her underwear because the panty lines were showing on her big old booty but that was all. Taking everything off the change the most basic of things was fine and did not frustrate her in the least. She was quite used to having to re-establish an entire outfit.
Luckily enough, Emma thought while the song in the bathroom switched to another old lovely melody: 'La Mer' by Veronnaeu, her doctor said she was done with all her pivotal growing in her first trimester. Now that she was well into her second she could expect not to grown anywhere more drastically than her stomach until the last month or so. She shimmied to the music while she worked back into her tights. Emma didn't understand very many of the lyrics but she knew bits and pieces of the lovely French song.
"Are you riding with me?" Trey asked, coming from the bathroom with a tie thrown over around his neck. Emma nodded from where her phone had been plugged into the wall. Farrah had sent her a picture message of a text Beth had attempted to send to her under duress. All the typos spoke for themselves. With her thumbs, Beth could not type for shit. Trey finished the last of his cup of orange juice and then went to the oval mirror to fix his tie. Emma didn't see that he'd thrown the vest to match his pants on their made bed. His crisp white shirt had silver diamond cuffs and his shoes shined dazzlingly.
They made Emma want to go and put on heels at the last minute he looked so good. So she found her month old Michael Kors black studded 'Pattie' pumps and slid them on at her vanity chair.
She tossed the boots haphazardly into the bottom of the closet and looked down at her lovely shoes. She wondered if her feet would be able to stand them all day. Emma went to get a pair of ballerina shoes, black ones, in case she couldn't. At the mirror one last time she turned to her side and pulled at the bottom of her blazer. At her v her uterus jutted out underneath the little jacket very cutely to Trey but not to her. Her different underwear eliminated her panty line though and for that she was grateful.
Downstairs Trey mumbled about a couple of breakfast burritos while he put all his things from the foyer table into his pockets. Emma said she wanted one too while she hoped she could hold her heartburn at bay long enough to enjoy it. She'd only managed a little milk down that morning.
"Gypsy said we need a dog."
Emma glanced back at him before she slid her shades on her face and started down the steps of the porch. The early morning in Atlanta in November was not nearly as cold as one would have thought it at first glance. It was gloomy and the threat of rain loomed in the moisture of the air around them. Emma had on a thin coat and she'd grabbed her umbrella from the coat closet in the foyer before they left. She asked Trey why he thought that her cat thought they should get a canine.
Trey opened her door. "He said we need more protection."
Emma grabbed his briefcase from his outstretched hand when he went around to the driver's side. He unbuttoned his jacket while she put the bag on the floor behind his seat, and slid in. "You lyin!'" she accused with a grin. "My baby don't want no smell ol' dog all over the house!"
Trey looked shocked that she would accuse him of something like that. He started the truck and turned on the heater with creases in his eyebrows. Trey sat back like he was giving the machine a second to warm up. "What I gotta lie for?"
"A dog nigga!"
Trey bust out laughing at her extremities and Emma did some chuckling at her own expense. She swatted his hands when he continued to laugh, beckoning her to make the face again through his fit. She refused, smiling because he thought she was fun.
"'a dog nigga,'" Trey mumbled with a shake of his head when they pulled away from the house. "You be all the time thinkin' you got jokes now." His tone was his approving and teasing but the light in his squinted eyes bid no harm and Emma scuffed under his half scrutiny. She told him she was funny and he made a face and with his eyebrows really high and his lips pursed. He looked to be saying 'I doubt it.'
Emma was not fazed.
She was funny.
"Why you want a dog anyway?"
Trey glanced at her. "Protection... for real."
"Protection from what?"
He made a face. "All the shit in them trees we don't see."
Emma rolled her eyes while he merged onto the highway to the city. Then he went on to name things that could very well be in the trees that she just hadn't considered. Wild deer, raccoons and other rodents with rabies, snakes... which had the desired effect. Emma muttered about the kind of dog they would get if they ever got a smelly old dog.
She was logical. A dog would be the first to find an intruder and tell someone. Gypsy would try and handle it himself, silly tabby cat.
The sun made an attempt to peak between thin layers of clouds but was overpowered and had to simply settle for seeming like it was just behind the giant cotton ball. Traffic was slow and Trey quickly lost his bubble of the morning. It was replaced with his surly old man character that absolutely hated traffic. He exited only to get their burritos.
Trey hadn't finished his tots so Emma polished them off with a swig of water just before they pulled into his CEO parking spot. They gathered their things while Emma was trying to remember a joke word for word from something she saw on the tv the night before.
"And then he said, 'you don't know what Rihanna might have said to Chris to make him lose his mind and hit her!' He was like," Emma paused to close the car door and walk around to meet him. Her face was lit up with her excitement and she stopped to swallow. He smirked at her bustling form. "'I bet she looked at him and was like 'that's why you can't dance!''" Emma skipped to keep up with his long strides, her eyes on the side of his face to gauge his reaction to her hilarious story. She hoisted her purse up higher on her shoulder.
"Can't dance?" Trey repeated with a curious smile while he walked.
Emma nodded around her laughs. "Yeah! Then he was like 'I bet Chris Brown was like 'Bitch what!?' He was like..!'" Emma started doing her best impersonation of the dancing she'd seen. Her fingers twisted into made up gang signs. She bit her lower lip and sneered as she'd seen the comedian do and almost broke her stern face at Trey's genuine laughter beside the elevator. She glared while she jived, her hips humping the air and her arms flailing like she'd seen so many people do when they did a particularly sporadic dance. She popped and locked and lifted her leg. "'Bitch what!?!?!'"
Trey laughed more and the elevator dinged a floor above them, a sign that it was close. Emma grinned and stopped her joking just as the doors opened. "Oh it was so funny. You shoulda seen him."
"Where was I?" Why do people that miss something always ask where they were? As if she would have known that.
"I don't know. Working out I think."
They stepped inside and a full day's work suddenly lay in front of them. Emma pulled at the bottom of her blazer. Trey reached to pop her hand, a way of reminding her not to be self-conscious. He didn't strike her as she'd expected but she flinched at the poise of his hand over hers in indignation. Her eyebrows crumped and her mouth fell open, her hand shrinking away and her eyes disapproving as though she wished he would! "I wasn't gon' pop you... but two for flinchin' though." He popped Emma's hand twice and a sound that was the noise any first word sounded like croaked from Emma's throat and her disbelief became evident. They tussled the floors away while she tried not to drop her purse but hit him at the same time and he attempted to catch her hands but not accidentally hit her with his briefcase. Trey finally fell on her lightly like boxers did their opponents in the later rounds when their tired. Emma held his weight instinctively but shouldered around while he moaned like he was wounded or something.
No one would have been able to guess that the two of them had been cutting up so emphatically in the parking garage just moments before when the doors opened on the contractor's side of the wall. Trey and Emma walked like everyone was supposed to be getting out of their way so there was no need to walk any way besides side by side.
They didn't see it
... but they did.
Emma's office was closer so they parted ways at her door, Trey throwing her a cool smile before he continued down the way to his own office. People were coming from the direction he was walking and Emma nodded to Jonathon and his company before she ducked into her space.
At the desk she settled into a routine almost immediately, her eyes trained on her computer and her feet rolling around the heels to stretch her ankles before they started to ache already. Emma assessed the feeling that surrounded her in her office, the comfort. She had expectations to accompany this feeling just like any other. She expected to be sitting there until she was thirsty... She used to check messages and emails and things but Trey did that all himself now. She her own.
She was expecting Bobby to come into her office and ask her something not so random but very inappropriate as he was known to do. Or something just to get a foot inside her office. That wasn't something Emma thought Bobby was ever going to be able to grow out of or excel from, being so outspoken about the brashest of his thoughts attempting to push his way into ones space. And he was a grown man, making an excellent living for himself with no one to support just as Emma was..
or had been.
Or..
...
There was no reason that he should outgrow a trait at this point in her adult life. Who was she to deem his behavior worth changing? She certainly had her own kinks to work out and they had been mildly close at one point despite where they were right then. If anyone had changed the dynamics of their friendship, whatever they were, it was her. They had had some sort of friendship right?
Emma bit her lip and tried to remember, if at any time, had Bobby ever expressed disgust rather than simply a mild curiosity at her relationship or lack thereof with her supervisor. She would have mumbled to herself that she didn't have time to wonder at the sincerity of all Bobby's most recent larks if she weren't so genuinely curious about the intentions of anyone besides her friends. The people she spoke to, that knew her. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts and she had seventeen emails. Trey's time as a connector and benefactor in the company that had just gained so much reason to invest in their facilities and investing endeavors had become a commodity that everyone wanted to be a part of. He was invited to dozen of exclusive parties and conferences and balls and dinners and other fanciful soirées. The political season, he had explained, was always strenuous for him because of the ambitions that the people around him had for all that he owned, all that he had to offer.
He was approached by dozens of businesses and foundations and interest groups advocates and recruiters for the military... because he was so young on a daily basis about the next step in his adventurous life.
And if they weren't pitching him something to invest all the money Emma was not sure H&M was aware that he had in, they were simply begging for his attendance. His pretty glitter and money at their charity reality television fundraiser or quaint dinner in Dunwoody. Someone had to be made accountable for the generosity of New Never. Someone had to be the show of such a lucrative American-owned business that was bringing work and contracts to the struggling Metro area.
The only problem was that Trey never wanted to be the face of all the money he'd given. He had layers, Trey, er Trey that she had no notions about. Whatever they were they didn't like for people to know who he was when he was in public. They did not adore adoration. They humbled him, his layers, whatever they were.
She knew he was just as... odd and intricate as she was.
Layers to his education.
Layers to the money he had at hand and the money he'd invested.
Layers to the people that he knew.
Layers...
But Trey was not daft or gloomy and he appeared where it benefited him. Emma remembered the banquet she and Trey attended in which the governor was honoring a nationally ranked college basketball team. Trey'd agreed, at least, to attend that. The foundation he sponsored booster-ed the team pro bono. Plus the governor had persuaded other political officials to sway more in the way of Trey's business endeavors as of recent and in the nearest past. Trey explained that he had the jobs and money the pay for the work but some contractors liked to cut corners and get illegal things like workers and hot imported goods. He was running a clean, honest 'joint' and real people, real Atlanta natives that paid their taxes needed those jobs and that money...
The work opportunities provided by Trey's extensive and intricate establishment were not lost on anyone and he was a commodity in the eyes of any political party, campaign, or event organizer in the entire metro Atlanta area.
She'd worn her Antonio Berardi from that years fall collection to the meal and the governor's private cocktail party afterward. It hadn't been worn the weekend Trey brought it for her in Nevada. She wanted to flaunt the thousands of dollars' worth of fabric before she couldn't fit it anymore.
It was the white pencil cut that was right below her knees. A sleeve across her chest folded back elegantly but Emma maintained a practiced modesty and barely let the fold expose the skin of her collar and no more.
With it she'd worn the Asos Santos pale pink pointed toe pumps she'd worn on the airplane back to Georgia. The shoes were almost her favorite. Almost.
Her very small window at the top of the wall of filing cabinets that adorned her office showed no signs of day breaking out into a beauty just before the early morning started to give way to late. She found, sitting at her desk, that she would not miss the start of a day in an office. She lost track of the thoughts pertaining to Bobby and the flashing ones of Beatrice touched her stomach and then undoing the buttons of her blazer. Her eye caught a beige, orange, brown, and sandy colored sea conch at the corner of her desk beside her pencil sharpener and she sat back, her hands in her lap, while she pondered the new piece of furniture and the situations surrounding its presence in her office.
Trey had insisted, despite anything Emma said about weather or planning ahead, on making Emma wear some sort of jacket on her arms to the airport that Friday she flew out. He said it didn't make sense for her to walk around Atlanta cold simply because she knew it wasn't cold where her plane was landing. She certainly didn't see the need for some outrageously bulky jacket on the craft if she would be in temperature controlled environments until she touched down but that wasn't something he was even willing to consider.
So they had compromised; Emma wore a quarter sleeved navy blue floral printed blazer. The flowers adorning it were peach and tan with leaves sprinkled very attractively around them. The forest green blouse she wore underneath had no sleeves. It was a Helmut Lang designer drape top with a conservative neckline and a tail-like flap just over her butt. The material was light and thin but very clearly satin and not transparent. It fit very loosely and with it she wore a pair of faded washed holy boyfriend jeans and ballerina shoes. The red suede flats were easy to walk in and maintain her comfort.
At the airport he walked around the car and swung her one Gucci bag, the largest of the set he'd purchased for her so she wouldn't use his, and put it on the ground beside them. Pulled out his wallet and shuffled several hundred dollar bills into the front pocket of her jacket. She told him that she had his gold card and he muttered something about having cash. He was as solemn as the tabby cat had been when he spotted the Gucci bag emerging from the closet and anxiously darted around the room trying to guess who was leaving. Trey had been in a surly mood since they woke up that morning. He was on his way to H&M and she was on her way to the islands and one could tell that Trey was fairly miserable about it.
It wasn't the vacation he would be missing either.
He was not wordy or touchy or sullen seeming. Instead his face was eyebrows were curved for pending traffic. His lips weren't pursed broodingly but slightly ajar; his hands in his pockets kicking up the jacket above his wrists. Trey looked around them once and then back at her with a sigh, his eyes sweeping the features of her face. She remained wide eyed and readable under his scrutiny, relaying no mood or hidden message. Just standing and looking at him... with him. He kissed her quick, made her promise to call when the plane landed, and walked back around to the other side of the Mercedes suavely. Emma grabbed up her bag when his tail lights threw red blotches across the hood of the car turquoise Toyota behind him. She smiled and pushed her fingers to her lips and waved them at his window where she could see him clearly as day looking at her with a smile.
She missed him before her bag was checked. She didn't want to have to force her way through the throngs of people without heels for height. Her heavy shoulders made her feel like a junior high student without added height. But she didn't want to be uncomfortable later.
Emma flew into an airport on the boot of Florida first. Her flight was an hour and the better of another. She almost missed the connecting. They overlapped so dangerously. With her bags already checked and moved she had but to walk fast and resist all the airport enticements: Starbucks, Taco Bell, and the book store....
From Florida she flew into Andros Town International Airport on a very small commercial jet that seated twenty people exactly with four rows of three on one side and four rows of two seats on the other. There were still two attendants, both white and sweet natured but short and to the point as the flight was so quick. Emma wondered where Trey's found such commercial tickets... and how much he'd shelled out to land at Andros Town, such a remote airport. Not at all for cheap tourists. Andros Town was the lowest she could get to where she lived on the islands and the flight was less than sixty minutes in its entirety.
It was without a doubt not at awe-inspiring homecoming.
She did not feel rushing spirits of emotion or nativity or peace upon feeling Bahamian soil under her feet. The energy coursing through her veins whether it be nerves or adrenaline from her previous 30,000 ft altitude, she was sure it was not joy. She suspected that she was resisting any soothingness from the site of the ocean six miles to her left still loud and stretching. Her face was a grimace while she shucked the floral jacket down her shoulders and allowed the blaring noon sun to beat on her shoulders already. She remembered the feeling though she was not please by it, of real hot sun, not smog shaded sun from millions of cars and chimneys and people in a metro area. It was, that revitalizing blare from the sky, what Atlanta with all its prissy facades and models would boil away to nothing underneath.
She'd told him, she thought while she threw the fabric over the loop of her tote bag, that it would be too much once she got here.
The airport was small. Yellow with a white picket fence and a scarce little garden of green grass that was sand just on the other side of the wooden barrier. The hot dry air stuck to the back of her throat, making her lick her suddenly chapped lips while she walked away from the craft toward the little building to claim one of the sparse taxi's parked outside before the other flyers. Just outside the building was also an intricately painted van with lively, colorful merchandise of all kinds on racks around it and in the back. Straight ahead of the vans front, not four yards off, was Queens Highway. People bustled inside to the sanctity of air conditioning again for just a few moments and see about their luggage like hens while Emma waved down the attentions of a man leaning against the first jeep of the line, a dirty red one, with the word taxi cheaply airbrushed in yellow on the side in strict, Ariel letters.
"You goin' south?" he asked, his pronunciation because of their region rubbing over her roots, who she was at heart.
Emma nodded once she was close enough. Her eyes squinted and she reached around inside her tote for her sun glasses while she spoke. "Yuh," she all but sang before she knew how she would sound. " 'round Behring." She cleared her throat and blinked hard to wonder why she sounded foreign to herself but he didn't.
It was hot, blazing hot out.
"Cos' by duh mile." He gestured south with the hand holding his cigarette. His skin was black as night and his own twang made Emma's tongue become coated with imaginary dense molasses and she was suddenly Bahamian again. Her words needed to drawl on at the end and be nasal. She didn't sound foreign anymore. She licked her dry lips with the new molasses and the window could not knock the good drip away.
"'Ow much?"
The driver only accepted payment in Bahamian dollars and that thought gave Emma dread in her stomach. More things to have to worry about, really. She felt an impending doom, like the luggage was probably being distributed or something and her time was wearing thin. The sun was starting to make her shoulders burn already and she spotted a liver spotted older white man with a white sun visor on heading to inquire about the taxi behind hers. She looked around. "Me get dollars. Ow' much?"
The merchant had just as much of Andros Town's thick accent on his words to make him a native to Emma as the taxi driver had. He sat in the passenger's seat with his oily black leg dangling out to so as to keep an eye on his things. His toothpick held up the corner of his mouth and his wife beater did not look at all white anymore. But he was fair and struck a deal once he'd checked a few of her bills. She bought several straw hats, some died different colors and others simply beige. Emma gave him four hundred bucks for the hats and three hundred and twenty-five Bahamian dollars. The numbers were roughly the same accept he stood to lose almost a dollar and thirty cents for every hundred dollar bill he turned into a Bahamian dollar.
In her mind Emma figured that she paid about five bucks a hat and given him an incredible extra few dollars per hundred dollar bill he planned to flip... sort of like when she paid Bank of America six bucks to cash a check because she did not have an account at the time.
Emma was not anxious until she had her purse and Gucci duffle sitting in the seat beside her and she was on her way to just outside Behring. Where they had attempted to build as much of a city as they could. She sat back while she looked at the afternoon's brightest show of agriculture and natural delights. That sullen, just be there already feeling settled into her bones and she knew she was restless. She felt the imaginary grime of hundreds of miles on her skin. Her legs were hot in the boyfriend cut pants despite their room for space. Her bra cut into her shoulders discreetly under the breathable drape shirt. Emma simply wanted to be still. She was hot and the sky was open like it was prime fishing weather and she just wanted to be out of its rays.
And she didn't have a plan. Yet another thing to irk her into discomfort and a mood for no reason.
That and the thought of her baby. Every present worry and wonder at the same time for their baby.
That was enough to put her in a mood.
Emma didn't have an address or even a phone number. She was not in Nassau where Bella had written the letter. That was a totally different island and even when Trey booked her passage to 'the lowest airport in the 'hamas' she'd voiced no objections. She had no intentions of going to Nassau. What would she say to her sisters' husband's family when they opened the door?
'I'm a relative you've probably heard nothing about looking for my sister I'm sure you know her...'
This was not a reality television show. She was only in town for the night and the day after. And she did have the landmarks described in Bella's letter. There was a new hotel in town. Right where her house used to be. Bella saw the building every day. Emma had thought to start there but she crossed that notion off her list when she reread the letter and understood that while Bella sold fruit there, she wasn't actually an employee. That source was a dead end before it happened. Still she would need somewhere to stay and so that had been her directions. Some place only a local would know just outside Behring where the 'Flau'ts' used to be. Nothing at all and everything about the place had changed. The scenery was different of course but the island still gave her heart a sense of entrapment, of impending doom. She just wanted to be away from there already... just as she'd felt when she was a child escaping to a world much too fast pace for her...
College.
In the Wrangler Emma inhaled the air and felt absolutely no fantastic or life altering churnings in her gut for old road signs she remembered using as land marks for how far she had traveled on the rare occasions she left her town when she was young. The air did not taste so different or memorable. The sky was not so very much bluer than Atlanta's. To her the greenery was not overly green or phenomenal in its green-ness. There was no longing associated with sudden homesickness in her head while she looked miles and miles away from the street she was on to the Atlantic ocean at her left. She did not wonder what she'd missed in the waters raging's while she was away.
No instead she missed Trey and wondered what he was up to. She longed to be tucked away with him in their home watching her tabby cat chase a laser light around the wall.
She pushed her hair behind her ear leaned her head out of the window to look behind them at the stretching paved road. Emma grabbed at the two paper bag holding her flimsy but retro new hats to keep the accessories from toppling over onto the floor of the zooming jeep because no one really gave a damn about the speed limit on Queens highway. Not really.
There was hope yet to find her family and Emma had planned to utilize the only hint she had about her people as soon as she touched down in town but it was almost dinner time and she was deathly tired from all her ripping and running. She had no desire to do anything more than sleep by the time she saw familiarity around her. There was the laundry matt. The colors had not changed a bit in that the flag painted on the side was still fading and the cement bricks sprayed white were becoming known in front. The boarding house had been a second rate establishment when Emma remembered that she hadn't been old enough to purchase the services of a room there. Looking at the aqua green two story building and fuchsia pink shutters then she was glad that she had never lay her head in such a situation.
When she pulled up to her old address Emma muttered a curse word at the tiny place that served as the giant hotel business Bella had been talking about. It was then that she remembered how long she'd been away from home... how small town she used to be. The Behring Inn was a two story not very much larger than Emma's own house and not nearly as tall. In fact the top was flat, like one could climb atop it and walk around. It was a soft powder pink with white shutters and a large white double deck balcony that allowed some top floor visitors to sprinkle across only three rusted iron table sets. No one was up there. On the lower porch rocking chairs lined both sides of the double doors that did not slide. There was no bellboy but one old black man in the far corner chair looking at the comings and goings of the establishment next door with ghostly eyes. People walking back and forth on the sidewalk were ever present.
The Inn was also without parking in the front and so the driver hopped up on the curb a little and turned and looked at Emma. She waited a beat with a snarl, not believing, and then finally gave him his fair, a measly fifty-seven Bahamian dollars. She grabbed all her things on one strong arm and slammed the door while he honked and hung out of the window already looking to be let back out into the slow but bustling traffic.
On the curb she readjusted her jacket over her tote, her two paper bags in one and the duffle in the other before she went for the door. She dared not put anything down; people were walking to and fro on the sidewalk in front of her, eyeing her like she couldn't see them because she had on the shades and not the other way around. She was not from there. Or she did not look it.
If you came to where she lived, you fished. The tourist attraction was Behring Club, the bay where they sports fished and sailed. If you weren't interested in those tourists' attractions you were better off in Nassau.
Emma did not look like she sailed but she did look like her bag or shades or watch was nice for the taking.
She was from there.
She knew how quick the hands could be.
Inside she knew almost immediately just by the four people in the lobby that they only opened the hotel for fisherman. The inside seemed to have that masculine, hunters lounge and Bahamian sea shells delight all in one. Two white men sat with their legs crossed tightly in front of the vast windows chatting quietly with sun visors on and what were no doubt some 'Nordstrom' button downs. Their skin was hot red but their lily white smiles were ever joyous. There was a receptionist behind the register and another white guy pouring juice from a small continental lunch or evening spread. The ceilings were low and only possessing two fans and there were lamps on end tables beside two brown patterned clubfoot chairs with couch's that matched too clashingly. There was a big bright elaborate rug thrown over white tile that spanned the floors. The small eating area had a flat screen television on mute showing a soccer game.
'Tiger'(according to his tag) was friendly, his smile wide but preoccupied with the screen behind her. Emma charged a street facing balcony accessible suite to for two nights and three days to her debit card.
"Ain' der a la'dy come sell fruit?"
Tiger's eyes gave her his real full attention for once and his hand hovered over the phone he was reaching for. He had been calling a bellboy to help her with her things since she'd paid for an exclusive room with a Jacuzzi tub. He assessed her. "Yuh been 'round 'ere a'fore? 'ow yuh know a la'dy come sellin' t'ings? "
Emma gave a friendly, unarming smile but his guard seemed to already be up. Outsiders asking questions about locals before they even settled in good made any local to a town nervous. Soliciting was illegal, after all. That's what Bella was doing. Minor peddling but solicitation nonetheless. Still she wondered if her sister was doing under the table work for the establishment to make him so edgy at the mere mention of her.
"Ah frien' come a'fore an' she mention it, dauh's all."
He continued to look at Emma and dissect her accent no doubt. Looking for an edge or misuse or mispronunciation.
Then he said she wasn't coming that day.
'Jacuzzi Suite' turned out to attain her services of a bellboy to help her with her things. It also turned out to just be three small rooms including her bathroom despite its name. There was a sitting area with a love seat against one wall and a dresser against the other. There were two end tables with lamps and a small round cherry wood table with a white lace cloth thrown over it to serve as a coffee table. Further into the suite straight back was the door to the balcony and her one double bed bedroom. Between the two on her right was the bathroom, clean and fairly new appliances like a Holiday Inn and not a Ramada. For that she was thankful. She had him put her bags in the bedroom and gave him a five and all her singles, four Bahamian dollars. A nine dollar tip.
Then she was finally alone and done traveling for about thirty six hours. Emma went to the bed and sat down, feeling on the pillow to gauge the fabrics count.
She brought pillow cases anyway...
Emma found her phone and checked her service. She lay on her back and kicked off her shoes.
And just like that, while she was looking at her screen, he was calling her. Wasn't that how it happened with him? She wanted for him and he appeared somehow?
"Hello?"
"Got damn I miss you girl!" He roared into the phone like Bernie Mac would immediately. Emma's grin spread wide and she turned her head to the left a little to tug her loose ponytail out. She pushed a paper bag to fall over on the bed but be outta her face while she rolled.
"Na you don'," she joked.
"Yes, hell." he kidded. "My dick hard right now."
Emma bellowed laughter in great humor and the moroseness she'd inflicted on herself was lessened. He chuckled alongside her and then Emma asked him why he wasn't 'face timing' her and he said he was on his Bluetooth and his 'fuckin' phone' was in his briefcase in the back. He asked what she was doing. She told him she just checked in and asked him the same. "Shiiiit," he drawled and Emma could tell that he was in the car and he was in a good mood. All his dramatics and fun and games said as much. Trey was always louder when he was really happy about something, really excited or just pleased to peace. His voice would do silly impersonations when he spoke, his jokes more dramatic. It was the side of him people would have loved to see, his most comfortable state of being. "Finna go see about a site then me and my nigga's finna get into some shit."
"Kinda shit?" she smacked back quickly.
"My kinda shit!" he retorted. She 'mmmhmm'd' real loud and he admitted at his own comfortable leisure that they were going to get together and play poker.
"Yuh play poker?"
"Texas Hold 'em."
"Will yuh teach me when I get bau'ck?"
Trey sucked his lips loudly into his receiver. "W-w-why," he stuttered in fun while he teased her with some up North accent. She imagined his head would be back and he would be looking around himself at the traffic rather than at her while he spoke. His shoulder would be shrugging and his lips would be upturned. "Why you gotta try an' do everything I do? You feel me B? Why you gotta do me?"
"Stooop!"
"Yeah, girl shit I'll teach you."
She smiled. She didn't know how to play poker.
"How was your trip?"
"Fine. Not dot long."
"That's good baby," he murmured distractedly. Emma imagined he would be trying to wiggle through traffic while he spoke, watching all the parts of his big truck for damage and safety. "Real good."
"Trey?"
"Mm?"
"Ya'll playing poker at muh house?"
"How you know that?" He sounded genuinely curious.
She made a face. "Were yuh gonna tell me?"
"Is you watchin' me?" he accused with biting mock shock and disgust. She tried not to let him hear her snicker at his shit. He'd said the words so hard and with so much vigor she snorted and had to cover her mouth rather than respond immediately. He was so stupid when no one was looking. "You got cameras and shit!?"
Emma laughed before she could help it.
"Is you Punkin me!? I bet this ain't even yo damn house! Oh shit I'm finna go to jail when I get home! Let me over! X'cuse me let me over! Finna go to jail she Punkin' me!" he screamed.
"Betcho got all sorts a dvds of a nigga! You freaky girl!" he hollered with a roar while she laughed until her side hurt and he had finally settled down. Sometimes he was like a kid. She loved it. Who didn't want kid around like a kid every now and again. "You freaky as hell but like it!"
"Oh my goodness shut uuup!"
They settled and Emma asked him if he was really going to tell her.
"Yep."
"When?"
"When they left."
She smirked. He thought he was slick, talking reckless on the phone. "I'ma bus' you in duh face when I get bau'ck."
"Mm," he said shortly. "Say that shit again like that."
Emma shook her head and ignored his suggestiveness. Instead she focused on his mention of her twang. There was no one else she could talk to about it when she got off the plane and discovered you can indeed take a girl out the islands but you can't take the islands out the girl. Trey was the only person in her life besides Beth that knew the two... or at least heard the two. Well Angie didn't count... neither did Shia or Anika as they weren't there now. "Ye'ah I knoow," she sang as her people seemed to do by accident. "me ah'ccen' come on 'ard hunh?"
"Sexy," he muttered briefly.
"If yuh t'ink."
"You take ya vitamins?" he asked in a lull.
She hadn't and so he made her wrap up their call to see if there was even a such thing as room service or if she'd have to talk to the corner store for a bottle of water. She was not drinking the tap. She was hungry too. Really hungry.
But her hair was stuck to the back of her neck with the sweat from the thirty minute ride from the airport without air conditioning and just the wind in your face. She had on some makeup but she wasn't sure what was still there and what was gone. She was not fit to walk the streets.
Emma set about freshening up by unloading her toiletries along the sink. She left her makeup in its cheetah print bag, no idea why she even brought it in her mind while she washed her face and brushed her teeth. She put her hair atop her head and then wrapped the hair around the ponytail and pinned it in a bun. Emma moisturized her recently washed hands and face, found a smaller clutch bag to transfer all her things to, and slipped her from her room with her key, not a card like most later establishments but an actual copper key. She rushed back in at the last minute for her shades, forsaking her jacket.
She got food at the fish joint inside the corner store. The walk was only a half a block away. Emma ate her meal in the barred window of the café in the only booth the place had next to an old slot machine and a sunglasses rack. Emma looked at the people on the streets for any faces she might know but it was a sinking futile effort. She only remembered a handful of classmate's names let alone their faces. The year she'd skipped after junior high in high school made the faces in her mind blur together and she felt forlorn trying to look for faces so she settled for just eating. She had only her corner store purchases for company. The fish was fresh and fried as hard as catfish could be fried. She had plantains as a side and was ever bloated off the starch by the time she was standing on the curb again, the sky moving puffy clouds by like they were zooming.
Pushing her clutch under her arm, Emma cut between the corner store and laundry matt into the alley. She walked across the broken up cement rock and dirt to the back of a large, smelly building. Emma strolled along the wire fence with her hand trailing along the metal a little until a band of misfits up to no real harm ran around her kicking a dusty ball with no skin for black and white spots. She pressed her arms close and stood still with a smile while the small people passed.
Then Emma cut between the big building and the back of the boarding house on her street to come to a stop on the walk between an abandoned building and an auto repair shop. She looked both ways and crossed the street.
The air inside the factory was filtered but still hot. There was nothing really to the lobby. And the place wasn't big at all. Probably only made a single kind of cigar. There was a black lady, fat as Emma had ever seen sitting behind the counter. She had a small fan blowing right on her glossy chest and face with its bulbous nose and open pores. She had on a sundress with clowns on it... clowns. Maybe it was a nightgown. The air smelled like tobacco.