Ameera, Unveiled (45 page)

“Kat, you’re an asset to us,” Sybil said. “Family’s the most important thing in each of our lives, and your husband’s an amazing and supportive partner. You’re very blessed.”

“Bottom line?” I asked. “I’ve found an amazing tribe here in Negril. Thanks for sharing yourselves . . . and the memories. If I ever write a book, I hope it’ll be about sharing an amazing week with eight belly dancers figuring out what ‘a Hedonism’ is.”

Gentle zaghareets crowned my closing statement.

“When they make the movie, I want the Kardashians to play me and Lara,” Jennifer said. We all laughed. “Sybil, what about you? How was the week for you?”

Sybil seemed to be filing through a list. It wasn’t “the stare” she showed us, but it nevertheless felt similar to the last day of school before report cards were handed out. “I can’t tell you how very proud I am of the team spirit I’ve seen displayed this week—the dedication to practicing, despite the possibility of not being able to dance a show, in a hot, stinky Disco Hell. The absence of judgment on guests and the willingness to embrace all of the unique backgrounds. Your professionalism in class spoke volumes to guests and staff. I couldn’t have picked a better group to be good sports under unexpected circumstances.”

Before Sybil could continue, we heard a loud commotion off the beach. We turned to observe a group from the Nude beach taking over our Prude volleyball court. We all broke into giggles over another Hedo moment.

“This week is the perfect example of how selflessness and our commitment to sharing the joy of dancing were a gift to the resort,” Sybil resumed. She put her hand out to the center of the circle. “Who are we?” We kicked to join her in our last floating round-robin. “Who are we?”

“Palmetto Oasis,” we shouted and splashed as we brought our hands back to the surface.

“Let’s go watch Nude volleyball,” Jennifer said.

The circle broke apart and we kicked toward shore.

“I hope they stoop to pick up the ball,” Denise confided to Kelly.

I smiled at the visual.

“Hey, guys, we didn’t get to see a Jamaican sunset,” Lara said. “Let’s go to the Wicked Wall and take photos.”

“I’ll run back to grab a couple of veils,” Sybil answered. I checked my bag to be sure I had my camera. By the time I looked up, Sybil was climbing the hill and heading to her room.

“Aw, we’re packing up our last beach camp,” Kelly said as she stuffed her beach bag. In the silence, we cleared our chairs.

“It’s gonna be an early night for me,” Jennifer mumbled. “I’ve gotta pack.”

“Me too,” Lara said. “Tomorrow’s a long day.” We all mumbled something in agreement.

In silence, we made our way to the Wicked Wall.

Kelly jumped up on the Be Wicked for a Week Wall and struck a muscle pose. “Denise, take my picture,” she shouted. “Try not to get my beer gut.” I looked for the gut she referred to and saw nothing but a cute butt and a quirky smirk.

“Hurry up, ho,” Lara yelled. “I need to take a picture for my rebel honey.” Kelly stuck her tongue out and mooned her. As we took turns on the wall, posing for our photo albums, Sybil came back with two tie-dyed silk veils. I noticed the newlywed couple we’d met during one of Jennifer’s henna sessions approaching us.

“Hey, you guys rocked last night,” the man said. “Want me to take a picture of all of you on the wall?”

“Does Kelly drink beer?” Denise asked.

Laughing, we handed his wife each of our cameras and headed to huddle for a photo.

“Hey, Jennifer,” the honeymooner shouted. “Look at my tramp stamp! It’s still there.”

Jennifer did a pretty clap in response. I jumped off the wall and stared into the horizon. The sun was setting and the sky glowed reds and gold. A wooden fishing boat entered my panorama. I knew it was the perfect shot to show off a Jamaican sunset to friends and family. I clicked as the boat crossed through my camera lens.

Grabbing a veil, Melody stood at the edge of the pier. “Hey, can someone take a picture of me in front of the sunset?” Standing sideways with the veil sailing behind her, the sun created a glowing Melody.

“Wow, that’s gorgeous,” Sybil said. “Let’s all get one before the sun’s gone.”

Each of us took a turn before Mother Nature’s backdrop for a Jamaican portrait—Palmetto Oasis style.

“Hey, let me see one of those,” the husband honeymooner said. As Jennifer stepped away from her shot, he stepped up with her veil. He imitated our diagonal stance, lifted his chest, and gave us a cheesy smile.

“Honey,” his wife protested, shaking her head in disbelief. But she lifted their camera and captured his belly dance debut for their own Hedo album. He returned the veil and they walked hand in hand back to the Nude side.

As the sun finished sinking into our Hedo bay, we all became quiet. It was the final curtain call for us in Jamaica. No one spoke for a long while.

36

“Ready?” I asked Polly as I put my toiletries in a bag the next morning. I pulled back the shower curtain to be sure I hadn’t left anything behind. I heard a few more pumps of hairspray.

“Yep,” Polly answered as she zipped her suitcase. “Passport? It’s a long way back from the airport.”

“I emptied the safe earlier,” I said but looked in my carry-on—just in case. I spotted a book that I hadn’t cracked since I’d left Charleston. “I’ll need to catch up on
The Amazing Race
.” It sounded odd to talk about non-dance subjects.

We held the door for each other as we removed our luggage from the room. I looked back before we closed the door. Out of the back window, I could see the Jacuzzi filled with guests who were sipping Bloody Marys. I looked up at the mirrors that had been the topic of discussion . . . and the subject of photos to prove they existed.

“Thanks, Hedo. It was fun,” I said before I clicked the door closed. Polly and I walked downhill for the last time, crossing the pool deck and through the dining room toward the lobby. Each piece of real estate reminded me of a guest, lunch spin, or theme night.

“Morning, ladies,” Sybil said cheerfully. “We were there.” She pointed at the stage. I nodded, proud of our accomplishment, and continued toward the lobby. There were new faces dining since the arrival of the pole dancing convention. Before we left the room, a table sent us off with a farewell zaghareet.

“Bye,” Sybil said, waving from our invisible parade float. We joined her.

Ninety minutes later, we’d left the shuttle, checked our bags, printed tickets, and cleared security at the airport. I glanced at the clock as my stomach reminded me it was lunchtime.

“Let’s go to Margaritaville in our departure terminal,” Sybil suggested.

Sybil must’ve read my mind. She just kept walking as if she knew where she was going.

“I’ve always wanted to eat at Jimmy Buffet’s restaurant,” Melody said, excitement oozing from her. “I just never thought it would be in Jamaica. I need to take a picture.”

We stepped onto the escalator and walked through the remodeled area. As we turned the last corner, we entered a concourse with numerous gates. In the center was our food destination.

“What gate are we at?” Polly asked.

I hadn’t put my ticket away yet. “Seven,” I said before I tucked it into my carry-on. We approached the hostess station.

“How many?” she asked.

“Nine, please,” Jennifer said. “We’d like to sit together if possible.” She nodded and led us to the back of the restaurant. As we rearranged tables, the waitress took our drink orders.

“Cheeseburgers in paradise,” Kelly sang off key. I looked up from my menu.

“Kelly needs to stick to dancing,” Denise said. “Wow, here’re our drinks already. The service here’s super.” Two waitresses delivered our drinks and took our orders.

Lunch arrived, and we factored in how long we had to eat and settle our bills. I motioned to the waitress to bring me my check as I ate a cheeseburger. Polly stabbed her salad and listened to Denise explaining what she did in the research lab from nine to five.

“You’re quiet, Kat,” Jennifer said. “You okay?”

I nodded. “I think I’m decompressing,” I said. “I feel like Dorothy getting ready to click her ruby heels and wake up in her black-and-white bedroom.”

“By the way, I love those ruby heels of yours.” Jennifer pointed at my shoes. “Your T-shirt’s cute too.”

“Got it downtown in Charleston,” I said.

“What’s it say?” Kelly asked. She read out loud, “Dear Dorothy, Hated Oz. Took the shoes. Find your own way home. Toto,” and cracked up. “You’re a hoot.”

“It made me laugh,” I admitted. “I knew it’d be cute with my shoes.” I clicked my Dorothy shoes loudly under my chair.

As though on cue, the PA announced the arrival of our plane and advised us that we’d start boarding in twenty minutes.

“Good timing, Kat,” Jennifer said. I looked up from signing my credit card receipt and wiggled my nose like Samantha in Bewitched. Sliding chairs scratched the chalkboard in my mind.

“My group departs at Gate 11,” Sybil said. She looked at Polly, Lara, and me. “You’re leaving out of . . .?”

“Gate 7 in a few minutes,” I answered. Everyone looked around in silence.

“Well, bitches, it was fun,” Lara said, breaking the ice. “See you on Thursday at troupe?”

Sybil stepped over and hugged each of us. I sensed the words she was conveying through her hug and felt like a little sister who was being encouraged to be strong.

Kelly spanked me as I turned to tell my girl crush, Jennifer, good-bye. We walked as a group toward Gate 7. As we parted, zaghareets erupted from two gates down.

“Hey, it’s the belly dancers,” a man shouted from the chairs. He stood and tried to shimmy. His travel companions laughed and waved madly at us. Curious bystanders assessed us. Several of us sent back a healthy zaghareet and waved from our soon-to-be-retired invisible parade float.

“See you in Charleston,” Sybil said and waved, herding her group. The PA system came on as she walked toward Gate 11: “Northwestern is paging Sybil Yocum. Sybil Yocum, please report to the gate.”

“Sounds like Sybil’s getting an upgrade,” I said. I watched our flight crew showing badges and boarding. “We’ll be home for supper.”

Lara flipped through her camera memory card and Polly paged through a tabloid. I grabbed my book and waited for boarding to whisk us off on the journey that, after I cleared Customs in Atlanta, would return me to my life in “Kansas.”

In no time, we’d landed in Atlanta, cleared Customs, rechecked our bags, and camped in The Crown Room until it was time to board our flight. In less than an hour, we were officially Polly, Lara, and Kat, not Aj’bani, Nashwa, and Ameera. Our conversation was sporadic as I buried myself in the formerly untouched book.

As the three of us boarded our plane and stowed our carry-ons, I laughed when a male passenger assumed that Polly needed assistance loading her costume bag. He grabbed her bag and winced as he put it in our overhead bin. Polly picked up mine and heaved it without effort. He tucked tail and ran to his seat.

“Doesn’t seem like it’s been a week since you first put that carry-on in a bin,” I told her. Polly flexed her bicep and growled. I checked behind our seats making sure Lara was hunkered in.

We departed on time. As the flight attendants moved through with beverages, I bought a final Chardonnay. “Now what?” Polly asked. I stalled and sipped my wine. I sifted through my mental report card of actual dance execution. I gave myself an A for effort, a C for execution.

“I still wanna be able to dance without thinking,” I confessed. “I think my mind was too present.”

“If you feel that way, we can get together and practice outside of troupe,” she suggested.

My response was delayed due to sudden turbulence and the “Fasten Seat Belt” sign. I chose to savor my wine instead of continuing my whine. I finished the last of the Chardonnay and threw my book into the bag at my feet. Polly pulled out a mirror to rearrange some stray hairs. I looked out the window and saw the concentration of lights as we made our approach.

“Kat, I just wanna thank you for letting me fly with you and be your bunkmate,” Polly said abruptly.

I looked at her in disbelief. “You’re thanking me? I was the one who was a hot mess. You talked me down off the performance ledge every time. I don’t think I was a great roommate. We went through so many unnatural situations, people, and goals. We were superstars at Hedo. I’ve never been a star or even a costar in my life. I know it was tough for me to step into the spotlight, but now I feel a little let down going back to my daily routine. Have I become a diva?”