Two Thin Dimes (18 page)

“Well, what do you do for a living, son?” P.J. inquired next, hoping, almost praying that Tameer was a doctor.

“I'm still in school,” Tameer answered. It was the wrong answer. P.J. knew that Beverly was going to go ballistic.
Maybe the kid is studying to be a doctor.
He decided to ask.

“Majoring in?”

“Business, and literature,” Tameer answered.

“Business and literature? I take it you must come from a very influential family, to choose those two.”

“Well no, sir.” Tameer's head fell to the floor.

The kid was broke
, P.J. knew from the look upon Tameer's face. But still, he didn't know Bunny had money, either.
They are going to be starting out just like me and Bev did, when we were younger. Well, actually they aren't,
he remembered,
because Bunny had money. The kid can't be all bad, if Bunny likes him.

“I see,” P.J. told him. “Well, son, when I was a young man growing up in southern Louisiana, there were times when I didn't have a pair of shoes. My family was so poor, we lived in a four-room shack, using oil lamps for light, and a hole in the backyard for plumbing! We didn't have two nickels to rub together, but we had each other, and we kept our good name. My daughter has her own money, and I have made sure that she will never want for anything. So, she doesn't need a man with money. What Bunny needs, is a fine young gentleman, who will love her and cherish her. Can you do that?”

Tameer lifted his head, and his eyes locked on to Jamaica's. “With all of my heart.”

“Good!” P.J. told him.

He saw they were in love. He could tell by the way Tameer looked at Jamaica, and by the way his Bunny stared at this young man. But Beverly, Jamaica's mother, wouldn't see that. No matter what it was in life, she had always wanted the best for her daughters. To Beverly, Tameer certainly would not be the best. P.J. watched the way she smiled at this Tameer fellow. How she pinched him, played with him, and gazed at him. Bunny was definitely in love.

P.J. had always known his daughter to be a trendsetter, a leader, always outgoing. Throughout her life she had been right on the money in most of her calls. P.J. trusted her judgment. If Bunny saw something special about him, then by God, there was something special about him. But Beverly…Beverly. She would crush all of that once she met him. She would crush everything they had, everything they wanted. He knew that they would not stand a snowball's chance in hell with his wife. He decided to help them.

“Bunny, you two remind me of your mother and myself when we were your age. Bev came from a large, rich, landed family down near Saint Martinsville, just west of the Miss.”

P.J. laughed, causing his cheeks to flubber, and his belly to juggle like Jell-O. “They absolutely detested the Rochelle family, because we were considered poor, lower class. Her father had chosen for her a young beau from the Deverraux clan, and forbade her to see me.”

P.J. swallowed hard, and leaned forward with outstretched hands, telling his story. “So one day, they had this large family gathering of Bouchairds, your mother's clan, and they invited all of the finest Bayou families to attend. Naturally, mines was not invited. But, I borrowed my granddaddy's finest silk ribbon tie, I put on my brother's brand-new school trousers, my daddy's white, cornstarched shirt, and my uncle's bright-red suspenders, and headed over. Well, needless to say, when I walked up, the music stopped, the dancing stopped, and the entire crowd gathered behind Bev's grandfather, your great-grandfather, Yves Bouchaird. So, here I am on one side, and the entire gathering on the other side, facing me. I knew it was going to be a lynching that night. I mean, I was so nervous, I could pee my pants! Well, old Yves tells me that he has forbidden me to see his granddaughter. Your granddaddy, and your uncles Marc, Luc, Peter, Jon, Girard, Antoine, Jacques, Stephon, and Yves III, are all standing around holding these big, long shotguns.”

P.J. exhaled loudly at the memory. “So, I placed my thumbs underneath my suspenders like this here, and I straightened my back, cleared my throat, and looked directly at old Yves. I said, ‘Sir, I know that you think that I'm not good enough for your granddaughter, and well…I think you are right. I am not good enough for Beverly, in fact, no one is. Not the ancient kings of France, not the great warrior chiefs in Africa, nor the angels in Heaven! I know that I don't have two thin dimes to rub together. But I guarantee on my honor, that Beverly will never know it, not suffer from it!' Your great-grandpa Yves squinted his eyes just so, looked at me real hard for a couple of minutes, and then turned and spit out his chew. I tell you, those were the longest two minutes of my life! But I stood straight, and I stood my ground. Finally, your great-grandpa said, ‘Son, I think your balls are bigger than your brains. But courage is the foundation upon which true gentlemen are built. Come,' he said. ‘Come and dance with my granddaughter.' Two years later, I married your mother, and we both left to attend Harvard.”

T
he visit with P.J. lasted for seven hours. In that time, Jamaica learned things about her mother and father which she never knew, nor even suspected.

Beverly and P.J. had graduated from Harvard together, along with LaChina's and Jemia's fathers. Beverly then went to work and supported the family, while P.J. went to business school, and then Harvard law. Her mother then returned to school and received her M.B.A., while P.J. worked. They had truly been partners their whole lives, and up to this day, were still madly in love with each other.

Jamaica now knew how truly wealthy her parents were, and why her mother had kept her father away from her, and out of public scrutiny. The funny thing, she learned, was that while at Harvard, her mother drove an old banged-up Volkswagen, and her parents had survived off Chinese food from the restaurant which they lived above. More importantly, she found out that her mother still visited P. J. Rochelle every month, and had been faithfully waiting for the return of her husband, the skinny little boy, with the borrowed, silk ribbon tie, from the swamps of southern Louisiana.

Jamaica felt sorry for Tameer, as her visit with her father went so well, while his with his mother did not. She loved Tameer, and she desperately wanted to ease his pain, yet she didn't want to risk saying the wrong things. Tameer spoke first, anyway.

“I'm never going to abandon my kids,” he said to her. “I'm never going to treat them like refuse, I'm never going to hurt them like…” His sentence trailed off, but Jamaica knew the rest. He turned and faced her.

“Jai, I'm going to love my kids. I'm going to always tell them that I love them. I'm not going to push them, or make them do things that they really don't want to do. I'm going to let them live their own dreams, and not make them live mines.”

Tameer shifted in his seat, as did Jamaica. He had said a mouthful. It made her think of her mother, and how she had thrust her into show business. She had wanted other things out of life, but those dreams had been squashed a long time ago. Tameer swallowed hard, and turned to Jamaica again.

“I'm going to be a different dad. I want to go to PTA meetings, I want to fly kites in the park, I want to push swings, and bandage scraped knees. I'm going to teach them how to ride bikes, and I'm going to be there to catch them when they fall. I want to help them with their homework, and get up on Sundays and take them to church.”

“It sounds like a good plan,” Jamaica told him. She kept her eyes forward, staring at the empty road.

Tameer clenched his fist, and pounded the air. “It's not a plan!” he declared. “It's a promise! I swear to God, I'm going to be better than my parents. I'm going to do things right.”

Jamaica nodded. “I believe you.” This time she looked at him, and offered a comforting smile.

Tameer dropped Jamaica off at her motel room at about six p.m. The road trip had been long, and she had driven the majority of it, but Jamaica was not tired. She found herself energetic, invigorated, renewed. Seeing her father had given her a new outlook on life. As a result, she flounced inside of the motel room, without even noticing the large, black, S600 Mercedes parked outside of the front door.

When Jamaica opened the door to the motel room, she found an unexpected visitor lying on top of LaChina's unmade double bed. Quickly, she cried out.

“Kenya!”

Her younger sister stood, and they embraced. Jamaica was all smiles.

“What are you doing here?”

Although one year apart, she and Kenya could almost pass for twins.

“I came to visit Jemia,” answered Kenya. “The sorority sisters are meeting here next month, but I wanted to come down early and spend some more private time with her first.

Kenya tilted her head to the side, and lifted her hands into the air. “Plus, I came to warn you, that Mother is on her way.”

Jamaica's eyes flew open wide. “What?”

Kenya nodded. “Bev is on her way.”

“How?” Jamaica asked. Her arms flew out to her sister's shoulders. “How did she find us? As far as she knows, we're in the Caribbean by now!”

Kenya shook her head slowly. “Uh-un, receipts, credit card bills.
Expensive
credit card bills!”

Jamaica's hands flew to her face and she covered her mouth. “Oh, shit!” She turned and stared at LaChina.

LaChina smiled and shrugged her shoulders. “Ooooooops.”

“Mom's furious,” Kenya told them.

“When…. I mean, how long do we have?” Jamaica asked her sister.

“Two days, three would be stretching it,” Kenya answered.

“Twenty-four hours is too quick, she'll need that long just to pack.”

Kenya nodded and stared off into space. “Yep, I'll say two days is a safe bet.”

The knock at the door was more frustrating than startling. Tameer was not expecting anyone, nor did he want to see anyone. Not Savion's friends, not his friends, not even Jamaica. His mind was still on Houston.

He rose slowly from the couch, and headed for the door. His intentions were to get rid of whomever it was, and do it quick. The visitor, of course, had other ideas.

“Dawshanique!” Tameer called out in surprise. He was surprised to see her, but still, he didn't feel like being bothered by her, either. However, he did have several questions that he wanted to ask: what was she doing here, and why did she start the fight with Jamaica. She spoke first.

“Tameer, I want you to know why I did what I did, why I left. Tameer, I knew that you loved me, and I loved you. I still do.” Her voice was calm, soft, serene, yet it had a distant crackle in it, as though she had been crying. Slowly, Dawshanique eased her way inside of the apartment.

“I wanted the best for you, I wanted the best for us. You had so much potential.”

Dawshanique walked past Tameer, who was still standing near the entrance, and she sat on the couch. She was in.

“I wanted you to live up to that potential, I wanted you to have the best, and be the best. So…so I thought I could get you to play football, if I threatened to leave you alone forever.” Dawshanique's head fell toward the floor, just as she had rehearsed all morning. “But it backfired, and I ended up losing you, instead of helping you.” Her tears began to fall.

Tameer folded his arms, and shifted his weight to one side. He knew Dawshanique better than that, and he wasn't buying it.

“Dawshanique, that's not what you said. You said that you wanted to marry a professional athlete, whether it be me, or someone else. You said that you were going to marry one, and get the hell outta these Courts.”

Dawshanique stood. “Tameer!” She stomped the ground hard. “That's not what I meant!”

Dawshanique turned away from Tameer, and began weeping again.

“I know that I can't express myself like you, because I didn't go to college.” She turned and faced him with tears running down her cheek. “And I know that I'm not some glamorous movie star, mega singer like she is, but I still have feelings! I love you, Tameer. I know you've found your ticket out of here, and I don't blame you. But we were supposed to get out of here together. You remember our vow?” Dawshanique broke down into tears again.

Tameer unfolded his arms. He thought she was crazy, or on drugs.

“Dawshanique, what the hell are you talking about? You know I hate it when you're drunk.”

She stomped the ground again.

“I'm not drunk!” she shouted. “And you know what I'm talking about. I'm talking about Tiera, your little girlfriend who started the fight with me! I'm talking about the one who's always wearing your clothes, driving your car, and sleeping in your bed! It hurts, Tameer…it hurts!”

He was frustrated, and confused. The hurt from his mother, and now the argument with Dawshanique, only served to aggravate him even more. Quickly, he reached out and grabbed Dawshanique's arm, and began pulling her toward the door.

“I think you should leave.”

“I know I can't act, I know I can't sing, and I know I'm not rich and famous, but Tameer…I love you!”

He stopped. “Dawshanique, what in the hell are you talking about?”

“Tiera!”

“Jamaica?” he asked.

“Her name is Tiera! Look!” Dawshanique reached into her pants pocket, and pulled from it a CD case with Jamaica Tiera Rochelle's picture on the front of it. It stunned him.

Tameer snatched the CD case away from Dawshanique's hand, and quickly turned away from her. He carefully examined the cover of the CD. It said “Tiera” in bold letters beneath the picture, but it was Jamaica. He was sure of that much.
Yes
, he told himself,
it is Jamaica
.

His movements and his expression gave him away. Dawshanique knew him, she had studied Tameer like a book. She now knew, that he had not known.

“Son-of-a-bitch!” It slipped out. Nonetheless, she went into attack mode.

“Tameer, you mean you didn't know?” she asked him, already knowing the answer.

Tameer ignored her question. He walked slowly over to the couch, all the while staring at the picture on the CD case cover, and sat down.

“She's been deceiving you all along!” Dawshanique said out loud. It was more a second revelation, a sought-after confirmation, than it was a statement. It was confirmed by his silence. Dawshanique could barely contain her smile.

“All of the hip-hop magazines say that she is going to be appearing in this new movie. It's one of those ‘in the hood' movies. She's using you, Tameer! She's using you as research for her next role. She doesn't love you, you're just a toy! You're a project, a play thing, like a gerbil, or hamster. When she's through, she'll go back to her world, and she'll make millions of dollars on her next movie. But you and I…we'll still be here.”

Her delivery had been perfect. The seeds of destruction had been planted, and her mission was complete. Dawshanique knew when to exit. She wanted him to be alone, so that he could feel alone. He could sit in silence and think about the witch's deception.

Finally, Dawshanique left him. She intentionally left the door open on her way out, so that Tameer could feel the cold striking him as he sat.
Cold and alone
, she thought, as she strutted down the streets of the Courts.
Cold and alone
.
Perfect!
Dawshanique skipped and smiled the rest of the way home.