Two Thin Dimes (22 page)

Tameer turned to her and stopped pacing. His hand caressed a silk flower that was part of a massive floral arrangement sitting on top of a desk, in the corner of the expensively decorated suite. He knew what she wanted, and what the offer would entail. He asked her aloud, anyway.

“If I leave Jamaica alone?”

Beverly sipped from her glass. “Those are the terms.”

Tameer stared at Beverly, locking eyes with her. “What have I done, to make you despise me?”

Beverly shook her head slowly from side to side. “I don't despise you. You seem to be a nice, educated, attractive young man, with a bright future.”

“But?”

“But I love my daughter.” Beverly leaned forward in her seat. “Do you have any children?”

Tameer shook his head. “No, ma'am.”

Beverly placed her glass on top of the coffee table before her.

“When you have children, you will understand what I am about to say.” She leaned back into the love seat, crossed her legs, and placed her hands over her knee. His attention was drawn to her fingers, where her rings sat forth prominently, displaying their various diamonds of extremely high quality.

“When you have a child, you want the best for that child, always. I have always given my children the best, and raised them to expect nothing but the best. I didn't raise my daughter to marry a shoe salesman, and live in tenements. I want the best for her, do you understand?”

Tameer walked silently to the oversized leather chair, adjacent to the love seat. He sat down slowly, and stared off into space while rubbing his lower lip with his index finger.

“I see,” he said to her, while shaking his head. “You feel I'm not good enough for Jamaica.”

Beverly slowly lifted her glass of Scotch and sipped. “It's nothing personal, Tameer, I'm a mother.”

She was right, Tameer told himself, he wasn't good enough for Jamaica. He had nothing to offer her, nothing at all. He was from the Courts, he was poor, and he had always been poor. Jamaica had wealth, stardom, beauty, everything. Like Beverly said, Jamaica wasn't raised to marry a shoe salesman, and live in tenements. Jamaica was raised in Europe, and the Hamptons. She had always been wealthy, and always would be. Jamaica would marry well, she would marry someone who had as much, or even more, to offer. Someone from…a fine family…

Tameer smiled. He couldn't help but smile. He now knew what P.J. had done. Slowly, Tameer's head rose, until his eyes once again met Beverly's.

“I know that you think I'm not good enough for your daughter. I think you're right. I'm not good enough for your daughter, in fact, no one is. Not the great kings of France, not the warrior chiefs in Africa, nor the angels in Heaven.”

Beverly began reciting the verses along with Tameer. They were the words that a young man with a borrowed silk ribbon tie, had spoken to her grandfather some thirty years earlier. She knew them by heart.

“I know that I don't have two thin dimes to rub together, and I may never have two thin dimes to rub together. But I guarantee on my honor, that your daughter will never know it, nor suffer for it. And I swear to you, that I will love her for the rest of my days.”

Tameer's glance fell to the coffee table, while Beverly placed her drink down on it. Her tiny fist furiously pounded the air in front of her.

“Goddammit, P.J.!” she shouted. She quickly turned to Tameer and pointed her finger at him.

“That was a low blow. A low blow! And you know what, that man…ooooh, that man!” Beverly burst into laughter. “My God, I love that man!”

She turned to Tameer again, and nodded her head slowly. “He kept his promise. He loved me, he still loves me, and I have never suffered. Never!”

Beverly rose quickly, and wiped her moist hands onto her black Chanel pants legs.

“It wasn't that long ago, you know? Before you were born, but it doesn't seem that long ago.” She lifted her glass from the coffee table and took a long drink. Visibly shaken, she smiled at Tameer. “P.J. and I were so poor, we shared a Volkswagen while we were in school. He cleaned floors, and I waited tables. But I loved that man so much, that I never actually knew just how broke we really were.”

Beverly's shaking hand rubbed her quivering lips.

“Goddamn you, P.J.!” Again she turned toward Tameer. “He told you that on purpose, you know that? That smart bastard! He knew…he knew, that's why he told you that.”

Beverly exhaled loudly, and took another long drink from her glass of Scotch. Her thoughts drifted to a small apartment in Cambridge that rested above an equally small Chinese restaurant. She recalled how her clothing constantly reeked of stir fry and soy sauce, and how she would stay up at night studying, using the light from the brightly lit neon sign outside of their window. It all made her smile.

The apartment was always cold, and stayed empty. But it hadn't mattered then, the emptiness gave them more room to dance. P.J. would grab her, twirl her around, and hold her close as they listened to the latest Motown hits out of Detroit. They had a special spot on the floor that creaked just so, with every rock and with every twirl. P.J. got a splinter in his knee when he knelt down and proposed to her a second time, on that cold, knotted, splintered floor. Beverly smiled, as she thought of the yellow marble that P.J. had glued to a base that he had fashioned out of a piece of tin. He promised to replace that ring with a real one someday, and he did. He did. He kept his promise, and he loved her. She had never suffered.

“My daughter's in Miami boarding the cruise ship, Empress of the Seas. Go to her.” She turned to Tameer, and exhaled again. “Go and dance with my daughter.”

“What?” Tameer asked. He wasn't sure if he had heard her correctly.

“Go to her,” Beverly repeated. She pointed her finger at him. “But you better love her! You better…”

“I do, and I will,” Tameer interrupted.

“You don't have much time,” she warned him.

“I…I don't have the money to fly there, and I sure in the hell don't have any money for a cruise!”

Beverly walked to the telephone, lifted it from its cradle, and began dialing. “Tameer.”

“Yes?”

“Hand me my purse.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Beverly gripped the telephone tightly and shook it. “Damn you, P.J.!”

T
he ship's massive horn blew a thunderous honk across the docks of the disappearing port. The once large crowd of family, well-wishers, and gawkers, slowly began dispersing and returning to their work-a-day lives. Jamaica, standing alone on the balcony outside of her cabin, slowly turned and rejoined LaChina inside.

“Well, we've put to sea,” Jamaica told her.

LaChina peered up from her game of Solitaire. “That's what ships do, you know.”

Jamaica sat down upon the king-sized, pillow-topped bed, smashing LaChina's spread-out cards. She exhaled loudly, to emphasize her boredom.

“Hey, fat ass!” LaChina cried out. “You've smashed my cards!”

Jamaica gave no response.

“Okay, that's it. That's it!” LaChina sat up from her prone position on the bed. She stood, and quickly walked around the bed to the side where Jamaica sat.

Jamaica stared into LaChina's eyes. “You mean, we aren't having fun yet?”

LaChina tilted her head to the side. “Ha, ha, you're a barrel of laughs. Well, at least I know you're still breathing.”

LaChina turned and lifted the ship's entertainment guide. She scanned it briefly.

“Perfect!” LaChina tapped her hand across the open guide book. “It says that they are having a comedian tonight in the lounge. That's what you need, some good jokes to make you laugh.”

“I'm laughing already,” Jamaica told her.

A knock at the cabin door startled them both.

LaChina smiled and nodded her head toward the door. “You answer it. It may be your next Prince Charming.”

Jamaica gave her friend a quick, but fake smile, and turned to answer the cabin door.

“Hello, or rather good evening, ma'am,” said the uniformed gentleman outside of the door. “I am your private concierge. If you should desire anything, I am at your service twenty-four hours a day. I'll be conducting a tour of the ship tomorrow, and giving you all of your briefings on safety, expense accounts, the islands where we'll be making ports of call, the activities we'll be having on board the ship, as well as the activities available at the island ports. I'll let you settle in now. If you should have any questions, please ring me.”

He handed Jamaica a plastic card. “This is your ship's charge card. Pay for everything with this, as no cash is accepted on the ship. Your bill will be presented later. Your PIN number is on the card's holder. Good evening, ma'am.”

The ship's lounge was large, thoroughly modern. Massive black marble columns, with blue florescent lighting, along with highly polished chrome fixtures and railings, gave the lounge a futuristic appearance. The stage itself was black, surrounded again, by aqua-blue florescent lights. The mural that provided the stage's backdrop, consisted of two futuristic clown faces, painted in a variety of colors. Along with the paint, the colors in the clown faces came from shards of colored glass, marble, crystal, and a variety of other materials, which together created the clown montage.

Jamaica and LaChina sat patiently in the back of the lounge, and waited for the appearance of the first comedian. The dimming of the lights allowed Jamaica the privacy to take her eyes away from the stage without LaChina's interference. Her gaze shifted to her glass of club soda.

“You know how when things are going too well, you have to pinch yourself to kind of give yourself a reality check?” The voice from the stage asked the audience. It was a familiar voice. It caused Jamaica to glance toward the stage. She knew that it was him.

“My life was something like that, and I gave myself a reality check,” he told the audience. “But, in doing that, I lost the one person who made my life so good. I…I used a petty excuse to back away from this person, and I hurt her. My own insecurities made me push her away, and you know what? I found out that I couldn't live without her. I don't want to live without her.” He shook his head. “Yes, I love her that much.”

He switched the microphone from his right hand to his left, and slowly descended the stage's black, marble stairs.

“I saw her walk into the room tonight, but the lights dimmed before I could find her.” He swallowed hard. “Jamaica, I understand if you don't ever want to speak to me again. You have every right. But I hope you hear me. I hope you believe me when I say…I love you. Jai, I need you.”

His hand slid into his blue jeans pocket, and he produced a small, purple, felt box with gold trim. He held it toward the audience that he knew existed, but which the bright spotlights prevented him from seeing, and opened it. Inside of the box, set amongst a breathtaking five-prong, platinum-base ring, was a flawless, round, five-carat, canary-yellow diamond.

“Jai, will you please forgive me?” he asked. “And if you can forgive me, would you do me one more favor? Could you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

With that, Jamaica could no longer remain seated. She rose so quickly, that had it not been for LaChina's quick reflexes, the small table at which she had been sitting, would have fallen to the floor. Jamaica shouted across the room.

“Tameer, I love you! I forgive you! And of course, I'll marry you!”

Jamaica started toward Tameer. He searched desperately in the direction from which her voice had come, but the glaring, disabling brightness of the spotlights prevented him from seeing her.

“Over here!” she shouted to him. “Over here! I'm coming!”

Jamaica rushed to Tameer and they embraced. Her legs flew around his waist, and she wrapped her arm around his neck, gripping him tightly. He held her in his arms, kissing her, and turning her through the air slowly.

The crowd clapped and cheered, some even offered a few whistles, but Tameer and Jamaica could not hear it. To them, this was their world, and they were the only ones in it. They kissed passionately, all over each other's faces. Their tears mixed, becoming one, but they quickly kissed those away as well.

“I love you, Jamaica”

“I love you so much, T,” she replied. “I'm so sorry that I hurt you.”

“I'm sorry.” Tameer grabbed Jamaica's hand, and dropped to his knee. Slowly, he placed the ring on her finger. It was a perfect fit. “Will you…”

“Of course!” she shouted, interrupting him. “What took you so long!”

Tameer rose, and again they kissed.

“How did you find me? And how did you pay for this ring?” She held it up to the light.

“The car, I tracked you down through the car.” He kissed her again. “It took care of us, Jamaica. And Beverly…”

His answer made Jamaica recoil. “Who?”

Tameer smiled. “Beverly. The plane ticket, the cruise, the money, the ring, my clothes, everything! She even drove me to the airport!”

Jamaica placed her palm on Tameer's forehead, to see if he were feverish. “Are you delirious?”

Tameer laughed and shook his head. “No, she did everything.”

“My mother?”

“A wonderful woman!” Tameer shouted. “She loves you very much.” He pulled Jamaica close and hugged her again.

“And P.J.!” Tameer shook his head. “Your father's incredible!”

“Daddy?”

“I'll tell you about it later. That's another story entirely.”

“Kiss me,” she told him.

“Of course.”

And they kissed.