On Friday night, at Port Lucaya, they have a native Bahamian cultural show with fire dancing, limbo and a stage show with the Port Lucaya dancers in the Count Basie Square.
I had seen the show many times before when I lived down there, so I wasn’t all that hyped about seeing it again, but he insisted. “Besides, me want you to see the new girl that star in the show. Her really make a difference,” Jamaica promised.
I was watching the limbo show and the Great ‘King Barry’ was working the crowd when I first caught a glimpse of her. “That her?” I asked Jamaica.
“Yah, mon, that her.”
“What’s her name?”
“Jacara Delbridge.”
“She’s very pretty.” That was an understatement. She was beautiful. So beautiful that I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
“Yah, mon, that her.”
The show was great. Not only was Jacara fine as hell, but she could sing and dance her ass off. After the show was over, and the crowd of tourist had thinned, I was sipping over priced Remy at one of the outdoor bars when Jamaica came up behind me. “Mike Black,” he said and I turned around. “This is Jacara Delbridge.”
She was even more beautiful up close. I held out my hand and she accepted it. I felt her warmth. “Pronounce your name.”
“Jacara Delbridge,” she said slowly.
“It sounds better when you say it,” I said, bowing slightly, and taking her hand to my lips. “I enjoyed your show.”
“Thank you, I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Jacara said.
The three of us stood there at the bar and made small talk for a while after that. Jacara told me that she used to be a showgirl in Vegas and concluded that she would never be the headliner so she decided to move on. She had come to the Bahamas for Junkanoo, a national festival in The Bahamas, and a short vacation eight months ago and decided to stay when the opportunity to be a part of the show presented itself.
Junkanoo groups 'rush' from midnight until shortly after dawn, to the music of cowbells, in costumes made from cardboard covered in tiny shreds of colorful crepe paper competing for cash prizes. Some say the word Junkanoo comes from John Canoe, the name of an African tribal chief who demanded the right to celebrate with his people even after being brought to the West Indies in slavery.
After a while, Jamaica faded into the background and disappeared. By that time, we were on our third round and the conversation had gotten comfortable.
“Can I ask you a question?” Jacara asked.
“Go ahead.”
“Who are you?” she asked with a smile I was starting to like.
I turned and looked into her eyes. I liked those too. It’s one of my weaknesses. Cassandra had the most expressive eyes. I used to tell her that they were like windows to her mind. “I’m Mike Black.”
“I know your name,” Jacara said and took a playful swing at me. “I wanna know who you are.”
“What do you mean?” Jacara had me smiling.
“All night I’ve seen people who don’t get in a hurry for anything, suddenly rushing around here. They're all nervous and intense. And then you appear, and they all but bow down to you,” Jacara said and took a bow. “So again I ask, who are you?”
Now she had me laughing. “I’m Mike Black. I’m an old friend of Jamaica’s.”
“Hmm, that says a lot right there.”
“I’m not even gonna ask what you mean by that.”
“Of course not, if you did the conversation would continue and you might have to answer my questions. But it’s okay. I don’t like answering questions either.”
“I’ll remember not to ask any,” I said and drained my glass. “I enjoyed what conversation we did have.” I held out my hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Jacara.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” Jacara said and politely shook my hand. “I enjoyed our conversation as well, Mr. Black. How much longer will you be on the island?”
“Another day, maybe two.” I started walking and she looped her arm in mine.
“Maybe we can get together before you go. Say for lunch tomorrow?”
I stopped under a lamppost and looked at Jacara. “Where?” Something about the way she looked standing under that light moved me in ways that only Cassandra had.
“Do you know where The Paradise is?”
“I can find it.” Especially since I own it. It’s a club I own on the beach. The name is actually Black’s Paradise, but nobody ever calls it that. I was planning on going there to check things out anyway.
“Meet me there at one.”
“I’ll be there. Good night, Jacara,” I said and left her standing there. When three of Jamaica’s men had to hurry to catch up with me, I heard her say, “Who are you, Mike Black?”
Chapter Thirteen
It was after midnight and Wanda sat on the couch in Nick’s office at Impressions, as she had about every night since her and Nick got together. She had gotten up at seven thirty that morning to make a meeting with a client at ten. It was the start of a very long day; especially since it was four thirty when she and Nick got home from the club. By the time they finished doing what they do and had drifted off to sleep, it was after six.
Wanda cursed the alarm when it went off at seven thirty, but she got up and did what she had to do. After a day where everything that could go wrong did, Wanda got home after seven. Her intention was to take a shower and get some sleep before Nick went to the club. But instead she spent two hours on the phone with Pam talking about why Bobby had to go with Mike to Hong Kong. Wanda had just enough time to shower, get dressed and be standing by the door when Nick was ready to go.
“You ready?” Wanda asked and let go of the yawn she was trying to suppress.
“Yeah,” Nick said to her and picked up his keys from the table by the door. “I know you’re tried, Wanda. Why don’t you get some sleep?”
“I’m alright,” Wanda said and opened the door to leave. Nick followed behind her, shaking his head. He knew there was no way to keep her from going. Nick would have never guessed that Wanda was so jealous and fiercely determined to protect her man at any cost. It surprised Wanda too.
There had been many a night when Wanda had stepped in between Nick and some woman who made the mistake of talking too long or standing too close to her man. After a while, Nick stopped going out on the floor while the club was open unless he had to. It was the best way to keep Wanda out of trouble. So every night the two of them sat in the office.
As the night wore on, Wanda’s chin slowly touched her chest. She’d been nodding like that for the last half- hour. Each time she’d open her eyes and glance over at Nick to see if he saw her and then go back to staring out the window at the dance floor below. This time when Wanda opened her eyes, Nick was looking at her. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Wanda said and fought off a yawn.
Nick picked up some papers from his desk and looked at them while waiting for Wanda’s neck to break again. She looked out at the light show, and before she knew it, her chin touched her chest again.
“Wanda,” Nick said softly. “Wanda,” he repeated. She slowly opened her eyes. “Why don’t you let me take you home? You look like you need to get some rest.”
“You sayin’ I look bad?”
“No. I’m sayin’ that you're sittin’ over there sleepin’.”
“I am not sleeping,” Wanda insisted.
“Okay,” Nick said and returned his attention to his paper work. When Wanda nodded off again, Nick got up and knelt down in front of her.
When she began to open her eyes Nick leaned forward. “Hi.”
