Here Comes the Sun(51)

“Suh yuh t’ink if yuh sweet-talk or blackmail me, ah g’wan jus’ agree fi yuh flimsy offer? Me is not no fool, boss lady.”

“I know. You’re a very smart girl.”

“Suh now yuh acknowledge me as smart? Yuh g’wan like yuh neva know me before.”

“Look, I’m not asking you to go to bed wid the woman. I just want you to tease a likkle an’ see if she responds.”

“Yuh trying to frame har?”

“What me tell yuh ’bout the questions?”

“She has something yuh want?”

“You’re obviously not understanding me.”

“Wid all due respec’, why yuh don’t ask some nasty woman like yuhself to do it?”

“Because I think you’d be better at it, wid all di nastiness you’ve done. Remember you’re doing a job. It’s not a reflection of who you are as a person. I’m sure yuh screw men and, according to those rumors, women too.”

“It was only di one time.”

“But yuh go home to yuh boyfriend.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Then to whoever yuh go home to.”

“I live alone.”

“Point is, you’re good at what you do because you’re able to separate yuhself from it. What I’m offering you is better than what you’re used to. After this, you’ll work for me and never have to want fah anyt’ing again.”

“When yuh want me do di t’ing?”

“As soon as tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes. Yuh have plans?”

“No. It’s jus’ . . .”

“One night. Is all I’m asking.”

“If my mother know, she’d kill me.”

Margot rolls her eyes at this. She glances at the clock again. Fifteen minutes left.

“Ah hope is not anyone from Rivah Bank. Suppose dey know me an’ my family?”

“She doesn’t.”

“But you do.”

“Why would I tell anyone? You’re working for me. This is between us. Understood?”

“Suppose di woman tell people?”

“She won’t.”

“Suppose she want to sleep wid me fah more than a night?”

“Then do it. Your pay would double. No, triple.”

“What?”

“Yuh heard me.”

“It’s asking too much of me.”

“Tell me something. How many times yuh come across six hundred dollars from yuh nightly strolls? Six hundred dollars. Tell me if something is wrong wid earning six hundred easy dollars.”

The girl shakes her head. “God wrong wid it.”

“So that’s the new thing now? Hookers who clutch dem pearls an’ dem Bible ah talk ’bout God? When since yuh tun Miss Gracie? Any other night yuh willing to bend ovah, skin up, an’ get dung pon all fours, an’ now yuh ah talk ’bout God? Yuh even go as far as have a threesome.”

“I jus’ did the man.”

“Nonsense.”

“I’m not dat way.”

“If that’s the case, then I’ll take my offer elsewhere.” Margot gets up from the table. “Thanks for your time.” She walks out the door, leaving the girl sitting there at the table.

“Wait!”

Margot slows. When she turns, she’s face-to-face with the girl, who is standing a good three inches taller than Margot in heels, her eyes brimming with determination and something else Margot tries to pinpoint.

“I’ll do it.”

“All right. Tonight at Lux Bar and Grill.” Margot eyeballs the girl’s outfit. “I’ll have something nicer for you to wear.” Margot walks quickly toward the exit and the girl catches up with her again, holding on to her elbow. “Margot! Ah mean, boss lady?”

“Yes?”

“Me is not like dat. Not because me agree mean dat me go dat way.” Her eyes are burning into Margot, their radius expanding, pleading, a blue streak of terror inside each iris. “Me is not like dat a’tall.”

“Nothing wrong if you are,” Margot says, meeting the girl’s frightened stare, identifying what exactly she sees beyond the dread. “The more versatile, the bettah.” And with that, she walks away.





15


“WHEN WILL THIS DROUGHT END?” THANDI ASKS CHARLES, her head tilted to the strips of white clouds in the sky. The sun hangs low to the water, searing the sand on the beach, and bearing down on Thandi and Charles until they must slow down, unable to carry such weight.

“Dunno,” Charles says, wiping perspiration off his face with his hand. “It bettah be sooner than lata. The soil is bad fah di produce dis year. Ah saw couple farmers crying in di field wah day ovah dem yam, sweet potatoes, dasheen, an’ corn. Even the passion fruit decay pon di vines before time.”

Charles hasn’t said anything about seeing her naked in Miss Ruby’s shack, so neither has Thandi. She knows, in a remote corner of her mind, that he hasn’t forgotten. Small talk about the drought relieves them of the intimate pressure. So she plays along, pretending that it never happened. Though that damp warmth that courses through her body lingers as long as the drought. They are walking along the beach barefoot toward the castle. Up close Thandi can see where the rooms might be. Once they’re inside it, they exhale from escaping the sun. As soon as he catches his breath, Charles surprises Thandi by twirling her around in the empty space like they’re a couple dancing to slow music. The area is spacious, with massive cylindrical columns. “Maybe it’s going to be a dance hall,” Charles says in a whisper, as though anyone might be around to hear. Their voices echo. “Men will dance in their tuxedos wid their women like this—” He dips Thandi, holding her back so that she won’t fall. Thandi squeals and giggles in his arms. She lifts one leg up like the ladies do in movies. For a second they stare at each other, Thandi unsure if he’ll kiss her and Charles looking like he’s deciding whether it’s the right time. They pull away as if simultaneously arriving at a consensus to wait at least until the sun sets. Charles’s eyes drift to an empty pool. It’s carved out like someone took a big ice-cream scoop to it. Around them are tools the construction workers use—wheelbarrows and pipes and planks. Outside there are several bulldozers parked. Thandi inhales the smell of cement as they stand inside the empty place. She imagines that she’s in the mouth of a whale, looking up into the roof of its mouth—the crisscrossing of the bone structure and teeth—feeling small. Insignificant. She follows Charles to another area where she can see the sun slowly disappearing, its death march across the sky finally coming to an end. It’s here that they settle. Charles spreads his towel for her to sit. He sits facing her.