Here Comes the Sun(92)

“Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Sir?” The man guffaws. “Just call me Alphonso.”

Embarrassed, she apologizes. She cannot see his eyes behind his dark sunglasses, though she feels him studying her, the revelation denting a comma at the sides of his mouth. It forces her to pull her hand away. But he holds on to it.

“You’re quite stunning,” he says. “Are you a model?” He’s still holding on to Thandi’s hand.

“No, I’m—”

He puts a finger to Thandi’s lips. This catches her off guard. His touch is gentle, like a soft kiss. The same intrusion by someone else would have annoyed her, made her slap the finger away. But she does nothing. “You should learn to take a compliment,” he says, removing his finger.

Thandi feels perspiration trickling down her sides. God forbid if it soaks the skintight dress. “Uhm, where is the bathroom?” she asks.

“Come. I’ll gladly show you.” Alphonso gently pushes the front door with his shoulder. As soon as it opens into the well-lit living space, Thandi notices the paintings. “Follow me.” He bends slightly like a portly butler, one hand behind his back, the other gesturing for her to step farther inside. There are paintings and sculptures everywhere. Thandi resists the urge to turn and turn like the bamboo ceiling fan spinning above their heads. Alphonso must have noticed her noticing everything, because he slows to her pace.

“You like?”

“It’s like a museum,” she says.

“I’m a collector.”

“You live here?”

“Sometimes.”

“I really like your place.”

“I’m glad. My goal is to make everyone who walks through those doors feel like they belong here. You can stay as long as you want.” He says it so quietly that it feels like an intimate confession. He stops short when he gets to the guest bathroom door and holds it open for her. For a second Thandi wonders if he’ll move to let her pass. “How old are you, Thandi?” he asks.

“Fifteen. I’ll be sixteen at the end of this month.”

“Hmm. Fifteen.”

His tilts his glasses on the bridge of his nose, his pale eyes appraising her.

“You have a nice figure for fifteen. A body like yours could make men do anything.”

She walks quickly past him, aware of the tension in her neck and the rodlike sensation in her back. She locks the door. Instead of sitting on the toilet, she bends over it. She feels sick again. She can hear Alphonso and the general talking to Jullette in the living room.

Before they left the house, Charles had sulked on the sofa as Jullette gushed over how much Thandi was transformed with makeup and skintight clothes. Thandi noticed him staring as though seeing her for the first time. It made her uncomfortable, yet aware of what she possessed—a power she once thought only her sister had. Charles pulled back when Thandi came close. Something came over his face like a five o’clock shadow. “Yuh can’t go, looking like dat,” he spat, a renewed fervor in his eyes that Thandi recognized as contempt. Or fear. Charles turned to his sister. “This is not a good idea.”

“Charles, you agreed,” Jullette argued, lowering her voice to a hiss so as not to wake Miss Violet, whom Charles had put to bed just an hour before. But Charles wasn’t having it. “Take it off,” he said to Thandi, ignoring Jullette’s plea. Thandi froze, caught between Charles’s disapproval and her desperation to free him. “Yuh hear me?” Charles said. Thandi had never seen this scowl on his face before. He repeated himself as though she hadn’t comprehended the first time: “Ah say yuh mus’ tek it off. Or else don’t come back here to me.” It was an ultimatum that almost knocked the air out of Thandi’s lungs. The anger in Charles’s eyes dared her, convicted her, softened her.

“I’m doing it for you,” she heard herself say, stroking his arm. “You’ll thank me later.” But he pushed her hand away, his face screwed into a tight fist, as though he could already smell the other man on her fingers. “Charles, you know I’m doing this for you,” Thandi said, pleading. But he turned away from her, standing like a wilted tree in the middle of the living room. A small tug from Jullette took Thandi away from the scene and into the chilly night.

···

When Thandi returns from the bathroom, Jullette is already sitting next to the general like she has known him intimately. They are blowing smoke into air diffused by the spinning bamboo fan above their heads. Warm light glows from a sculpted lamp in the room, gilding the paintings on the coral walls. The general taps the empty space next to him on the green couch for Thandi to sit too. On the glass coffee table is a Gleaner. And on the front page Alphonso is shaking hands with a government official. The headline reads “HOTELIER CHANGING JAMAICA FOR BETTER.” Thandi sits just so she can read more of the article, but the general mistakes her willingness as obedience. The general places his hand on Thandi’s thigh. She doesn’t move. Jullette gives her a smirk and waits a couple of seconds too long before pulling the man toward her, relieving Thandi. Alphonso is on the telephone. Thandi watches him pace the tiled floor, where she can see his reflection.

When he finishes his private conversation he walks in the direction of the bar and pours himself a drink. He stops short when he catches Thandi staring. “How about a shot of brandy for the lady in pink?” Alphonso says, winking at Thandi. Jullette had explained to her earlier that if a man offers a drink, accept it and make sure to display the acrobatics of the tongue while working the straw. “But what if they don’t give you a straw?” Thandi asked. “Then yuh mus’ use di ice to wet yuh lips,” Jullette quipped.