Sex, Secrets and South Beach (7 page)

"Yo! What the fuck was that all about?
What the hell is a mother skunk or whatever the fuck y'all were
saying?" Desiree asked Ginger.

"Motherscunt means your
mother’s cunt. It’s a major insult. Basically, that bitch called us
a cross between a motherfucker and a cunt. That's their worst
insult. It's some old island shit," Ginger fumed. "I'm telling you
every time I come to St. Thomas some bitch got to throw shade. It
ain't my fault these bitches are fat and ugly. Some of the pretty
ones be okay. But those fat, old, ugly hos are the worst! They wish
somebody would pay to see them naked. Shit, it's more like somebody
would pay them to put their clothes on. I keep telling Red,
don't
put me in the
Windward Passage, but he always,
always
does!"

"What you wanna do?" Desiree
asked.

"Let me call Red. He gonna
pay for tonight and tomorrow somewhere else, and it better not be
somewhere fucked-up. He
needs
to put us in an apartment!" Ginger yanked the
phone off its cradle and began to dial.

"What the fuck?" She paused, listening
to the voice on the other end. "You need to connect me to my number
right now. Excuse me? Oh hell no! Y'all are trippin'... you know
what, fuck you!"

Desiree danced around in front of
Ginger, trying to find out what had gone down. Ginger pulled the
phone out of the jack and threw it across the room. "Fuck these
motherfuckers!"

"Yo, Ginger! Hello?! What just
happened here?" Desiree grabbed Ginger, who was pacing angrily back
and forth.

"These motherfuckers wouldn't connect
my call. They said they had a code of conduct in this
establishment, and I do use the word 'establishment' lightly, and
that we broke it. They told me that we needed to vacate the
premises immediately."

"What did we do?" Desiree's mouth was
agape. What the hell had Ginger gotten her into?

"We ain't do shit! Come on and pack
your bag. We're outta this shithole."

They dressed quickly and brushed their
teeth. Desiree looked around the room to make sure they hadn't left
anything behind before they stormed out. Desiree was grateful her
suitcase had wheels, because Ginger walked full speed ahead. She
marched to the desk and threw the key at the clerk.

"Shove this key up your ass. Fucking
hater!" she spat. Her wide-bodied bag knocked over an end table and
a display shelf filled with brochures.

"Oops," she sneered, then tossed her
hair and left the building.

"What we gonna do now?" Desiree
asked.

"Don't worry. I'm a call Derek and
Fuzzy."

"Who?"

"Derek and Fuzzy, the brothers I was
telling you about."

"Please tell me you're hooking me up
with Derek," Desiree remarked.

"Nope, Fuzzy is all yours."

"What kind of bullshit is this, Gin?
We've been kicked out the hotel, everybody except drunk-ass
tourists acts like we're the fucking devil, now you're trying to
set me up with a nigga named Fuzzy? Man, I'm ready to go
home."

"Just shut up and watch the bags while
I use that pay phone. Gimme some change." Desiree emptied the
pockets of her jean shorts and gave Ginger a handful of change. She
sat atop a suitcase, folded her arms, and pouted. It was hot as
hell, hotter than Miami. Plus, she was getting hungry. It all made
her quite irritable.

Ginger returned minutes later,
practically skipping. "They'll be here in five minutes! I called
Derek's cell, and they're down the road. Stop acting like a baby
and put on some lipstick," Ginger demanded.

"Man, I'm hot. It's too hot for
makeup. And I'm hungry," Desiree whined.

"Well, at least put on some clear MAC
Lipglass. Your lips are looking a little crusty there," Ginger
kidded, but Desiree was in no mood for jokes. "Yeah, whatever," she
remarked dryly, whipping out a tube of Lipglass and slicking some
on.

The boom from Derek's Range Rover
introduced them before they actually appeared. Ginger's ears
immediately perked up, and she smoothed out her top and fluffed her
hair. She was grinning ear-to-ear when he rolled down the black-out
tinted window. A haze of marijuana smoke emanated from the car, and
when it cleared, there were two of the most handsome men Desiree
had ever seen in her life.

"Good night, baby." Derek’s baritone
voice boomed as he swung his car door open. He stood at six feet
three inches tall, was the color of Hershey's syrup, with a bald
head, dark brown eyes framed by a fringe of dark lashes, and the
body of a god.

"Good night, baby," Ginger
gushed.

"Oh shit!" Desiree's chin practically
touched the concrete. She stared shamelessly as he wrapped his arms
around Ginger and gave her a kiss. Then she saw Fuzzy. He was even
finer than Derek! Desiree stood mute waiting for Ginger to break
free from Derek's embrace.

"Desi, this is Derek," she introduced
them after finally releasing her lip-lock.

''A pleasure, Desiree. Ginger's told
me all about you." His accent was driving her wild.

"And this is Fuzzy," she said to
Desiree. He removed his shades, nodded, and then replaced them. He
began staring out of the passenger window like she wasn't even
there. Desiree now wished she had taken the time to put on some
makeup.

After I freshen up, he's
definitely gonna check for me
, Desiree
thought, determined to get his attention.
I'm gonna make sure of it.

Derek and Ginger caught up in the
front seat while Desiree and Fuzzy rode in silence in the back.
They headed around a few curvy, narrow streets to a dim
alley.

"We can get something from Crazy
Cal's, and then I'll take you to the guesthouse. I know the owner
personally; he's a friend of mine. I'll check you in and pay for
it," Derek explained to them, then stopped at a tiny restaurant to
get them something to eat. Desiree went in with him so she could
see what they had to offer.

"So what you think about Desiree?"
Ginger asked Fuzzy in the car. "Ain't she cute? Y'all will like
each other."

"Nah, she's not for me," he
replied.

"What? She looks like me.
I know you don't think that
I'm
ugly." Ginger rolled her neck and frowned up her
face.

"Nah, it's not that. She's
not ugly. She's pretty But she's
maaga
."

"What the fuck is
maaga
?"

"Skinny. She looks like a little girl,
a baby. I like women. I need my chicken with some meat."

"That's my protégée. Believe me, she's
a woman. And she's not skinny at all. I keep telling her about
wearing them baggy-ass clothes. I can get her to dress right when
we go out, but any other time she insists on that tomboy shit. But
her body is tight. Trust me," Ginger said, campaigning for her
friend.

Desiree and Derek came back to the
Rover with bags of food. Desiree had already dipped in her bag and
was munching on some fried fish. Ginger gave Fuzzy an encouraging
look, then refocused her energy on Derek. Desiree decided to try to
engage Fuzzy in some small talk. So far, he hadn't said a word, and
she was dying to know if his voice was as sexy as his
brother's.

"So why do they call you Fuzzy?" she
asked. He grinned, and Desiree felt her insides grow hot. He faced
her, his eyes faintly visible behind the dark lenses of his
sunglasses.

"Because the gals them say me goatee
feels fuzzy when I'm downtown," he offered suggestively; then
chuckled and stroked the dark, smooth hairs of his immaculately
groomed goatee. Desiree wondered if he could tell that she was wet
from the mere thought of his tongue touching her. Suddenly, she
realized why Ginger wasn't stressing about money, or anything else,
for that matter. Maybe it was the combination of the flora and
salty ocean air, the exotic aromas rising from the street vendors'
carts, and Fuzzy's cologne, but she felt intoxicated. It was like
Fuzzy had her under some spell and she couldn't break free. She
thought of the Miss Cleo psychic-hotline commercial, the one with
the girl with the burgundy weave claiming, "I think someone put
roots on me; what should I do?" She knew what she was gonna do. She
was gonna fuck Fuzzy. Even if she didn't make a dime, she was gonna
get that dick.

The following week was
miserable for Desiree
. The men at the club
weren't feeling her at all. They all kept claiming she was skinny,
even though she had a big ass and terrific legs. She was far from
anorexic, but the men acted like she was a dancing skeleton. She
managed to scrape up two hundred dollars a night, but after rolling
with Ginger she was used to making at least four hundred on her
slowest of nights. And to make matters worse, she hadn't seen Fuzzy
since they first met. Ginger's days were filled with Derek this and
Derek that. Occasionally, Desiree tagged along with them, but after
accompanying them to St. John she decided to let them have their
privacy. They'd hugged and kissed so much that she only felt worse
for being a third wheel. There were other men on the island who
tried to holler, but Desiree had her heart set on Fuzzy. Besides,
the other men had all been broke compared to Fuzzy.

Tired of seeing Desiree mope, Ginger
decided to take action. She phoned Derek and instructed him that he
and Fuzzy were taking them to the beach at Magen's Bay and there
were no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Desiree got angry; she wasn't
a charity case. But Ginger insisted that she get cute and game
up.

"I know that nigga and I know you. You
can get with that. Put on that orange-flowered thong. Show off your
shape. Put on some makeup and wear your hair down, not in a
ponytail. Come on now. I taught you better," Ginger admonished,
sounding more like a mother than a friend.

Desiree did as she was told, taking
extra care to emphasize her eyes. If she went swimming, she knew it
would all be for nothing, but what the hell, she was willing to do
whatever to get with Fuzzy. She wrapped a sarong around her body
and waited with Ginger, who shook her head.

"Don't worry, ma. I got this," Desiree
told her confidently.

"Okay. The force is strong
within you, young Skywalker, but you are not a Jedi yet," Ginger
teased. Ginger was a true computer geek; she loved the Star Wars
series and
Star
Trek
and was always quoting some
science fiction shit or other.

"There you go, Poindexter. I'm telling
you, it's handled. I won't be going in to work tonight cuz, um, I'm
gonna be tied up with Fuzzy all night long," Desiree
predicted.

The view from the winding
hills of St. Thomas of
the azure water and
pale sand was breathtaking. It was a far cry from the port side of
Charlotte Amalie with its shops and restaurants and docked ships.
This was nature at its finest. Desiree had hated riding in St.
Thomas; the cars drove on the wrong side, they seemed to have no
speed limit or traffic laws, and the roads were tiny and usually
had a goat or some chickens roaming in them; but now she felt no
fear. She felt exhilarated, as if the car could take flight any
moment and whisk them off to paradise. Momentarily, she forgot
about her obsession with Fuzzy.