A Wanted Woman Part 18

"Much people here tonight."

"Too much people."

Most Bajans used the word "much" instead of the word "many."

I had picked up that habit from Old Man Reaper years ago.

A bouncer inspected the women in short dresses and high heels, most dressed like they wanted to be featured on Bajantube, and I was called to the front.

The big Bajan bouncer spoke to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and said, "Like, whoa. s.e.xy body, Englishwoman."

With a shy smile, I nodded. Anyone who wasn't brown was a.s.sumed to be a foreigner.

"All that swag and niceness. You too sweet to be in a line. Come on in, you lovely thing."

With a broader grin, I winked and thanked him for being a bigot.

They searched inside of the women's purses, did a visual inspection, nothing as intense as they did in the clubs in L.A. and New York and South Beach, nothing like the violation in Trinidad. I opened my foot-long clutch and the bouncer saw a tampon, a condom, lip gloss, and two hundred dollars in the local currency. The security guy at the door put on his best smile, winked.

In a rapid Bajan dialect he told me, "s.e.xy Body, if your body don't need the tampon, I'll be more than happy to help you fill out the condom to the last digit on the serial numbers."

"For true?"

"For true, Englishwoman. Gimme your BBM."

"I'll check for you later. Nice wedding ring, by the way."

I walked in right after a tall, brown-skinned woman wearing high heels and a black sequined skirt. Her backside s.h.i.+mmered in the light. Men flirted with her in droves, stared at her b.u.t.t without shame.

A well-dressed man-boy came over to her and said, "Hey, s.e.xy."

She said, "When a man calls me s.e.xy, he's acknowledging what I already know."

"How ya b.u.mper get so nice? Dress make it s.h.i.+ne bright like a diamond."

"Leff me alone now."

Her accent was Haitian, highly educated, very irritated. An Amazon who stood tall enough to be a model, but had an att.i.tude that said she wasn't a toy, that she was more interested in Ultimate Frisbee and rugby. I b.u.mped into her, her frame feminine but solid, then she frowned at me, at my powerful shoulders and strong arms, at my core. I sized her up, and without apology, I moved on.

The man who drove the Corvette finally saw me. He grinned and licked his lips and took his attention away from the girl he was chatting up. He pushed away from the girl, and he wagged his fingers, told me to come to him.

I shook my head and went the other way. He abandoned his VIP area, pushed through the crowd, touched me to get my attention. He touched me like he was ent.i.tled to any woman he desired.

He said, "Hope Solo, are you walking away from me?"

"I am not Hope Solo, nor Han Solo, just walking solo."

"You s.e.xy like US football player Hope Solo, legs and body, only better."

He was Bajan as well, but his accent sounded close to English West Country, Bristol, Gloucester, Devon, that kind of area. A Bajan accent was nothing like the rest of the Caribbean, nothing like Trinidad.

If the job had required chopsticks, I could've touched him right then and disappeared.

He said, "Come to VIP. Come celebrate. I paid two thousand for everything. Drinks free."

"You walk over and expect me to pop around the Jack so you can rabbit on until the d.i.c.kory hits twelve."

"What?"

"Sorry. We talk in a rhyming slang back home, so I need to adjust my tongue. I asked if you expected me to go to the bar with you."

"Come with me."

"No thanks. Get your Tommy Tank from your China plates. Lot of Khyber Pa.s.s in your party, most in Irish pigs, all wearing too much tomfoolery, but that's your kind of struggle and grunt."

"What?"

"You have a lot of s.e.xy women in your area. Nice a.s.ses and wigs, and most are draped in a lot of jewelry. That's your type. Go back to them."

"No? Did you just tell me no?"

"I did. Same answer when I'm Oliver Twist."

"Oliver Twist?"

"Drunk."

"Obviously you don't know who I am."

"Everybody caters to you. You must be b.l.o.o.d.y famous and all bees and honey. Are you the prime minister?"

"I'm more important than the prime minister. I am a cricketer, true, but I'm also a businessman. I create jobs while the government is taking away jobs. I do more for the island than anyone on the prime minister's payroll. I am going to bring big changes here. I am going to change Barbados."

"What kind of business do you have?"

"A very successful one. Import and export. Everything on the island is imported. Every car. Every refrigerator. Clothes. Look around this room. From the lights to the prettiest of the pretty women, almost everything comes from j.a.pan, China, London, or the States."

"What do the people manufacture here?"

"Babies." He laughed at his own rude joke. "Now look at my photos."

"Don't you have cobbler's awls?"

"What dem?"

"b.a.l.l.s. You have b.a.l.l.s."

He took out his BlackBerry and showed me photos of his million-dollar home in the Prior Park section of St. James, his the most expensive in the exclusive and gated Palm Court community.

I said, "Wicked bed. That's a high bed. Looks st.u.r.dy and unbreakable."

"Made in Italy and imported from Italy. Only two in the West Indies. Big man has the other one."

"Good Lord. Must be a Cadbury's Flake."

"What?"

"This must be a mistake, showing me this. You have at least a hundred naked women trapped inside of your phone."

"They love my bed. Why are you making a nasty face like that?"

"Is that an Irish pig between her legs or a misplaced Afro? A woman should get a Brazilian before she takes photos like that."

"She is Brazilian."

"That makes it worse."

King Bubba & Lil Rick screamed that they wanted drinks and the room demanded the same as they danced. The target wined up on me. I danced with him, grinned, shook a finger, and told him not so close. He grabbed my hand and dance-walked me to the bar anyway. Ordered drinks. After I finished a chocolate martini, he ordered shots. I ended up standing practically hip to hip next to the tall woman who wore the black sequined skirt. Tall and toned. Her hair was long, the perfect weave. She had been watching the cricketer too. She was so close I inhaled the scent of her perfume. Lola by Marc Jacobs.

I motioned at the s.e.xy Amazon in the sequined skirt and asked, "She one of your fans?"

"I ain't know she. Probably one of my many fans."

Two shots and a Mudslide later, after he'd had six Banks, shots, and something made with dark liquor, he pulled me to the dance floor. Tipsy, I danced how they danced, did Up Deh, logo logo, Willie Bounce, killed the Swag Dance, and when Soca Cartel commanded the women to grab their ankles, I did a quick-and-dirty six thirty and brought it back up into a respectable tick-tock.

The cricketer said, "c.o.c.k-back. Baby, you c.o.c.k-back real nice."

Lost in the groove, I leaned in to him and asked, "What was that?"

"You pooch back real good like a back way you love. Your a.s.s move like that on top?"

I ran my hand over my hair. "It's hot. Meet me outside in five minutes. In front of Hal's."

"Then what?"

"We'll see if I move my a.r.s.e like this when I'm on top. Where can we go to be alone? Would love to introduce you to my north and south."

"North and south?"

"Mouth. Would love for you to meet my mouth-my north and south."

"The beach. A parking lot. Something by the water."

"I saw a better place, near the Joe Baxis."

"Joe Baxis?"

"Taxis."

"That not far."

"You have condoms?"

"Dem make me itch."

"I'm not half-a-idiot. I don't want to Posh 'n' Becks and get breed and have watermelon in my belly. Would be a total Lionel Blair. A nightmare. Of epic proportion. I have a pot and pan waiting at my room, but he's sterile. So, if you give me a dustbin lid, you'd have to make me your trouble and strife, Adam and Eve me when I say that."

"What?"

"No condom, no s.e.x. I don't want to end up pregnant."

"I pull out faster than Bolt can run."

"Just don't f.u.c.k that fast. That would be a Lionel Blair, too."

"I go long time with you, Hope Solo. Go real long time. My d.i.c.k big and go long."

While the crowd sang along to the music he leaned in to French kiss me. When he did that a girl who had just arrived stormed over, grabbed his arm as we were kissing, and made him turn and face her.

She snapped, "What de f.u.c.k? Wha de f.u.c.k going on?"

"Cheese on bread. I don't know she."

"Don't rub s.h.i.+t in my mouth and tell me that it's pudding."

The girl made threats, cursed him hard, said she was no fool, then walked away.

Too many eyes were on the foolishness. I turned to leave too.

He grabbed my arm. "Where you think you going?"

"It's time to Christian Slater."

"What?"

"Time to say see-you-later."

"Where you going?"

"Down the jack to my hotel. Going back to my boyfriend now."

"We're not done."

"That was embarra.s.sing. I want to get some air."

"Where this botsie go, I go."

"You love April in Paris a little too much." I pushed his hand away. "Could you stop squeezing my a.r.s.e like it's some Uncle Fred?"