New Beginnings Page 3

  Gonzalez came one Sunday afternoon when Geneva was reading Shakespeare to Pamela as they reclined on the pool deck. Geneva had rebelled, arguing that she never understood why she needed to speak old English in twenty-first century Jamaica, and that no young woman in her right mind would be wasting the Sunday reading Shakespeare, but Pamela had insisted.

  “Don’t say ‘im,” Pamela remarked, correcting Geneva. “Say him, pronounce the ‘H’.” All the blood vessels stood up in her head, and she was about to go into one of her lectures when a short, stocky man came onto the verandah.

  “Oh, Pamela darling,” he said, his voice heavily accented. He sounded French and sported a goatee, which completed the stereotype. “Don’t be too hard on the poor girl. I'm here to do that for you.”

  Pamela got up and gushed, “Gonzalez, I didn't know you were arriving today.”

  “You said you were in trouble. So I came like a knight in shining armor, beautiful one,” Gonzalez said in French while kissing Pamela on both cheeks.

  Geneva sniffed. Pamela was acting like a stupid schoolgirl. At least there was some human emotion in the dragon lady. She probably didn't understand a word the French man just uttered, but she was smiling like a ninny.

  “I am no trouble,” Geneva said, looking up from her book. “Pamela is just a bit irritable, and only the blind could call her beautiful.”

  Pamela and Gonzalez stared at her, their mouths agape.

  “Did French in high school,” Geneva said with a smirk. “My mother insisted on it; she had a fascination with the language. Hence, my name.”

  Gonzalez came over to where she was sitting. “Bonjour.”

  “Bonjour,” Geneva replied and nodded.

  “What is your name?” he asked in French

  “My name is Geneva Green,” Geneva replied in French, “well, it was until I found out that I'm a Walters.”

  “Mmmm,” Gonzalez moaned and kissed her hand, “you are a fine Walters

  “How unlikely,” Pamela said huffily, “that the offspring of a downtown whore can speak French.”

  Geneva got up. “Listen here, I will not…”

  “Calm down, petite fille,” Gonzalez said, “I see we will need to work on your temper as well as your etiquette.”

  “She is the one that needs to be calm,” Geneva said and pointed at Pamela, “and don’t call me ‘little girl’ in any language.”

  That was the introduction to the much-lauded Gonzalez and the beginning of the rigorous etiquette exercise. Sometimes Melody would join in and then it would be fun, but most times it was Monsieur Gonzalez, whom Geneva was beginning to think of as a slave driver.

  “Who is that?” he would yell, as he played a classical piece.

  “Er… Vivaldi,” Geneva would mumble, teasing him.

  “No, no. Vivaldi is of the Baroque era. That is Chopin. Listen. Feel.”

  Geneva would smile. “Sorry, ‘sar’.” She said it just to wind him up and he responded without fail.

  “Not sar: signore, monsieur… sir.” Gonzalez would get in a frenzy and then punish her with long hours of work.

  ****

  Geneva was enjoying herself. She couldn't deny that her life was better. Even the etiquette lessons were interesting. The ghetto was so far removed from her present life that the issues there seemed very petty to her now. Things that were life and death and could spark a war now appeared inconsequential.

  Who cared if Tesha’s hairstyle was similar to Annette’s, or that Carla had finally gotten a washing machine because Mitzy had one? She certainly didn't miss stealing electricity, nor protesting in the streets when a guilty man had been gunned down—though everyone knew that his girlfriend had washed his bloody clothes the night before when he came in from the streets bragging about his exploits.

  Her main worry, which had been finances, was finally put to rest; she had a credit card and money in a bank account. She had even sent some to Froggie and his mother. Even though they had a bar and club, they were never comfortably in the black. With the Walters’ money not an issue people treated Geneva differently and wanted to be her friend. Some of them just needed to hear the last name and they would jump through hoops for her. She finally understood what the term ‘money talks’ really meant.

  One day, during a lingerie shopping trip with Melody, the sisters were talking about their lives over lunch in a trendy café when Melody surprisingly said, “Tell me about Froggie. You seem to love him so much; it’s always Froggie this and Froggie that.”

  “Well, he’s very unlike your boyfriend, Justin.”

  “Why?”

  “Let’s just say that if Pamela saw him, she would faint. He is not refined; he barely has two cents to rub together; when he is ready, he can match one of her cold stares with one of his own that would send her running.”

  Melody had her mouth opened. “He sounds fierce. Has he ever killed anybody?” she asked.

  “No,” Geneva said, appalled. “Not because he’s a don means that he kills people. You really don’t know about Jamaica.”

  “I would never want to live in the ghetto,” Melody said, shuddering. “It’s so filthy and hopeless.”

  “It has its ups and downs,” Geneva said. “We do not have as many rules as the upper class. We enjoy simple things more because we are unable to afford much.”

  “Stop saying we,” Melody said and sipped her strawberry daiquiri. “You are no longer a part of that world, and besides, you were with a don. You shouldn’t have been all that poor, and let me tell you something, don’t resent what you have now. It’s what everybody wants. Isn’t that why the lottery is so important in the ghetto? Who buys the lottery more than poor people?”

  “I wasn’t defending ghetto living. I was just…”

  “Okay. Enough of the serious stuff. Let’s discuss my talent piece for the Miss Jamaica pageant. Remember the girl I introduced you to yesterday?”

  “Which girl? The one I did the fake French kiss on the right and the left cheek thing with?”

  “Yup. That was Cynthia. She is entering too. I can’t stand her.”

  “But you two looked so tight.”

  “Her mother knows my mother, so we have to get along. Besides, wouldn’t you be tight with someone who entered last year and spread dirty rumors about the winner. I think the poor girl is still reeling from it. Anyway, back to the talent piece. I want to do a medley of dances.”

  “That sounds good,” Geneva nodded.

  “I have a good chance of winning,” Melody said, grinning.

  “It’s good to have confidence in yourself,” Geneva said and grinned back.

  “Confidence, my foot,” Melody snorted. “At least three of the people that they have confirmed as judges were on our father’s payroll. I'm pretty sure my mother will make sure that they remember.”

  “That’s so wrong.” Geneva looked appalled.

  “But it would be such a good conversation piece at my mother’s cocktail parties if I won the pageant,” Melody said, imitating her mother and holding her nose in the ear.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Justin Greenwood, how lovely to see you.” Geneva could hear Pamela gushing at the other end of the pool deck. “How is your mother? Did she finally donate her Christian Dior dress to the charity auction?”

  Geneva was lounging at the other end, her ears perking up at the fake cheerfulness Pamela had injected into her voice. She would never have greeted Froggie like that, Geneva thought, huffing. Then she realized the humor in the situation, as she imagined Pamela gushing, “Froggie, how lovely to see you. How is your mother? Did she finally find the blue wig to match with her platform shoes to dance at the club?”

  She was on the verge of laughing out loud when she felt a presence standing over her. She adjusted her sunglasses and stared in the hazel eyes of Justin. His curly hair looked longer, and his fair complexion was striking against his red shorts. Geneva sighed. Before Melody had introduced them three weeks ago, she had only seen guys like hi
m on television.

  “You are doing a fine job entertaining yourself,” Justin said, looking intently at Geneva as he spoke. She looked beautiful, he thought to himself—he was finding more and more excuses to come to the house ever since he was introduced to her. Her voluptuous body was more appealing to him than Melody’s slim frame, and her wide-eyed innocence about the new world she found herself in fascinated him. He wanted to introduce her to all the wonders that money could buy and watch her express awe and adoration just for him.

  Geneva wriggled in discomfort at his scrutiny. She had barely heard the question. Justin was looking at her predatorily.

  “I was thinking about something, that’s all.” She smiled slightly and Justin hauled a lounge chair beside hers until they were touching then he plopped down beside her. His muscular body flexed indecently as he turned toward her.

  “Melody is not here,” Geneva blurted out, his nearness disquieting her. She was intrigued and felt guilty because of it. She loved Froggie, plus she would never do anything to hurt Melody. “I know,” Justin said with a chuckle. “I also arranged for my cousin to call Mrs. Walters away for a while.”

  Geneva looked over at the spot where Pamela was lounging with her magazine and groaned.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because I like you.” Justin was looking straight at her as he eased off her dark glasses. “From the moment I saw you, I realized what was missing from my…”

  “Life,” Geneva added dreamily, and then laughed. “That line is well-worn and trite. Not even romance books use them anymore.” She relished saying ‘trite’; she had learned the word only yesterday in one of her literacy sessions with Gonzalez, when they had had a rousing argument about the French equivalent. Gonzalez had won. The equivalent had been ‘banal’.

  “It’s true though,” Justin said. He sighed then ran his tongue across his lips. “I've been with Melody for just four months. I did it to get rid of my mother’s harping on about me needing to settle down and have a steady girlfriend. By the way, I'm only twenty-three.”

  “She’s a great girl, so it couldn’t have been a hardship,” Geneva noted.

  “It wasn’t, until I saw you that day in the hall wearing that ridiculous piece of cloth you call a shorts, and that scrap of fluff you called a blouse. I was bowled over, terrified that everyone could see the carnal thoughts racing through my mind and my hammering heart trying to leap out of its cage.”

  Geneva laughed and grabbed a towel and threw it over her skimpy bathing suit. “You are full of it,” she uttered and glanced at Justin’s serious expression.

  “I know you are from the ghetto and all that,” he said, leaning toward her, “but where you are from doesn’t matter to me. If I met you in Half-Way-Tree, I would still want to know you.”

  Geneva looked at the sky. She was feeling fluttery in the stomach and a bit warm from Justin’s declarations. The sheer temptation of the forbidden man was enough to make her clench her teeth.

  “I have a boyfriend.”

  “Break up with him.”

  “You have a girlfriend.”

  “I will break up with her.”

  “This is not happening.”

  “Yes it is.” Justin leaned forward, blocking her view of the sun, and captured her lips. His lips were cool on her feverish lips, and she felt as if she was sinking as she opened her mouth to him. She had been dreaming of this for weeks. All the guilt about Froggie and Melody melted away under the sweet pressure of Justin’s lips. He feverishly ran his hands down the front of her body as he flung the towel away and cupped one breast.

  “Geneva… I need you,” he groaned, kissing her along the neck. “We can’t do this here.”

  “We shouldn’t be doing this,” Geneva said. She pushed him away and stood up on shaky legs. “It would be a disaster.”

  “Don’t be such a prude, Geneva,” Justin said, running his hand through his hair. “You used to work in a nightclub, dancing for men half-naked. This shouldn’t be new to you, a man wanting you like this.”

  Geneva grabbed her towel and wrapped it around her waist. “Because I'm from the ghetto that doesn’t make me a prostitute,” she hissed at him. She walked into the house, her head held high and her pride smarting from what he had implied. How dare he? Was this how the rest of the elite society thought about women from the ghetto?

  Still, she was bowled over that a man of Justin’s pedigree had paid her some attention. He obviously thought she was easy. She touched her lips and shuddered. For a moment she had actually enjoyed his kiss. She went into her room and slammed the door shut. What was happening to her?

  ****

  “Hello, Froggie,” Geneva said, listening as her boyfriend answered the phone, later that evening.

  “Hi Gen,” Froggie said, sighing into the phone. He was having problems with his dancers. There was war among his posse, and every time he spoke to the only woman he ever loved, he could feel the distance. Even her voice was changing. She sounded refined, like one of those television announcers.

  “I just wanted to hear your voice,” Geneva replied and clutched the phone closer to her ears. Did she sound as guilty as she felt?

  “I wanted to hear you too. It’s been seven weeks since you left.” Froggie sat on a bar stool and looked above the bar mirror. He suddenly felt old. At thirty-five, he was tired of the same old life. He should be doing something else, somewhere else.

  “Is everything all right down there?” Geneva asked quietly.

  “Yeah…” Froggie said, aware of the silence. Did she finally realize that he was too old for her, that his lifestyle was terrible? Why did she sound so guilty, so distant?

  “I um…” Geneva said, clearing her throat. “I wanted to know… er… Froggie...”

  He listened to her struggling, and he never felt more like crying. He glanced over at his friends as they played a game of dominoes in the corner. If they saw him with tears in his eyes they would laugh him to scorn. He turned his back to them.

  “Are you trying to break up with me?” Froggie asked.

  “I... uh...” Geneva squeezed her eyes tightly, trying to block out the mental picture of Froggie: his corn-rowed hair, his coffee-colored skin, his straight even white teeth and his straight as an arrow nose. He sounded pained and alone, she thought to herself.

  “What is it, Gen?” She then heard a bottle tumble, followed by a loud crash and Froggie swearing fluently.

  “I'm so sorry, Froggie. I...I …”

  “It's a guy, isn't it? Who is he?” Froggie asked, his voice breaking. “Is he younger? Handsome? Rich like you?”

  “It’s not a guy exactly…” Geneva started to cry. “I am so confused.”

  Froggie yanked the line from behind the bar and went into his office. His whole world was crashing down on him. He kicked his office door shut and hoped that nobody would hear him if he started to yell.

  “Did you sleep with him?” His ragged voice was intense over the phone. “Gen,” he bellowed. He felt like a whipped animal. Just seven weeks, and she had already found someone else. What did that say about what they had? Just seven lousy weeks.

  “No,” Geneva replied, sniffling. “I… we just kissed.”

  Froggie felt a red mist cover his eyes. His head was throbbing so hard that he felt as if he was exercising without oxygen.

  “Seven weeks, Geneva,” he said, his voice cracking. “I haven’t even looked at another woman. I have been here pining over you, and you are uptown kissing and carrying on with another man. I can’t…” Froggie put his head in his hands and started to sob. He was the leader in his area, but here he was crying over a woman. He felt like calling one of his enemies to come and shoot him on the spot. The more shots the better.

  “Froggie, I’m so sorry,” Geneva pleaded, but she only heard the click of the telephone as she opened her mouth to say more.

  Was she an idiot? She did not mean to tell Froggie about the kiss. She realized what a mistake she had made as soon
as she hung up the phone. Froggie would be railing mad. Would he ever forgive her? Why did she feel so attracted to Justin? Everything was just so new and exciting. She touched her lips.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Geneva could not look Melody in the eye.

  “I stopped by Jasmine today,” Melody said, clearly excited. “She has some great designs.”

  Geneva felt slightly guilty: although she had sent money to Jasmine and rented a shop for her in Cross Roads, she had not been to see her since. She found that she was developing a taste for other designers—it was no longer flattering to be seen in outlandish clothes.

  “The irony of the thing is,” Melody was saying, “she can sew whatever I design. So we put our heads together and came up with something spectacular. Unfortunately, the talent part of the Miss Jamaica pageant is tomorrow. Justin said that I should wear the yellow dress for the evening wear segment. What do you think?”

  Melody skipped to her closet and pulled out a dress. Geneva’s heart skipped a beat. It was a week since the kiss, and Justin had been over twice since then. They had not repeated the performance, but he had started calling her every night on her cell. She told him not to mention breaking up with their respective partners anymore; it was something that she could not handle right now. Froggie rejected all calls made to him, so Geneva was relegated to receiving news from his mother.

  “Geneva,” Melody said. She had her hand on her hips and a speculative gleam in her eye. “Did you hear a word I said?”

  “Of course.” Geneva sat on the bed and tried to listen to every word.

  “Do you think I will win?” Melody asked, staring in the mirror.

  “Sure,” Geneva said and gave her a thumbs-up.

  “I am not as light-skinned as some of the other girls. People say I'm a nice balance. That means you are too…” Melody said and glanced at Geneva. “I am glad that you did not lighten your skin. I think the whole bleaching effect looks awful.”