soup
there that helped cure your hangover?" Ginger was talking a mile a
minute.
"Yeah, I remember, but-" Desiree
started.
Ginger cut her off. "Why did you think
I was over there?" Ginger rolled her eyes toward the heavens and
put her hands on her hips.
"Vacation?" Desiree
responded.
"More like a working vacation," Ginger
clarified.
"Oh. Well, that sounds cool. Tell me
about the club." Desiree grabbed Ginger by the hand and pulled her
onto the couch. She imagined the club to be lush and tropical,
maybe with no ceiling or roof like one of her favorite nightclubs,
Amnesia.
"Well, the club looks like shit:
concrete floor, wooden benches, a tiny little stage with a
pole."
Desiree's bubble burst. It didn't
sound like anything to be excited about. "Uh, okay. So do the men
have a lot of money?"
"Some do. Most don't. We're not gonna
make a g a night."
"Well, if we're not gonna make our
paper, why are we going?" Desiree furrowed her brow.
"St. Thomas is pretty," Ginger
stated.
"Uh-huh..." Desiree waited for a
reason to get hyped.
"Plus, I know a couple of fine-ass
niggas, they're brothers, and they're gonna take us dancing and
shopping and to eat and stuff."
"They got money?" Desiree
queried.
"My my my, don't we catch on quickly,
little protégée? Slow your roll!" Ginger chuckled at Desiree's
gold-digger attitude.
"Well, do they?" Desiree
insisted.
"They do all right. St. Thomas is real
small, so for there, yeah, they're ballin' out of control. They got
a nice-ass crib up in the mountains and you can see the beach. They
got some tight little whips too. But, nena, you should see them!
Girl, they are fine as hell! Their faces, their skin, their
bodies...oh my God! I don't think you can begin to understand how
fine these niggas are!" Ginger closed her eyes, hugged her body,
and shuddered as if the mere thought of their beauty were
unbearable.
"Well, damn. Now I really wanna go.
I've got to see these niggas. They're brothers, you
said?"
"Yeah, I fuck with the older one, but
his younger brother is cute to death. You'll like him. Plus, we can
layout on the beach and tan. We can just be beach bums for a while
but still make some bread on the side. I need to recharge my
batteries, nena. I've been kind of stressing lately."
"Why?" Desiree inquired.
"Just some bullshit." Ginger brushed
off the question. "There are spots over there that are so calm and
so peaceful, nothing, absolutely nothing, can bother me there. No
ghosts can haunt me there. I can be free, totally free, even if it
is only temporary." Ginger smiled faintly, her eyes distant. In
spirit, Ginger was already lying on the pale white sand, soaking up
the St. Thomas sun.
Desiree thought Ginger was the freest
person she had ever known. She had money, clothes, jewelry, a nice
car, and everything else a girl could want. On top of that, she was
smart and she was beautiful.
"How come you don't feel free now?
You've got it all, and you call the shots."
"Then I guess it's true what they say,
‘More money, more problems,’ " Ginger replied, a tear rolling down
her cheek. She brushed it away quickly and went into her
room.
Desiree fell asleep that
night running from ghosts . It
was a fretful sleep; the sweaty palms of things she couldn't elude
kept clawing at her, mauling her with their despair. Distorted
images flashed through her head; voices dragged like a record being
played on the wrong speed.
"It's all your fault! It's all your
fault!" a voice taunted from nowhere, singsongy and teasing like a
schoolchild.
"It's not my fault! Not my fault!"
Desiree bolted upright in bed, her skin moist with perspiration. It
took a long time, but finally, she was able to get back to
sleep.
The next morning Ginger was her usual
self, focused on paper and not problems. Desiree, however, was a
bit unsettled. When Ginger asked her what was wrong, she blamed it
on being nervous, so they smoked a fat blunt to calm their flying
jitters. They ended up speeding to the airport because
there that helped cure your hangover?" Ginger was talking a mile a
minute.
"Yeah, I remember, but-" Desiree
started.
Ginger cut her off. "Why did you think
I was over there?" Ginger rolled her eyes toward the heavens and
put her hands on her hips.
"Vacation?" Desiree
responded.
"More like a working vacation," Ginger
clarified.
"Oh. Well, that sounds cool. Tell me
about the club." Desiree grabbed Ginger by the hand and pulled her
onto the couch. She imagined the club to be lush and tropical,
maybe with no ceiling or roof like one of her favorite nightclubs,
Amnesia.
"Well, the club looks like shit:
concrete floor, wooden benches, a tiny little stage with a
pole."
Desiree's bubble burst. It didn't
sound like anything to be excited about. "Uh, okay. So do the men
have a lot of money?"
"Some do. Most don't. We're not gonna
make a g a night."
"Well, if we're not gonna make our
paper, why are we going?" Desiree furrowed her brow.
"St. Thomas is pretty," Ginger
stated.
"Uh-huh..." Desiree waited for a
reason to get hyped.
"Plus, I know a couple of fine-ass
niggas, they're brothers, and they're gonna take us dancing and
shopping and to eat and stuff."
"They got money?" Desiree
queried.
"My my my, don't we catch on quickly,
little protégée? Slow your roll!" Ginger chuckled at Desiree's
gold-digger attitude.
"Well, do they?" Desiree
insisted.
"They do all right. St. Thomas is real
small, so for there, yeah, they're ballin' out of control. They got
a nice-ass crib up in the mountains and you can see the beach. They
got some tight little whips too. But, nena, you should see them!
Girl, they are fine as hell! Their faces, their skin, their
bodies...oh my God! I don't think you can begin to understand how
fine these niggas are!" Ginger closed her eyes, hugged her body,
and shuddered as if the mere thought of their beauty were
unbearable.
"Well, damn. Now I really wanna go.
I've got to see these niggas. They're brothers, you
said?"
"Yeah, I fuck with the older one, but
his younger brother is cute to death. You'll like him. Plus, we can
layout on the beach and tan. We can just be beach bums for a while
but still make some bread on the side. I need to recharge my
batteries, nena. I've been kind of stressing lately."
"Why?" Desiree inquired.
"Just some bullshit." Ginger brushed
off the question. "There are spots over there that are so calm and
so peaceful, nothing, absolutely nothing, can bother me there. No
ghosts can haunt me there. I can be free, totally free, even if it
is only temporary." Ginger smiled faintly, her eyes distant. In
spirit, Ginger was already lying on the pale white sand, soaking up
the St. Thomas sun.
Desiree thought Ginger was the freest
person she had ever known. She had money, clothes, jewelry, a nice
car, and everything else a girl could want. On top of that, she was
smart and she was beautiful.
"How come you don't feel free now?
You've got it all, and you call the shots."
"Then I guess it's true what they say,
‘More money, more problems,’ " Ginger replied, a tear rolling down
her cheek. She brushed it away quickly and went into her
room.
Desiree fell asleep that
night running from ghosts . It
was a fretful sleep; the sweaty palms of things she couldn't elude
kept clawing at her, mauling her with their despair. Distorted
images flashed through her head; voices dragged like a record being
played on the wrong speed.
"It's all your fault! It's all your
fault!" a voice taunted from nowhere, singsongy and teasing like a
schoolchild.
"It's not my fault! Not my fault!"
Desiree bolted upright in bed, her skin moist with perspiration. It
took a long time, but finally, she was able to get back to
sleep.
The next morning Ginger was her usual
self, focused on paper and not problems. Desiree, however, was a
bit unsettled. When Ginger asked her what was wrong, she blamed it
on being nervous, so they smoked a fat blunt to calm their flying
jitters. They ended up speeding to the airport because
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