In that moment Thomas decided that he would go to Negril. His impulsive decision was like a revelation. A warm light illuminated the theretofore darkened path that stretched before him. He suddenly became convinced that Negril would be his salvation from the deprivations of MoBay.
Thomas had been considering a visit to Negril prior to becoming ensnarled in the MoBay rut. Negril had the reputation of being the place to chill; just what he needed.
Little did he know at the time the acute tangent that the trip to Negril would launch him on.
Thomas suddenly remembered that an old high school buddy, Randy, was rumoured to be running a beach bar in Negril. Thomas hadn’t seen him in years and, actually, Randy was more of an old acquaintance than an old buddy. It was difficult to be buddies with Randy, as jaded and inscrutable as he was.
“You have a brother in Negril?” Thomas asked.
“Yah mon, ‘im ‘ave a taxi dere.”
Tash went on to explain that her older brother, whom she called Cocky, had a business driving tourists around Negril in his mini bus; giving guided tours, running people from the cliffs down to the beach and people from the beach up to the cliffs. Business was okay, by Jamaican standards. Cocky had been suggesting that Tanisha visit him in Negril since he’d discovered that she was working as a dancer at Temptations. He’d given her a standing offer to pick her up at any time and take her to Negril where she could stay at his small place up in the hills above the Negril town center, in an area known as ‘Red Ground’.
Tash gave Thomas another long, calculating look, which he returned. Each of them considering the other, weighing the pros and cons of spending time together away from their comfortable, established MoBay symbiosis. Tanisha factoring in her misconception of Thomas’s great wealth and Thomas contemplating Tanisha. What would she be like as a travelling companion? He didn’t really know her, and he wasn’t sure that he could trust her.
Sometimes she could be a real *****. But he liked her. He found her exotic; darkly mysterious. However he had absolutely no delusions of forming a lasting relationship with Tash. Their worlds were just too far apart, other than Temptations, (literally and figuratively) their spheres of existence didn’t even share any intersections that could be nurtured into something meaningful. Besides, he thought, at this point in his life a meaningful relationship was just not something that was on his wish list. All he wanted was some female company.
It’s not that such a relationship would be totally impossible, he thought. If one had realistic expectations, it could succeed. But, based on his limited observations of how such things worked, he’d formed the impression that Jamaican-style relationships were fundamentally different from what he was accustomed to back home. Two adjectives sprang to mind; tenuous and transitory.
There were many tales of naïve visitors, mostly women, who’d met Jamaican sweethearts while vacationing on the island. When they got back home, they’d communicate frequently and fervently with their newfound loves, sending money when their tropical soul-mates inevitably (and continually) had sudden and dire need for cash.
“Send it by MoneyGram. When will it be here? My Grandma is very, very sick, and she needs medicine. Please send it today!”
On subsequent visits to the island they’d continue to be wooed against the intoxicating backdrop of warm tropical breezes, the enchanting rhythms, the sweltering sun, the beach, and the attention that many of them so desperately craved. And the sex, it was incredible! Every afternoon and then in the evening too – hot, steamy and sultry. Eventually some would decide to commit themselves to their southern sweethearts, often making big, sacrificial changes in their lives to do so.
And so it went.
Sadly, the great majority of these tales end badly when the ladies (or men) discover that they are just one of several who are being duped by their paramours for money and trinkets. This usually happens when their island sweetie has so many other girlfriends on the hook that they are unable to resolve scheduling conflicts. The result is a decision, based solely on monetary factors, as to which sucker gets dumped.
Thomas had no respect for such men. They were gigolos, male prostitutes; *****s who preyed on the desperate needs of the love-forlorn. His feelings were shared by the locals who derisively referred to the men as Rasta-Tutes, Renta-Dreads or simply, ‘Rentas’.
It occurred to him that he might be being hypocritical. Wasn’t Tash hustling him? Wasn’t she preying on his needs? True. But he harboured no misconceptions regarding their arrangement. Tash had never pretended that she was in love with him, nor had she ever professed that he was her only man.
Not that any of that mattered. Thomas had never had sex with Tanisha and, although the desire was often there, he had no intention of consummating their relationship. The HIV and AIDS infection rates in Jamaica were so high that even protected sex would be risky. He had no intention of spending the rest of his life with a permanent reminder of a temporary feeling.
But Tash did offer female companionship and Thomas’s bruised male ego would take comfort from wherever it could be garnered. And if it cost him a few bills along the way, so be it.
It was with this in mind that he evaluated the potential of taking a sojourn to Negril with Tanisha. He was considering its merits when Tash said, “Okay mon, let me aks Cocky.”
Even though it was long past midnight, Tash stepped out the back of the club to make a call to her brother in Negril. She soon returned, informing Thomas that Cocky would take him along and, no surprise, he could also put him up at his place if he was interested. Thomas had been in Jamaica long enough to know that an exchange of cash for accommodations would be expected. With that, he had no problem. In Jamaica, each and every chance of generating income was exploited to its fullest, and Thomas respected that. But his self-preservation watchdog was barking. He expected that Tash had indeed factored her misconceptions his net worth in her ruminations and had likely already mentioned it to Cocky.
A room in the high ground above Negril sounded good. Thomas needed to escape the basic room that he was occupying at The Secret Haven Guest House. The accommodations there reflected the price he paid. The room was claustrophobic and noisy at night. His feet hung over the end of the thin mattress of the single bed. It seemed that there was a shortage of beds in Jamaica for people six feet two inches and over. If things worked out with Tash's brother, maybe he would get a change in venue, upgrade his accommodations, and save a few bucks all at the same time.
Tash pointed a finger tipped with a long lacquered nail at Thomas, “Me tell Cocky dat we meet at de Mawket, “Him cawn't know dat we meet 'ere at de club. You 'ave dat?”
“Yah mon, me 'ave dat,” Thomas replied.
The morning light was just starting to filter into the deeper recesses of the street as Thomas exited the front door of Temptations. The flimsy door slapped shut, shattering the quiet of the deserted lane. A mangy mongrel that was sniffing at a grease-stained paper bag in the trash lined gutter lifted its head and cast him a baleful look.
Despite having been up for eighteen hours, Thomas felt invigorated – he had a plan. After drifting aimlessly for weeks on end, he finally had a plan.
That afternoon, he was headed for Negril.
