Read Jamaica Dreaming (Caribbean Heat) for Free Online
Authors: Eugenia O'Neal
he explained. “There were only a few other kids of Chinese descent in the school and none in my class. They didn’t know what to make of me. I wasn’t black. I wasn’t white. I didn’t really look Chinese, either. They called the Chinese kids names like ‘Ching–Chong’ or ‘Chiney–eye.’ Me, they called, ‘Pepperpot,’ shortened eventually to just Pep. Do you know what pepperpot is?”
She shook her head.
“A thick, highly–seasoned Caribbean stew with practically every vegetable and root crop in it.”
Julissa chuckled. “So, are you highly seasoned?”
“Very. I wouldn’t suggest you taste me without a glass of water nearby.” He grinned at her and Julissa felt the air get suddenly thin as her heart lurched in her chest. She fixed her gaze on the view outside and tried to ignore the effect this man was having on her. It was ridiculous but she felt like a nervous schoolgirl every time he turned those midnight–black eyes on her.
As if realizing the tension in the car needed to be dialed down a notch, Sebastian started pointing out places of interest as he drove. When he told her they’d be passing the Bob Marley Museum she said she wanted to see it so he pulled into the parking lot and they spent more than an hour going through the exhibits. It was after one o’clock when they left so he took her to the Crowne Plaza Hotel for lunch. The place was a local favorite and he’d not called before to reserve a table as he usually did, but he gave the maitre’d a hundred in US dollars and got shown to a window table with a superb view. The “Reserved” sign was quickly whisked away. Sebastian spared a mental apology for whoever he’d displaced but, surely, if it was a man, he’d approve once he got a look at Julissa.
“It’s good of you to take time off to show me around,” she said, pushing her sunglasses back up on her head.
“It’s my pleasure.”
“I feel, you know, as if I’ve met you before.” She gave a little embarrassed laugh. “It’s silly. I couldn’t have, but the thought keeps gnawing at me.”
“You know, I didn’t tell you everything yesterday. We have met before.” He said it quietly, in an as a matter–of–fact tone as he could muster.
“We have?” She frowned as if she half–thought he was pulling her leg.
“About one and a half years ago, I went to visit a friend of mine in Chicago and he took me to Coq d’Or. You and the River North Quartet were the second act that night.” Talking about it brought the memories back – the tendrils of cigarette smoke curling through the air, the mingled smells of perfume, cologne and bodies, the sight of her in a strappy red dress, her black hair piled up on top of her head. Back then, she wore it straightened.
“I saw you and the Quartet again at Green Mills when you got the regular gig there,” he said. “That was when we met. Your second Saturday performance at Green Mills.”
“But that was weeks after I was at Coq d’Or. Were you in Chicago that whole time?”
“No.” He paused. If he admitted it now there would be no going back. There was no way he could continue pretending he was being anything but a courteous host. “I went back up from here. To see you.” His eyes scanned her face but he couldn’t read her expression. Surprise, yes, growing surprise but he couldn’t tell if she was pleased or not. He continued talking to cover his nervousness. “My friend, Benjamin, didn’t even know you’d become a regular at Green Mills. I found out and told him I wanted to meet you.” Her eyes widened further. “He had a friend who had a friend who worked some magic and got us backstage.”
She leaned forward. He felt her hands grip his and whatever he was going to say died in his throat.
“I remember now,” she whispered. “You’d brought me a bouquet of the most gorgeous yellow flowers. Heliconias. I hadn’t seen anything like them before. They were like shards of frozen sunshine.”
He
She shook her head.
“A thick, highly–seasoned Caribbean stew with practically every vegetable and root crop in it.”
Julissa chuckled. “So, are you highly seasoned?”
“Very. I wouldn’t suggest you taste me without a glass of water nearby.” He grinned at her and Julissa felt the air get suddenly thin as her heart lurched in her chest. She fixed her gaze on the view outside and tried to ignore the effect this man was having on her. It was ridiculous but she felt like a nervous schoolgirl every time he turned those midnight–black eyes on her.
As if realizing the tension in the car needed to be dialed down a notch, Sebastian started pointing out places of interest as he drove. When he told her they’d be passing the Bob Marley Museum she said she wanted to see it so he pulled into the parking lot and they spent more than an hour going through the exhibits. It was after one o’clock when they left so he took her to the Crowne Plaza Hotel for lunch. The place was a local favorite and he’d not called before to reserve a table as he usually did, but he gave the maitre’d a hundred in US dollars and got shown to a window table with a superb view. The “Reserved” sign was quickly whisked away. Sebastian spared a mental apology for whoever he’d displaced but, surely, if it was a man, he’d approve once he got a look at Julissa.
“It’s good of you to take time off to show me around,” she said, pushing her sunglasses back up on her head.
“It’s my pleasure.”
“I feel, you know, as if I’ve met you before.” She gave a little embarrassed laugh. “It’s silly. I couldn’t have, but the thought keeps gnawing at me.”
“You know, I didn’t tell you everything yesterday. We have met before.” He said it quietly, in an as a matter–of–fact tone as he could muster.
“We have?” She frowned as if she half–thought he was pulling her leg.
“About one and a half years ago, I went to visit a friend of mine in Chicago and he took me to Coq d’Or. You and the River North Quartet were the second act that night.” Talking about it brought the memories back – the tendrils of cigarette smoke curling through the air, the mingled smells of perfume, cologne and bodies, the sight of her in a strappy red dress, her black hair piled up on top of her head. Back then, she wore it straightened.
“I saw you and the Quartet again at Green Mills when you got the regular gig there,” he said. “That was when we met. Your second Saturday performance at Green Mills.”
“But that was weeks after I was at Coq d’Or. Were you in Chicago that whole time?”
“No.” He paused. If he admitted it now there would be no going back. There was no way he could continue pretending he was being anything but a courteous host. “I went back up from here. To see you.” His eyes scanned her face but he couldn’t read her expression. Surprise, yes, growing surprise but he couldn’t tell if she was pleased or not. He continued talking to cover his nervousness. “My friend, Benjamin, didn’t even know you’d become a regular at Green Mills. I found out and told him I wanted to meet you.” Her eyes widened further. “He had a friend who had a friend who worked some magic and got us backstage.”
She leaned forward. He felt her hands grip his and whatever he was going to say died in his throat.
“I remember now,” she whispered. “You’d brought me a bouquet of the most gorgeous yellow flowers. Heliconias. I hadn’t seen anything like them before. They were like shards of frozen sunshine.”
He