“Oh, no!” Bridget whined. “Come on, Frankie, ya gotta!”
“All right,” Frankie sighed, “but I’m not taking any responsibility for what happens after that.”
The girls cheered as Frankie watched, feeling helpless. There was really no way to escape without divulging the whole story, which she definitely was not going to do. Then again, her wish was about to come true—she was going to see Alex again.
Lying back in bed while the other girls giggled and got into their nightgowns, Frankie foresaw her fantasy becoming a reality, but after how things had been left the last time they were together, she wasn’t sure if he’d have her.
As the sun sank beneath the horizon, Alex sat smoking a joint on the beach just south of Kingston, Jamaica. Apart from the photographer taking pictures of Robbie’s girlfriend, Amelia, he was alone. He watched as her dark, sexy bikini-clad silhouette emerged from the water like a goddess of the sea.
“Paradise is purgatory,” he muttered to himself, recalling the vacation he had originally planned with Frankie. Instead, he had gone with Sarah and was now sitting on a tropical beach without her, watching another man’s girl prancing and posing in the evening surf.
Alex wasn’t interested in Amelia; it was just that she and Robbie just appeared to be the perfect couple—attractive and sexy. Together they made quite a pair, appearing on several covers of worldwide fashion magazines. Alex puffed on the joint and thought of Sarah, who envied the attention Robbie and Amelia received from fans and the press.
Nick shuffled through the sand and tapped Alex on the shoulder with a bottle of rum. “Ho, ho, ho.”
Alex took another drag and glanced upward. “Look who it is: Saint Nick.”
Nick laughed, sat down beside Alex, and handed him the bottle. Alex took a large swig and handed it back to Nick. Nick took a drink of rum. “Romantic, ain’t it?”
“Are you trying to seduce me?” Alex took another hit of the joint and then handed it to Nick.
“Sorry, ol’ chap,” said Nick. “Even if I did swing in that direction, you’re not my type.”
“Thank God!” exclaimed Alex.
“What do you think of Robbie’s bird?” Nick asked, nodding toward Amelia and handing the joint back to Alex.
“Pretty fine, but a bit too much posh and not enough personality.” Alex dragged on the joint and exhaled with a distant stare. “She’s not Frankie.”
“Where is Robbie anyway?” Nick asked, immediately changing the subject.
“I think he’s back at the digs with some native bird. You know Robbie and his goal to have sex with a woman of every nation, race, and religion. One day he should write a book.” Alex turned toward Nick. “What do you think they’ll make us do tomorrow? I hate having my picture taken.”
Nick laughed. “I imagine some beach balls and bingo.”
Josh suddenly appeared, wearing an eye patch. He shoved himself between Nick and Alex and greeted them both with a drunken
Argh!
“Where’d you get that, mate?” asked Alex.
“I brought it with me,” replied Josh.
“You brought an eye patch with you?” questioned Nick.
“We are the pirates, mateys!” slurred Josh. “I got the eye patch, you blokes got scurvy.”
“Ha, ha, ha! Ain’t you a riot,” said Nick. He then attempted to pull the eye patch from Josh’s face and let it snap back.
While Nick and Josh wrestled for the eye patch, Alex’s attention went off to the horizon. Despite the fun and camaraderie he was having with his mates, nothing could excise the pain he felt in his heart.
The next day, all the Dark Knights were hung over from their Jamaican night of drinking and debauchery. As it turned out, it made them well-suited for their photo shoot. Everyone showed up outside an old Kingston tavern dressed rather sloppily, wearing dark sunglasses, and looking overall disheveled. Everyone, of course, except for Robbie, who was provocatively dressed, wearing a dark wide-brimmed hat. Josh wore a wrinkled oxford shirt over a black T-shirt along with a beret. Nick and Peter were dressed in slouchy oversized sweaters. Alex donned his old school sweatshirt displaying the logo for Manchester Athletics with the sleeves cut off. Thankfully for Alex, there were no stiff poses or forced smiles involved.
Afterward, the band just hung around downtown Kingston, taking in local bars, head shops, music shops, and even a voodoo shop while photographers travelled with them, taking random shots.
The band members enjoyed visiting the local music shops where the Dark Knights were able to listen to the music of new Jamaican bands like the Hep Ones, the Wailing Wailers, and other artists whose sound utilized ska—a style of music composed of calypso, American jazz, and rhythm and blues. It was ska that had influenced the Dark Knights’ latest LP. It was the voodoo shop, however, that intrigued them all the most.
An elderly Jamaican woman with long, gray dreadlocks sat behind the counter and kept a watchful eye on the band members as they perused her store. It was clear that she wasn’t afraid of them damaging or stealing anything, but was filled with curiosity by their presence.
“You there with the dark eyes!” she called to Alex in a heavy Jamaican accent. “Come here!”
Alex set down the voodoo doll he had been stabbing in the heart with a pin and walked over to her. “Yes?”
“Give me your hand.” As Alex did so, the elderly woman caressed his arm and then turned it over. She traced the lines in of his palm with her wrinkled finger. “Just as I suspected. You have the eyes of a demon, but the heart of a saint.” She looked down at Alex’s palm. “Your love line runs deep.”
Alex tried to pull his hand away, but the woman held on to him tightly. “I’m not sure you’re very good at this,” he said.
She looked him straight in the eyes. “I am the very best.” She returned her gaze to his palm. “Love runs very deep inside you—to your soul. You are bleeding over love.”
“What makes you think that?” questioned Alex.
“I don’t think; I know.” When the woman again looked up at Alex, she stared at him with large black eyes. Alex thought they seemed empty at first, but when he looked more closely, he felt that he could almost see her soul. “I see the promise of understanding,” she said to him.
Alex felt freaked out by the woman and pulled his palm away from her. “What does
that
mean?” he asked.
“People spend their lives living in a deluded ideal of love. Some search and never find any clues. You will gain the knowledge, and one day you will understand.”
“Great,” Alex said with sarcasm. “I will understand love. How much do you want for the reading?”
“It’s on the house.” Her eyes briefly darted between the other band members before returning to Alex. “You should be grateful. Your friends do not have your courage or strength. I fear that love will take its toll on one of your friends. He will not get out alive,” she said sternly. “You are the lucky one.”
Alex nodded and backed away. “Well, thanks for that.” He walked up to Peter and whispered in his ear. “Let’s get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.”
“Not into putting a spell on someone?” questioned Peter.
Alex glanced back at the old woman. “I think we’re already cursed.”
Later that night, in a smoky tavern, Alex and the rest of the Dark Knights were beyond high on the local Rastafarian’s dope. It was good stuff. Alex’s mind was a complete haze and his body was numb from the rum. Everything now was a vibrant whirl of color and sound.
The band chilled and listened to hear a live performance by the band they heard in the music store and, for the first time in months, Alex felt he had found true inspiration. Despite his inebriated state, Alex sat up and took notice.
It was, however, their creative leader, Robbie, who was inspired the most by the music and the only one really listening. Ska had been the influence for their latest LP and was the main reason why his band was in Jamaica getting wasted on weed and rum. Robbie looked around at his fellow band mates and wished they had a bit more respect. Especially Josh, who by now—after being completely smashed by the rum—truly believed he was a pirate.
After the tavern closed, the Dark Knights headed back to the hotel to continue their private party poolside. Alex curled up on a lounge chair with his guitar, played around with a few chords, and sang without giving any conscious thought to his words:
The dark forces of Obeah reach to me
Like the jagged branches of an old tree.
Not a clue to know how far I have gone
From the troubles in life I have sown.
Voodoo-doobie-doo is the craft to get your wants.
Voodoo-doobie-doo to liberate you from what haunts.
Robbie stared at Alex. “What’s that?”
“I dunno; it must be the spell that witch cast on me,” mumbled Alex with a joint in his mouth and a strum of his guitar.
“Voodoo-doobie-doo!” Josh laughed and then fell out of his lounge chair.
Darren walked out onto the patio to find his talent wasted and still awake at the wee hour of three o’clock in the morning. “Boys, you have another photo shoot tomorrow. Maybe it’s time you fellows got some sleep.”
“You’re not our mother,” spat Nick.
“Yeah, but I am your manager and the one who gets you work,” replied Darren.
Peter rose from his chair. “I’m wiped out anyway.” He slapped Alex on the head. “Come on, roomie, let’s get some sleep.”
Alex and the rest of the Dark Knights followed Peter and Darren inside.
Robbie tapped Alex on the arm to get his attention. “Hey, mate, cool song! ’S gotta good groove. I think I can make that song move.”
“Sure, mate,” Alex said. It didn’t make much difference to Alex. It was just a stupid song about his experience at the voodoo shop. Mostly he was irritated that the woman saw something, however vague her description might have been.
Why did it have to be me?
he thought.
Why couldn’t it be Robbie or someone else to have insight?
Purgatory in Paradise
Frankie looked out the window of the army helicopter and watched as the aircraft’s shadow skimmed the bright blue surface of the Caribbean far below. It was a mere two-hour flight from Santo Domingo to Kingston, and the closer hey got to their destination, the more Frankie’s nerves began to jump.
This has got to be the craziest thing I have ever done,
she thought,
flying to see a man who might not want anything to do with me.
Her mind began to wander.
What if they make me look like a fool in front of all the other girls . . . or worse, ignore me completely?
“Does anyone know where they are staying?” asked Frankie.
“I’m sure the whole island is abuzz from them being there,” said Eileen.
“I just don’t want you girls to get your hopes up too much,” reminded Frankie. “I don’t know what security will be like or even if they’ll remember me . . . or want to see me.”
“Why wouldn’t they want to see you?” asked Eileen. “You’re gorgeous.”
Frankie shrugged. “Well, they do have girlfriends and wives,” she said.
“Who cares about
them
?!” replied Eileen. “If those girlfriends and wives don’t have what it takes to keep a man faithful, then too bad!”
Nestling back in her seat, Frankie recalled Nick’s affair with Cassie. There was some truth in Eileen’s bold statement. She knew for a fact that Alex hadn’t been true to Sarah nor Robbie or Peter to their girlfriends. They seemed to have all kinds of e
excuses when it came to women, which caused her to constantly question her relationship with Alex.
Why invest so much in a man, when he isn’t that invested in me?
she thought.
“If we don’t get an introduction,” said Bridget, “then we’ll hang out on the beach in our bikinis and let them find us.”
“Confidence, girls,” said Eileen. “We’re on an island entertaining the US Army; do you really think those actresses can compete with us?”
Frankie turned toward the window with a grin. She liked girls like Eileen—always so confident and strong. Frankie, however, never bothered competing with other women for a man’s attention. But ever since Alex and the band had hit the American shore, girls were literally fighting over them.
The Kingston airport was busy—much busier than normal tourist traffic. Journalists and photographers were everywhere. Eileen was right; it wasn’t going to be hard to find the Dark Knights. All they had to do was follow the crowd. The girls started out by taking a cab to downtown Kingston.
“Do you know where the Dark Knights are staying?” Eileen asked the cab driver.
“The what, who?” he asked in a heavy Jamaican accent.
“The Dark Knights,” said Eileen. “They’re a British Rock-and-Roll band.”
“You can try the Abahati, but they’ve been packed with people. I’m not sure if there are rooms available.” The driver looked in the rearview mirror at the pretty girls in his back seat. “If you want to listen to real good music, you ought to listen to the Wailing Wailers—best band in Jamaica.”