Chapter 12 Crystal #2
“So you’ve been to Europe as well.” I pretended that the water bottle was my mother’s neck and wrapped my hand as tight as I could around its middle. Why would she lie to me?
“Oh, yes. Many, many times. Belgium, Switzerland, France, Holland. I really like Holland.”
“All of those countries?”
“Oh, and Italy too.”
I was fuming.
“Didn’t you like the pizza?” he asked, staring down at my now cold slice. I looked down at it but could hardly see it, I was so angry.
“My appetite just went right out the window,” I managed between clenched teeth.
“Are you okay?” Neville asked, his voice filling with concern.
“Fine. Fine,” I said, finally releasing the water bottle. “So do you travel for work?” I probed.
A sly smile suddenly appeared on Neville’s face, and he looked directly in my eyes and said, “Something like that.”
Well, what was it? He was being evasive, which meant that the work he did was probably illegal. Mama had duped me into housing a drug dealer! That knapsack of his was probably filled with reefer!
Well, he did fit the profile. The thick gold chain around his neck, the locs.
I wiped nervously at the corners of my mouth and leaned back into the hard seat of the booth, readying myself for the answer to my next question.
“?‘Something like that’? What exactly does that mean, Neville?” I said in the sternest voice I could muster.
Neville’s head jerked back a bit, and the sly smile turned into an amused one. “Did I say something to upset you, Crystal?”
“I would just like you to answer the question,” I said, folding my hands across my chest. “It’s evident to me from our conversation that my mother has not told me the truth about you.
” Then I leaned in and whispered, “You’re staying in my house, and I think it’s only fair that you tell me who you are and what you do so that I can make a decision as to whether or not I want you to stay. ”
Neville’s face went from amused to serious. He pushed the paper plate aside and leaned in so that our faces were less than an inch from each other. “I am a coastline executive.”
“And what is that exactly?”
His eyes wavered for a bit, then he leaned back and said, “I take care of the tourists that come to Antigua.”
“Take care of them how?” I probed.
“Well,” Neville began slowly, as if he needed to carefully choose his words, “let’s just say, I, um, make sure they will always want to holiday on that island.”
I smirked at him.
“Okay, I have three Jet-Skis that I rent out and I hire out my BMW as a taxi for island tours and—”
“You have a BMW?”
“An old one, yes. Look, Crystal, I’m the same person you played hopscotch, tag, and hide-and-go-seek with. I’m no drug dealer, murderer, or rapist. I’m a good guy, you don’t have to worry. But if you don’t feel comfortable, I will leave tonight.”
I shook my head. What was wrong with me?
“I’m sorry, Neville. Please forgive me. We New Yorkers have a different mentality.”
“I know,” Neville laughed. “Trust no one.”
I laughed. “That’s true. But I’m still confused. Mama made it seem as if you were living in the woods and barefoot. She said you didn’t have any money.”
“C’mon, you know you don’t need money—as long as you’ve got credit!” he chuckled.
I laughed right along with him, because that was indeed a true statement!
I felt good about him now and ventured into what probably would have been volatile territory for other people, but this was Neville, my childhood friend. My make-believe cousin.
“So this person you were supposed to stay with, was it a woman?” I asked coyly.
Neville grinned and shook his index finger at me. “Nosy,” he said.
“Well, was it?” I pushed.
“Yes.”
I leaned back. “Girlfriend?” I asked, now more curious than ever.
“Just a friend.”
I accepted that, knowing that men were quicker to use the term friend than they were girlfriend .
“Any other questions?” he said, placing his elbows on the table, leaning in and resting his chin on his hands.
“No, I guess not.”
***
“He owns three Jet-Skis?” Geneva asked.
“Yeah,” I whispered into my cordless phone from my bathroom. I had the water in the sink running to further muffle my gossip.
“Wow. I can’t wait to see him. I can’t imagine Neville looking the way you’ve described,” Geneva said, her voice trailing off dreamily.
“Gurrrl, he is fine!” I heard myself say a little too loudly.
Geneva laughed. “Calm yourself. You’re celibate, remember?”
“Oh, please, I’m not thinking about doing him.” And even as the words came out of my mouth I knew I was lying. I had had a number of one-minute fantasies about Neville ever since he’d walked through the door.
“Uh-huh.” I could hear Geneva strike a match and inhale deeply on her cigarette.
“Girl, Neville is my friend. Our friend.”
“Like friends don’t fuck,” Geneva said, so matter-of-factly I almost choked.
“Geneva!”
“What?”
“Anyway, I think he’s religious.”
“Why? Is he walking around quoting scripture?”
“No, but he’s got a Bible on the nightstand. It looks like he really uses it. I mean it’s worn.”
“Yeah, well the religious ones are the worst.”
“Oh, stop it, Geneva. You’re starting to sound like your mother!”
“Anyway, where is he now?”
“Oh, he’s in the living room, watching television.”
“Lock your door, girl.”
“Oh, please. What do you think he is—some type of murderer?”
“Shit, even though we know Neville, we don’t really know Neville. You know what I mean?”
I nodded my head. I hated to admit it, but Geneva was right.
“All right, girl, I will.”
“Okay, sleep well.”
“Wait a minute. Before you go, you heard from Chevy?”
“Nah, not for about a week.”
“Hmm.”
“Crystal, did you lend her money again?” Geneva asked, her voice stern.
“Well, just because she had to get herself together for this interview with—”
“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you not to—”
“Listen, she had an interview with Anja,” I said, cutting her tirade off.
“Who the fuck is Anja?”
“Anja the Anaconda.”
“The radio host?”
“The very same.”
“And you believed her?”
“Why shouldn’t I have?”
“You are so gullible, Crystal. Chevy is like a crack addict; she can come up with the most fantastic stories to get your money.”
“But, Geneva, I—”
“Remember when she borrowed that five thousand dollars for her boob job?”
“Yes, but—”
“And what did she tell you it was for?”
“Surgery.”
“I rest my case.”
“It’s not like she lied.”
“No, and it’s not like she told the whole truth either.”
We stayed quiet for a while.
“Okay, girl, I’m done preachin’,” Geneva said, her voice apologetic. “You have a good night.”
“Yeah, you too.”
I pressed the end button, then dialed Chevy’s number. All I got was the mechanical voice of the answering machine.
“Hey, Chevy. Just checking to see how that second interview went,” I said in my most pleasant voice. “Give me a call. And, oh yeah, Neville Gill is here. Okay, call me.”
If Chevy had duped me again, I hoped she’d spent the money well, ’cause she wasn’t going to get another dime out of me for the rest of her life.
I tightened the belt to my robe, turned off the water, and walked out of the bathroom and into my bedroom toward the door that was open just a crack. Peeking around the entrance I could see that the living room was dark except for the light coming from the television.
“Neville?” I whispered and his head popped up from where he was stretched out on the sofa.
“Yes? Is the television too loud?” he asked, frantically reaching for the remote.
“Oh, no. I just wanted to tell you good night. I have to get up at the crack of dawn, so I’m going to head in.”
Neville pulled himself up into sitting position. “Okay, then. Sweet dreams, Crystal.”
I gave him a little two-finger wave and then pulled the door closed.
Removing my robe and throwing it across the foot of my bed I started to climb in between the sheets when Geneva’s warning came to mind, so I climbed back out of the bed and crept over to the door where I gently turned the silver knob of the lock.
The click was soft, but in the quiet of my bedroom it seemed as loud as a sledgehammer hitting the wall.
Back in bed now, I would fall asleep with one eye open.