A torrential downpour fell in sheets throughout that windless afternoon, dancing on the pavement and splashing in the grassy puddles. Marissa darted from her car and rushed towards Flaviana's hair salon, holding a plastic grocery bag above her head in defense against the pelting rain. I watched from fifty meters away, sheltered from the downpour as I huddled against a dilapidated carport. The summer storms were arriving like clockwork now, bringing an extra dose of humidity to this sweltering Caribbean hamlet. I brushed the mixture of sweat and rain off my forehead, while a rush of anxious excitement pulsed through my veins. Glancing back, I noticed Marissa's afro bobbing back and forth as she dodged brown puddles on the gravel driveway and entered the salon. It was 3:00 p.m., and Marissa was right on time.
Flaviana and Marissa had been school mates decades ago. The two stayed close through marriages, kids and the daily struggle to stay strong and independent in this small island community. Flaviana's thick body was usually adorned with a bright floral dress that started just above her voluptuous and full breasts and stopped mid-thigh. Her life plans had changed many times over the years, but she still had that spark that would catch any man's eye. She'd also become the local expert on braiding and plaiting, which kept her fingers in Marissa's hair every six weeks.
As Marissa opened the screen door and entered the salon, she was greeted by Flaviana's welcoming smile and familiar pat on the back of a red, thickly cushioned chair. The two have become so close that they know each other's every story, experience, success and heartache. Today they'd experience something entirely new and something that they'd talk about for years to come.
The prior week, I'd stepped into Flaviana's salon myself, after the last customer of the day had left and seconds before the "Closed" sign was hung from a suction cupped hook on the window. I smiled, partially easing the tinge of uneasiness on Flaviana's face.
"Hi, my name is Jon . . . a friend of Marissa, a regular customer of yours. I believe the two of you are friends and I'm pretty certain she's mentioned me." I paused for effect and to see if her reaction would confirm my assumption.
"Uh huh," was all she offered, failing to disguise the suspicion in her voice.
"I'd like to do something special for Marissa during her next appointment, kind of a birthday surprise and I could use your help." I pulled a thick stack of cash from my pocket, the amount of which wasn't certain to her, but it was thick enough to keep her interest.
"I'd like to pay for Marissa's hairstyle, and ask that you keep the salon closed to anyone else during that time. Best that no one else be here, it's a private party. I'll stop by to visit during her appointment, with a special surprise for her. This money should make the effort worth your while." I watched as she did some quick math, and the thousand dollars seemed to strip away another layer of suspicion.
"And there's a similar amount for you if you make sure to keep this our little secret."
"Uhhh, exactly what kind of surprise do you have in mind . . . Jon?"
I smiled in that universal way that sends the unmistakable message, "Well if I told you, we'd both be a little embarrassed, but trust me, neither of us will regret it."
Before she could reply, I handed Flaviana a sealed greeting card and the wad of cash.
"After you start on Marissa's braids, please hand her this card. No need to explain anything to her, the card will provide all the details," I instructed. I smiled, winked, and was out the door.
Behind me, Flaviana's suspicions were replaced with plans for a new chair and A/C unit for the salon. Interesting how money can put one's mind at ease.
Now that the appointed time had arrived, I could feel an extra pulse of adrenaline coursing through my veins. I stepped away from the carport and jogged over to the salon. I could feel the warm rain splashing up my ankles, but there were more important things on my mind. When I was within view of Marissa, I could tell that she was reading the card. Her eyes were big and bright and a delicious smile exposed her perfect white teeth.
Inside the card was the following hand-written poem:
Succulent, juicy, sweet and spicy
Flavor and aroma lingers, impossible to ignore
Sanity says, wean off, but logic has vanished
The draw, the pull is beyond my power to control
Unquenchable thirst fills my days and nights
One more drink, one more swallow will be enough