Read Online How Stella Got Her Groove Back by Terry McMillan - Free Book Online
Authors: Terry McMillan
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States?”
“California.”
“Wow,” he sings in a very low tone. “California. Where in California?”
“Northern. About forty minutes outside of San Francisco.”
“And you like it there?”
“It’s okay.”
“And what made you come to Jamaica?”
“Now that’s a pretty loaded question but it’s safe to say that I just really needed a vacation and I figured why not Jamaica?”
“Do you like it so far?”
“Yep. Everyone’s really nice.”
He is gazing at me again with those dreamy eyes and even though he isn’t looking through my jogging top it feels like I am sitting here completely naked and he is admiring me and why he isn’t trying to hide the fact is beyond me. I mean I don’t get it. What exactly is going on here? I lean forward and spread my fingers against my chest and I say, “How old are you, Winston?”
And he says, “How old do you think I am?”
“Twenty-two, twenty-three at most.” His arms are covered with a sheath of curly black hair. The hair on his head is thick and black and shiny and cut close on the sides. His mustache appears to be still growing in but the rest of his face looks like that of a man who shaves on a regular basis. He certainly smells like a man, sounds like a man, and looks like one too.
“I’ll be twenty-one on my next birthday.”
I nod. God bless the girl who gets to feel those long brown arms around her and those beautiful thick golden lips. Stop it, Stella. Now stop it! “That’s nice,” I say.
“And you?”
“I’m forty-two.”
He puts his fork down. “You’re not.”
“Oh don’t even go there,” I say.
“Seriously! You’re telling me the truth?”
“I’m forty-two. Why would I lie?”
He’s showing me those teeth and shaking his head. And then he looks at me without saying anything and starts nodding his head up and down as if he knows something about me that I don’t. “You’re being straight with me?”
I nod again.
“You take very good care of yourself, don’t you?”
“I don’t know. I try. I exercise a little.”
“Well, more women should,” he says and I feel myself being seduced right here in the middle of this room. This is really starting to get on my nerves. I mean I don’t need to be at a breakfast table on my first day here with a twenty-one-year-old boy feeling aroused and what have you, because there is something downright inappropriate about this shit. Sort of.
“Well, look. Winston, is it?”
“Yes. You’re leaving already? You haven’t even finished your breakfast.”
“Well, I ate a little something in my room earlier. And I need to shower and then I’m going to hit the beach and read a little.”
He looks as if he wants to ask me something but doesn’t exactly know how and then he immediately says, “Are you going to the pajama disco tonight?”
“The what?”
“Well,” he says and sort of starts with that sexy blushing business again that is starting to wear me out and I mean like it is kind of driving me a little crazy. “You’re supposed to wear bed clothes—you know, something that you sleep in.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Very. It’s fun. I’ve heard some people get a bit risqué and wild but you can wear whatever you feel comfortable in. The DJ’s great. You should come,” he says and boy do his eyes have some kind of magic power or what? The way he is looking at me like he is hypnotizing me or something, I don’t think I can say no. “It should be fun,” he says and he is smiling at me again but this isn’t one of those regular on-your-face smiles. This young man is smiling about something else. And I’m trying to figure out what it is.
“I don’t know about any pajama disco. . . .”
“It’s your first night here. What else are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it yet.”
“Come on. I’d love to dance with you.”
“Oh, you would, would you?”
“Yes. You look like a good dancer.”
“How can
“California.”
“Wow,” he sings in a very low tone. “California. Where in California?”
“Northern. About forty minutes outside of San Francisco.”
“And you like it there?”
“It’s okay.”
“And what made you come to Jamaica?”
“Now that’s a pretty loaded question but it’s safe to say that I just really needed a vacation and I figured why not Jamaica?”
“Do you like it so far?”
“Yep. Everyone’s really nice.”
He is gazing at me again with those dreamy eyes and even though he isn’t looking through my jogging top it feels like I am sitting here completely naked and he is admiring me and why he isn’t trying to hide the fact is beyond me. I mean I don’t get it. What exactly is going on here? I lean forward and spread my fingers against my chest and I say, “How old are you, Winston?”
And he says, “How old do you think I am?”
“Twenty-two, twenty-three at most.” His arms are covered with a sheath of curly black hair. The hair on his head is thick and black and shiny and cut close on the sides. His mustache appears to be still growing in but the rest of his face looks like that of a man who shaves on a regular basis. He certainly smells like a man, sounds like a man, and looks like one too.
“I’ll be twenty-one on my next birthday.”
I nod. God bless the girl who gets to feel those long brown arms around her and those beautiful thick golden lips. Stop it, Stella. Now stop it! “That’s nice,” I say.
“And you?”
“I’m forty-two.”
He puts his fork down. “You’re not.”
“Oh don’t even go there,” I say.
“Seriously! You’re telling me the truth?”
“I’m forty-two. Why would I lie?”
He’s showing me those teeth and shaking his head. And then he looks at me without saying anything and starts nodding his head up and down as if he knows something about me that I don’t. “You’re being straight with me?”
I nod again.
“You take very good care of yourself, don’t you?”
“I don’t know. I try. I exercise a little.”
“Well, more women should,” he says and I feel myself being seduced right here in the middle of this room. This is really starting to get on my nerves. I mean I don’t need to be at a breakfast table on my first day here with a twenty-one-year-old boy feeling aroused and what have you, because there is something downright inappropriate about this shit. Sort of.
“Well, look. Winston, is it?”
“Yes. You’re leaving already? You haven’t even finished your breakfast.”
“Well, I ate a little something in my room earlier. And I need to shower and then I’m going to hit the beach and read a little.”
He looks as if he wants to ask me something but doesn’t exactly know how and then he immediately says, “Are you going to the pajama disco tonight?”
“The what?”
“Well,” he says and sort of starts with that sexy blushing business again that is starting to wear me out and I mean like it is kind of driving me a little crazy. “You’re supposed to wear bed clothes—you know, something that you sleep in.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Very. It’s fun. I’ve heard some people get a bit risqué and wild but you can wear whatever you feel comfortable in. The DJ’s great. You should come,” he says and boy do his eyes have some kind of magic power or what? The way he is looking at me like he is hypnotizing me or something, I don’t think I can say no. “It should be fun,” he says and he is smiling at me again but this isn’t one of those regular on-your-face smiles. This young man is smiling about something else. And I’m trying to figure out what it is.
“I don’t know about any pajama disco. . . .”
“It’s your first night here. What else are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it yet.”
“Come on. I’d love to dance with you.”
“Oh, you would, would you?”
“Yes. You look like a good dancer.”
“How can
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