WILD THANGZ by Winston Chapman (An Essence Magazine National Best Seller)

Chapter 2

When we made it to Club Ménage, all of us were badly in need of a drink to calm our nerves.

The taxi rides in Jamaica were adventures in themselves. We thought it was bad when we took the minivan taxi from the Montego Bay Airport through the windy dirt roads on the way to our hotel in Negril. But that didn't even come close to riding in the one tonight.

The two-lane dirt roads were so narrow that when taxis traveling in opposite directions passed, it seemed like the distance that separated them was the width of a quarter. Not to mention, how fast the taxi drivers drove and the roads were extremely dark. Making it even worse was that they drove on the left side of the road, like in England. I had to close my eyes for most of the short ride and just hope that we'd make it.

The club was poppin' that night. We were feelin' the Hip-Hop American Music that was playing, but it had a Caribbean beat mixed in.

"Hey-aayy," Brea danced through the entrance to the beat of a calypso-version of Notorious B.I.G.'s song, Big Poppa, with her hands in the air.

I ain't gon' lie, I'd never heard a version like that before so I was waving my hands in the air too.

"Let's get something to drink," Trina shouted over the loud music.

I tapped Brea on the shoulder to let her know and we began navigating through people towards the bar.

"What y'all want?" I asked Brea and Trina, after finally getting the attention of the bartender.

"I'on't know? Something fruity," Brea responded, still busy jammin' to the B.I.G. song. Trina was occupied as well checking out the scene of the club.

After getting suggestions from the bartender, I ordered three Jamaican Fizzes. I don't really remember what was in it, but it was slushy, tangerine in color and flavor and potent from the very first sip.

Not two seconds after we'd touched glasses in a toast-like manner and taken the first sip, three fellas damn near knocked each other over as they approached.

"How you doin' luv?" spoke the guy who emerged first from the collision to Brea. "I'm alright," Brea returned.

"C'mon," he confidently stated with his mouth and his eyes as he reached for Brea's hand to pull her to the dance floor.

The other two guys paused like they were waiting to see if the first guy failed. When he didn't, they attempted to begin talking to Trina and I. But it was too late, they'd already proven that the race was for Brea, so Trina and I gave 'em no game. We weren't gonna be a consolation prize.

"Can you believe that?" Trina twisted her face at me referring to the weak-ass attempt of the two guys who just left.

"Don't even trip about it," I brushed it off.

"Jazmyn, I'm just sayin', how are they gonna stand right here next to us and listen to the other guy shootin' game at Brea, not say a word to us at all, until after Brea leaves?" Trina spewed intensely.

"Girl, don't even let 'em get your blood pressure up. They're just weak. Drink your drink and forget about 'em," I urged.

Right on cue, and proving my point, two different men came up to us. One of the good aspects of tonight's swimsuit theme at the club was that the men were shirt-less.

"How are you fine ladies doing this evening?" spoke one of the mid-20's men to me in a subtle Jamaican accent.

"Fine," we both sung back in unison.

Besides being fine, I liked their style. The way they'd walked confidently over to us without trying to play it off by looking away. They stared directly at us the entire time as they approached.