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

Chapter 5

During our last two days in Jamaica, Trina never spoke about the incident to us and seemed uncomfortable on the subject of Jamal.

I could respect that and didn't pry, unlike Brea who'd occasionally asked about Jamal to read Trina's face.

She wasn't trying to be cruel, just selfishly trying to bate her into a conversation that might lead to her needlessly hearing details that she'd already witnessed. Usually I stopped her by telling her that it was none of her business.

I was surprised that I hadn't gotten a call from Simeon as he'd promised. I even wondered if Trina's poor performance in bed, had somehow affected Simeon's opinion of me.

If it had, I knew that I wouldn't want a guy like that anyway. Yet and still, I didn't enjoy not knowing whether or not it had.

It was Friday morning when we flew back into the United States landing in Miami, where we'd stay before returning to Atlanta on Sunday.

Our tickets had been booked that way to allow Trina to see her dad while he was in Miami on business for his car dealership.

Mr. Whitfield was an old-school baller. Handsome, and very charismatic. At 6'4, a glowing white pearl smile, just a hint of gray in the side-burns of his mature-fade haircut, and possessing the physique of a man ten-years his junior, Mr. Whitfield didn't look at all old enough to be the father of a college-age child.

Though he was unequivocally a business man, his personality wasn't above using youthful jargon.

"Wassup, y'all?" Mr. Whitfield greeted us at the baggage claim area of the Miami International Airport wearing jeans and a Sean John polo shirt.

He gave Trina a hug first, and then gave Brea and I just as equally a daughterly-hug.

"Boy, I tell you – Women sure pack a lot of clothes when they go on trips," he said with a smile, waving over a baggage handler to load all our bags onto a cart.

"Daddd-dddy??" Trina said embarrassed by her father's teasing that included Brea and I. "Well you know we've gotta look good!" Brea teased back, bordering the line of appropriateness.

"Well, I hope not too good?" Mr. Whitfield backed Brea down with a fatherly glare expression on his face.

I smiled at the fact that he'd shut-up Brea with just one sentence.

"Did you guys have a good time?" he asked as we were now seated in the Jaguar he'd rented as we waited for the baggage handler to figure out how to get our entire luggage in the trunk.

"Yes, we did Mr. Whitfield. Thank you so much!" I said grateful for his footing of the bill.

"Yes, thank you so much, Mr. Whitfield. I really appreciate it!" Brea attempted to mend her earlier moment with sincere gratitude.

"Good! I'm glad!" he said, as he paid the baggage handler through the window, peeling a twenty-dollar bill from a wad of cash as thick as two fingers.

"Buckle up," Mr. Whitfield directed, almost as though we were pre-teens, as he prepared to drive away from the curb. "Oh, and before I forget, here's a little money. I know that y'all are probably broke," he added, smiling because he knew that he was right.

He handed each of us three crisp one-hundred-dollar bills that he'd already pre-folded at the bottom of the wad.

I felt bad about taking it, because I wasn't his daughter, but he was right, I was broke.

Brea did the same and we thanked him genuinely. "Thank you, Mr. Whitfield!" I said.

Brea immediately followed with the identical sentence.