Margot cocks her head to the side. And before she can say anything, Alphonso laughs. “Don’t worry about who told me. I have my sources. Do I mind? No. Ah think yuh can do something for me.”
Margot hugs herself in the middle of the master bedroom like an adulteress about to be stoned in Babylon. Who told him? Was it Paul? She knew that prick was an informer. Or was it Blacka? The way that midget looks at her is as if he wants Alphonso for himself. Or could it be Kensington? But the girl always leaves at four o’clock in the afternoon, two hours before Margot does her rounds. Margot could either leave, defeated; or she could stay and secure what she came for.
“What do you want?”
“Must I spell it out?” He reclines on the bed. Margot slowly climbs beside him. “Good girl. The two of us can profit from this. You give me fifty percent of your profit and I make you into a wealthy woman.”
“How exactly will that make me rich?”
“Simple. You know how some hotels sell weed on their property?” Margot nods. “It’s good business. More foreign money. We’ll sell sex. Lots of it. We can make enough to supply millions to the new resort, the one I’ll put you in charge of.” There’s a big grin on his face. “Our clients would be big investors.”
“And I’ll screw them all?” Margot is surprised by the sarcasm in her voice. Alphonso is serious.
“You will recruit and train girls you see fit for the business. You’ll be the boss lady in charge.”
She almost says no. What if Verdene finally takes her up on her offer to build a new life together? What would she say if she found out what Margot did when they were apart? But the money. “I’ll do it,” is what she says. Alphonso reaches for her and brings her ear close to his lips. “Now let’s fuck.” That night Margot fucks Alphonso with renewed drive. She marvels at the way he throws his head back, exposing his jugular vein, vulnerable and pulsating. He grits his teeth, clutches the sheet, and swallows hard—his Adam’s apple slides up and down his neck like a ping-pong ball. For only then, while looking down on him from the height where she sits, rocking like a queen being carried on a bamboo raft across a river, can she feel her power over him. And she’s sure he feels it too.
Maxi pulls into the driveway, his old white Toyota taxi shabby amid the manicured hedges and high, sturdy gates flanked by bushes of bougainvillea and red hibiscus. She told him earlier to pick her up by midnight. “Yuh went to a party up here?” Maxi asks as soon as Margot gets inside his car, smelling of cigars and whiskey. She ignores Maxi’s eyes clocking the thigh-high slit in her dress and her exposed cleavage. She winds the window down on her side. “Jus’ drive,” she tells him.
Maxi drives them to River Bank, the sound of the breeze comforting Margot. Maxi must sense her need for silence, because he says nothing. She knows well how he feels about her breaking her back for foreign money, what it takes from her.
“Remembah when yuh asked me what my dream is?” she asks.
He nods, his eyes on the road as though he’s trying not to look at her.
“I gave it more thought,” she says, toying with her seat belt.
“Yuh did?” he asks with one eyebrow arched.
“I want to own my own hotel. Bettah yet, ah want to be in charge of tourism. And it g’wan happen sooner than ah think.” The words seem to fill out her cheeks, and she surprises herself with a light chuckle. She hopes he can’t see the uncertainty in her eyes. The guilt.
Maxi laughs. His laughter is like a faint cough.
11