Jazzie Chapter 4
The following story is for adults and contains graphic descriptions of sexual content. All the characters, events and settings are the product of my overactive imagination. I hope you like it and feel free to respond.
This story is a sequel to Fourteen. If you would like to comment, contact me at eliot.moore.writer@gmail.com.
Will you join your fellow authors and readers to support Nifty? To contribute discreetly to the continuing operations of the Nifty Erotic Stories Archive website using a credit card or other methods of donation, go to http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html
Jazzie 4
Hard Drive
“You,” This is a terse, commanding syllable, “Get off my boat.” A cold tone like this brooks no reply. Jeremy is on the floating dock with a box of groceries. His eyes are shaded, but John can see the thin line of the young American’s mouth. “Get off my deck!”
John Carter’s welcoming smile vanishes. He snatches his school bag and almost tangles in the guard rail. A glance at Jeremy is not reassuring. The dock sways as his feet meet the waterproof tarp covering the dock boards. John rubs an eye to clear the growing mist.
Jeremy sets his box on Gravity’s deck, then adds his heavy bike bag. The schoolboy is watching him. When the trespasser makes a reluctant turn to walk away, Jeremy curtly orders him to stay on the small dock. John’s chest is tight as he waits for the teenager to storm. He can fuck you turn and walk away. His tears are anger, but mostly disappointment.
Jeremy’s dark shades root John on the dock. “You never board a man’s boat without permission; got that?” John simply flinches at Jeremy’s wrath. “I can’t hear you, John.”
The answer catches in John’s throat, then the hurt bursts free, “Wah mek yuh ah go on so? Me nah min wahn fu see fu yu chupit old boat!” John swipes his disloyal eyes and turns away.
“Ah fu me own, show respect,” Jeremy replies more calmly, “Look yah!” John’s eyes widen. He turns back to the teenager. “Eh,” Jeremy nods, “You want onto a man’s boat, you ask permission. I’m God on this deck.” Jeremy points to the gently rolling deck.
John swipes his eyes again, and points at Gravity. “Can I?”
Jeremy folds his arms in mock disgust. “Not like that! You say, Permission to come aboard.”
“Permission to come aboard?”
“Hey John, good to see you! Still playing hooky from school? Hop on over!”
John jumps back onto the sailboat. He pauses to wonder at the young American’s transformation before he steps over the guardrail.
“Not liking school again, today?” Jeremy fishes for his keys. He frees the padlock securing the companionway drop boards. The universal key unlocks a cockpit locker. Jeremy stows the boards away, and spreads a mosquito net over the gap.
John follows Jeremy down to the Dufour 29’s snug salon. He has been here before. The young American has a problem with wind drift piss splattering the sailboat’s deck. John has to use the Head. John sits at Jeremy’s map station while the groceries vanish into odd spots.
“Jeezam, you drink so much, Jeremy!” First there was the beer on Matthew’s Road; now his young American is pulling hundreds of dollars worth of liquor from his bike bag.
“It’s not for me,” Jeremy grins, “I scored a charter. Three days to Guadeloupe; so I have to stock up.” Jeremy turns to John, “Of course, it would be great if they didn’t drink all of this. Man, this stuff is expensive!” He punctuates this with a frightful grimace.
“Can I come too?”
Jeremy pauses to imagine the awkwardness of an eleven-year-old cock-blocking his passage to Guadeloupe with Tod Gillespie and Shari Abas. John’s innocence is cute. “Not this run, buddy; too crowded, and I bet your folks would have a cow.”
John thinks, not, once he has decoded Jeremy’s unfamiliar idiom. “Will you take me sailing?”
“We’ll see,” Jeremy grins. John is someone to share his joy with. The Singapore businessmen agreed to his US$750 fee. A well-earned tip might push that to a Grand. It is the off season, and the Gravity Account needs this. Just mooring for a month in English Harbour costs US$450. He borrows water, power, and WIFI from his Fourteen Gates trust; but Gravity has other expenses. It is going to cost thousands to replace the sails. Tod and Shari are a welcome windfall. “They won’t eat much on board,” he muses out loud. Jeremy’s first season running charters taught him that.
“I have to work this afternoon. I can drop you off at your school on the way. Do you want to help me till then?”
“Tank yu’ nu buy half bit bread,” John tries out on Jeremy. The young American is puzzled by the local saying. John mimes peeling bills off an imaginary roll.
“Tank yu? Tank yu?” Jeremy follows this up with a blitzkrieg on John’s ribs. The boy falls backward onto the bench, giggling. Jeremy won’t relent, so the happy giggles turn to shrieks, and John’s feet start kicking.
“I’m going to pee! I’m going to pee!”
“I can’t hear you.”
John is particularly sensitive just under his armpits. Jeremy discovers this as the frantic boy migrates along the bench. His shrieks get louder. When his little victim is pressed into the bulkhead, Jeremy stops. “Gotta get to work.”
John lurches forward, and falls on Jeremy’s shoulder as the teen deflects the counter attack. John is sack-of-potatoes, bum in the air giggling-squirming. A hand darts out to grab Jeremy’s stray phone as he rolls onto the bench behind the teen. John is up and dancing toward the companionway.
John turns the phone over and over in his hands. He gives Jeremy a crafty look, “This is a very fine phone.” It is locked. Jeremy has his hand out. “I think I will keep this sell off phone.” It fills his pocket, and John scrambles up the companionway.
John is at the bow pulpit when Jeremy clears the coach roof. No rush, he starts after the cheeky boy. It is Tag about the deck. They circle clockwise, to begin with. After the first circumnavigation, Jeremy cuts across the coach roof. John evades him with a scramble under the boom. He picks his way toward the cockpit. “Gonna make you walk the plank for this,” Jeremy warns the boy.
Jeremy wonders if John plans to shift the game to the shore. He moves to block that possibility. Then the boy is three steps up the mast. “John, stop!” John takes two more steps, then stops. “You can’t go up there.” Jeremy’s voice is serious. Their game has to end.
John’s focus follows the mast upward. He never gave much thought to its thirty-foot height. He grins uncertainly at Jeremy, then tries another step. “If you want to go up there, you have to do it right. Come down, I promise I’ll help you.” John hesitates, then climbs back down. “First the phone, jackass.”
Jeremy uses his key to unlock the other cockpit locker. This is where the safety harnesses are. The blue one is set for smaller people. He secures it on the boy. After a halyard line is clipped, Jeremy hauls John up. The boy’s feet find the mast as he swings in. John kicks himself away and Jeremy lets him down onto the coach roof. “You see? I’ve got you safe. Go as high as you want. I have you if you slip.”
When John climbs down, Jeremy tells him he can earn EC$10 an hour. Gravity rides the Caribbean. Damp and mildew are the boat’s enemies. Gravity has paying customers to please. Everything needs to be wiped down. That is John’s job.
John’s young American’s pace is different than the day they worked on the winches. This is housekeeping. A boat that seems impossibly tidy to John gets sorted once again. Time passes, and Jeremy strips the bedding. “Just running these things up to the laundry. I won’t be more than a bit.”
Alone in the salon, John squirts Starbright on the dated ivory paint. He wipes the fiberglass carefully. He walks the cloth along the shelf above the pilot berth bench; turns, and more slowly walks it back. He hops down onto the sole of the boat. Eight minutes in and out, Pudgee Funk assures his young crew.
John considers the things he has already discovered. The young American has so much, even if it looks well used. Dem go fu-dem insurance and dem go buy more, Pudgee says. Jazzie would be wise to this. John Carter climbed the mast step by step until English Harbour spread before him; and when he froze with vertigo, Jeremy’s voice talked him safely down again. Only, with so much all about, being Pudgee Funk’s eyes and ears comes all too naturally, now.”
John walks the sole from V-berth to the companion way. Once past the Head, he stretches his arms as if by holding them out, he can divine the treasures tucked away. Beneath his feet, there are watertight containers nooked and crannied. This would sell, that might not, and some particular things John would treasure for himself.
Gravity’s map station calls to John. He slides onto the bench and splays his hands onto the varnished surface. The instruments of navigation and communication fascinate John. Sometimes he sits at his grandfather’s wheel and drives his car about the streets of St. John’s: put on the radio, make a signal, turn the wheel. Sometimes he lets his sisters backseat him. Sometimes, it is his lost friends he chauffeurs in his imagination. His young American sits here talking as his boat goes to Guadeloupe. What things does Jeremy say on this radio? John wonders.
The boy lifts the heavy desktop. On top, there is a blue-bound book. It is filled with notes in Jeremy’s hand. Beside that, is a large tablet. It is different than the one lying on the table with Jeremy’s school books. This tablet is not password protected like the other. That makes a difference. Electronics are tricky. Digital fingerprints, Tayo tells Jazzie. John puts the tempting toy back.
He lifts the paper chart of Antigua and Barbuda, more Jeremy-scratches on the water. His young American, there is so much more John wants to know. There are plastic-protected documents and papers he does not understand. John slides his hand under everything to probe for Jeremy’s secrets.
At the farthest back, his fingers touch plastic and there is the tinkle of keys. He pulls a compact hard drive out. It has been tucked back so deep it must have been forgotten. The keyring jangles in John’s hand. Boat keys, maybe the apartment; seven small ones identical to the key Jeremy uses. John tests the theory on a lock. He slips one off and pockets it.
Jeremy drops down and smiles at John. He has changed into the restaurant shirt John remembers. Lekker Braai, a second address that stays off Jazzie’s list of places Tayo and Trini might visit. Jeremy sees that John is still wiping down the lockers behind the pilot berth. “We gotta go now.”
His young American is looking suspiciously at him. John tries to look innocent as he puts the Starbright bottle and the cloth beside Jeremy’s school things. The teen comes to some conclusion.
“Hey, come sit with me for a minute.” Jeremy passes John some bills. “Okay, it’s been about two hours. So, here is what I owe you. You did a good job.” John pockets the money. Jeremy is thoughtful, and John squirms in the silence. “How is that old iPhone working out for you?” Jeremy asks unexpectedly.
“The battery is bad,” John shrugs.
“Well, I thought you might like this.” Jeremy pulls his old Android out of a back pocket. He twists around and pulls a charging cable from the drawer. “It’s so out of date. Dad’s old phone, get it? It got smashed up. Mom had it fixed. Pretty sure you can’t get updates. Anyway …”
John takes the gift slowly. His finger rubs the crushed corner where the Galaxy impacted on the wet road. It is powered on, just waiting for him. The new screen is magical in John’s hand. “You are giving me this?”
“Mom thought I might still want it. I don’t. Honestly, it is not something I want around. It’s hard to explain.” Jeremy looks at the phone in the school boy’s hand. It is a relief to think of it as just someone else’s phone. It was never yours, he experiments telling himself. Just looking at his old phone sends shivers up his spine. The memory is enough to make Jeremy cast off lines and take Gravity out to sea. “So yeah, it’s yours if you want it.
“You ever had an Android?” John shakes his head. He cannot meet the teen’s friendly eyes. “Let’s set it up for you, quick. You’ll have to talk your folks into giving you a data plan.”
Jeremy takes the phone back. This is like his lessons servicing the winches. John sits with his legs tucked to his chin, leaning against his young American. He wants to find his way back to the happiness he felt as Jeremy tickled him senseless on the bench. They talk quietly about the phone back and forth.
John tucks his new phone carefully into his school bag. He wants to walk away, but Jeremy will not let him. His young American insists he will see John walking through his school gate. John takes his place behind Jeremy on the scooter. He wraps his arms around the lean, muscular waist. He clutches hard when Jeremy pops the clutch and the scooter lurches off. John wants to hold onto this friendship, enjoying the look in his classmates eyes when he hops off the scooter at Cobbs Cross School. Instead, the awful weight of the stolen hard drive presses down on his thin shoulders.
I Accept Your Challenge, M’Baku
We have watched and listened from the mountains. We have watched with disgust, as your technological advancements have been overseen by a child who scoffs at tradition. And now … you want to hand the nation over to this prince … who could not even keep his own father safe. Hmm? We will not have it. I said we will not have it! I, M’Buku, leader of the Jabari with to —
“I accept your challenge, M’Buku,” John echoes Chadwick Boseman’s brave response. “Wakanda! T’Challa,” he salutes fiercely. The boy bites his lip and stares avidly into the Android’s small, bright screen. His ankles sway, dissipating his excitement.
John propped the phone on the rear door armrest. His eyes are inches from the screen. His chin is planted in one palm as his body compensates for the motion of his feet. This scene is intense. John flinches at M’Baku’s blow.
Rain starts to patter on the bonnet of his tiny-(car)-home behind the house. In Gray’s Farm. He can feel the cooling sigh of night air on his face. The bug screen he duck-taped across the open window catches most of the light drops. John tugs at his clinging underwear and frowns a little. First chance he gets, he needs to get some earbuds. The story captures him again.
The hard drive has more than eighty movies on it. Eighty movies! John had no idea what treasure he had taken. He just plugged it into his new phone and the long directory of MP4’s popped up. He had Gray’s Farm friends with PlayStations and one had an old iPhone like the one Pudgee Funk tossed his way. John thought he would never have things like that. He was doomed to play on other people’s electronics. Now I have a phone that works. When more money comes my way, I can get a SIM card, buy time. He will be like Tayo! Till then, John can watch movies in Papa Jack’s old coupe.
So many things to watch. He read the titles and he had to guess at first. Some files had names that caught his eye: Boy Culture, The Wild Boys. John would come back to them. Beautiful Boxer sounded like the movie Rocky. The Rocky Horror Picture Show might have lots of blood. The eleven-year-old imagined voodoo and body parts. Moonlight tugged at John’s memory. Tayo mentioned wanting Hip Hop teeth. John did not waste his time looking at these movies. He had lots of time.
Right away, John recognized the hero movies: Iron Man, Guardians of the Galaxy. Really new ones, like Venam and Ant-Man and the Wasp. Black Panther! Of course his young American had Black Panther! John has watched it three times now. It is enough to turn John’s tired eyes red permanently. Only, the hard drive is a problem. It drains the Galaxy charge, and he only has one cable. Earbuds and another cable, John promises himself.
The layout of Jeremy’s boat inspires John. He takes Papa Jack’s old Civic one step closer to the junkyard. The backrest comes out so John can use the trunk as a snug berth. Just a little cardboard for a mattress and his growing body does not need to squeeze onto the back seat.
John has not been back to English Harbour. Maybe he has Jeremy’s phone number. His young American verified the Google account when they set up the Android. JazzieBoy2008@gmail.com, the teen knows that for sure. You stole from him, John reminds himself. He avoids free WIFI with the Galaxy. Jeremy might be trying to message him.
A hand reaches out to stop the movie. There is a hiding place for the hard drive and he puts his Galaxy back on the charger. John wriggles around to the depths of the trunk and pops the safety catch. Some rain finds its way through the mesh of stolen netting suspended beneath the trunk lid.
School ends tomorrow. Once, this would cheer him up. Mum will end her nagging. Unfortunately, the start of his next term means Form 2, and that means preparing for Secondary School Qualifying Exams. Mum will expect me to be a serious boy. Secondary school is not compulsory. John wonders where the money for the fees will come from.
Susan Carter answers, “God provided you. With your brains, he will provide.”
John’s grandfather in Great Britain had nine children. Besides the freedom of the Carter house in Gray’s Farm, Papa Jack gives nothing to Thomas Carter’s family. John does not think his grandfather will pay school fees.
School ends tomorrow, and John will have no reason to take the bus ride back to English Harbour. He was important to Pudgee Funk; more respected than the older boys. He was not No-See-Um. John likes that. He liked the scouting about the two interesting harbours. He isn’t from the Bad-Sick family there.
John scratches right below his belly button. Perhaps Nathan and his new best friends will let their taunting go during term break. They will play cricket with him, share football tricks, listen to his stories of adventure: I climbed to the top of the mast. It was so high! John won’t let himself think of that. Best friends again, watching movies together in the coupe. The gang will let their taunting go because Jazzie is the man with a phone and many movies to watch. He is Pudgee Funk’s eyes and ears, and Tayo listens to his wisdom.
That would be a mistake, John scolds himself. Only a fool would brag about collecting taxes around the fat yachting harbours. Even flashing his sell-off Galaxy and hard drive would only make the boys jealous. Nathan would help the gang break into his car and take them. The anger-hurt is a sudden hunger in John’s belly. All Dad's fault, bringing the Bad-Sick to Eve; making all of them suffer. You can see the rich folk eating at Nelson’s DockYard, all the way from the top of the sailboat’s mast. John used to think of driving his grandfather’s old coupe about St. John’s, arm waving out the window. Now he thinks of seeing Guadeloupe from the swaying mast of Gravity.
John twists back to his hiding place and takes the hard drive out. Rolling back to the cool night air, he begins passing the drive between his palms. He has the key to Gravity. Jeremy will be at work or sleeping in his nice apartment with the woman who wears the dress. Jazzie will put the drive back — somewhere else. Jeremy will look for it inside the desk. What are you talking about? St. John puzzles at his young American’s question. What does it look like? Jeremy takes these people to Guadeloupe. It is their fault. They left it in the V-Berth.
It might work; if he brings it back. Then, John can still see Jeremy. Jeremy will be his friend. I climbed the mast! John reminds himself. He will take me sailing! His young American is as casual about gifting the phone as he was about paying for John’s food. What does he care about an old hard drive? Tomorrow, after the last day of school, John will go back to English Harbour.
No-See-Um, Kid-Curious
John takes his time walking from Cobbs Cross School to Fourteen Gates. His feet took him straight down Dockyard Drive as far as the English Harbour Playing Field. He has company now. Tulisa Fowler, his territorial-suspicious classmate, has grown accustomed to him. John is not certain how to handle this. Her feminine mystique, Tulisa’s je ne sais pas, is an acceptance not much different than Marcus, who is walking on John’s other side. Sometimes, Tulisa starts to tease John (or some other boy), then the playful exchange ends with a painful punch that leaves a boy smarting on the ground.
Marcus is a more understandable companion. The Fidget Spinner War drags on in John’s classroom. John tries to end it by side-pitching the fugitive gadget back into the big bully’s desk as he walks past the big boy’s desk. Then, the bully just Pudgee-Funks all over Marcus about the cowardly return. John knows better than to confess, but he snaps out, “Me borrowed it, just chill, you have it back now, don’t you?”
John expected the bully to lumber over for a punch. He sat it out behind his desk, knowing he had to take this blow. Cobbs Cross School would gladly expel him, school days done for ever. John cannot do that to his mother. “Blood can’t wash out wit blood,” Tulisa warned the bully. A finger pointed at John let him know this just started. Got to be Jazzie here, John ignored the boy and took his notebook out. It hurt a bit, knowing everyone around him was not surprised by this proof he was a criminal.
Marcus warms to him. Not friend-nice, like John wants, but now not last-one-picked. John really needs that. So last day of school, Marcus walks beside, a bit apart, maybe just because Tulisa walks the other side. John will probably start Form 2 at Cobbe’s Cross School. The sympathetic Assistant Head said so. Could be worse, John decides.
Marcus and Tulisa go their different ways, so Jazzie goes to work. He powers up the stupid iPhone and scouts for opportunity. No question, his new Galaxy is in his school bag. Can’t be used, Pudgee Funk and Tayo will reach the wrong-right conclusion: Jazzie keeps things from the targets for himself.
His eye is on a dive shop off the street. Jeremy-friendly outsiders own it. Jazzie stops to chat with a Tayo-old man in the shop T-shirt. John is no-see-um, kid-curious about the diving gear. Jazzie is criminal-curious about the simple locks and missing cameras. He buys a burger fresh off the charcoal grill, accepts a free soda while he uses WIFI gifted from somewhere close. The season is ending but the dive shop does good business scraping hulls. It is nudge-nudge, wink-wink cash from the visiting boats. The dive shop closes at 5:00 each day. Clever man stashes tomorrow’s float in the frosty freezer: something to remember.
The black scooter is by the path leading to Jeremy’s dock. John moves away from the apartments of Fourteen Gates quickly. His young American should be cooking at Lekker Braai, or fixing boats at the dockyard in Falmouth Harbour. No point in scouting Antigua Slipway, the property is crazy busy all night long. John trespasses through the 5-Star hotel across from Fourteen Gates.
Galleon Bay is filled with sailboats. Some are Jeremy-tidy, others look like the grimy backyards of Gray’s Farm. As John walks the beach, he looks at fabrics fluttering from the lines, people tossing trash bags into tenders. Jeremy says he has sailed the Pacific Ocean and travelled through the Panama Canal on Gravity. Even so, John has a hard time imagining his young American hanging underwear on his sailboat. Jeremy will not even let John piss over the side of his boat. Some boys from somewhere play tag in the shallow water. John is invited, but he must be It. Stripped down, John loses his sense of Jazzie in the game.
The Gustavus’ Malö 37 stops John as soon as he clears the path. The Malö is only eight inches longer than Jeremy’s Dufour, but it is two feet wider in the beam. Gustavus’ Malö’s coachroof sweeps back around a larger cockpit. All together, this makes the sailboat look much larger than Gravity. Both sailboat’s portholes are dark. John approaches cautiously.
He has been so absorbed by his young American that John forgets how other boats moor in the crescent bay between Antigua Slipway and a cafe close to Clarence House. John checks left and right; nobody looks his way.
John leaves the drop boards in place, and goes in through the sliding hatch. With that closed behind him, he decides he is safe. John’s Galaxy says 11:49. He planned to wait till later, just to be sure Jeremy plans no surprises, but John is tired and thirsty. Antigua’s insects are out, and the shelter of the sailboat is too appealing.
Gravity’s portholes and the hatch over his head spill light into the cabin. The power lights on the instruments at the map station prove the sailboat is awake. The water runs, so John takes a shower. It feels good to wash the ocean salt off. This month, there is water in the Carter home. It is good that Chloe does not have to take the bucket down the road. John does not wonder where this water comes from. He luxuriates in the scented lather, wishing he could do this every night before he slept.
The fridge is off. He takes a warm bottle of water, finds some biscuits and a can of tuna. He has his feast at the table while he watches random videos on TikTok. He likes to think he is Jeremy’s welcome guest, but maybe he is badass Jazzie taking shit from nobody, collecting property taxes. The clear stuff in the liquor bottle looks like water, but it burns his throat.
John stretches naked on the V-Berth mattress. The sailboat whispers through its vents and the pair of sconce fans cool his bare body. He forgot to bring the hard drive, so he rests with the sound of fans and the constancy of the ocean beyond the thin shell of the sailboat. Late night laughter from the restaurants and the life of English Harbour lull John into a dream-filled sleep.
Silver Spoon
“Dad phoned today. He is still on about me doing the renovations with Clarence Williams when he starts.” Jeremy met Clarence and his two boys when he first came up to look at Fourteen Gates. He fans the hybachi’s coals. Fourteen Gates is always his-not-his. The trustee arrangement with his parents makes him a not-quite-emancipated teenager. The fourteen-unit complex feels more like his parents' place. They manage everything with courtesy-updates (sometimes).
“It would be a steady income, honey,” Theo points out. He crosses his legs and lifts his glass, “Build those muscles. I’d love to see you drop a window when I come up to see you.”
“Working construction at this place gets in the way!” Jeremy complains. He has his Day Skipper certificate. Next step, RYA Yachtmaster Ticket by February. He only has six months to get ready. A sixteen-year-old can’t be expected to think nine years down the line to when he is free of the Trust. “I get good hours at the restaurant. Claark and Anna are cool about me taking off when I need to. Working at Shekerley’s, well, I need to learn that boatyard stuff.”
“The season is over.”
“No, not really,” Jeremy turns away from the hibachi to meet Theo’s eyes. “Lekker Braae is slowing down, but the boat yard; skippers are starting to pull their onto the hard for refits. It should be busy all summer. So, if I work here …”
Theo lets his boyfriend talk it out. Working a summer of construction suits Theo’s needs. Antigua resorts are cutting back for the slow summer. Casual workers like Theo are the first to go. Construction wages will be good.
Jeremy turns back to his bed of coals. “I have to move onto Gravity as soon as renovations start.” Only two of the four buildings have been finished. Da Nang is one of eight remaining to be renovated. Double your income, Jeremy’s dad assures him. “I’m not taking a BnB unit, not full time anyway.” Theo prefers the hard, and Jeremy is hoping he will stay the summer; stay permanently. The Trust needs the income. When the work is done, Jeremy supposes he will be bullied into taking a unit. “Damn it, I know Dad is going to talk me into doing it!” Then suddenly, “Why did he take my damn hard drive!” He almost throws the tongs.
Jeremy drops the jerked chicken on the grill. There is no answer from Theo.
Theo knows better than to query, Are you sure the boy took it? Jeremy might misplace some paperwork about Da Nang, but the skipper of Gravity is encyclopedic about every square inch of his sailboat. If Jeremy says the small hard drive has disappeared, then that is a certainty.
Chicken sizzles on the grate. The spices fill the small, unfinished patio. “I even gave him my old phone,” an aggrieved addition.
“You don’t know anything about this boy.”
“He goes to school in Cobbe’s Cross. He lives in St. John’s.”
“I stand corrected.” Theo lets that rest between them. Jeremy walks back to the kitchen. The chef in him understands the heat and meat, how long they need to be together. The boyfriends come from very different worlds. Jeremy is generous, responsible, always the main character for Theo, and so privileged. Theo thinks he understands the missing boy far better than his American boyfriend. Jeremy returns with plates and a pot of rice pilaf.
Theo hunches over his knees, telegraphing the weight of what needs to be said. “Love,” Theo launches in, “You’re a grinder, but you're silver spoon, yeah? I know you’ve come a hard road, still things my Fergus won’t share about what happened across the water.” Jeremy stops to look at him. “Feel you so pressed beside me in your sleep, honey; but still, you’re silver spoon. Had all this tossed your way,” he waves a hand about Fourteen Gates.
Jeremy’s face sets up to gale. Theo forges on, “Yeah, you said you wouldn’t take it. We all thought you were bonkers not to pick up what’s left for you on the table. That’s the difference, honey. Me and this boy, we wouldn’t think twice; just snap it up. Thank you or fuck you very much, doesn’t matter. We’d need it, yeah?”
Then there is how they spend their time larking about with the likes of Tod and Shari. Jeremy says he is networking. The men like Jeremy, his boyfriend likes them too. Theo thinks his boyfriend likes the bits that come his way. Restaurants and rooms neither of them can afford. Theo needs the bits as well. They come from worlds apart, but not so different when you think about it.
Jeremy is thinking about what he says, so Theo goes on, “Mary Rule, she shares her boat. I know, you work your heart out paying the old girl back. See a hungry local boy, pay for his meal, but you’ve got your boat and Fourteen Gates. You’ve got options, love.”
“The damn kid might live up there!” Jeremy points to the villas clinging to the slopes surrounding Galleon Bay.
“You don’t think that, do you? Not likely, with your boy enrolled in Cobbs Cross School. Nothing posh about that.”
Jeremy flips the chicken, “That hard drive meant something to me.” It is a connection to his long voyage to Antigua. He took it from the boat he left for the memories when he was beached; pass over that fact, maybe. “I would have lent it to him if he asked ...”
“Know you would, love.”
“… and yes, I have Gravity and this place in nine years. Right now, I’m stretched six ways!” Jeremy regrets the words immediately. His boyfriend only has the shed behind his aunt’s place, and that grimness is a loaner. Theo studies full-time to fulfill his State-side university dream, and does everything at the resorts because his mother just does housekeeping at some Jamaican resorts. “Sorry,” Jeremy mumbles.
“Oh Fergus, no complaints. The little bugger finessed you proper. Say you pinch him for it. Don’t know your little friend, just say I’m right. While you’re knocking him about, have a thought for this. Yeah love, you do your best, run off your feet, least when you’re not shagging every prick that points your way.”
“With you.”
“Well, let's not get pressed about that. It’s in our nature.” Theo tosses a regal eye his boyfriend's way. “So, say it all goes shambles, yeah?”
“Go crew again; I’ve had offers.”
They both could leave Antigua anytime. Alone, together, just step aboard the right boat. Theo’s eyes are steady on his boyfriend’s. Jeremy frowns, “So yes, I know.” He continues belligerently, “I can go back to Ohio.”
Theo nods. “Your mum and dad, they’re gold. Jeremy Gate’s got posh friends who’d help him out — again.” Theo lifts an elegant eyebrow. His Jeremy is silver spoon, no question. Jeremy makes a phone call; they will come running from four quarters: Seattle, Chillicothe, French Polynesia , and Halifax. Theo never knew a boy so alone who could tap that sort of Fam. Theo does not mind a bit.
“You’re telling me John does not have that.” Theo is reminding him about the boys he met along the way. Boy’s like Jeremy and Theo, selling drugs, what they can take, and what they are. John Carter’s wonder-filled, innocent eyes come to him, and the cascades of laughter as Jeremy tickles him.
“Don’t know your boy’s family, yeah? Says something that he rides a bus across this island just to stay in school. When you are not entertaining him, that is. I imagine someone is prodding him along.” Theo’s mother certainly prods him.
“He used me.”
“Don’t you think we are all looking for a lift? You and me, honey, Wadadli boys like your John know we are outsiders. Me from Jamaica, you, with your bought and paid for Antiguan citizenship. We’re not one of them, see? My auntie has worked here for fifteen years, has the Fam, she’s still the woman from Jamaica.” Theo points at Jeremy, “You are in the way, you are the way. It’s a tangle; outsiders take jobs, make jobs.
“Yeah? Well I’ve a mind to spank his skinny ass.”
“Sometimes, a boy can need a thing too much.”
Jeremy reminds himself that he gave the phone to pay it forward. He saw John’s iPhone frustration, and seized a chance to rid himself of a painful reminder, Easy to gift your painful surplus. Theo was right, Jeremy concedes he is a bit silver spoon. He is trying hard to go without, knows he is a little selfish not being responsible in Chillicothe with his daughter. Jeremy guesses John needs a little of one, more of the other. “So, I just let it go?”
“Nah, the little weasel is a criminal. Light fingers, I wouldn’t take my eyes off of him. Besides, he’s hurt my Jeremy, he has; got to pay for that, he does.”
Theo hugs Jeremy from behind. “You know nothing about this boy.” He reaches for a bit of crisp chicken. Jeremy raps his fingers with the tongs. “Just remember that; and if your mind is on a spanking …” Theo’s palm connects painfully with Jeremy’s lean thigh. Jeremy presses back a bit.
Caribbean Agony
Tayo is on the street outside the walk up he just rented. It is a tourist-friendly walk, just up from Heritage Wharf, not far from Heroes Sports Bar. St. John’s rent is brutal, and it is just a sublet room with a shared toilet. He will have to move back to his mum’s in Gray’s Farm if this project does not work out.
Tayo crosses the street to a shuttered modern version of his building. Cars line the wide street, except where canopy tents vend food and electronics. Turning back, he looks up at the sash windows closest to the corner. He is drinking a smoothie, but his mind is on Trini up in his room waiting for a tourist off a cruise ship.
This is the fourteen-year-old's debut. There are plenty of hoes his age. Trini is dazzled by Tayo. The nineteen-year-old just needs to smile. He could let the fourteen-year-old think he is his boyfriend. That would be a mistake. Trini was not enthusiastic about the plan. "Best it's you," Tayo told him. "You and me, our Mums are hoes. We know the business. You're my right hand,Trini. You help me run the younger boys, but Pudgee Funk wants this."
Tayo guesses Trini is a virgin. He coaxes Trini to strip so he can check to see if he is clean. “Yes, yes, you are going to shine.” Trini looks at him, needing reassurance. “Don’t be skittish!” Tayo pinches a thin flank, brushes his fingers around to the fourteen-year-old’s groin. “Man’s gonna touch you there and here. You gonna grow for him, like you want to grow for me.” Fondling Trini is a step too far, with five years between them and the batty-boy telegraphing his infatuation all about the neighborhood. Dutty water cool hot iron, this is the best way to use Jayden. Pudgee Funk has the right of that. “Man’s going to want you on your knees.
"You get this once, because you haven't got a clue what needs to be done, and I’ve got to teach it to you. No girl's done you. Your Mum do you, make you do her tricks? Don't want to know the nasty things you've done with chi chi men."
"Now take me in your mouth like you've been wanting to." Trini gags when Tayo thrusts too deep. "You're fine, you're fine." Tayo strokes Trini's head, soothing him. He has not had a blow job since Jeremy on the beach. Tayo thinks of the young American as Trini kneels before him. "You let the man know, you are loving his wood. You touch yourself, Trini. Let me see your agony when you take my wood to the back of your throat.
“You're a pretty maama boy already, Trini. You let the man sex you good and hard. Now you got me trippin, baby. Now wood’s going to come, Trini. I'm going to give you the loving like you are my best bitch. You doing fine for your first try." Tayo cups the back of the young boy's head and then he is flooding in Trini's mewing mouth. “Dat dey bang good,” Tayo assures the young teen. Tayo has had hoes this age before. Almost boys, those bitches. Tayo gets off on that.
The tourist is mampy. Tayo’s friend on the dock sets this up, time and place. Tayo is still across the street, passing time. He is not famous in St. John’s, but he is new along the street. It is better if nobody knows his business up in the room above the electronics shop. Tayo has his eyes out for trouble. Trouble is the bigger Mafia Pudgee Funk and Tayo want to be. He hopes the occasional outsider stepping off his cruise ship to sex with Trini is not going to draw much attention on the street. Tayo does not see a line of men cued up the stairs to Tayo’s walk. Now if I ran some girls, Tayo dreams. He needs Pudgee Funk to spread some sugar on his bitches. Get the young tunti being like the hoes they are. More money to be made between their thighs than one fourteen-year-old chi chi boy.
He wagers that the fat man does Trini doggy style. Wheezing over the boy's backside like a heart attack. Tayo wagers that Trini does not know how to position himself, or what to do. Maybe innocent is good, virgin is gonna play the virgin, gotta be extra cheddar in that, Tayo decides. He shouldn’t stand there staring at the clapboard walls. He decides to cross back over and sit on the concrete steps leading up to the door. He sits near the top, where he can look down into the shaded yard beside his building.
"Your mother would be proud of you." Tayo tells Trini after the beefy man has left. Trini is on the bed, still naked, huddled into himself. The small room smells like sex. "You did very well, spreading your legs for the man, like your Mum does," he adds. Trini wants his approval. Tayo ruffles Trini’s hair and smiles. Trini's mother is a prostitute. Maybe ten years older than Tayo. The boy must have seen his fill since he was in his nappies. "You're in the family business now, making good money fur-yuh.
"Just remember,” Tayo grabs Trini’s jaw to make him look up. “Only the clean men I bring you. You don’t want to make me angry. You don't want to make the mistake Jazzie's dad made and get the bad sickness now, do you?" Tayo examines Trini's face. " I will see the men don't beat you. You still fine, like a bitch. These men off the cruise ships are looking for maama boys just like you. You see, you are going to make lots of money. Maybe I'll let you stay here, time to time. Get your clothes on, Pudgee Funk is going to be here soon with the car."
"I don't want to come. I don't feel good." Trini whines.
"You're my entourage, Trini. I need your smarts with me.”
“Jazzie is the brains.”
“Tall! That Jazzie is just a likkle boy. You and me, we are the Mafia. Maybe we go big next time, take a big bed right out of there, set it up here so we have a fine place to bring your men.” Tayo clotheslines Trini back onto the bed and pumps him up and down on the sprung mattress. His hand is just below the boy’s navel.
“He suck your big dick?" Tayo drinks in Trini's naked body. He can imagine the man fucking the boy, and the boy’s yelps as he gets shaken like a puppet on a stick. He wants to ask if the man took Jayden hard, like he would if the boy was older. “Got to get dressed, Trini; not gonna get me to sex you with the cow eyes look. Maybe you'll earn it later.” Tayo’s hand slides up Trini’s chest and tries a choke of the throat. “You are a good man to collect property tax with. This here,” Tayo slaps Jeyden’s belly, “You’ll do good with the old perverts; let them breed you.”
Tayo picks up the money the man left. He counts it out in front of Jayden. "See here; you earned this money. Now half of this goes to Pudgee and me; but this, all this is yours. Pretty soon, you will be able to get your own room. Hey, wipe your tears," Tayo uses the heel of his palm to rub the trickles off Jayden's cheeks. "You did just fine. You’ll be better next time. I'll check with my friend. He'll tell me when your next man comes. Ship comes in, we get paid." Tayo has not decided if he is going to tell Pudgee about the pimping.
“You take your share across the street to that sports shop. Buy some clothes that show you off. Better, go next door and get some underwear; just something you can wear up here. No point in wasting money for the street. You my man, Trini. I don’t need you walking by me like some hoe, or flashing money around the neighborhood.”
Tayo looks around the cramped room, wishing it was fine like a hotel. "Trini, you remembered to use the rubbers I left? Where did you leave them?" Trini returns from the toilet where he is trying to clean in the sink. He searches around the bed. He comes up with two used condoms. "Eh, he fucked you good, didn't he? I'm proud of you, Trini."
"One of them is mine," Trini blushes brightly.
"He ketch-chubby? He wanted the Caribbean agony," Tayo boldly grabs Trini's crotch and squeezes his property. Trini giggles shyly, lost in dreams of Tayo.
Don’t Upset Yourself
“A little bodywork and this will be a fine car again. Ladies, do you like my car? Pudgee Funk is flanked by his entourage school girls in the back seat of the 2006 Isuzu Alterra. A little bodywork is optimistic. Papa Jack’s old Civic on its cinder blocks, festooned with vines, looks less beaten on.
The Alterra’s interior is plush, but the car was T-boned some time past. The passenger door has been punched in and there is a Frankenstein scar keyed across the back panel. John found some shards of the window glass when he was sitting down. The missing window is taped with plastic. The air conditioning still works.
“Where did you pinch it?” This comes from Dray beside John in the cargo space. Dray is Trini’s criminal partner from the first villa Pudgee Funk had Tayo rob. Dray is two years older than John. He thinks he can trash talk the men. Pudgee Funk ignores his question. The man’s way of putting Dray in his place is to lean in on a girl, whisper a joke or something dirty.
Nelson Bird did not pinch the Alterra, nor is it his. He will let the boys in the back think he did. The girls are free to think he plans to keep it. It is his uncle’s car. Someday, mine will be better, he assures himself.
John is uncomfortable bouncing about in the cargo space. Two boring hours, aimlessly cruising St. John’s, then off into Saint Peter Parish. He needs to pee, and if he holds himself, Dray makes rude jokes about him sexing himself. They are cruising the neighborhoods towards V.C. Bird International Airport; John knew there must be homes like that in Antigua. They are sprinkled everywhere. Here there are so many beautifully tended homes in one place.
John watches them through the side window as Tayo drives about. Fresh plastered walls, a hedge with fuchsia flowers; he looks back to see swept gravel and the perfect blacktop. Picket fences, burgundy shutters, and gates so wide you could drive two Alterra’s through them. They pass condos. Four units in a row and John thinks of Fourteen Gates, only, these are two levels and lack the snug courtyards.
Pudgee Funk and Tayo talk as if they can rob these homes. There is so much of this, John realizes. There is little he can offer the men. If they asked him to come and scout this neighborhood, it would take him forever. Pudgee’s Alterra pauses behind a hedge of white and crimson to look at another rich man’s house. John thinks this settled wealth would be hard to steal. Tayo drives one street after another and finally none of them pretend they have something to say.
As they finally turn south, John decides the new subdivision is like everywhere in Antigua, the newly minted homes are still a stone’s throw from the hard bones of some fractured dream. The past melts back indifferently, and nothing is far from the island’s bush. There are proud homes in Gray’s Farm. The old is pushed out by the new. He is glad to be going away from a depopulated world where Tayo can slowly cruise between white washed walls for half a minute before they end. Behind these walls are gated communities. These are people who go to the supermarkets and fill their metal shopping carts, then swipe plastic, no receipt.
Tayo wants John in the bucket beside him. He has questions. Pudgee Funk waves this body shifting off imperiously, so Tayo has to shout his questions over his shoulder. John wants to sleep. Each time he starts to drift off, his head will bounce against the glass, or Dray shoves at his slumping body. If he had anything he has to share, he has shared it. His information about the two southern harbors is growing stale.
“Jazzie, wake up, what’s down this road?”
It is dark, and the Alterra has taken twists and turns while John’s mind drifts. It is just dark trees beyond the windows either side. John checks over Pudgee Funk’s shoulder, Eh! The dirty boy is looking down my top! A girl complains. John’s stomach lurches. They are stopped at the corner where Shirley Road meets the road down to Antigua Slipway. John answers, “A boatyard straight ahead, very busy. Those bungalows on the left? They are part of a big resort.”
“What’s all this on the right?” Tayo asks. He drums out a rhythm on the steering wheel. He is pretty certain that he is looking at the Fourteen Gates on the young American’s business card. He sees two wings at right angles. From the car’s elevation up the hill, he can see the roofs of two more buildings forming the square.
“I’ve looked at that,” John’s voice is bored-irritable. It is the childish voice of a boy past his bedtime. “Those apartments are not very fine. They are very shabby, Tayo. I think they are still building on it. Nothing worth taking, I could see.”
Tayo turns around to look at John, “Jazzie my man, what is it you tell me? There is always something worth taking. Tell us what you found there.”
John appeals to Pudgee Funk. “It is mostly empty now. There is some construction. Just scabby rooms with broken furniture.”
“Not along the road,” Trini speaks up. “Those ones look finished.”
“They have furniture?” Tayo muses. “Maybe they don’t worry about those old things, you think Trini? We should drive down and poke around.”
“That’s not my deal with Pudgee!” John snaps back. It has been two weeks since he saw Jeremy. John struggles for an argument to dissuade the man. He knows as well as Tayo that there are easy pickings in the empty rooms. His young American lives in the farthest corner. The door is old, not like the new apartments he has walked past as he explored. The discarded beds, the old furniture, they are carelessly unlocked. John even slept in one of those rooms when Jeremy was on his sailboat.
John is not going to let Tayo and Trini rob his friend. He appeals to God again, “Pudgee, you know I know my business. It is night now. Everyone will be home asleep. Besides, that place is like the resort across the street, like the boatyard down there. It has security cameras everywhere. Not the fake ones with the red lights blinking, real ones! I stopped in the office to check.”
“We have come all this way so you could show us what we go after next. We should drive down, take a closer look.” The sign, can’t read it. It will tell me if this is where Jeremy lives, tayo decides. “What do you say, Trini?”
“I told you before, Tayo! I’m not driving with you pirates and your stolen goods!”
The Alterra begins to drift down the hill towards Fourteen Gates. John does a head roll right over Pudgee Funk’s broad shoulder, “Eeek! He is sticking his face between my legs!” John’s shoes fly past Pudgee’s nose and kick the other girl’s breasts. Pudgee Funk pushes him off his lap. John tries the broken door, then kicks his way back over the three bodies as the girls pummel him with their fists. He finally slithers through the door onto the pavement.
Jumping up, he turns back to Pudgee Funk, “Eyes and ears, that’s what you promised.”
“Get back in the car,” Tayo orders through his open window.
“We all do what Tayo says,” Trini adds, “We’re soldiers.”
John lunges towards Tayo and jams his palm into the middle of the steering column. He has to grope about and then the high pitched horn blares out into the night. Tayo’s hand grips his thin wrist and twists it painfully. John wrenches it away.
“Chill, Jazzie.”
“You’re not the boss of me,” John yells back. He skitters backward when Tayo opens the driver’s door. “There’s security, there’s cameras,” he feels helpless. He turns to Pudgee Funk, “Just eyes and ears; I quit! I don’t want to do this anymore.” He yanks the iPhone out of his hoodie pocket. “Here, take your phone back. It’s bricked anyway. Give it to someone else!” John throws the phone at Tayo’s feet.
Tayo takes a step forward. “Don’t upset yourself, Jazzie,” he starts.
“I’m not helping you!” John is ready for flight.
Tayo looks at the boy, wondering what has set him off. True, he does not want to burgle homes. He’s just a boy, Tayo concludes, Not as tough as he makes out. “Suit yourself, Peace, Jazzie.” Tayo knows the boy is stubborn. Smart though. Jazzie will come around. Give him a few minutes on the dark road leading up to Shirley Heights, he will be ready to get back in the car.
The Altaira slows at the bottom of the hill. “What do you think, Trini?” Tayo leans over the fourteen-year-old to peer at the row of fancy gates. 9, 10, 11, 12 … each wrought iron gate is numbered. The courtyard walls make checking out the finished apartments difficult. At this time of night, only one of the unit’s lights are on. The apartments are definitely nicer than Jazzie claims. Tayo wonders which one is Jeremy’s. He has accidentally placed his hand on Trini’s thigh. His thumb is pressed against the teenager’s groin. “You and Dray get out and take a look around.”
Nelson Bird stirs at this. Jazzie was a whirlwind that took him by surprise. He heard the boy’s concerns. Not the foolish eyes and ears complaint, which does not matter. The boy needs Pudgee Funk more than Nelson Bird needs an eleven-year-old punk. These neighborhood kids that Tayo collects, they work out well for Nelson. It suits him to let Tayo take the risks. Punk he is, but John Carter has instincts and his advice has been good. Nelson keeps the dutty water where it won’t spatter on him.
“Not the right time, Tayo.” Pudgee Funk’s voice is cheerful. He places his arms around each girl. “Give the iPhone to Trini. We are just having a nice drive tonight. My girls would like something to eat.” He slumps in the seat between the girls suggestively. They giggle.
John watches the Alterra drive away. He cannot stop them. He has tears as Tayo stops the vehicle on the road across from the finished wing. Then, the Alterra drives slowly on to the corner where Fourteen gates, the Inn, and Antigua Slipway meet. Tayo takes the turn that leads to Clarence House. The men will drive right past Jeremy’s sailboat. There is nothing John can do about that either.
He starts down the road. Gravity’s key is in his pocket. John’s heart is slowing down and he is so tired. There is a light in Jeremy’s apartment window. Did the car horn wake him up? John wonders. He imagines he is opening the wrought iron gate with number 5. Jeremy greets him with his tangerine smile. John is too tired to be tickled. He crawls into the big bed beneath the mosquito net and falls asleep before his young American can turn the lights out.
John took Jeremy’s hard drive. He cannot just knock on the door tonight. The sailboat should be empty. Tayo and Pudgee Funk may think Jazzie is lost on the road to Shirley Heights, but John is not. The night between the two harbors is John’s world, and the road draws him down to Fourteen Gates and Gravity.
My Apologies, the link to the Jazzie Survey was incorrect in the first three chapters. This has been fixed now. Please try the survey again.
Brief, Anonymous Survey:
Readers are often too busy or reluctant to reach out to authors. I appreciate hearing from you all. Please take my Jazzie Survey. It is a quick Google Form where you can comment on this story.
I have written a variety of short stories and novellas. You can follow this safe link to my Body of Work.