CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
2009 - Boys’ Weekend
My conditional release was completed in January and the majority of my case file was sealed. My parents were relieved. I was just glad I didn’t have to think of any of it anymore. I was more than ready to tuck that shit away and try to forget it ever happened. The jury was still out on that one, though. Time would tell.
I texted Mundo in February to see if he wanted to meet up for a long weekend in Miami Beach. His ass would refuse to come to Brooklyn, but a trip to Miami might seem like enough fun for him to bite. I wanted to check him and see where he was, mentally, before I allowed myself to get railroaded into a command performance of The Spare Abroad.
Mundo texted back quicker than I’d expected:
You can travel? Finally free? Why don’t you come to PC?
I wrote that I could only grab a few days away and wanted to keep it Stateside, but that I’d work my schedule around his. I suggested we fly in on a Thursday and fly out that Sunday. Stay at the Delano. Then I tried to further sweeten the pot:
You can bring Gianina!
His reply led me to believe he was in:
Nah, I need a boys’ weekend anyway. Let me check my cals and get back to you.
I sent him a thumbs up emoji and laughed to myself.
Miami with Mundo. Should be fun.
I didn’t bother telling Hopeton about it, because a part of me wanted to preserve this trip as a legitimate boys’ weekend. Mundo and I did have fun when we were together and everything was in sync. I didn’t plan on spending 4 days playing mind games with him, trying to trick him into telling me the real reason he’d always been so obsessed with getting me to Panama. But that would definitely be an item on my agenda.
Doe texted me back the next day, at around 4pm, which led me to believe he’d browbeaten Gianina into letting him meet up with me, then had his secretary check his schedule for the next few weeks. It was the pre-Carnavales season down by him, and he no doubt would be heavily involved in a lot of social club and charity events.
His message was short and to the point.
I’m in. Arrive 2/19. Depart 2/22. Let’s both try to catch an early plane. I’ll book my room at the Delano. You book yours.
Doe and I flew into MIA within 25 minutes of each other, and met up outside of the arrivals area. He’d arranged to have the Delano send a car for us, so vacation mode was activated immediately. We climbed into the back of the vintage Jaguar Coupe. Mundo immediately started rummaging through the drinks cooler and pulled out two demis of Veuve Cliquot, which we both drank straight from the bottle.
Olmando looked good. I could not believe it had been eight years since I’d last seen him. I’d expected him to look bloated and bleary eyed, but he’d lost a lot of weight and his eyes were clear. His skin was smooth and even toned and his hair was short with a little poof at the top. ‘The Gianina effect,’ I said to myself. I could not wait to meet the woman who was willing to put up with my brother for all eternity.
“Damn, bro,” Mundo began. “I haven’t seen you in seven years. Remember when we used to see each other practically every day of our lives?”
“Morning to night,” I replied.
“You look good,” he told me. “Better than you did when you came to Panama last time. You were mad skinny and bald like a skinhead.”
“Yeah,” I reminded him. “That was when I had your face man job and I was just trying to disappear. But now I work for your Pops. I have time to eat food and I’m allowed to grow my waves out.”
“Ah, Pierre, don’t start with the Bitter ‘Brón shit!” Mundo said. “We’re here to have fun! I missed you!”
“I know,” I replied. “I missed you, too. That’s why I hit you up about Miami pretty much as soon as I was free.”
“We’re gonna have fun this weekend,” he said. “Can you believe we’ve never been to Miami together before?”
“Yo, that’s insane when you think about it,” I agreed.
We’d be fine. This weekend would be chill. Maybe I’d actually give my brain a rest and make a concerted effort to enjoy myself for a change.
Doe and I spent the rest of the ride talking about plans for the weekend. Tonight, we’d take it easy and grab steaks at the hotel, then sit by the pool and catch up.
Friday night, he knew a bunch of people who were going to be in town and he wanted to meet up with them for drinks at the Mandarin Oriental, “and maybe we could find a Haitian party and get busy with some gouye.” I shook my head and laughed. Party Mundo was in full effect. I didn’t even bother asking how he knew the people he wanted to get up with.
Then finally, there was a big bacchanal being held at Bayfront Park on Saturday- Doe pre-purchased VIP tickets.
“And then we’ll both crash out on our flights home,” Doe said. I’d already planned on it- those Bayfront parties were always crazy. This one was advertised as a talcum powder battle- keep it tight, wear all white.
Dinner that night was pleasant. Conversation was fairly light- Doe’s married life (“she’s so much smarter than me, it’s scary”), my chronic inability to jumpstart a dating routine (“I am not going online”), Bolo’s new obsession with establishing a vineyard in Cerro Punta (“it’s good the old man has hobbies”) and Hopeton’s Jamaican real estate dreams (“of course he wants something in the mountains, by a river”).
After dinner, we headed to the pool for drinks. Mundo ordered a bottle of Hennessy XO and pulled a couple cigars from the inside pocket of his blazer. The two of us had been in this moment before- many times over the years. We could’ve been in my parents’ backyard back in the Stuy or on the verandah at Bolo’s compound- Doe and I always fell right back into our favorite rituals no matter how old we were or where we found ourselves.
Mundo must’ve been feeling it, too.
“So funny how the two of us have never been in Miami together,” he said, revisiting the conversation we’d had in the Jaguar. “It’s, like, the most logical place for us to have partied in, in our twenties but we never made it down here together.”
“We were too busy running around Panama,” I replied.
“And Far Rockaway,” Doe laughed.
“And Port of Newark.” I grimaced.
“Remember what I said,” Doe admonished, “no Bitter ‘Brón this weekend.”
“Fine,” I sighed. “Positive vibes, only.”
Then Olmando did something that caught me by surprise. He threw it back on me and asked me how I was doing.
“Seriously though, Pierre, how are you doing?” he asked. “Are you feeling good about everything these days?”
I took an extended pull off my cigar and released an enormous cloud of smoke.
I nodded my head, then shook it. “Sí pero no.”
Mundo laughed. He caught the joke- a throwback to that night in 2001, when I’d asked him if he was ready for Panama City.
“What’s going on with you?” Doe asked. “You still in your head all the time?”
“Yeah, and it fucking sucks,” I admitted. “24-7-365. And I’m tired of myself.”
I poured myself a glass of Henny, practically to the rim, took another puff of my cigar and then dove in.
“You know, I get out of prison, it’s been two years. I bust my ass working this policy analyst job- and it’s a real job, Doe. If I wanted to keep going and just stay in that lane, I could wind up where your father is.”
“I think that’s what he wants,” Doe said.
“I know,” I replied. “But I don’t know if I can go through with it.”
Then I veered onto a completely different topic.
“And then I live with my parents for almost six months until I start to feel human again. Then I move out to Flatbush and I fuckin’ love it out there. Fuck the Stuy, Bee. I love Flatbush.”
Doe’s bougie Clinton Hill/Cambria Heights ass nodded and told me to go on. He reminded me of Hopeton when he got into his hood therapist mode with me.
“And I’m working with Hopeton and Biz on the real estate shit and it’s going well,” I continued. “I’m basically doing the same job you were doing, and hating, when I came down to see you that time in 2001. And I got Biz to enroll in college!”
“Bro,” Mundo jumped in before I could get going again. “All of this sounds pretty fucking sweet to me. What’s the problem?”
“I’m BORED!”
Mundo kept quiet. He knew I wasn’t done.
“I’m bored. I’m bored with myself. I’m bored with keeping quiet. I’m bored to fuck with Brooklyn. I MADE MY LIFE SMALL, Doe. What the fuck is wrong with me?”
I chugged the entire glass of Henny. Mundo was lucky we were at the hotel- he wouldn’t have to take my keys and drive me anywhere.
Doe poured his own oversized glass of Henny, slammed it down and looked at me. Like, really looked.
“This is why I've been trying to get you to come to Panama for ten years, motherfucker,” he told me. “Shit is boring everywhere. Sometimes you need your people around you to keep the blood flowing.”
I nodded. He was right.
“I know you think that I want to keep you there just so you can stay up under my shadow and I can have a sidekick to put up with my bullshit, but you keep me sharp. We need each other. You know, I dipped out on Carnival season this weekend, and Gianina is really mad. It’s like a massive breach of protocol to her. But I don't give a fuck. I cannot do another season of Carnival events. I needed to see you. Fuck that.”
He slammed down his empty glass and relit his dead cigar.
“So, what you’re saying is I need to move to Panama.”
Mundo nodded.
It was finally all out on the table.
