CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO
2009 - Hold you Down
Just to be a dick, I started texting Mundo around six o’clock.
Mundo, you getting ready yet?
Yo Doe where you at?
Olmando, it’s 7:15. You ready yet?
Meet me at the bar by 8, jackass.
Knowing how Miami rolled, I’d made sure to pack an all-white outfit. Knowing how Olmando rolled, I made sure to make it as Brooklyn-posted-up-against-the-speakers as possible. I’d be willing to bet all of my dominoes winnings that Mundo would show up wearing some loose weave linen shirt unbuttoned to the navel, pleated pants and a thin leather belt. He just couldn’t help himself.
On the other hand, I’d gone for a simple sleeveless ribbed shirt from the Gap, a pair of Adidas Y3 track pants and a pristine pair of Adidas shell toes, everything white on white on white. And I remembered to stuff a Haitian flag bandana in my back pocket, for when things got sweaty.
Minutes to 8, I was ready to head down. I grabbed my essentials- money clip, ID card, etc., shoved them deep in my pocket, praying there’d be no incidents of theft or violence, and headed downstairs.
Lo and behold, when I got to the bar, Mundo was already there, in his finest Panamanian Papi carnival wear. He slid a Hemingway daquiri my way and said, “Drink up, motherfucker.” This fucking guy.
By the time we got to Bayfront park traffic was backed up for blocks. We told the driver to pull over, hopped out and walked the rest of the way, following a stream of party people all headed to the same destination- the Bayfront Bacchanal.
Mundo’s advance VIP tickets offered us a slightly shorter wait on line (we were inside the party within 40 minutes), entrance to a less crowded, more comfortable lounge area, and two drink tickets each.
All of the bars were crowded, even the one in our VIP section.
“Yo, Doe, fuck this,” I yelled over the noise. “Let’s buy a bottle and some mixers and act like legit grown-ups for a change.”
“Fuck yeah, bredda,” Doe agreed. “I’mma go find someone in charge and see about that. Stay here.” And he was off.
Mundo came back about ten minutes later with a cute waitress, who escorted us to a VIP-within-the-VIP area, roped off and set up like a lounge, with sectional couches and coffee tables. I handed her my credit card and ordered the lowest level bottle package. That shit was dumb to me, but I had the money and didn’t feel like fighting for drinks all night, especially in the VIP section.
Our deluxe bottle of Grey Goose, smaller bottle of Henny and assorted mixers arrived within 10 minutes. I made the waitress close out my tab immediately and tipped her in cash- I was not trying to lose track of my credit card the night before flying out of this ridiculous city. Mundo gave me a disapproving look. I shrugged in his direction and stood up to check the crowd.
The place was packed. Far off in the distance, way outside of the VIP area, I could see a stage where the DJ was mixing and a big dancefloor that was already packed with bodies.
Mundo and I stood in our little corner of the VIP-within-the VIP, drinking and watching girls go by. Every once in a while, Mundo would check his iPhone, tap out a furious text, roll his eyes and shove the phone back in his pocket.
“Gianina?” I asked.
He nodded, the proceeded to roll a double wide blunt and blaze it up. I guessed Olmando was about to embark upon the “Watch me!” part of our evening.
We’d been there for about an hour, steadily drinking, Mundo getting more and more fidgety, when he suddenly poked me in the side, leaned over and said in my ear, “Those two girls over there are stalking us, bro.” I looked around trying to see who he was talking about when he poked me again and hissed, “Don’t be so obvious!”
“Come on, Doe,” I said, rubbing my side. “What are we, in middle school? Aren’t you a married man?”
“Yeah, I am,” he replied. “But you’re not.”
Less than a minute later, two girls walked over to us. They looked to be late twenties, both stunning, but two distinct styles. Mundo was instantly drawn to the girl with short black hair, almond shaped eyes and thin lips glistening with shimmery gloss. She was wearing a white crop top and some sort of silky white overalls type get-up. Physically, she reminded me of how I imagined his mom probably looked back when she’d first met his father.
Her friend walked directly up to me and said, “Hi. Wanna dance?”
I took her in. She was my type. And our outfits were very complementary. She was wearing a white tube dress that fell to her shins and those orthopedic Prada sandals that were all the rage a few years earlier. Sporty, yet stylish. I could relate.
“Do you want to dance?” she repeated.
I looked at her like she’d just asked me if I could breathe underwater.
“Dance?” I asked, like an idiot. “I don’t dance.”
“You don’t dance or you can’t dance?” she asked.
“Don’t,” I responded. “Do you want a drink?” I asked, holding up the bottle of Hennessy- again, like an idiot.
“Straight up, please.”
I poured her a shot.
“Lemme guess,” she continued. “You’re from New York and you’re Dominican.”
“And Haitian,” I said, pulling my flag bandana out of my pocket and waving it at her, like a straight up loser.
This was why I never kicked it to girls.
“Dominican and Haitian? Uh, yeah- you can dance,” she said.
Then she downed her shot, grabbed me by the hand and said, “Ann ale.”
I looked around for Doe and saw he was already out of the VIP area and heading towards the dancefloor with his girl.
We joined the crowd, a few feet away from Mundo and his dance partner. I didn’t want to lose him in the sea of couples, but at the same time, I didn’t want to think about it all that much.
“What’s your name?” I asked this total stranger girl who was now grabbing me by the waist trying to shake some rhythm into me.
She pulled me down and yelled in my ear, “Mistou.”
“Mwen rele Pierre.”
“Enchanté, Pierre,” she mouthed, then turned her back to me and started to dance.
I just wanna hold you down, spin you ‘round and take you all over town, for carnival…
Mundo looked over at me and gave me two thumbs up. I gave him the finger and maneuvered Mistou a little farther away, so I wouldn’t have to see his stupid face watching me dance.
Mistou and I wound up staying on the dancefloor for over an hour- making it through soca, hip hop and dancehall.
I pulled her off the dancefloor just as the Dj was about to drop a slow R&B set.
“Let’s go back to VIP and get a drink,” I suggested. When we got there, Mundo and Mistou’s friend (I later learned her name was Anali) were sitting on a couch with their arms around each other, chugging directly from the Henny bottle.
I turned to Mistou and smiled. “We still have Grey Goose,” I said. “Or I could go to the bar and get you a glass of champagne.”
“What time is it?” she asked. “We live kind of far away and our ride should be here soon.”
I looked at my watch- it was a little past midnight. The party would be ending soon.
“Shit, we gotta go,” Mistou said. She walked over to her friend, Anali, and attempted to pry her out of Mundo’s arms.
“Let us walk you out,” I said. “We need to leave soon, anyway.” I called to Mundo.
The four of us left the party- Mundo and Anali wrapped around each other, Mistou and I walking close to each other but without direct physical contact.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” she asked.
“Flying back to New York.”
“Oh, that sucks. I would’ve loved to see you in the daylight.”
We exchanged numbers. I told her to call me any time she was in New York. Then I bent down and gave her a quick kiss on the corner of her mouth. She smiled, grabbed my face and kissed me on the lips.
Meanwhile, I could see out of the corner of my eye that Mundo was locking Anali’s number into his burner phone.
One we saw the girls off, I had to manage drunk-ass Mundo, who was reluctant to call an end to the night. I told him if he’d get in a cab with me, we could go back to the Delano and get some cocktails and smoke cigars by the pool bar.
That did the trick.
