Searching for Tina Turner - By Jacqueline E. Luckett Page 0,77

lavender. Lavender-scented candles edge the basin. Two thin towels hang over a small heating rack beside the sink and, on the shelf beneath it, an unmistakable square box of tampons. In the corner, a shelf in the glass-enclosed shower holds two bottles of shampoo and a shower cap. Tampons, shower cap, the abundance of lavender: Lena figures Philip is cheating on his wife or a woman who spends a lot of time in this ah-par-tuh-mawn. Lena storms back into the kitchen. The thick-planked floors deaden the sound of her shoes. Pulling open cabinets and drawers, Lena searches until she finds a wide-blade knife that, if Philip turns out to be a madman, can protect her and Cheryl. Philip does not seem to be crazy, but, Lena knows, men can get crazy when they’re denied a roll in the sack.

“Cheryl? I’m going.” Would Tina ever allow herself to be in such a stupid predicament? “And I suggest you do the same, since it looks like Phil-leep has a better half who may return at any minute.”

Chapter 24

The attendant in navy shorts and a snug boat-necked tee opens the umbrella behind Lena, adjusts it so they are protected from the midday sun, hands them more towels, and sets bottled water and glasses filled with lemon and cucumber slices on the small table beside her.

“Just like home.” Cheryl drops her tote onto the lounge chair and motions to the people around the pool. “We’re the only blacks around this pool.”

The hotel pool, shaped like a long kidney bean, is meant more for dipping than swimming laps. Several bare-chested women stand in the shallow end and drip handfuls of cool water on their shoulders. Sun worshippers recline atop the striped lounge chairs randomly scattered across the marble deck and lawn circling the pool.

“When you’re black,” Lena reminds her friend in a low voice, “it’s just the way it is.” Lena adjusts her sunglasses. Through them the pale sapphire sky is clear, and the sunlight is bothersome even with dark lenses. “And, I might add, isn’t that bikini a bit risqué?”

“There you go again.” Cheryl clasps her hands together like she is about to pray, before plopping onto the striped lounge chair. “Do I have to beg your forgiveness for acting like a grown woman?”

“I told you last night. Pull that kind of act again… no. Don’t pull that kind of shit again. Period. Dot. End of conversation.” Lena gathers her hair and tucks it under her broad-rimmed raffia hat. “Trust me. I’m getting good at leaving people.”

With the slightest shake of her head, Cheryl acknowledges Lena’s challenge. “Don’t get crazy. I guess I could say I had too much to drink, but that’s not really the truth. I’m used to doing what I want, when I want, and I didn’t give you much thought.” Cheryl leans over to Lena and gently pulls her sunglasses away from her face. Without protesting, Lena sighs and looks at Cheryl. “I get it. I’m sorry, so let’s not let this ruin our vacation. Now we know the rules.” Cheryl lets the straps of her bikini fall down her shoulders and slathers sunscreen on her face, neck, and chest. “Just don’t be so damn judgmental… and for the record, I look good in this bikini.”

“I’m going to be who I am. I thought you understood.” Lena adjusts the top of her one-piece bright orange and turquoise floral swimsuit—a maillot, the saleslady called it.

“This is all I’m going to say, and then can we please move on?” Cheryl picks up a hotel magazine for tourists and flips through it. “I know the concept of dating all over again is going to be hard for you, Lena, and I’m sorry. But in my mind it simply means you need to loosen up. Randall’s ghost isn’t lurking in the shadows; you’re not obligated to him anymore.”

Lena pushes her sunglasses back onto her face and lets Cheryl’s words soak in. “If I’ve learned anything over the last few months…” Lena pauses until Cheryl lowers the magazine in front of her face. “If I’ve learned anything from Tina Turner, it’s that I’m the boss of me. But, I’m sorry, too.” She relaxes into her chair and into the thought that somewhere, under this Mediterranean sun, Tina is basking as well: two black women from Oakland, Tina, and all the white people in the south of France.

f f f

“I’ll be damned. Looks like we got a party going on.” Splashing and flat slaps of stomach