Chapter Twenty

 

Three men carrying brown paper bags exit the store. The bags are rectangular, as always, with videos. They smile, one of them elbowing the other in the stomach. When I have an afternoon to myself to purchase tapes and videos, I smile like that too. But I have no time for enjoyment when I'm chasing this tape.

"Obviously those videos aren't one hundred dollars a pop, or else this place wouldn't be in business," I say.

"I know," Nasreen says. "How dare these two assholes try to charge us a hundred bucks just because they can smell our desperation? Let's go inside to see what they're charging today."

"Ladies!" Wahib brays when we come in, the door tinkling as it opens. The curtains from the backroom swish open as he walks into the main area of the store. "Come in, come in."

The quiet brother, Tahir, sits on a stool by the cash register as usual. He smiles at us, the space between his front teeth pitch-black, or maybe that's nicotine or decay.

"So you'd like to sell us the tape?" Nasreen asks.

"Not quite," Wahib says. "I'd like to give it to you."

I smile, but then I turn grim. Nasreen advised me to not look or sound desperate. "At no charge?" I ask.

"No, there is a charge."

"What is it?"

"Yeah, what?" Nasreen says.

"Like I said before, we'd like your, Isma's, companionship for my brother Tahir here. One meeting, one date to see how the two of you would hit it off."

For a green card. For that sleazy, disgusting brother of his. "I thought you had a new deal," I say. "Nothing has changed, and you're asking for the same thing."

"Oh, but things have changed," Wahib says. "We have something to show you."

"The tape?" Nasreen asks.

"No, something even more interesting." He turns around and aims a remote at a TV. The television's light bursts from the center until the whole screen glows. Then I see the lady from last night, the one who's all purple, and then the rattail. My jaw drops as I watch myself tripping down the stairs -- I hadn't seen that in Nasreen's closet, and I look like a clumsy dork when my ankle fails me -- and there's my kiss with Abe. It's surreal watching it again. My first hot, tempestuous, authentic kiss was televised for the public to see. Such a private moment ended up on tape. Knowing these two brothers, and how they seem to enjoy torturing Nasreen and me, they probably had it on rewind. Pervs. No one can see our lips actually touching. It's more like the back of Abe's head eclipsing my face, but it's obvious what we were doing.

"You have a tape of this?" I ask.

"We never miss an episode of NYC Dance Off. It's become our favorite show."

Tahir nods. "We love that show," he says. I don't see the both of them as dancing types, but appearances are deceiving.

"It's better than Solid Gold and Soul Train," Wahib says.

"So you saw my friend on the show," Nasreen says. "What of it?"

"What of it?" Wahib says. "I'll tell you what. I never forget a customer. In the five years I've owned this store I've had a fantastic memory for names and faces. You're Farhad's daughter. You're not Shireen, but you're Nasreen. You came to this store two years ago with your father. You even had the same hair, same look, same everything. Your father comes here frequently for music. In fact, he came here two months ago, and I sold him a videotape of Turkish music. And I believe Isma is not your real name. That's okay. We will come to a relationship of trust so that you'll share your name with me soon. Oh, and you two look alike, so I can guess this is your sister or cousin, and not a friend."

"Okay, so you know who we are," I say. "We just want a tape, nothing else."

"But I want something, and you haven't fulfilled my request. Farhad left his business card with me. I know he's a translator living in Manhattan. I wonder what he would say if I called to tell him about how the two of you are here constantly, asking for this tape. Maybe I can even say that one of you have taken a shine to my brother here. I also have proof you've been here several times." He nods toward the ceiling. I look up to see the eye of a security camera. Great.

"So you want one meeting?" I ask.

"Yes, and you don't have to agree to anything after that."

Nasreen clears her throat. I'm feeling ill. These men are no good. They tricked us into coming here today, and they're tricking me into a date with the yucky guy at the register. Who knows, maybe by the end of this trip I'll really be married. But I can't be, since I'm only sixteen. I picture them kidnapping me to a state where I'm legal. What am I getting myself into, and all for a tape?

"Can we think things over and call you tonight?" I ask. "I have to see when I'm free. My Uncle Farhad is not a permissive man, you know."

"Sure," Wahib says. "We'll expect a call tonight. We live upstairs and we share the same phone line as the store."

"You'll hear from us tonight," Nasreen says.

I say a shaky good-bye and leave. Across the street is the school with summer sessions. Kids exit the building, and they're quite cheerful considering they're spending their summer hours at school. I would hate summer school. They're carefree as they sprint across the schoolyard, throw balls, and laugh with friends while I'm miserable thinking about how everything has snowballed out of proportion. A destroyed tape has led me to two perverted men who want me, and they have proof I was on TV when I shouldn't have been.

"Maybe we should just tell your father the truth," I say. "Yes, he'll never trust us again. Maybe he'll never want me to visit again, and I know my parents will be ashamed of me."

"Or we can press on," Nasreen says.

"How are we going to stall these guys?" I ask.

"Hold on a minute." Nasreen stops in her tracks. Waiting by a bus stop are the three guys we saw leaving the store before we arrived. They're all young, two slender and one a little pudgy. Two are brunet and one has light brown hair. They're all laughing and talking in Arabic. I don't know much Arabic, but Nasreen is still as she listens on.

"What are they saying?" I ask.

"I'm not sure, but I know Arabic dirty words when I hear them."

One of the men takes his brown paper bag and pulls the video half out. I see a woman with curly black hair, lips red and shiny like the skin of an apple, and straps of a dress lining her shoulders. No, it's lingerie.

The men laugh some more, and the one guy showing off the video slips it back into the bag.

"Did you see what I just saw?" I ask.

"Yes, but I'm not sure," Nasreen says.

"Me neither."

"If it is what I think I saw, then we'll have something on those two brothers."

"Which will cancel out what they have on us..." This fills me with excitement and hope.

"There's just one way to find out."

"How?"

"We must take it," she says.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"We need to go over to them and take one of their bags."

"We can't steal," I say.

"Sure we can," Nasreen says. "I'll do it if you're such a wuss, but the thing is you're the athlete and the runner."

"You're right. I don't want the men to chase and overpower you. I'll take it."

"Don't worry about me," Nasreen says, squeezing my arm. "If we lose sight of each other, just go home and I'll meet you there."

I'm destroying tapes, hiding in closets, kissing strange boys, and two yucky men are blackmailing me... I might as well add mugging to the list. I'm turning into a criminal.

A bus pulls up. I watch the men through the glass and metal of the bus shelter. They stand up. One by one they get on the bus. The last guy, the one with light brown hair, is waiting to move forward, his foot up in the air to get on.

I run around the bus shelter in a counterclockwise motion, reach the man, snatch the paper bag out of his hand, and run as if I'm on the PE field.

"Hey!" he yells behind me.

He isn't as fast as I am. No one is. I'm a soccer star, scoring the most goals on my team. No one can beat me. I run one long block followed by a shorter one along quiet, residential streets that don't have lights, but I do pause at a few stop signs. I hear "bitch," "thief," and "stop that mugger," but no one is stopping me. I'm too fast, with my vision and entire being focused on winning. The words the man is saying would normally hurt my feelings, but I'm too pumped with adrenaline, as well as curiosity. I want to know what's on the tape. What are Wahib and Tahir selling behind that curtain of theirs, where they didn't want us roaming inside of when we were there last week? The police could arrest me for this, which would mean more trouble for me, but I don't think that's going to happen.

I see a police car to the right of me, with a tall, thin officer in uniform stepping out, so I turn left at a corner. No, no, nobody will catch me. I will not only find out what's on this videotape, but I'll have that Umm Kulthum tape. I'm doing too much, working too hard, to fail.

The man's voice dies down, and then I stop hearing him. I've lost him. Maybe he stopped where the police car was to report me to the officer. I need to get to a subway, fast. I've run for so long that I don't know where I am. I see small buildings, stores, and children playing. It looks similar to the neighborhood of the store, but I know I'm farther away.

I look around, thinking Nasreen may spot me. She doesn't appear, which is okay because she told me to go home if she couldn't catch up with me. I step inside a grocery store and ask the cashier where the closest subway station is. This'll be my first time alone in the subway. If someone told me days ago to travel alone on the subway, with no guidance from friends or family, I would've said no. This is the new me. I listen to the cashier tell me how many rights and lefts I need to make, and I'm out.

I take the trip by myself. In the train, when everyone looks absorbed in a magazine, newspaper, or window-gazing, I look into the paper bag without pulling the video out. I have to stifle a groan of shock... everything about the two brothers makes sense.