Simon: Rockstar Romance (The ProVokaTiv Series Book 3) (10 page)

Despite the busy day that also had a slight battle with jet leg, I was so excited to get up and out the door of my hotel room again today. It had been a restless night, excitement combined with a bit of longing for Simon. Dang, the man felt good, almost to the point of distraction. If it weren’t for his occasional reminders that he was all about image and business, I would have been distracted.

I was also a bit thrown off at how he’d been treating me as his girlfriend without us ever really talking about it. Was it because he was feeling something, or was it just his way of doing PR? The first option was a discussion I was willing to have and the second one, the scenario in which I was being used, was a discussion that I didn’t welcome, but would have nonetheless if things got out of hand.  But for today…I was going to go the distance with this amazing opportunity that I’d been given.

If part of my task in West Africa was to be a diva for the cameras, I’d failed miserably. However, if it came to interacting with the people, I felt like I’d done good. I made my way with Simon, the photographers, publicists, and others to the University lab first. I was jittery with excitement to meet the people I’d admired and respected for quite awhile, those members of Doctors Without Borders and the Peace Corps who were working so hard on the Ebola situation, trying to bring awareness and find ways to help stop it in its tracks.

The lab was pretty interesting, not as modern and high tech as what I had at the university, but pretty good. There were certainly worse labs out there. At least they had brand new telescopes and some of the mixing equipment was a bit old, but still really functional.

All the people in the lab were a combination of volunteers, doctors, and graduate students, making for a unique blend of people from across the globe.

The first doctor I met, Jax, was kind of a good looking guy and he also liked to talk. I was eager to get all the information from him that I could so I jumped right into my version of 20 Questions. “How has everyone responded so far?” I asked.

He took a step closer and said, “It’s average response, at best, Jessie. Some of the cultural beliefs that exist are a real hindrance for us. They don’t think we can help.”

“Why?” I asked, taking a step back.

He stepped forward and said, “Religious superstitions, lack of trust, a bunch of things.”

“What’s the strategy for gaining trust?” I asked, stepping back again.  This guy was good looking, but too much of a close talker for me. Unfortunately, I realized that I was only a few inches from a door and if I didn’t step to the left or right, I’d be pinned against it. Was this what they meant by doctors without borders? Well, I was Jessie with borders—and boundaries.

“I love the optimism of newbies like you, Jess. There’s no plan for trust; we just do the best we can and try to get through to them. Can’t rely on people to stay committed to volunteering…some just can’t take it.”

“Or they lose sight on their purpose, maybe?” I countered.

“Sounds as good as anything,” he said.

“Hey Jessie, there’s someone over here that I’d like you to meet,” Simon said, walking up next to me and putting his hand on my shoulder.  It was a protective gesture, no doubt about it, but I didn’t mind.  I was glad to get away.

“Sure, well thanks for the chat, Jax. I’ll talk to you later.”

He nodded and stared at me, making me feel like he had x-ray eyes.  I turned and walked away.

“He seemed to like you,” Simon commented.

I turned to him and could not hide my smile.  “Did that bother you?”

“No, just saying.”

“Well Simon, he may have been a bubble burster, but he also did a heck of a job keeping pace with my back-peddling. I’m not about to go off on a tryst with him. Why would I?  All of this,” I said, putting my arms up in the air, “is amazing.”

I stared at Simon. He just watched me, seemingly speechless, so I awkwardly added, “Who’s the person I have to meet?”

“There wasn’t one,” he said unapologetically.

“Well, thanks for rescuing me, I guess. I didn’t really need it, though,” I said.

“Why let one person monopolize your time when there are so many we can photograph you with?” Simon replied.

Okay, this guy was so frustrating and hard to figure out.  Was he jealous and protective or really just putting me through the publicity mill, getting every ‘in action’ photo opp he could for his marketing? I wasn’t certain it was even possible to figure it out.

There were so many different personalities and different perspectives from everyone in the labs. I was particularly enthralled with the botanists—of course—and they all had such different personalities, but each was so grounded and focused, content in what they were doing.  That was great to see because I’d spent a lot of money earning this degree. It would have been a bummer to see people not loving what they were doing in my field.

“Where did you get these plants and samples from?” I asked.

“Rainforest,” the woman named Barika said. Her accent was very thick and I was as drawn to her as I might be a flower. She had one of those radiant personalities that wasn’t afraid to open up and show who she really was. And her passion, it really showed in her voice. Every word emphasized conviction and commitment.

That was so interesting to me. I’d only been to one rainforest, and that was in Hawaii, it had been amazing, but it wasn’t quite the same as the rainforests that were in this area of the world. They were so vast and filled with unique plants and flowers that most people would never get to see. I wouldn’t even be seeing it so soon if it weren’t for this entire project.

“Do you need permits for these things? How do you go about it?” I asked.

Barika smiled and nodded her head. “Don’t be greedy and it free. In Liberia.”

“Do you have a permit from the government?” I asked.

She shook her head no, repeating, “Don’t be greedy and it free. In Liberia.”

I smiled and she pointed to the microphone she was by and said, “Look.”

I leaned in toward the eyepiece and peered inside. There was a unique formation of cells in there, moving ever so slightly like they were vibrating. It was fascinating, not unlike anything I’d ever seen, but from the membranes of the cells, I knew it was a plant that I’d never seen before. “What kind of plant?”

“Sugarbush,” Barika said. She pointed to a picture of an amazing flowering bush, unique petals, stamin, and ovule, brightly colored and filled with many different textures.

“It’s beautiful.” She looked at me oddly. She didn’t understand. “Pretty,” I said.

I looked over my shoulder to see if Simon was nearby so he could come look. He should really get the full scope of the project. However, he was across the room with a few people, but his eyes were definitely on me, piercing me practically. I just smiled and turned around, feeling happy and a bit flushed by catching him with such an intense look on his face—directed at me.

“This makes honey, right?”

Barika nodded her head yes and sucked her teeth in, making a small popping noise.

“Is honey for medicine?” I continued.

“Make it taste good,” she said, rubbing her tummy.

“Fascinating,” I said.

For the next hour, I continued talking to people. I’ve only mastered avoiding the click of cameras and the flashes, blocking them out like I was actually used to them being around for years. I was quite grateful for it, too, because it would have made me feel really off otherwise. Oddly enough, the others around the lab seemed to embrace it and like it. Either they were familiar or thought it was pretty special. Good for them!

Simon walked up to me and pressed his hand in the small of my back. “It’s time to go Jessie. Let’s get a picture with everyone in the lab before we go.”

“I’m sure they’re too busy to stop and do that, Simon,” I countered.

He looked at the photographer. “I need a group photo.”

The photographer called out, “Picha wakati,” and then looked to me and said, “‘picture time’ in Swahili.”

Every stopped what they were doing and gathered around, Simon and I front and center. It occurred to me that I never thought of myself as very photogenic and these pictures were going to be seen by who knows how many people. Thankfully red eye reduction and PhotoShop had been invented.

We were in the car and I was talking animatedly about what I’d learned and seen when I realized that Simon hadn’t said a word the entire time. I didn’t even know where we were going. “What’s next?” I asked.

“The music school.”

“How fun! I bet you’re excited; that’s where your passions come in, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said.

I looked at him suspiciously. It wasn’t that I expected the exact same amount of energy as I had toward these things. That wasn’t him and I got that, but to these kids, the concert, and everything else, this was a big deal.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” he said, putting down his smartphone, crossing one leg over the other and looking at me.

“It’s not meant to sound rude so don’t take it that way.”

“No problem, what is it?” he asked.

“This entire thing, all the PR and press. Is it all just business to you, or does it also feel good to help others?” I asked. I felt guilty for asking it and didn’t want to appear ungrateful, but I think it was a fair question.

“I like it when everyone wins,” he said.

“And if everyone didn’t?” I asked.

“I’m not sure it would be my type of project then,” he said.

“Oh, I see. That makes sense.” I’d asked for an answer and got it. Maybe it was my abundant optimism, or the fact that I was developing feelings for Simon, but I couldn’t help but feel like there was more to it. He just didn’t want to admit it for whatever reason. He didn’t owe me anything and if he didn’t want to share some deep thought, he didn’t have to.

“We’re here, Mr. Jefferson,” the driver said.

“Good,
”
Simon said.

I followed him, saying, “Thanks so much.”

“You’re welcome,” the driver said. He didn’t turn around so I could only see his eyes in the rearview mirror. I liked the way they creased at the sides, showing he was smiling. So far, it had amazed me to see how much so many people smiled here. It was definitely different than the pictures they showed on those guilt trip television commercials at times. Yes, there was sadness and extreme poverty, but I could also sense hope.

Simon and I stood next to each other and he took my hand. I decided to just go with it for two reasons: it felt great and perhaps that intimate look was what he needed to finally bust free of the ‘all business’ image he carried.

I squeezed his hand and smiled as we walked into a small schoolhouse. We were greeted by four teachers, one a young woman, two older men, and one middle aged woman with chipped front teeth, which she proudly revealed from a wonderful smile.

All the boys and girls, three up to eighteen, were there, all dressed in different types of clothes, including hand-me-down sports shirts, oxford shirts, polos, jeans, shorts, skirts—everything. They were smiling and erect, so cute I could have pinched all their cheeks.

“We are very excited to have you here,” the teacher and director of the school said. “Please, have a seat. The children want to show you what they’ll be doing at the concert later this week. They are so very excited.”

“Great, I can’t wait,” I said. “How about you, Simon?”

“I’m excited, definitely,” he said.

I saw him glance at me and I looked at him and smiled, acting clueless. That was actually a benefit to being stereotyped a blonde. I didn’t use the blonde trick too often, but every now and then I could justify a little manipulation.

We sat down in the large classroom in short chairs meant for little kids and the concert began. It was one of the most precious things I’d ever seen, second only to my little four year old niece’s daycare concert last year. That had sent me into a temporary biological clock ticking spiral.

After the performance we all stood up and clapped wildly, making the kid’s eyes smile even more brightly and they broke out into fits of laughter.

The teacher talked to them quickly and I was so curious about what she was saying. Darn, I wished I had taken the time to learn a bit of Swahili before I’d arrived. It would have helped a ton. Unfortunately, time wasn’t something I had before I’d gotten here.

After her instructions, the kids all scattered and began to practice all sorts of things. The older female teacher explained that the school was meant to help underprivileged children use music to explore their feelings, but was also a home to children that showed great musical potential, hoping to keep them in the area to pass down the traditions to future generations. It was such a lovely concept, one that I thought would be amazing in any part of the world.

Simon and I went our different ways, walking up to various kids who were so excited to have us there watching them. It was a huge deal to them and my heart was in bloom with their abundance of joy for music and their appreciation of what they had. To me, it was very little in the material sense, but the gifts they carried inside of them were plentiful. I sat down on a small chair and listened to one little girl play her flute and when she was done, I clapped and said, “Very good!”