Welcome To Miami* (Part IV)

I hustled down the street, my lungs burning from exertion. How many more blocks? My eyes strained against the dimming light to read the street sign 10 feet ahead. Damn, I should've worn my glasses.
"Excuse me," I called to a nearby pedestrian. "What street is this?"
"12th," he answered.
I jogged through the crosswalk. Four blocks to go. I pulled my cell phone out of my purse to check the time. 7:45. One hour. That was all the time I could afford to devote to searching for shoes to match my perfect purse that matched my ethereal dress. I scanned store windows for the perfect pair of flats. Several stores had vast inventories of "not my size." I pressed on.
Lincoln Road. That's what the lady at the clothing store had said a half hour ago. She promised I would find shoes there. 13th Street, 14th Street. How much further? She said it was about 8 short blocks. Unfortunately a half mile isn't short. I took solace in the fact that I was burning at least 300 calories and 1.5 lbs of water weight.
It appeared before me like an oasis in the dessert. People flooded the outdoor mall, milling about between the shops and restaurants. I darted across Washinton Avenue. My face fell. For the first time in my life, I was surrounded by too many stores. Too many options, with absolutely no guarantee of finding what I needed. I squinted to read the store signs to my left and right. Where should I start? 8:00. 45 minutes left.
I took off to my right and perused an entire shoe store in two minutes. Nothing. I speed walked 20 feet up the street and entered another establishment. 0 for 2. I struck out at store after store. It was 8:25 and hope was fading fast.
Then it appeared. If this place didn't carry the perfect flat, then no place did. I opened the heavy glass doors and entered Steve Madden. Immediately, a powerful force pulled me towards the sale table at the back of the store. Clouds parted and a ray of light beamed down. Angels sang. I found them. Dressy, yet casual. Flip flop, yet wedge. Low, but not flat. Perfect.
"What's the largest size you carry?" I asked the sales girl.
She stared off into space and contemplated the complexity of my question. "Ummm, I think a 10?"
Maybe, just maybe, by the grace of God a 10 would work. "Do you have this in a 10?" I held up the heavenly sandal for her inspection.
"Let me check."
I took a seat as she headed into the back. My knee bounced uncontrollably while I waited. They had to have this shoe in my size.
"Yep, we have a 10."
I sprung to my feet and clapped my hands. She placed the magic slipper on the carpet and I slid my toes towards the thong. My foot stopped halfway. Oh no! I sat on the cushioned bench and adjusted the straps around my foot, then pushed my toes forward. It was going to be close.
"What do you think?" I asked her, standing up so she could get a good view.
"Hmmmm, they just fit," she answered.
"Are you sure. My heel isn't hanging way off the back."
She scrunched her nose and bobbed her head from side to side. "Hmmm, it's really close. But yeah they'll work."
I didn't have time for further debate. I ripped the shoe from my foot and threw it in the box. "I'll take them!" I paid half the original price, then hightailed it out the store.
I made it back to the hotel by 9:00 on the dot. Oddly enough I didn't find Room 412 the way I left it. Someone was obviously working very hard for a tip.
"Do you see what they did?" the matron of honor asked.
"What the hellin!" I exclaimed.
"Yeah, and all of our stuff is mixed up too! They put some of your stuff in my bag," the usher informed me.
"Shit!" I didn't have time to sort through everyone's luggage to find my purse, accessories, makeup and dress.
"Did you find shoes?" the bride to be asked.
"Yes, I did." I pulled the box from its bag and opened the top to reveal my purchase.
"Those are so cute!" she gushed.
"I know!"
I rummaged through my belongings and retrieved a clean thong with a matching push up bra. My dress was still hanging in the closet where I left it. I plucked it from its hanger and laid it across the bed. Shower time. The water ran hot and I lathered in record time. Thankfully, the legs had been shaved that morning. I hopped out of the shower and dressed expeditiously. Our reservation was for 10 p.m. and we had been warned that late arrivals would not be honored. B.E.D. was my raison d'etre and there was no way I would miss it.
At 9:50 we were ready and out the door. Fortunately, our hotel was only one block from the popular Miami nightspot. The small crowd gathered around the non descript entrance was our only signal that we had reached our destination.
"Reservation for 4 at 10," the bride to be said to the lady at the door.
"What's your name?" she asked as she perused her list. For the first time all weekend the name was on the list and it granted us admission. We entered the darkened night spot and were greeted by a pulsing baseline and trendy clientele. Our bed wouldn't be available for a few minutes. Picture time!

(look at those shoes!) Several minutes later we were reclining on lush pillows and reviewing the menu.

We ordered appetizers and tried to decide on a main course. The music changed. My hips wiggled against the mattress.
"Relax yourself girl, please settle down," Tribe Called Quest rang out from the speakers.
"Oh shoot! That's my jam."
We munched on fried shrimp and listened to the DJ's mid 90s R&B soundtrack.
"Givin me the run around (run around). Thought our love was going down (going down). Baby don't you know that I'm, down until the day I diiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeee," R Kelly sang.
The song had me in a trance. I looked up to catch a glimpse of the hypnotist. From more than 20 feet away, the only thing I could make out was his dark complexion.
"I'm gonna go talk to the DJ." I scooted to the end of the bed, slid my shoes on my bare feet, then marched towards the DJ booth.
His hair was short, his face was young, and he was deep in concentration.
"I like the music," I shouted! "Do you take requests?"
He smiled a perfect white toothed grin. "What do you want to hear?"
"You got any Jay-Z?" I asked.
He nodded his adorable head.
"Are you the DJ for tonight?" I lingered.
"Nah, I'm done in an hour."
"No!!" I gave him my best pout to convey my disappointed.
"Yep, sorry."
I couldn't think of anything else to say, so I went back to our bed. Dinner came and we ate in silence, relishing our entrees. The duck was suculent, the potatoes creamy. I looked forward to dessert. The usher ordered the tiramisu.
I inhaled the chocolate cake I ordered. Between mouthfuls, I stared across the room at the man on the 1 and 2s. I positioned myself to give him the best view in case he decided to look up from his record collection.
I looked to my right to see a group of girls dancing on their bed. Yes! Another place that encouraged furniture dancing.
The meal was cleared from our bed and we were told that after 11:30, the beds were for bottle service only.
"How much is bottle service?" I asked.
"Bottles start at $250 and it's a two bottle minimum," the manager answered.
It took all of two seconds to nix that idea. But the bed was ours until we signed the credit card slip and it took forever to run all of our cards. More dancing!!
I did my best impression of a video ho in the hopes of getting the DJ's attention. I turned around to shake my ass, then threw a sultry gaze over my shoulder. Unfortunately, he was no longer where I last left him. Damn it! I surveyed the entire club and spotted him with a group of denim clad males. Phew! He hadn't left.
Eventually, the manager brought us our credit card receipts and we grudgingly moved off the bed as they changed the sheets and prepared it for the stupid sap who would spend an entire paycheck just to appear like a baller.
People began to fill the open spaces and the new DJ tried to get the party goers to lean with it, rock with it. I did a lazy step together step and searched for the 1st DJ. I spotted him again, then decided to head to the bathroom. I took the long route that cut a path near where he stood. Unfortunately, eye contact was not made. Two and half minutes in the ladies room, then back to my friends. On the return trip I made sure to travel on the opposite side of the club from him, lest he think I was following him.
"I'm in love," I announced when I approached the group.
"With who?" the bride to be asked.
"My DJ!"
"Then go get him," they encouraged.
"I can't do that," I balked. At least not obviously. It had to be a stealth operation.
For the next hour, I didn't let the dark chocolate morsel out of my sight. He moved from the dance floor, to a bed, to the DJ booth, to the bar, back to the DJ booth, to the dance floor, to the bed again. I decided to do another pass by just as he was placing an arm through a hoodie. He couldn't leave! Lucky for me he shoved his hands in his pocket and stayed right where he was. I still had a chance.
Upon my 3rd bathroom exit, I noticed that he had positioned himself on a bed along the wall near the DJ booth. I decided to start a dance party for one less than 10 feet away.
"I like the way you dance!" I looked up to see an enthusiastic brunette.
"Thanks," I said, keeping one eye on my target.
"Hey, do you want to dance on our bed?"
The offer couldn't have come sooner. Positioned in the middle of the dancefloor, the bed would give me a perfect view. I hopped up on the mattress.
"Girl you look good, won't you back that ass up. You's a big fine woman, won't you back that ass up..." We followed Juvenile's directives.
Out the corner of my eye, I checked to see if he was watching me. What I saw shocked the hell out of me. She was about 5'5, with loose curls cascading around her shoulders. Her jeans hugged every curve and her top displayed her girls perfectly. She was stunning, classy, sexy, and didn't look like she was trying one damn bit. He stood close to her, whispering in her ear. Who was this girl? Was she a friend he already knew? I studied their body language. He wasn't touching her, exactly. And she wasn't leaning into him. Yeah, they were friends, I convinced myself. I danced harder, wishing I had straightened my hair and worn something sexier than the latest in flower girl chic.
"Hey, what's going on?" The bride to be approached the bed.
"She said I could dance on the bed with her."
The matron of honor and the usher joined the bride to be and they all danced on the floor below.
"Hey your friends can dance on the bed too!" the friendly brunette offered. Woohoo!! Good times!

Periodically, I followed the action on the bed 10 feet away. He reclined on the mattress, his legs dangled on the floor. She laid beside him in the nook between his chest and shoulder. NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!! Why?! Why, why, why, why!!!! My heart crumbled. B.E.D. was no longer fun.
The usher and the matron of honor were sitting on the edge of the bed. They looked tired. If they were ready to head back to the hotel, so was I.
"Are you ready to go?" I asked as I knelt beside them.
They nodded. "Are you?"
"Yeah, the love of my life has decided to be with someone else, so it's time to go."
The four of us headed towards the exit.
"I be on that cryptonite, I be on that cryptonite," Big Boi rapped. The bride to be and I stopped for one last dance and I took one last good look at the man of my dreams. Then it hit me. He reminded me of someone. Someone a bit above average height, with dark skin, a low ceasar, and a baby face. Holy shit!! He reminded me of the The Guy Who Shouldn't Make Me Cry!!! No wonder I was so attached.
Back at the hotel, I lamented my misfortune. I didn't even get a dance or a cheap feel. We took quick naps and packed our belongings. Our flights all left before 8 a.m.
On the cab ride to the airport we reminisced over our weekend.
"I take you to strip club."
"We love Dref!"
"Fuck a list!"
The bride to be left us first. Her plane was leaving from another terminal. The rest of us unloaded our bags and checked in at American Airlines.
"I wouldn't be wearing that down here," the TSA agent said as I waited from my purse to come down the conveyor belt at the security checkpoint. He pointed towards by chest.
I looked down and smiled. "The Pistons will destroy the Heat," I told him. I rubbed the number 3 on the jersey. "And Ben Wallace will shut down Shaq! That big ugly ogre."
Aaaahhh, if only those words made it from my mouth to God's ears. Oh well, even with fecal matter for an NBA team, Miami is a pretty fly city.

*The Heat are diseased rhinocerous pizzle