POV Lucian

When you get yourself in trouble, it often creates a domino effect that proceeds to fuck you over more than once.

In my case, the fight in the Salvadoran bar last week ended up going viral on social media and as a result the committee of the CONCACAF, the organizers of the Gold Cup, contacted coach Morel to demand my suspension from the following match. He tried to bargain to have me sit for half the match and only play the second period, but they wouldn't have it. They knew very well how important I am to the team and wanted to hit us where it would hurt. 

As a result, the coach was so mad that he forbade me to take the flight to the USA with the team, where the quarter-final would be held during the first week of June. Instead he put my ass in a plane back to Haiti so I could "Think about the consequences of my actions" as he put it. This morning, I just got back on a heated phone call with him about my additional punishment. 

Turns out his daughter is back in the country for a little break away from stardom. She didn't grow up in Haiti, so she doesn't know any place here and needs a chauffeur for her travels around Arcahaie, her hometown, which is also mine. Being a native of the commune where the Haitian flag was created back in 1803 has always been a source of pride for me. 

As I drive my Ford Ranger through the district of Carries, and leave behind fields of corns and sugar cane, I am reminded of the reason why I would've never traded being born here for any other city of the country. Merchants carrying baskets filled to the brim with all sorts of fruits and vegetables are walking on both sides of the street. Our land produces the biggest watermelons of the island and and the sweetest coconuts as well. 

Soon enough, the sea comes into view as I get closer to my destination. Even if I love being home, I still would've preferred to be in the USA with the team, getting ready for the quarter-final. Not only am I missing out on the fun, but I've also become a temporary chauffeur, meaning I'll probably have my free time limited.

I park in front of the charming bungalow, where Coach Morel lives when he's in Haïti. I've lost count of the number of barbecues that the boys have hosted in his front yard. The mango trees surrounding the house always provide a great shadow against the sun during summer.

When I step out of the car, the morning wind carries with it the sound of the sea. Maybe that's the reason why our ancestors named this part of the commune "Carries" even though the Creole pronunciation is different from the English one. After all the French weren't our only colonizers, back in the day, the British were fighting for territories here as well.

Coach didn't give me the number of his daughter, but I hope she's expecting me. It would be awkward if I had to be the one to explain the reason of my presence. I knock on the door and wait for a moment. When it opens, I'm unexpectedly greeted by a white girl with blonde hair. I've seen pictures of the coach's daughter around his house. From what I remember, she had a chocolate complexion. 

"Morning! You must be Lucian, the new driver?" She asks in a bright tone.

Realizing that I momentarily forgot my good manners, I answer right away. "Hello, yes, that would be me. Akhyra, is that right?"

"Oh no, I'm Hannah, an employee," the girl clarifies, then invites me inside. "Before you meet with Miss Morel, we need to brief you."

"Brief me about what?" I ask as I follow her around.

"Well, you're not the first driver that we've tried to hire. But the previous ones were sent away because they didn't match what Miss Morel is looking for."

"And Miss Morel is looking for what exactly?" I demand, hoping that Hannah can hear the sarcasm in my voice. If she does, she decides not to point it out.

"You'll find out shortly during the briefing. We've specifically prepared it on Ms. Morel's behalf for new recruits."

I am burning to ask who is the other half of the "we" she keeps talking about but I get my answer when we come to the kitchen and a guy who looks around my age waves at me from behind a stove. 

"He's the new guy?" he speaks to Hannah directly. 

"Yes," she confirms before introducing us. "Lucian, this is Valentino. You'll be working with both of us."

"Nice to meet you," I say, but my heart isn't really in it. This Valentino guy is looking at me as if I might run out the door any moment.

 "I'm about to brief him," Hannah informs him.

"Okay, coming."

He turns off the stove, and the three of us take a seat at the kitchen table where a laptop is already opened. Hannah seems to search for something on the machine, and when she finds it, she pivots the screen toward me.

I kid you not, on the screen there's a first slide of a powerpoint presentation that states in bold letter: Mastering Akhyra's Codes. Then, in smaller fonts: "In ten minutes or less."

"Tino, please handle this while I do the talking," Hannah instructs.

I watch perplexed as she gets up to stand at the kitchen's entrance and cross her fingers like she's about to give a Ted Talk. Meanwhile, Valentino has swiped on the screen to the next slide. This one is titled "Code #1 : Distance". On the far right of the screen, there's a cartoon figure of a ballerina with dark skin, who I suppose represents Akhyra, a dotted blue line is separating her from a stick figure on the left corner

"Let's begin," Hannah announces. "The first gesture that you need to memorize is this one." She proceeds to extend her hand in front of her body as if telling me to stop. "When Miss Morel does this, you need to stay exactly where you are. Do not attempt to get close to her under any circumstances."

"Why would I even try getting close to her?" I ask, baffled that they think it's something I need to be told. I know what personal space is. There is no need for a powerpoint presentation. 

"For any number of reasons," Hannah answers undeterred. "For example, if she asks to bring something, instead of taking it to her, simply put it somewhere nearby where she can get it herself."

"If she's going to go get it anyway, why not go fetch the thing herself?"

Hannah and Valentino exchange a glance that's not lost on me. I'm starting to wonder what the heck I have gotten myself into. Hannah ignores my question and continues her presentation. Valentino presses a key, and a new slide appears on the screen.

Code #2: Movements & Spaces. On this slide there are two additional stick figures. One of them is behind the cartoon ballerina but a giant red X is drawn across it, the same goes for the stick figure drawn next to her. Only the one that remains on the left corner of the screen has a big green check above it.

"The next thing you need to be aware of is your position in regards to Ms. Morel," Hannah says. "If you're both walking, always take the lead. Don't try to walk by her side or behind her."

"I'm here as her driver, I wasn't aware that I'd be walking at all." I don't even try to hide how annoyed I sound, however none of them seem fazed by it.

"Now let's talk about rooms," Hannah goes on. "If both of you are in the same room, never walk toward the windows because that's where Ms. Morel will immediately position herself. She harbors small places and often needs to get fresh air. Any questions?"

I shake my head. "Stay away from windows. Got it."

Valentino presses the same key, and a new slide pops up. Code #3: Nicknames.

"The last thing you need to know is that Miss Morel will never call you by your real name. It's crucial for you to remember the pseudo that she will give you."

Geez. I haven't even met the girl yet, and I'm already expecting the worst. "What kind of pseudo are we talking about here, something like Agent 007 or...?"

"Oh don't worry, it'll be a real human name, just not yours. For example, she calls us Hannah and Valentino."

"Hold on. You mean that these aren't your actual names?" I can't believe my ears.

"Not at all," she confirms as if it's no big deal.

"Then what are your real names?" I wait for a response that doesn't come.

"That's not relevant," Valentino comes to her rescue. "In the presence of Miss Morel, you answer to the name that she has given to you."

"Does she at least tell you why she chose those nicknames?"

"She doesn't have to," Hannah finally replies. "We already know. When I got interviewed to be her social media manager, Ms. Morel asked me if it was by choice that I decided to look like Hannah Montana for the rest of my life. I thought she meant that as a compliment because she also had bangs back then. I just went along with it, then as soon as I began to work for her, she changed her hairstyle."

"What about you?" I ask Valentino.

"My nickname came shortly after getting hired. We were working on some questions for one of her upcoming TV interviews when she asked me out of nowhere what brand of perfume I used. I realized that I might have sprayed too much and reluctantly told her that it was Valentino. It stuck."

I am at a loss of words. This briefing was definitely enlightening, to say to the least.  

"I have a genuine question," I say after their little story time.

"Go ahead," Hannah encourages.

"Do you like working for her?" 

They exchange a cryptic stare before turning their attention on me.

"You'll see for yourself," Hannah tells me as she flicks her bangs. 

There's not a single doubt in my mind that this is going to royally suck.