by Joel Pierson
She dismisses it quickly and proceeds to dispense the amount of performance that she will offer for a dollar. A few twists and turns, and the prehensile voodoo genitalia make another appearance in all their chained glory. I’m intrigued; I know my friend John would be in the throes of a mild seizure at the sight of this. He leans toward the exotic.
Contorting again, Fantasia brings her breasts forward toward my face. Rather than gently rubbing them on me, she thrusts them forward until my nose and mouth are wedged between them. I taste baby powder; it tastes like it smells. “Choke on them!” she says playfully, although I detect something in her tone that suggests that if I were to actually asphyxiate, she wouldn’t weep long. Curious customer service attitude. I’m glad the waitresses at Denny’s don’t adopt a similar one. Though it makes for an amusing mental image as I’m waiting for the oxygen supply to return.
She pulls away, offers a cryptic smile, and says, “See ya around … Bill.” I think she knows it’s not my name.
Before she can approach the next patron, I offer the question I came here to ask, the reason I placed the dollar bill on stage in the first place: “Is Rebecca dancing tonight?”
She looks surprised to hear it. We’ve clearly never met before, and she doesn’t recognize me as a regular, and here I am asking a question she would expect from a frequent patron. Deciding that I’m not visibly dangerous, she says, “She’s up next.”
“Thank you.”
I pause for a healthy swig of my Sprite-and-water cocktail, with its baby-powder chaser, and I watch Fantasia perform a nearly identical ritual on a Hispanic man in his fifties, right down to the choking comment. At least it wasn’t personal, I think.
Three or four more minutes pass; Fantasia’s symphonie vaginique ends, and she makes her way off the stage. “Isn’t she amazing?” the DJ asks rhetorically. A few audience members offer sounds to the affirmative. “Gulf Breezes is glad you’re here, and don’t forget, we’re having a special on private dances tonight. Normally forty dollars, for the next hour, you can get a dance all to yourself with the girl of your choice for just twwwwwwenty dollars. Don’t be shy, guys. These girls want to perform for you. And comin’ to the stage right now—she’s too sexy for her shirt, so it won’t be on her for long. Please welcome Rebecca!”
Unsurprisingly, the tedium of “I’m Too Sexy” pours forth from the speakers, but before I can even roll my eyes, I see her. Rebecca. The reason I’m here. The reason I rented a car and drove 1,200 miles. And wouldn’t you know it, she’s a beauty.
But don’t fall in love …
“Like I have time for that anyway,” I say quietly to the warning lyric before it can become a full-fledged earworm.
Rebecca Traeger, all of twenty-one years old. She has light brown hair. I have no idea what color her eyes are. I would guess green, but thanks to the lighting, the same can be said of her teeth. She looks through me; we’ve never met, so there’s no reason for her to do anything else.
Part of me wants to look away as she begins to undress, feeling like I owe her the courtesy of averting my gaze. But I realize that I would draw too much attention to myself by doing that. And besides, I’d really like to see this girl naked.
The music doesn’t lie; she is too sexy for the oversized white shirt she discards on a corner of the stage. As time goes on, I realize that she is similarly too sexy for her shoes, stockings, and G-string. A few intricate dance moves later, I’ve seen about every side of her there is to see, short of having an MRI. I place a dollar bill on the stage. It’s time.
Seeing the dollar, she dances over to my direction. I briefly contemplate the potential intimacy that dollar could buy me, but before she can put anything of hers near anything of mine, I ask, “Can I have a private dance?”
She smiles, likely more at the revenue than the rendezvous. “Sure. I’ll come see you after my set is over.”
Before I can thank her, she is running her fingers through my hair and brushing my cheek with one breast. At the moment, I am grateful for the darkness that hits me at waist level.
Somewhere, thirty miles to the north, I sense that a deer is shaking its head in disappointment.
Chapter 2
Rebecca finishes her set and secures the dollar bills she has collected. It’s an impressive stack; she’s good and it pays. It pays very well, which means that she won’t like what I’m going to tell her; but I have to tell her if I hope to get any sleep. She approaches me. “Fantasia told me someone at the rail was asking for me. Was that you?”
“Yes.”
“Have I seen you before?”
“No,” I answer, “you haven’t.”
“Then how did you—”
I interrupt. “Can we talk where it’s quieter?”
She acknowledges the intrusiveness of the music and the bar ambiance, and motions for me to follow her to a back room. The sign over the door says “Enchantment,” but the décor inside fails to enchant on many levels. The dark gray carpeting looks like it hasn’t been changed since the Carter administration. The plush chairs are newer, obviously necessitated by frequent use. I am relieved not to see a bed in the room, nor anything else that might lead to an awkward discussion of what twenty dollars could buy. Though I suspect I would be very sad if that little money could secure anything of that nature.
I hold out twenty dollars, but she hesitates before accepting it. “How did you know to ask for me?” she says.
“I’m here because I have to talk to you,” I answer.
For a moment, she bristles. “If you’re a cop, you can leave now, because there’s nothing illegal going on.”
I offer a half-smile. It’s a reasonable assumption. “I’m not a cop, and I’m not here to ask you for anything illegal, immoral, or anything like that. I’m here because I have a message to give you.”
“In that case …” She takes the twenty from my hand, then pauses to ask, “Who’s the message from?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly.
“Well, who sent you here? How did they know where I’d be?”
“Nobody actually sent me.” By now, I should have this part of the explanation down cold, but every time I say it, it sounds as impossible to me as it does to the person hearing it. “Can we sit? This is easier if we sit.”
She sits in one of the plush chairs and I sit opposite her. “What I’m going to tell you will sound impossible but it’s true, and it’s important that you believe me when I tell you that I don’t want or need anything from you. I just have to give you this message, then I’ll leave and you never have to hear from me again.”
“Okay …” she says, looking unsure if she should be creeped out by this prologue.
“Rebecca, you need to leave here. You need to leave this job and go back to college the first chance you get. It’s not safe for you in Key West anymore.”
There is silence as she looks intently at me. Any woman in her right mind would be extremely wary of a strange man who walked into her place of business, called her aside, and made such a statement about her life. And Rebecca Traeger is most definitely in her right mind. She starts with the logical assumption.
“My father sent you here.”
“No. As far as I know, your father doesn’t even know where you are.”
“My mother, then.”
“No, not her either.”
She is getting agitated at my lack of answers. “Well, who then?”
“I don’t know,” I say sharply. “God, Fate, the universe. Call it what you want. All I know is that two days ago, I got information about you in my mind. In my memory, I guess you could call it. It’s like I remembered things about you, when I’d never met you, never heard of you, never even known your name. And I got that message, and the overpowering need to give it to you. If I didn’t give it to you, I would suffer f
rom blinding headaches and insomnia and nausea so bad, I couldn’t keep food down. So I drove here, Rebecca. Twelve hundred miles, right to the place where you work, to tell you not to work here anymore. And because I did, I’ll be able to eat and sleep and live, until the next time I get a message about someone else I’ve never met. And then I’ll have to go and find them, and tell them something unbelievable about themselves, and get the same expression on their face that I see on yours. One I’ve seen about ninety-five times in the last two years since this all started.”
Many seconds pass and she just stares at me, trying to find the scheme in it, the scam in it. Trying to find a way this could hurt her. Her eyes say that she can’t find it, and she wants to believe what I’m saying, but there’s no earthly way. In the quiet of the room, she utters a single word: “How?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “There’s no science fiction explanation, no near-death experience or fire or car crash or anything to explain it. I just woke up one day and knew I had to warn a friend about something that was going to happen to him, so I did. And he did what I told him to do, and that thing didn’t happen.”
“Are you always right?”
“I don’t know that either. Most of the time, I deliver the message and don’t stick around to see what happens. But I think I’m right. Otherwise, what would be the point of doing all this?”
“So …” she says, still trying to make sense of it, “this is … your job?”
“No. Jobs pay. I don’t get any money for this. It’s just what I do.”
“If it doesn’t pay, how do you make a living?”
“I have money,” I explain. “A lot of money that I didn’t earn and probably don’t deserve. Do you know what LEDs are?”
“LEDs?”
“It stands for light-emitting diode. It’s the little red or blue or green light on your phone, your DVD player, your coffeemaker. Well, my father helped invent the LED, and every time one was put into anything, anywhere in the world, he got a fraction of a penny for it. When he died, I continued to get that royalty, and I will for the rest of my life.”
She thinks about it for a moment. “There must be billions of them in the world.”
“Yeah.”
“So you’re rich?”
“I have more money than I need. It’s what I live on. I have a house, but I’m almost never there. I don’t have a fancy car; I prefer rental cars so I don’t have to keep them up. I move around. I do this, I go home, I get the next message, and I move around again.”
I see belief starting to linger in her expression, and I am relieved. Too often, I’m chased off or worse by people who think I’m trying to scam them or threaten them or extort money. Rebecca believes what I still have trouble believing myself.
“You help people just to help them,” she says in quiet wonder. “I didn’t think that existed.”
“I didn’t either,” I admit.
All of a sudden, realization hits her, and her expression of wonder turns instantly to fear. “Wait a minute,” she says. “You said I have to leave here. Is something bad going to happen to me if I don’t?”
“Yes.”
“What? What’s going to happen? What?”
“I don’t have the details.”
“What do you mean you don’t have the details? You can’t just tell me I have to uproot my life and leave and not tell me why.”
“Rebecca, if I knew, I would tell you. The message wasn’t specific. It just said you have to leave here and go back to college.”
“That’s in Ohio,” she says. “I haven’t been back there in two years …”
I stand. The message is delivered, and her fear is making me uncomfortable. Best if I leave now.
“You’re going?” she asks, the fear evident in her voice.
“I should.”
“How long do … When do I have to leave here?”
“The sooner the better. That’s all I know.”
She looks like she is about to cry, and I don’t think I have the emotional strength to see her do that. “I don’t even know your name,” she says, sounding very vulnerable.
I defy tradition, disregard my better judgment, and tell her the truth. “I’m Tristan,” I say.
“Tristan.” She repeats it for no reason I can discern.
“Good luck, Rebecca. I hope everything will be all right.”
Without another word, I make my way out of Enchantment, and back to the main room of Gulf Breezes. Rebecca follows me out of the room. Someone new is dancing on the stage; I pay no attention. The job is done, and it’s time for me to leave. I’m hungry, I’m anxious, and even though I swear to myself every single time that this time is going to be different—something in Rebecca’s face or voice has gotten to me and allowed me to care about whether or not she follows my instructions. I need to get out of here before I let that care get to me.
All I can see is the exit back onto Caroline Street, a portal to my freedom from loud music, black light, physical and emotional nudity, and the burden of knowing I’ve just turned a young woman’s life upside down. Thirty feet, twenty, fifteen, twelve, six, three, then out.
Someone says to me, “Thanks for …” but I don’t stick around long enough to hear the end of the sentence. Outside, it’s still close to eighty degrees, and the humidity is equally high, but to me, the relief feels like I’ve stepped into an early spring breeze. I bring my hands to my temples and run my fingers through my hair, closing my eyes as I work to get enough air in my lungs.
It is only after thirty seconds of this that I turn around and realize that Rebecca has followed me out of the club and is standing behind me on the sidewalk. She looks at me, probably confused by the severity of my reaction.
I’m surprised to see her standing there, staring at me. “Hi,” I say. Not brilliant, but a start.
“So where are we going?” she asks.
“We … who, we?” Even less brilliant. “We, us, we?” Toastmasters, here I come.
“You can’t just come into my life, tell me I have to quit my job and move five states away …”
“Four,” I correct.
“Whatever! You can’t just do that and walk away.”
“I do it all the time,” I admit sheepishly.
“Well, you shouldn’t, Tristan! I’m scared here, and I don’t know what to do or how I’m going to get there, or anything. I don’t need you to take care of me or protect me. I just need a ride.”
This has never happened to me before. In the past, I’ve always made such a hasty retreat, I’ve never stuck around for the aftermath of what can be devastating news. There have been times when the recipient disregarded what I said, and I read the news story later about the consequences. But this is the first time I’ve stood and faced the part I’ve tried so hard not to face. Now I’m the one who’s naked, stripped bare by my lack of a good answer to her request.
“If I said ‘I work alone,’ what would that make me?” I ask.
“The biggest douchebag in Florida,” she replies.
“There’s some pretty tough competition for that title, too, isn’t there?”
“Yeah.”
I can’t believe I’m doing this. “One ride,” I say. “Right to Ohio. We’re not partners or anything.”
“I don’t want to be your partner,” she says. “I just need the fastest way away from here, away from whatever it is that whoever it is says I need to get away from, and the fastest way is you.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? I can come with you?”
“Yeah, I guess you can. Do you need to go in there, talk to the manager, give your notice?”
“Yeah,” she says, “just a sec.”
She walks back to the front door of Gulf Breezes and holds it open. “Mort
y!” she calls out.
“Yeah, what?” a man’s voice replies from behind the bar.
“I quit!” she announces amiably.
“Okay,” Morty calls out. “See ya!”
She closes the door and looks at me. “Lead the way,” she says.
Chapter 3
I had parked in the closest available parking spot to the club, so we walk the four blocks back to the car at a good pace. The lack of details in my message to Rebecca leaves us both uncertain whether the danger is ten days away or ten minutes away. Whichever it is, I’ve seen enough of Key West in any case. I didn’t bank on leaving town accompanied, but now that I am, I have to make the best of it on the long drive to Ohio. I’ll have to call the rental car company now, extend the agreement, and change the drop-off location.
Ohio. Been a while.
“Could you slow down a little?” She interrupts my thoughts. “It’s hard to follow you in these shoes.”
“Take ‘em off, then,” I say. “Should be a procedure you’re familiar with.” I regret it immediately. She didn’t deserve that. As she stops to remove the shoes, I apologize. “I’m not what you’d call a people person,” I explain.
“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” she says. As we start walking again, she asks, “Do you ever give people good news?”
“It’s not why I’m sent. I figure the good news is when they listen to my instructions and get to see another day.”
We make it back to the Chrysler, and I open it up and put the top down. She gets in quickly, looking around. “Do you think they saw us?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know if there is a ‘they.’ The message didn’t say. All I know is you’re supposed to leave Key West and go back to college.”
“God, I still can’t believe this. I just met you twenty minutes ago, and now I’m supposed to drive across the country with you. How do I know you’re not a pervert who’s going to drive me into a cornfield and rape me to death?”
“Okay,” I reply, starting the car, “first off, the driving you across the country part was your idea. As you recall, I was prepared to leave here without you, which is probably what made you believe that I’m not a rapist pervert—which, by the way, I’m not. And secondly, there are no cornfields in southern Florida. So, apart from that little agricultural detail, you have two choices: You can trust me and we can drive to Ohio or you can get out here and do whatever you would have done if I hadn’t walked into your life.”
