by Sam Cameron
“If I’m ever a tourist, shoot me,” Steven said.
Conch Nation Martial Arts was on White Street, in a former coffee mill with white clapboard siding and large blue shutters. A dozen women were doing yoga stretches inside, sweating in the breeze of ceiling fans. Steven wanted to linger, but Denny dragged him around to the cottage in the back.
One quick knock and Denny pushed the door open. “Sensei! We’re home.”
Sensei Mike Kahalepuna was in the living room, swinging a remote control at the TV in a virtual game of tennis. The room was full of bamboo furniture and South Pacific tribal masks, and a dozen cats were making themselves at home on any available flat surface.
“Boys!” Sensei Mike said, rolling toward them in his wheelchair. “Did you graduate?”
“With honors,” Denny said, and bent down for a hug.
“He tells that to everyone,” Steven said, his hug next.
Sensei Mike turned off the game. He’d lost more hair since their last visit, or maybe it migrated from his head to his beefy forearms. He’d been a Marine in Iraq before returning home and losing his legs in a car accident. Denny had never heard him complain, never.
“High school graduates,” Sensei Mike mused. “You must be full of wisdom.”
“I am.” Steven sat on the oversized sofa. “My brother’s still dumber than a rock.”
“A rock that can kick your butt in sparring,” Denny said.
Sensei Mike grinned. “Class isn’t until seven tomorrow. Then we’ll see who can kick what. What’s the plan until then?”
Denny sat on the floor and petted a black cat. “Time-share presentations.”
“T-shirt shops.”
“Virgin daiquiris.”
“Virgins,” Steven said.
A tabby cat made her way to Denny’s lap. “And we might check out a guy named Nathan Carter. He spent the winter down here.”
“Name’s not familiar. Tell me more.”
“Used to be a SEAL, has a crap fishing boat, and likes to swim around the ocean at night,” Steven said.
Sensei Mike’s expression brightened. “Big guy, blond, gay?”
Denny grinned triumphantly. “I knew it!”
“Not gay,” Steven said.
“Totally gay,” Sensei Mike said. “Not very vocal about it, though.”
Steven frowned. “Then how do you know?”
“He had a boyfriend,” Sensei Mike said. “Square law-and-order type.”
Denny’s imagination was already working overtime—him, Carter, and Brian, all of them sailing around the tropics on Carter’s boat, marathon sex on the white sands of St. Thomas.
“I knew it,” Denny said.
“You did not,” Steven replied crossly. “Just because you’re gay yourself doesn’t mean you can automatically tell when someone else is. That’s a myth.”
Denny blinked.
Had Steven just said that in front of Sensei Mike?
Yes, he had.
Which meant that for the first time in his life, Denny had been outed.
Chapter Eleven
Steven felt like the worst brother in the world.
Denny was gaping at him in disbelief. Sensei Mike wasn’t saying anything at all. Steven wanted to grab up the last few minutes and erase them from everyone’s memory. He couldn’t believe he’d actually said the words in front of an adult.
“That was a joke,” he said hastily.
Denny blinked and looked away.
Sensei Mike cleared his throat. “Well, joke or not, sometimes you can guess, and sometimes you can’t. I think Carter’s used to hiding it. He had to, in the military. Down here—well, you know. Things are looser.”
“It’s not a joke,” Denny said, the words rushed. His gaze was solely on the tabby cat in his lap. “What he said.”
Steven let out a long breath. He hated the uncertainty in Denny’s voice. That for the rest of his life he was going to have to decide who to tell, how to tell them, whether he could trust them. It was easy for Steven. He was what people assumed him to be. But for Denny the wrong choice could mean losing a job or friendship or worse.
Sensei Mike tilted his head. “Does it make a difference?”
Denny kept patting the cat. “To some people.”
“You think it makes a difference to me?”
For a moment, the only sound was the Indian music from the yoga class through the open windows. Denny looked up and met Sensei Mike’s gaze squarely.
“I hope not.”
Sensei Mike sighed. “You really are dumber than a rock. I don’t care what floats your boat, Denny. Where you stick your oar. What port you put into. Need I go on with bad puns?”
“Please don’t.” Steven grimaced.
Denny didn’t smile, but he said, “They’re not puns. They’re euphemisms.”
“Great. I’m glad we know our parts of speech.” Sensei Mike clapped his hands together. “Now, how about a late lunch? I made a new recipe. Asparagus casserole. With goat cheese.”
The casserole was pretty good, Steven admitted. Lunch was kind of awkward, and he wasn’t quite sure what to say without sticking his foot down his throat again. Denny and Sensei Mike carried the conversation with talk about students in the dojo. Afterward Sensei Mike gave them his spare keys and went off in his custom-made van to visit his girlfriend.
“Don’t wait up for me,” he said.
When they were alone in the living room Steven said, “Let’s go down to the waterfront to find out more about Nathan Carter.”
“You go. There’s something I want to run down.”
“Something like what?”
“Something private,” Denny said, his voice hard. “Remember that thing? Privacy?”
“I’m sorry! It just came out. I didn’t even realize what I was saying,” Steven pleaded. “It was stupid.”
“Yes. Stupid and thoughtless,” Denny said. Then he sighed. “But he took it okay, right?”
“Of course he did. You were worried?”
“I worry all the time,” Denny replied. “Forget it. You go down to the waterfront. I’ll catch up with you.”
Steven hesitated.
“Go.” Denny waved his hand. “Keep in touch.”
“You, too,” Steven said. He wasn’t sure what secret Denny was hiding now, but he didn’t like it. Didn’t like it all.
Chapter Twelve
Denny couldn’t be mad at Steven. Well, sure he could. Stupid, infuriating, idiotic Steven, who’d announced Denny was gay to the one person who definitely did not need to know. Not that Sensei Mike was homophobic or anything, but he was a former Marine, and a black belt about a dozen times over, and he’d been their teacher for almost four years. He didn’t need to know where Denny wanted to put his oar.
Dumb euphemism, he thought.
Still, Sensei Mike hadn’t seemed upset, and he definitely hadn’t seemed surprised. So things could have been a lot worse.
Steven was still an idiot, though.
After Steven left, Denny hauled out Sensei Mike’s phone book and started calling hotels. The easiest thing to do was get Brian’s number from his mom back on Fisher Key and then just call Brian directly. But he didn’t want to look like some weird stalker. He just wanted to check up on things. Make sure Brian was okay. Make sure Christopher wasn’t treating him like dirt.
The fourth hotel was the Casa Marina, and the operator said yes, she’d put him through to Brian Vandermark. He hung up before the room phone began to ring. Better to just go over there himself.
He washed up in the bathroom, combed his hair, and eyed himself in the mirror.
“I just happened to be swinging through,” he might say to Brian.
Or, “Hey, I didn’t think I’d see you here.”
He hoped he didn’t sound too dumb.
Sensei Mike kept an old moped in the back for guests—bright yellow but with a quiet engine, immaculately maintained. Denny drove over to the hotel and parked a block away. The Casa Mari
na was a beautiful old building that had once belonged to the famous tycoon Henry Flagler. You couldn’t grow up in Florida and escape history lessons about him, his railroads and hotels, and how he’d changed the future of the Florida Keys.
But Denny wasn’t interested in history right now. He passed through the ornate lobby as confidently as any registered guest and went outside again. Acres of careful landscaping surrounded an enormous pool, all of it fronting a private beach of white sand. It didn’t take long to spy Brian and Christopher standing knee-deep in the blue and green sea. They were bare-chested and laughing, their skin gleaming with suntan lotion.
Christopher reached over and planted a kiss on Brian’s shoulder, then shoved him into the waves. Brian surfaced, laughing, his hair slicked back behind him.
Horrible jealousy swept over Denny. Who got to live like that? Kissing and laughing in the sun and not worrying about who saw you? Just another beautiful Saturday afternoon in the sun and you could kiss your boyfriend if you wanted to.
But not if you didn’t dare have a boyfriend at all.
He went back to his moped with the vague idea that life would just be better if he drove himself off the Seven Mile Bridge. Then he’d never have to worry about the virgin thing, or the gay thing, or the fact he was never going to fall in love with anyone, or anyone with him.
He sped away from the Casa Marina, his hands steering even if his brain was full of Christopher kissing Brian’s shoulder. Without really thinking about it, he found himself on a dead-end lane near Simonton Street. Jimmy Buffet music floated over a nearby fence, along with the sounds of clinking glasses, splashing water, and men laughing. The fence had a gated door with the logo of a giant blue goose on it, and the porch of the adjacent house was decorated with an enormous rainbow flag.
He knew all about the Blue Goose. He’d been visiting their website for years. He knew how many rooms it had, how they were decorated, what he could expect to pay in the off-season. What the pool looked like. What the naked men lounging by the pool would probably look like as they smoothed oil over one another’s skin.
He didn’t believe in Paradise, exactly, but the Blue Goose was a place where you could look at other men, and be openly affectionate, and do all sorts of things without people looking at you in disgust or dismay.
“Going in?” asked a voice.
Denny turned. The man in the street behind him was handsome in a middle-aged kind of way, with a British accent that made him sound dashing and suave. With the man was a black-and-brown terrier on the edge of a leash. The terrier sniffed at a nearby hydrant and lifted its leg.
“No,” Denny said quickly. “I’m not here—I mean, I’m lost. I’m looking for Mallory Square.”
The British man smiled. His green shirt was unbuttoned near the neck and tight khaki shorts clung to his long legs.
“I was lost once,” he said. “Wandered around the wilderness for years.”
“There’s not much wilderness here.
“Metaphorical, I’ll say. How old are you?”
Denny’s mouth dried out a little. “Twenty-one.”
“Then you should come inside and have a drink, Mr. I’m Not Lost. No one in there bites. Not unless you want them to.”
“I’m not—” Denny stopped halfway through the sentence.
“Not lost?” The British man asked gently. “Not wandering?”
“I have to go.” Denny started the moped up again. “Thanks anyway.”
He sped off toward Mallory Square, never once looking back.
*
Steven spent a frustrating afternoon visiting marinas and boatyards, looking for information about Nathan Carter. Most people he talked to didn’t know him. Hardly a surprise, given the transient nature of boaters. He had better luck with some live-aboards near Key West bight who remembered Carter but had nothing interesting to say about him. He was quiet, kept to himself, and drank sometimes down at the Crazy Parrot.
The bartender at the Crazy Parrot was a big girl who had once been a big guy, or so it seemed to Steven. The fake ID that had been working for a year now got Steven a beer just as the sun was setting low in the palm trees. The back porch overlooked a courtyard with a koi pond in it. White Christmas lights had been strung up inside, along the rafters. Almost like stars, Steven thought, but he preferred the real sky and real stars.
He messaged Eddie again, was pissed when there was no response. Called him, but got voice mail. After a few minutes of debate, he called Eddie’s house and reached Mrs. Ibarra.
“Eddie’s up in Miami,” she said, sounding weary. “He must have lost his phone again.”
She was a woman who’d had nothing but misfortune for most of her life—Eddie’s father being a drunk, Eddie’s father leaving them, her own bad health. Steven knew she worked at Sal’s Gas & Go and had recently started cleaning houses, too. There was never much money in the house, especially for trips to Miami. But Lisa Horne had some money, and Steven thought that was why Eddie was dating her.
“Tell him I called, please,” Steven said to Mrs. Ibarra. “Thanks.”
Slowly the bar filled up with locals. Somewhere around Steven’s third beer, a blond girl in a sparkly blue T-shirt slid onto the stool beside him.
“Tourist or local?” she asked.
“Local.”
“Good,” she said, and tucked a curl behind her right ear. She was pretty and toned. Yoga instructor, he decided. Maybe Pilates. Easily six or seven years older than he was, but he wasn’t going to tell her. “I’m Bethany.”
“I’m Steven. Can I get you something?”
She wanted a beer and so he got her one. She told him she worked as a waitress at Sloppy Joe’s, the biggest tourist bar on the island. And she taught yoga. Score one for him. Between songs she slipped her hand onto his knee. Score two.
“What do you do?” she asked.
“I just graduated,” he said. “University of Miami.”
That was a stretch, but she didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she did. Hard to tell with women, sometimes. She said she’d moved down after graduating with an art degree in North Carolina.
“Do you know what you can do with an art degree?” she asked. “Not a lot. But this seems like as good a place as any, if you’re not going to do a lot. I love this town. And hate my roommates.”
“Yeah, I know how that goes.”
“You have a roommate?”
“Sure. He snores a lot and doesn’t wash his sheets enough. Once he brought home a snake and kept it under his bed for a month.”
Bethany leaned closer. Her eyebrows were very thin, her bustline very high. He wondered if those breasts were real. Two girls at Fisher Key High had already gotten boob jobs. “Is he home now? My roommates are both home.”
Score three.
He told himself Kelsey was probably home reading the Kama Sutra right this minute. On her quilted bedspread surrounded by her teddy bears. Whereas he was, well, he was practicing. Exactly what she’d encouraged him to do.
They’d never promised monogamy, after all.
Bethany’s gaze slid past him to the doorway. “Hey. He looks just like you.”
Steven didn’t have to turn around to figure out that Denny had walked in. “Nah. Whoever he is, he’s ugly.”
Bethany grinned. “You have a twin?”
“Clone,” Steven said. “Made in a Chinese factory. But they forgot to put in a brain, so forgive him if he sounds stupid.”
Denny sidled up right beside Bethany and ordered his own beer. He looked morose. Steven hoped he still wasn’t mad about the accidental-outing thing. Hours had passed. Get over it.
“Hi,” Bethany said to Denny. “Your brother says you’re a clone.”
Denny’s voice was dry. “I’m the original. He’s an alien pod from Planet X.”
“I like you both,” she said and scooted off her stool. “Be right back.”
Steven watched her head off to the ladies’ room before turning back to Denny. “How’d you g
et here?”
“Same way you did. Asked around. Anyone here know Nathan Carter?”
“I haven’t asked.”
Denny snagged the bartender. “We’re trying to track down a friend of ours. Nathan Carter. You know him?”
The bartender pursed her cherry-red lips. “Nope.”
“He used to drink here,” Steven said.
She tossed her hair. “So did Ernest Hemingway. There’s a plaque on the wall that says so. But I never knew him.”
A customer called her down to the other end of the bar. Denny swallowed his beer and said, “Not so surprising. No one wants to talk about Carter. What’s with the girl?”
“What about her? You promised me a celebration and this is it, my celebration,” Steven said. “Do you think Sensei Mike will mind if we use the dojo?”
Denny made his famous sour face. “What about Kelsey?”
“Shut up.”
“She saved herself for you. And here you are, cheating behind her back—”
“She didn’t save herself!” Steven exclaimed, then lowered his voice. “She promised her dad. I’m just the guy she picked to help her break her vow.”
Denny shrugged.
“I hate you,” Steven said, sliding off his stool.
“Yeah, I know. Voice of your conscience.”
They left the Crazy Parrot before Bethany could return. Outside, the air smelled like jasmine and the neon lights over Sloppy Joe’s flashed against the dark sky. Steven wished he really had just graduated from the University of Miami. That he had a diploma and some career that would fill up the emptiness of not being a SEAL.
“Where’s your truck?” Denny asked, his voice low against the laughter and music drifting from bars.
“About four blocks from here.”
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Don’t look now, but I think we’re being followed.”
Chapter Thirteen
Steven turned around and looked down the sidewalk. Lovers strolled hand in hand, young women stood clustered on the sidewalk with beer cups in hand, and a trickle of people waited at an ice cream stand. Just another balmy night in paradise.
