by Les Goodrich
“Ready Stone?” Dolph asked for the fourth time.
“Yeah. Let’s go downtown,” Colin said for the fourth time but this time they stood up.
Dolph blinked to focus on the check, slapped it onto the wood table, topped it with a big bill and a salt shaker then strode for the door with only one slight swerve. Colin in tow swerved a bit more noticeably.
A younger girl cut them off and asked Dolph what they were “doing tonight?” She was an everyday sort of girl: neither ugly nor hot. Dolph looked at her politely and pictured her on Colin’s arm.
“Do you have a friend?” he asked.
“I have three friends,” she announced proudly, looking back to wave at three equally average girls giggling at a corner table.
They were obviously high school girls on vacation miles from their reputation rumor-mill hometown. Not that average looking high school girls free from reputation were below them, but the ratio was off and the night quite young. Dolph cracked a beer buzz smile.
“We don’t know,” he said and headed out the door.
“Why didn’t you get her hotel or phone number at least?” Colin blasted.
Dolph blew it off, “Jitter bugs.”
“Can’t believe you,” Colin rambled. “Girls never come up to me. Not even jitterbugs like that. What is it with you?”
“I just bring it out of them.”
“What exactly do you bring out?”
“A craving for erotic passion in all women.”
“Shut up Stephenson.”
They left the car in the marina parking lot and walked down Caroline Street toward the action on Duval; Duval Street night sounds grew louder with each step.
“Look at all the lime trees Colin,” Dolph teased and Colin ignored.
They walked down Duval searching for the perfect rock to crawl under. As the setting sun’s orange glow filtered into the street the island town seemed to hush for a moment as if the crowd was taking a collective breath before darkness fell and the real noise began. Key West at night was like a miserable blind date between tourists who unquestionably conformed to mainstream society and locals who wholeheartedly rejected it. On Duval Street they mingled.
By eleven-thirty the two were wasted. Switched from beer to rum at ten o’clock and spent an hour listening to the worst Jimmy Buffet clone ever.
“This guy sucks!” Colin observed a bit too loudly. Dolph wondered how long it would be before they got kicked out. They had been to three bars before settling in The Whiskey Lizard and they had yet to be thrown out of any. The Lizard was a reckless tavern and it scared off meek passersby who would scoot quickly away after peeking into the darkness from the sunny sidewalk. Paddle fans slowly stirred cigarette smoke staining the walls a malignant brown. Cleanup in the mornings was a bucket or two of seawater to wash the medley of ash, beer and vomit down the drains in the cement floor. It was a dive where locals could be themselves but even by The Lizard’s standards Colin was becoming a nuisance.
“Why don’t we just play Jimmy’s album?” he yelled.
“If you don’t shut up we’ll get thrown out.”
“Let ‘em. We’ll go to Tony’s. I don’t give a shit. I like it better there anyway. Less assholes!”
Dolph was just as drunk but not as unruly and he wanted to relax.
“Listen,” he reasoned, “even if we left now we wouldn’t get to Tony’s by last call. Just chill out okay.”
Surprisingly Colin lowered his voice, agreed and changed the subject.
“When are you gonna quit smoking?”
“When are you gonna give me a break?”
“No serious-ly,” Colin slurred, “do you see yourself smoking the rest of your life?”
Dolph had never really thought about it that way before so it took him a second.
“No,” he said. “I think there’s rebellion in it for me right now. You know. All the anti-smoking shit.”
“Ya think?”
Colin was always struck by Dolph’s honest perception of himself even when drunk. Or especially when drunk.
“Yeah maybe. Besides I don’t like to think that far ahead anyway.”
“How far ahead?”
“The rest of my life.”
“That’s ‘cause you don’t have to.”
“What? You think I got it made?”
“Um yes. You have got it made. In the flipping shade.”
“Made in the shade?”
“Made in the shade with lemonade. Taking care of business like Ruben Kincade.”
Dolph laughed. “Ruben Kincade. That was good. So who are you all of a sudden? The little match girl? You’re not exactly destitute. You’ll graduate—eventually. Then get your MBA from Miami while you work for your dad. If you ever finish school, take over your dad’s company. I’d say you’re set.”
Colin had listened calmly; his response was anything but.
And what do you think you’re gonna do? The same Goddamn thing! Except when you graduate (on time of course) it’s off to Stetson Law. Right? Magna Cum Laude and Phi Beta Dipshit. No one will know how you did it stoned the whole time and by the time you graduate you won’t be able to find your car keys and you’ll never remember where you left your sunglasses—
“Where the hell are my sunglasses?” Dolph injected.
But who gives a shit because by then you’ll own so much real estate you could do whatever you want. Your dad doesn’t give a shit what you do as long as you don’t completely fuck it all up. His picture will always be on the wall and he is way set!
Colin swayed in his chair and took a quick breath. He knew he was having his moment of insight that was right on the money so he continued.
Maybe you can take it out on all those spoiled girls who were always so mad that they had to study their asses off to get B’s and thought it was their job to let you know how much they hated you for breezing straight A’s without cracking a book. Well when you’re the president of Stephenson Holding Corporation. Dad bursting with pride. At least. At least you can tell all those girls to shove their glorified secretary jobs. Will that do it for you? Is that gonna satisfy you?
Colin suddenly stood toppling his chair and spilling his drink. He swayed there watching a slow rum and orange juice waterfall cascade over the table edge.
Dolph realized they would be kicked out for sure. He ushered his friend toward the door as the bouncer approached.
“We’re going. Thank you. Goodnight.”
Chapter 6
The following week blurred with eighty proof rum, ninety percent humidity and forty percent tips. Colin and Dolph drank, stumbled and spent their way from one end of Key West to the other. Nights rudely divorced from days by the hangovers between them and it all just blurred. They closed a different hole in the wall every night except Friday when they smoked the last of Dolph’s kind herb then sat in the balcony’s humid breeze until three a.m. and solved the world’s problems. The week’s only constructive byproduct was Dolph’s discovery of an ingenious hangover cure. When the convenience store they could walk to had no aspirin and no water Dolph said it was an inconvenience store. He bought a green Gatorade and a package of Alka Seltzer, put them together and drank the frothing brew walking down the street. His headache vanished instantly.
One night Colin arm wrestled a biker and won. The arm wrestling ended in an argument. The argument ended in a fight and Colin was thrown out to find himself alone. Dolph had left with one of the biker girls: a black leather angel with raven black hair. He went with her to her rented carriage house behind the Francis Street Cemetery. They drank beers and danced through the graveyard. Dolph quoted Romeo and Juliet from atop a headstone, arms open to a starlit sky and the girl laughed but whether with him or at him was unclear.
She led him to her little hidden house down a narrow back road under a tunnel of seagrape. They climbed the single straight stairway up the outside wall to the apartment above the garage of a larger home. The main house faced the other side of her t
reehouse, as she called it, across a landscaped blue glowing pool-lit courtyard. Dolph kissed her through the door into a room blooming with paper flowers and the smell of patchouli. She massaged him with orange blossom honey and licked him clean. The two indulged each other for hours before sneaking through the main house courtyard and through a few other yards on a shortcut to the lighthouse they climbed. Realizing the Sun would rise soon and their night would be over they decided to do it once more on the lighthouse catwalk although decision had little to do with it. Their bodies silhouetted by the slowly revolving lighthouse beacon cast a sensuous shadow across the Key West rooftops.
Tuesday the sixth morning Dolph and Colin staggered weak and colorless from their artic hotel room. When they hit the street the humidity fogged Colin’s sunglasses and for a second he thought he had gone partly blind. They made their way under an unsympathetic Sun to a bar under a thatch roof on the northeast end of Mallory Square. A single whirling fluttering little wind danced across the emerald water like a flying fish and both of them stood watching it but neither spoke. Colin went to the bathroom to puke.
The poolside bathroom smelled of chlorine and urine and Colin added to that the smell of vomit. He washed his face in the lukewarm desalinated tap water and held his breath on the way out the door.
Dolph had secured the only shaded spot at the bar and Colin joined him ordering a Bloody Mary.
“Could you make that with rum instead of vodka please,” Colin whispered.
“So,” announced the bartender, “What you want is a Bloody Jamaican.”
The barman was a loud stocky guy with beard and ponytail. His shirt an unbuttoned pink cubavera. He wore a large shark tooth that swung from a dull chain around his thick tanned neck. Fake gold. The tooth framed by the pink cotton V. He was the sort who had blown into Key West from God knows where and transformed himself into a self-proclaimed combination of Hemingway and Mel Fisher. He laughed when he spoke and smiled otherwise. His blue conch shell shaped nametag read “Salty”. Of course.
“So it’s a Bloody Jamaican right?” he repeated.
“Whatever,” Colin said face down on the bar.
Dolph squinted at the sunlit terrace by the pool and realized everyone was having breakfast. They were alone at the bar.
“Could we get something to eat? Out here I mean.”
Salty mixed the drinks and waved for a bikini-clad waitress.
“Sure thing buddy,” he said. “I’ll have Cindy put your order in when she swings by.”
As if we know who Cindy is Dolph thought to himself.
“What’ll you fellas have?” Salty bellowed.
“You know that fish and rice with coconut milk thing that’s on the menu for lunch? Can we get that?”
“Fish and rice for breakfast?”
“Yeah can we get that?”
“Sure you can get it,” he laughed brazenly and slid the heavy red drinks.
“And some bread. Cuban bread.”
“And Cuban bread. It’s just that most of the hangover crew we get in here are rednecks on vacation that want Bud longnecks and scrambled eggs with ketchup. Know what I mean pal?”
Colin lifted his pounding head slightly to see who was making all the noise. His opened eye focused on the oversized pink cliché of a South Florida bartender. Salty smiled at Colin and his silver tooth twinkled.
“Do we look like rednecks on vacation to you?” Colin simultaneously asked and regretted.
“Hell no Buddy,” Salty chuckled. “You look like half-baked squid shit.”
“I suppose we do,” Colin agreed and sipped his drink. He ignored Salty who rambled on walking away and raised his voice in some question or another then paused but spun to walk on when no answer came.
Colin tried to interpret his fragmented memories of the night before. Had he seen or just imagined a blonde girl in the other room? Snap shots of various situations clicked in his throbbing brain. He remembered little that had happened since arriving in town five days ago; in fact he did not recall walking to the very bar where he was sitting. Had they been there all night? Quite possible he thought.
The Sun crawled above the metal rooftops to cast palm frond shade along the dock Cindy walked to serve them breakfast and eventually lunch. The shift changed and then it was Rick who brought them dinner: a nice piece of smoked kingfish compliments of Cindy. The Sun had walked across the highest sky and fell with the tide into another famous Key West sunset that tinted Mallory Square a humming orange that seemed to come from within and from underneath everything. It was as if the concrete of the square itself glowed orange. As the Sun sank into the sea an exotic blonde Brazilian girl stopped to speak Portuguese briefly with Dolph on her way out. Colin noticed the downy blonde hair glowing on her legs as the breeze swung her faded tie dyed sarong around her calves. The only American girls he had ever seen not shave their legs were the girls on his high school swim team and something about it was sexy. That fine soft girl hair. She kissed Dolph on the cheek and breezed out of the bar along the palm-shaded dock. Her tie dyed sarong swimming behind her like a mermaid’s tail.
“Was that girl in your room last night?” Colin asked without looking away from her as she rounded the corner and disappeared into the sidewalk.
“No,” Dolph said lighting a cigarette.
“A girl though.”
Dolph ordered a beer.
People gathered as they did at each day’s end to watch the sun set into the sea. Colin and Dolph, who likely cared the least about it, had the best seats in the house. They spun their barstools around to watch the people. Dolph looked at his watch and noticed the day.
“Hey man after this crowd clears out let’s head back and crash. Going fishing tomorrow remember?”
“Tomorrow is Wednesday already?”
“Wednesday already.”
Shit unreal. Glad you remembered. I paid for a day trip. A whole day. Um paid the guy yesterday. Or the other day. Whenever. I know I paid the guy; we might as well go. Who knows, you might even catch a fish for once. Can’t believe tomorrow is Wednesday already.
“Wednesday already.”
Colin rubbed his eyes, “We go back Thursday.”
“Boat leaves at seven o’clock right?” Dolph asked.
“Um yeah. Seven on the dot.” Colin pretended to remember.
“What’s the captain’s name again?” Dolph quizzed with a smirk. Of course he knew but he also knew his friend.
“Murphy. Captain Murphy. Got the brochure from my dad’s desk. Dad fishes with him if he flies down. Said he’s the best this side of Costa. I told you about him didn’t I?”
“Yeah my dad went out with them a few times remember?”
“Oh yes he did yes he did.”
“What’s the boat’s name?” Dolph asked knowing they would have to find the boat in the marina at an ungodly hour the next day.
“Oh wait a minute,” Colin froze closing his eyes. “You had to ask.”
“What is it. The Minnow?”
“The Abscond. Or Abscond. Not The. Abscond. Whatever the hell that is.”
“That’s a pretty cool name for a boat actually. It means to depart secretly and hide oneself.”
“Kinda what we’re doing down here huh.”
“Kinda but it’s usually used to describe flight done more out of necessity.”
“So basically what you’re saying is that it means to get the fuck out of Dodge.”
“Basically.”
An unofficial guild of street performers had grown from nowhere to compete for space on the orange glowing concrete square before them. The blazing sunset tinting it all a surreal gold. Starving but proud artists displayed work. A one-man-band played Bob Dylan to perfection for a nostalgic audience of hippies turned yuppies while an aging mime bored their children. Two young lovers gracefully ignored everyone and kissed in the twilight. A drunken ballerina twirled across the dock and fell into the stagnant harbor. She treaded water laughing and saluted to the crowd as
they erupted in the most sincere applause of the night.
Chapter 7
Dolph hit the snooze button twice exactly as planned before sitting upright at six o’clock. He fumbled with the phone and called room service.
“Could you send up a pitcher of orange juice. Suite Eleven. Some Cantaloupe too.”
“We have a fruit tray but not just cantaloupe.”
Dolph breathed to gather his brainpower at such an early hour.
“What’s on the fruit tray?” he asked.
“Pineapple, strawberries, kiwi, apples, unpeeled bananas and cantaloupe.”
“Is the fruit fresh?”
“Of course sir. We slice everything to order.”
“Then you have whole cantaloupe?”
“I think so.”
“Do you see where I’m going with this?”
“Yes sir. But I have no way to ring up just a cantaloupe and I thought since--.”
“I’ll give you one hundred dollars cash for a whole, albeit cleaned and sliced, cantaloupe and a pitcher of orange juice if you can get it here in ten minutes.”
“I’ll cut and deliver it myself sir.”
“I bet you will. Good morning.”
“And a good morning to you sir.”
Dolph never ate anything but cantaloupe before he went fishing. He considered it a tradition but truly it was the best thing to throw up when seasick.
His door flew open as he swung the phone to hang up.
“Hey get your slow ass out of bed.”
Colin was up.
“And call them back if that was room service and get me an omelet. Like a western omelet or a Denver omelet. What’s the difference?”
“Not sure but call them yourself.”
Dolph rolled up and dug though his clothes getting dressed.
At five minutes before seven they crossed through the palm tree infested hotel lobby and walked out under the canopied main entrance.
