Sex in a Sidecar

by Phyllis Smallman

  “I thought he owned a real estate company.”

  “He does but he’s branched out and started this condo development and marina up in Cedar Key. They’ve just began construction.”

  “A construction site must be a very bad scene in a storm. All that lumber turning into missiles.”

  “Yeah, but they took care of that yesterday. He could have come here last night.”

  “Or you could have gone there.” Her voice was soft and gentle.

  I sighed. “He did ask me to come…but only once.”

  She raised her shoulders and palms. “And?”

  I poured the rest of the coffee into a thermos and screwed the top on. “If he’d really wanted me with him he would have asked again, wouldn’t he? Insisted even.” I wiped up drops of coffee. “He would have come down here and got me.” I threw the cleaning cloth at the sink.

  “Maybe.” Her voice said she wasn’t entirely agreeing with me.

  “His job site is more important.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “ I guess he’s scared of losing his investment.”

  “That’s not all he’s losing. I think he’s relieved I’m going to Orlando.”

  She gave a little girlish giggle. “What?”

  “He’s only a man.” She smiled her sweet smile. “And before you set a test for a man he needs to know what’s happening, what’s expected of him. Maybe your guy just doesn’t know how you want him to react…doesn’t know how many times he’s supposed to ask.”

  I smiled at her. “Why don’t we just have affairs with each other? Forget men. At least we’d know how the game was played.”

  “I tried it once,” she said. “Didn’t like it much.” Her blue eyes sparkled. “Now I’ve shocked you.”

  “Well, this is the South. Baptists do not do those kind of things!”

  She blew air out her lips in a most unladylike way. “People are pretty much the same everywhere.” She pointed a finger at me. “And evil exists everywhere.” The wind howled and rattled the doors to the bar. I leaned towards her. There was a nasty little suspicion gnawing into my brain. “Gina, this person you think killed your sister…well, he doesn’t have anything to do with the Sunset does he?”

  Something crashed into the building and I stopped caring.

  Chapter 9

  When I got to the restaurant foyer the wind filled it with a low moan, like a woman mourning a lost love. Chris was holding onto the reservation dais as though he feared he might be sucked out into a void if he wasn’t anchored.

  “What was it?” he whispered. “What hit us?” He was already terrified and Myrna was nowhere near us. I couldn’t wait to see how he reacted when things got serious.

  “Let’s see.”

  Together we shoved open the outside door although the wind had backed off. It’s crazy like that. The winds can go from hurricane force one minute to a blustery day the next. And just when you think everything is goin’ to be fine, you get slammed on your ass. Hee haw, you gotta love this place! What do Northerners do for fun?

  It had grown darker, like we should be thinking about dinner and not lunch, but it wasn’t raining yet. “I don’t see anything,” Chris said.

  As we stood, looking about, the strength of the wind changed. The stiff breeze turned furious. Balls of seafoam blew across the blacktop, and a trashcan, chained to the guardrail separating the road from the sand, broke free and flew across the road. It hit the condo next door with a noise like a bomb going off.

  We dragged the door open and fought our way inside. “That must have been what hit the building,” I panted. “A garbage can. Damn, I hope nothing hits my truck.”

  I stared out the window, trying to judge the wind. How much time did we have left? There was only one main road off the island, this road. Beach Road runs north and south and all other roads feed into it. The trouble was, it’s just that, a beach road running along the edge of the gulf and a victim of whatever nature throw sat us. Sand would have already drifted over the road in places, making driving difficult and today there wouldn’t be any graders out winging it back. It would be even worse farther south on the island. There the beach curves in even closer to join the road, within twenty feet. Waves would soon be swamping the blacktop. But I wasn’t going out that way. I was going north. Only a fool would take the long way off the island and god help you if you got stuck in the sand. There’d be no way out. It didn’t bear thinking about.

  But the Sunset was only a five-minute run north to the bridge and safety. We had time yet. “Give it another half-hour, max,” I told myself. The door shuddered and trembled under my hand, as though the wind was tugging on the outside, demanding entrance. The sound of it changed. It went up an octave to an eerie whine, grating and insistent. I shivered.

  Grandma Jenkins would say someone just walked over my grave.

  Chris, his round shoulders slumping further into his caved in chest, said, “I didn’t expect it to be like this.”

  “Cheer up,” I told him. “Myrna will make you a veteran. A true Floridian.”

  “I don’t think I want to be,” he said.

  Good news. We hadn’t taken real strong to him either. Behind us the elevator pinged softly. My heart beat faster as I swung around to watch the doors slide open.

  Chapter 10

  Four strangers. He wasn’t coming. I turned away.

  The lights flickered as I entered the bar. I stopped and looked up, waiting to see if the electricity would last. Miguel stuck his head into the bar, “Not good.”

  “Not good at all.” I headed for the bar. “It’s the wind.” I dug out two emergency flashlights from under the counter and tested them.

  “See if you can find batteries for this one, Miguel.” I set the flashlight on the counter. “If you do, take it through to the restaurant, just in case.”

  “Sure,” he said. “But I’ll need a little more of this very fine drink.” He held his glass for me to fill. “I think you’ve created a winner,” he said and picked up the flashlight.

  The storm grew louder announcing newcomers before the doors to the bar blew open. Two of the regulars catapulted into the bar.

  “What kept you?” I said.

  Brian Spears and Peter Bryant should have been headed for shelter, with their thirty-five-foot Island Packet Cat with the twin diesels, not heading out to a bar. I was guessing most people had already taken their boats out of the intercoastal waterways to safety.

  “I expected you an hour ago,” I told them.

  Peter shrugged out of his foul-weather jacket and flung it onto a barstool. “Hate to leave too soon,” he said. A gambler to the end and always playing the odds, Peter was a restaurant owner and entrepreneur who flew close to the wind with his business deals and he took pride in being among the last off Cypress Island in an evacuation.

  “Being careful is no fun,” Brian added. Brian was a lawyer, crusty and growing more bitter with each day. He was more cautious by training and nature but followed Peter’s lead. They made a strange pair, these friends of mine. The only thing they really had in common was this bar, their boat Risky Business and loneliness.

  I took down four Margarita glasses. “Something new for your delight, gentlemen.” I picked up a blender full of mint green liquid in one hand and in the other a blender full of soft pink liquid.

  “The trick is in the pouring,” I told them, watching as the pink hit the mint green.

  Chris scuttled into the bar. We ignored him, which wasn’t difficult.

  “You don’t want them to mix. Pouring at exactly the same speed means they’ll stay on their own sides of the glass.” I filled the last glass and set the blenders down triumphantly. “Perfect.” With a toothpick I made a gentle swirl in the center of each. “The eye of the hurricane.” I added a short white straw and set each glass on a paper coaster.

  “You sh
ould call it a Sunset Hurricane in honor of the day,” Brian suggested, lifting his glass carefully and respectfully as befitted a work of art. Too much weight and too much alcohol had taken the definition out of Brian’s features that were now distinguished by the age spots freckling fair skin. In his early sixties, time and bad luck had turned a sharp wit sour and at times he could be difficult to take but, I knew from experience, when you were in a bad place there was no one better to have beside you.

  He lifted his glass and sniffed delicately. Then he tasted it carefully. “Vodka?” A true connoisseur.

  “Exactly. On one side, honeydew melon and vodka, with a splash of kiwi syrup; on the other side, strawberry daiquiri.” I lifted my glass in salute. “This is my finest moment,” I told them proudly.

  “We should serve it in the restaurant as one of those fancy chilled soups. It’d be great for business,” Chris said. “I’d eat here every night,” Peter agreed.

  Chilled soup was exactly where my idea had come from. Trust Chris to foul my moment of triumph.

  “Everything has already been done,” I moaned. “I was born too late.”

  “Shouldn’t you guys be on your boat?” Chris asked.

  “No problem,” Peter assured him.

  Peter sipped his drink and added, “Still time.” Six foot four and our resident Romeo, Peter is a big favorite with the barracudas, in his late forties, tanned and handsome, his features are just beginning to show heaviness around the jowls and pouching under his golden brown eyes. Peter wears his sandy hair long and it grows in silken ringlets at the nape of his neck. Brian said it’s a skullet rather than a mullet since Peter had a little more skull than hair. But it worked for Peter. More than once I’d heard a barracuda offering compliments on the curls.

  Exuding smooth self-confidence, Peter was dressed in a pink polo shirt and jeans with a crease ironed in them.

  “Clay is worried about you,” Peter told me.

  “How do you know?”

  “He called. Asked me to stop by.” The boyish grin, the one that women were suckers for spread across his face. “As if I needed a reason to see you.” “Or stop by a bar.”

  The grin didn’t fade. “Want to come with Brian and me?”

  “Do I look crazy? It’ll be the trip from hell.”

  “Then I think you should head for Cedar Key,” Peter advised. “Myrna is going to hit east of there now. The key will be on the back side and safe.”

  He read my face and lifted his palms. “Okay, I’ll stay out of it.” “Good. Let’s have another drink.” I was already on the way to the blenders.

  “I thought there would be rain.” Chris sounded like he was affronted.

  “That will come,” Brian assured him. “First we get the wind and then the rain.”

  “Don’t forget the tornadoes,” Peter added.

  “Tornadoes?” Chris sailed past outrage straight to shock and fear.

  “Hurricanes spawn tornadoes,” Peter explained. “We get it all down here,” Peter told him proudly. “Great place,” he added, clapping Chris on the back. “You’re going to love it.”

  “But we don’t get earthquakes,” Brian said, crestfallen at this shortcoming in our geology.

  Gwen came through from the restaurant. “They just left. I’m out of here.” She went out through the kitchen to a chorus of our goodbyes.

  I did my trick with the jugs. “I remember my grandma talking about all the water being sucked up out of Lemon Bay,” I told them. “Just picked it all up in a funnel. All that was left behind was a big expanse of mud. Then that old funnel just dropped all the fish and water and stuff right back down again. I’ve always wondered what those fish made of their ride.”

  “They were probably telling each other they had to start backing down on the amount of juice they were drinking,” Peter said. “I bet more than a few signed up for AA the next day.”

  “More than a few people think Grandma should when she tells that story. Only thing is, she’s a nondrinker.”

  “Damn!” Brian said. “I’d hate having nothing to blame stuff on.”

  Chris’s face turned puce. “Is that likely to happen now, could all the water get disappeared like that?” I finished filling the glasses. “Stick around and see.” “I hope you’re paying for this,” Chris squeaked.

  The weather station announced a bulletin and everyone went silent as I turned up the volume.

  Chapter 11

  “There’s been a slight alteration in Myrna’s speed and direction. She’s now moving at ten miles an hour.”

  I looked at Brian and Peter. None of us were laughing now. This was fast for a hurricane.

  “Myrna has become a category four hurricane.” We listened to the new projections on direction and speed. “Nothing for us to worry about,” Peter said.

  I turned down the volume. “All the same,” I replied, “ It’s time to drink up.”

  “They’ve closed the hospital,” Peter said. “Everyone that could walk was sent home. I just saw Jimmy Marsdon and he said that the rest were being taken inland by ambulance.”

  Gina turned to Brian and asked, “Did you hear about the woman murdered out on the beach Monday night?”

  “Yeah,” Brian said. He drained his glass and asked, “Why?”

  “She’s thinks you did it, Bri,” I said. “ ’Fess up or I’ll have to keep serving you these ’til you do.”

  Gina, lost in thought, was stirring the dregs in her glass with her straw turning the bright pink and mint green elixir, lovely colors, into sludge orange. I had an urge to slap her hand, messing with my masterpiece. I took away her glass and poured her a new drink.

  Gina asked, “Did you know her, meet her in here? I did, I met her in here.”

  I’d had enough. “Hey, Gina, it isn’t your problem. Get off this damn island and leave it to Styles. It isn’t up to you to solve it.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” she told me. Then she turned back to Brian and demanded, “Did you know her?” Her voice went up a few decibels, competing with the whine of the wind that was now seeping through the vents. “I did,” Peter put in. “I knew her.” We all turned to look at him.

  “I met her in here. We went out for dinner.” Chris broke in, “Why don’t we have a TV in here like every other bar in town?”

  “People come in here to get away from reality,” I told him.

  “Not to be reminded of all the problems out there. This is a sanctuary from that shit.”

  “I don’t want a television blaring away at me,” Brian said indignantly. “People can’t wean themselves off the box, the nipple on the body of modern life.” Brian was climbing onto a favorite hobbyhorse. He and Gina had a lot in common. “Eat to it, socialize to it, even screw to it.” Color infused his face.

  The radio announced the pressure in the hurricane had dropped to nine hundred and fifty with winds up to a hundred and twenty five miles per hour. Wherever Myrna hit the storm surge would be extensive, between nine and twelve feet.

  The lights flickered.

  Chapter 12

  We watched the lights to see if they’d hold. “I called Styles this morning,” Gina said, still focused on the lights. “I don’t think he’s doing anything.”

  Brian’s mouth tightened in a grimace. “A hurricane might temporarily distract the police from their regular duties.” He raised his hand to stop Gina’s protest. “Even from murder. Besides the murderer probably left the island with everyone else.”

  “Yes,” Gina agreed softly. “He probably has. I’m counting on it. But he’ll be back.”

  A cold sliver of fear trickled down my spine.

  The voice on the radio rose in excitement, grabbing my attention. Myrna was at it again. She’d changed direction.

  “Just like a woman,” Brian muttered. “Can’t make up her mind.”

 
; “Shh,” we all said.

  The original projections had been wrong. Myrna was heading due east and was expected to hit somewhere between Fort Myers Beach and Sarasota, right in our backyard.

  “Shit,” Brian said.

  “That’s us,” Peter added.

  The commentator began to describe the emergency precautions we should take.

  “How long do we have?” Gina asked.

  Ever the optimist, Peter replied, “We’ve got hours yet. No big deal.”

  I amended Peter’s calculations. “More like between one and two hours, Peter. Then she’s going to hit hard.”

  The announcer had more bad news. “At the moment, Fort Myers Beach is in the direct path of the storm,” said the radio. “And it is being evacuated as a precaution. Everyone is asked to leave the beach in an orderly manner and move inland ahead of the storm.” “Poor buggers,” Brian said.

  The announcer wasn’t finished with the bad news. “People north to the Aucilla River are also advised to take precautions. Fifteen inches of rain are expected to fall over the next three hours.”

  “Definitely us,” I said.

  “Still going to hit south of us,” Peter added.

  “If we’re very lucky,” I said. “I hope someone told Myrna where she’s supposed to head.”

  “We’re in for a hellish night,” Brian put in. “The way she’s been acting, Myrna may still swing north and hit us.”

  Chris scuttled away, leaving his barstool rocking behind him.

  “Police will remain on Fort Myers Beach to deal with looters,” the radio warned.

  Peter said, “Those cops have more guts than I do.” “All bridges in Charlotte Harbor will be on lock down within the hour,” the announcer continued. When the bridges go on lock down to let people evacuate the island no large boats can travel up the intercoastal waterways because the bridges won’t be raised to let them pass. Any large boats on the inland waters are trapped and have to ride out the storm at anchorage. Not a good thing. Someone would need to stay behind and let out the lines as the water rises. The other choice is to leave the boats in their moorings to be swamped.