Sex in a Sidecar

by Phyllis Smallman

  “It’s time.” Peter slid off his stool. “Time to rock and roll, children.”

  I raised my glass. There was still a smidge of color in the bottom. “Here’s to Myrna and all that sail in her.”

  “To Myrna,” the three of them answered.

  “It wouldn’t take many of these to put you on your ass,” Brian said, putting his glass back on the bar.

  “Sherri’s Sunset, that’s what you should call it,” Peter told me.

  “I don’t care what you call it.” Gina Ross set her glass carefully on the bar. “It’s lovely.”

  Chapter 13

  Brian stood. Swallowing and rubbing his chin hard. “See you soon, Sherri.” His voice broke as he added, “Be careful.” He turned abruptly away.

  “Wait.” I reached down and got the cooler. “Sandwiches.” I slid the cooler across the mahogany and picked up the thermos of coffee off the back shelf.

  Brian came back, stepped up on the foot rail and leaned across the bar to peck me on the cheek. Taking the thermos out of my hand he announced in a loud voice, “An angel of mercy and the best goddamn bartender in the state of Florida…the whole US of A come to that.”

  Peter took the cooler and tugged at Brian’s shirtsleeve to get him started. “You take care, Sherri! And keep in touch.”

  “You too, Peter.” I pulled the other cooler out from beneath the bar and set my purse on top of it.

  Chris met them at the door and held it open. The sound of the wind moaned through the room and then they were gone.

  Chris stuck his head around the door to the bar and asked, “What should I do?”

  “Lock the place up and run for cover.” I took the last of the glasses off the bar and set them in the plastic tub for dirty dishes. “Have you told the kitchen staff to go?” I called after Chris who was heading out the door. “Should I do that now?”

  “Unless you were planning on sneaking out and leaving them behind.”

  “Only Sara and Miguel are still here.”

  “Make sure Sara has a ride,” I told him. “Her mother always brings her in from Pineland. If she doesn’t have a ride, I’ll take her. I’ll tell Miguel on my way out.”

  Chris scampered away, eager now to close the place down like he should have hours ago.

  “You should be going too, Gina,” I said. What was keeping the crazy woman there?

  I wiped the bar down one last time; thinking even as I did it, it was a foolish gesture, the whole thing could be destroyed shortly. Wind and water would be beating on the door in no time. I did it anyway.

  Gina picked up her purse from the barstool beside her and slid to her feet. “Sherri,” she hesitated, started to say something more, then shook her head and walked to the door. But before she got there she turned back and looked at me over her left shoulder. “Would you…” then she went silent.

  “What?” Impatient to be gone, I was no longer concerned with her problems. “Spit it out girl.” I stuffed the radio into my purse.

  She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and shrugged. “Nothing. See you later.” She yanked her purse up on her shoulder and started out.

  I followed her over to the door and flicked off the slowly turning fans. Now only the moaning lament of the wind filled the room. Even with the restaurant out front to protect us it wailed and howled through the bar. Again the lights flickered. Again they stayed on.

  I stuck my head into the deep gloom of the shuttered restaurant where Chris fussed at the cash register. “I’m going out the back,” I told him. “See you in a few days.” “Yeah,” he replied, not looking up.

  Back in the bar, I gathered up my stuff and looked around, reluctant to leave, although that very morning I’d left the apartment I shared with Clay without a backward glance. “Be safe,” I whispered and killed the lights.

  Chapter 14

  The kitchen smelled of bleach. Miguel had emptied the big refrigerators of all perishables and wiped everything down. It was almost a certainty that we would lose power and any food left behind would spoil in the heat and any spills or mold would multiply. Like me, Miguel took good care of the Sunset.

  A lone cardboard box half-filled with fruit and vegetables sat on the counter. He must have already made a couple of trips to his van with food.

  “Let’s boogie,” I said. “But don’t take the elevator, the wind could take the hydro at any minute. How’d you like to be stuck in an elevator with a hurricane barreling down on you?”

  He wrapped his thick arms around the box, a mischievous grin spreading across his broad dark face. “Are you going to be with me?”

  “Dirty old man. Where’s Sara?”

  “Gone.” He nudged a light switch off with his shoulder.

  “Her mom came an hour ago while Mister Chris was trying to decide whether to close us down.”

  I reached past him and turned off the last row of lights as he nudged open the door.

  The narrow alley funneled the wind down between the Sunset and the condo behind it, increasing its power so it took the weight of both of us to push the door open. The blast of the wind caught the door, pulling it away from us and slamming it back against the railing. The wind roared through the open door and blew me back a few steps.

  Miguel used his short solid body to block the door open so it wouldn’t be slammed shut on us while I fought my way out onto the metal grating, barely able to breathe. This was worse than I’d bargained for. I held onto the iron railing, struggling to keep my balance and looked back to Miguel. He tucked his body over against the metal balustrade to steady himself and shouldered the door closed. I yelled at Miguel to ditch the box. He couldn’t hear me over the howl of the wind.

  Twenty feet down the alley we came out into the parking lot and the full force of the storm. It caught me and threw me sideways into Miguel. We staggered but Miguel kept us upright. The air was dark and gritty with sand. It was like nightfall rather than midday, terrifying and oppressive. I took a handful of Miguel’s shirt and we hunched our bodies together for support while we fought our way forward. It was crazy wild out there.

  I looked up just as Chris’s red Mazda exited the parking lot. He wasn’t even waiting to make sure we all got out safely.

  Only three vehicles remained in the parking lot: Miguel’s beat-up brown utility van, my red pickup and a white car parked next to it that I didn’t know. But at least someone was there to make sure we got out alive.

  When we got closer, I saw Gina behind the wheel of the white Audi. She waved.

  Miguel and I shouted goodbye at each other but the keening wind stole the words away. Miguel struggled for his van, while I dug in my purse for my keys. Miguel drove quickly to the exit, expecting me to follow him. I kept searching; they had to be in there. Miguel stopped and waited for me.

  Jimmy’s little red pickup sat there with the wind buffeting it, rocking it back and forth, waiting. I was frantic now, searching wildly. The keys weren’t there.

  Chapter 15

  I must have left them on the bar. That was all I could think of as I looked back at the building in shock. My keys were inside and Chris, the only person who could let me back in the building to get them, was long gone.

  Gina got out of her car and let the wind blow her over to the pickup, bumping hard into the left fender to stop her forward rush and grasping the outside mirror for an anchor as she rolled to a stop at my door. I couldn’t make out what she was saying. The motion and pointing of her hand told me all I needed to know. She was offering me a lift to safety. I had no other choice but to leave the little red pickup behind.

  All my plans and the careful packing of the covered bed of the truck had gone for rat shit.

  We struggled to the Audi. I shoved the cooler over to the back and collapsed onto the passenger seat.

  “Thanks,” I yelled. “I bet it’s gusting to sixty mi
les an hour or more out there.” I couldn’t hear my own voice but Gina nodded and sped to the exit behind Miguel. The first big fat splats of rain hit the windshield. Miguel was watching us in his rearview. I made the okay sign and he smiled, gave me a thumbs-up and pulled out, heading north to the mainland bridge.

  I swiveled back to look at the red pickup abandoned in the lot, Jimmy’s pride and joy. “It’s going to get sandblasted. I’ll have to have it painted.”

  Gina couldn’t hear me but having no one listening has never stopped me from talking, especially when I’m nervous. “Never mind. If we get a six-foot surge of saltwater, the engine will be ruined. An act of God. The insurance won’t cover it.” I turned to her and said, “Screw it, let’s just get out of here.”

  Now that the rain had started it came with a vengeance. The suddenness of it was shocking. Torrents, buckets, cats and dogs, whatever you wanted to call it, it came down on us, curtaining the windows and obscuring everything outside the car. “Get going,” I yelled.

  The taillights of Miguel’s van disappeared into the sand and rain. A car appeared through the haze of grit to our left and was gone after Miguel.

  Still we sat at the exit to the parking lot. Gina reached out and turned on the windshield wipers, giving us visibility for brief seconds.

  I reached out and shook Gina to get her attention. I jerked my thumb to the right; north in the direction Miguel was headed. “Get going,” I yelled. The wind rocked the Audi, the only motion.

  “Go,” I screamed, nudging Gina’s arm. She sat frozen over the wheel and I thought she couldn’t decide when the road was clear, afraid to pull out into traffic. I jabbed her shoulder hard. Gina turned to me. I smiled at her and waved my hand to the right. “It’s okay. We’re probably the last people out here.” She didn’t smile back, didn’t respond.

  “Go,” I screamed, frustrated, scared and getting mad, desperate to escape.

  Gina’s lips moved but I couldn’t hear her words over the noise of the rain drumming on the roof like a dozen men with hammers.

  I raised my hands palm up and wailed, “What?” Her lips were moving, I leaned closer, our heads touching now. I could smell shampoo. I heard fragments, “…my sister…police…I know…I didn’t…courage…need you.”

  I pulled away so I could watch her lips, clutching her shoulders to keep her close to me. “What?” I shook my head in a frantic attempt to show I didn’t get it. “What are you saying?”

  I leaned in to her. “He’s gone…” That was clear enough but what followed was lost. What in hell was she talking about? Who was gone? I grabbed a handful of her denim dress, jabbed a finger north screaming, “Go! Go! Go!”

  She nodded and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. The car shot forward. But it was the wrong direction.

  “What are you doing?” My heart was beating a hole in my chest; adrenalin was bouncing me off the seat. This couldn’t be happening. The world had swung madly out of control.

  Chapter 16

  Gina turned south. The closest bridge off the island was a mile north. Eight miles south into the storm was the next bridge. “Why?” I tugged her sleeve. The stupid bitch! This was no time to go back for some trinket or her favorite pair of canvas shoes. Whatever she’d left behind could be replaced and I’d be happy to do it in triplicate if she’d just get us off the friggin’ island. Being from the north, she surely had no idea about falling trees and banks of sand that would grab your tires and not let go.

  Both of her hands were welded onto the steering wheel. She hunched forward, up over the wheel, staring through the brief rabbit hole the wipers made into the driving rain and sand. Visibility was only about a car length and drifts of sand already spilled onto the road, slowing the car and throwing it sideways as we hit into them.

  “Gina,” I screamed. “Turn around.”

  She kept her eyes locked on her tiny view of the world over the dash.

  “All right,” I screamed. “But hurry!” The clock said forty-four minutes after twelve. How long did we have before Myrna really hit? One hour? An hour and a half? Sure as hell not enough time for a leisurely drive.

  At the south bridge I got another shock.

  “Left! Turn left,” I screeched at her. I reached over and tried to pull the wheel towards the bridge. Gina yanked just as hard to the right and straight-legged the gas.

  We shot past the turnoff, past safety. “Are you crazy?”

  I surrendered the wheel and watched out the back window, seeing a safety net slipping away, and desperate to go back.

  I swung back to Gina. “Let me out,” I demanded, my hand already on the door handle. She didn’t slow down. “Please, let me out.” Frantic, I tried to assess my chances. If I jumped I’d land in a jungle of underbrush or smash into a tree. Not a good idea.

  She drove wildly, too fast for conditions, frantically. “Why?’ I yelled at her, tugging at her clothing.

  She turned to look at me. Now it was her turn to plead. “Please.”

  I could read that word on her lips but no more.

  What? What did she want from me? Why had she kidnapped me? And where the hell were we going? It came down to this, I was trapped in a car with a mad woman and we were driving into a hurricane. For a brief moment I wondered if she was trying to commit suicide and taking her with me. A farfetched idea even for me but my friend Gina had well and truly lost it! That much was clear.

  Now that we had passed the exit, Gina slowed to a crawl. She glanced over at me and I realized she was crying. “My god, you’re as scared as me, aren’t you?”

  Chapter 17

  It was shocking. She wasn’t just some crazy woman running into danger instead of away from it: she didn’t want to do what she was doing, didn’t want to be there anymore than I did.

  I leaned close to Gina. Her hair brushed my lips. “Please,” I screamed in her ear. “Turn around.” She shook her head. Tears ran down her face. Crouched up over the wheel, gripping it for dear life, Gina drove south, towards the most exclusive part of Cypress Island, while the wind screamed and raged against the car, trying to get at us.

  “If onlys” crowded my brain; banging into each other. I should have known from the way she went on in the bar the woman was unbalanced but she’d always been the epitome of normal, a nice woman, easy to talk to and fun to be around. Not now.

  A palm frond thudded into the right front fender and up onto the hood. Gina jerked the wheel left into the lane for oncoming traffic. I grabbed the wheel and pulled hard to the right, not that there was likely to be anyone left out here to crash into. The palm frond screeched across the hood and disappeared into the underbrush on the left.

  We entered South Beach. Millionaire’s Row as the locals called it. The homes here are set far apart and well back from the narrow twisting road. Vegetation grows thick for privacy around the million-dollar estates. Now it protected us from the worst of the wind and visibility increased momentarily. Not that that was a good thing, because Gina drove faster and wilder. I tugged on the seat belt to reassure myself and braced a hand against the door.

  The road twisted and turned, following the shoreline or the whim of some early settler. Underbrush crowded up against the edges of the pavement. There were no shoulders; no place to pull off or pass. Here and there, the road took sharp erratic turns around trees that sported red warning markers to alert drivers at night to their presence. Trees, tortured by the screaming wind, whipped about and narrowed the road further. The conditions of the picturesque road, normally viewed as quaint and endearing, now seemed criminally insane.

  The rain pounded harder. Debris blew up in front of us, leaves and branches and palm fronds, thudding into the car, getting caught in the wipers and plastering themselves against the windows. The wipers were losing their battle, pushing an endless wall of water back and forth across the windshield. I searched desperately for landmarks. Th
e wind and rain changed everything but we must be pretty close to the end of the island and about to run out of road.

  The car slowed. Gina leaned to the right staring out the side window past me, searching the underbrush for something. We crept along so close to the right-hand side of the road that branches raked the Audi. Gina didn’t care.

  A small white sign for the Bath and Tennis Club appeared. Gina came nearly to a stop. “Is this it?” I yelled. I saw her give a slight nod, but I wasn’t sure if it was in answer to my question or one of her own. She drove faster, with more confidence, passing the entrance to the Bath and Tennis Club, in the grip of some powerful emotion that not even fear or caution could override.

  Suddenly, she hit the brake. The car slowed but not enough to make the narrow right-hand turn. The Audi crashed into the bushes at the edge of the lane. Branches screeched along the car’s side. The seat belt tightened across my chest when the car caught in the sand, jerked free, then shot to the left side of the drive. I clutched the door rest, bracing myself against the dash as the car slued and swayed erratically before righting itself, only to hit a ridge of fresh sand which nearly brought the Audi to a stop before it broke loose and shot forward. Palmettos scratched along its side. I winced. “Big Red isn’t the only vehicle that’ll need painting when this is over,” I shouted.

  Gina, of course, couldn’t hear me.

  The powerful engine dragged us through heavy sand to the front of an older house, a low ranch from the fifties, built on a small artificial hill to keep it above the tides. The turquoise clapboard with bright raspberry shutters should’ve looked gay and welcoming. It didn’t. Instead it hovered menacingly over us, with angry black clouds rolling in behind it.

  Gina circled the small turnaround in front of the house, leaving the nose of the car pointing out to the road and putting a large clump of overgrown lady palms between the house and us. “What are we doing here?” I yelled.