Mayhem in Myrtle Beach

by T. Lynn Ocean

  “Because you grumble and mutter enough to have a conversation with your own self! What would you need me for?” she teased through a big smile.

  Gus muttered something under his breath.

  “Let’s go to my room instead of yours,” Maggie suggested. “It’s only three floors up. Besides, I know that Mrs. Storrey won’t be there. She’ll be out flirting with someone, somewhere. Or shopping if there are any outlet stores open this late. On the other hand, Smith is likely to be in your room.” She paused, unselfconsciously studying Gus. Mustache twitching in contemplation, he returned her open gaze.

  “By the way, I’m not after you or anything,” Maggie clarified. “But an HBO movie would be fun. And, you and the golf stick aren’t half bad either.”

  Gus’s putter tapped the ground while he pondered. It stopped suddenly and pointed toward the building. “Okay. You got anything to eat in there? I could use some pretzels or something.”

  “Moon pies, from Mabel and Gretta. And a bag of peanuts.”

  Wrapped in towels, the two strode through automatic sliding glass doors into a brightly-lit lobby. Maggie’s sandals flopped loudly on the marbled floor and the noise echoed through an otherwise quiet reception area. Interrupted, the desk clerk looked up from his textbook and nodded politely. With a raise of Gus’s wrist, the putter nodded back.

  As they waited on the elevator, Maggie pulled out her dentures and held them up to the ceiling’s fluorescent light. Satisfied that they were not damaged, she popped them back in her mouth.

  A bell rang when the elevator arrived. Gus used his putter to keep the elevator doors from closing too soon while Maggie stepped in, debating whether or not she should eat a Moon Pie so late at night. Watching the doors slide shut, the night clerk silently shook his head and tucked a wrinkled white dress shirt into black slacks.

  “Criminy,” he said to an empty lobby.

  Ten

  Inside the Sea Shell hotel

  Friday, early morning

  Winds charging off the ocean caused the hotel room windows to whine. Rain slapped against the building in sheets. Snakes of lightning flashed as thunder rolled overhead. It was six o’clock in the morning and the Great Wingers were receiving a wakeup call from Mother Nature.

  ***

  An exploding clap of thunder awakened Mrs. Storrey. She heard the steady splattering of what had to be fat raindrops hitting the balcony and sensed that it was going to be a gray and cloudy day. For some reason, she didn’t mind. Covered only by Smith’s button down cotton shirt, which almost reached her knees, she stretched. Her arm stopped when it found an unfamiliar object in the bed with her. She opened her eyes, looked at Smith, and smiled. Asleep on his back, his rugged features were relaxed and almost peaceful. It was a different look than his usual everyday scowling, skeptical, set jaw that he presented to the world when he was awake. She began playing with a patch of his long, curly silvery-white chest hair, twisting it around a perfectly polished fingernail. Smith mumbled something incoherent and rolled onto his side, facing away from her.

  “You awake, Smith?” She ran the long nails along his bare back now.

  “... not putting on any damned tie,” he mumbled.

  “No need to for what I have in mind.”

  “Huh? Where--” Smith rolled over to face her. He looked angry, but upon seeing Sylvia, his features instantly softened. He actually smiled.

  “Good morning,” she said snuggling up to his warm body. The air conditioner had been running all night long and their room was chilly. She ran a pedicured foot along his leg.

  “Christ, your feet are like ice cubes, Sylvia.”

  “Is that how you always say ‘good morning’?” She rolled on top of him and began licking his earlobe. The edges of the button down shirt tickled his bare stomach.

  “Yes. I mean, no. It’s been a long time since I’ve shared a bed with someone.”

  “Is that good or bad?” she purred, her tongue moving along his jaw line.

  “Good. Very, very good. Life altering good.”

  “Winston Eugene Smith, you are one gorgeous man. Like one of those big screen actors who just keep getting better with age.”

  “Hmmph. Older, maybe. Not sure about the better part.”

  “Mmm huh,” Sylvia disagreed with him. She sat up and straddled his body. His stomach was a bit soft, she thought, but he had the body of a much younger man. Really nice shoulders and arms. And strong hands. She massaged his chest and his nipples instantly became rigid.

  “Good God, Sylvia. Now I know why your last husband died!”

  “Could be.” She reached behind her own bottom to wrangle his boxer shorts down. “But at least he died happy.”

  “Can’t...argue...with... that.”

  A shrill ring from the bedside table interrupted them. Smith reached for the phone.

  “Yes?”

  “Good morning! This is your six-thirty wakeup call from the front desk!”

  “I’m already up,” he said and replaced the receiver.

  “Yes, Smith, you certainly are,” Sylvia said wrapping her hand around him.

  ***

  Gus banged on the locked bathroom door. He had been lying in bed, awake, for half an hour.

  “Be out in just a minute!” Maggie called through the door.

  “For pete’s sake, woman! You’ve been in there for an hour. I have to use the toilet.”

  “Just another minute. I’m fixing my hair.”

  Gus ambled back to the bed, muttering. Looking through the glass sliding doors at the balcony, he wondered who was directly beneath them and if a stream of urine would be seen. Deciding against that plan of action, he thought about taking the elevator down to use the lobby’s rest room. Ever since he had been diagnosed with an enlarged prostate, he couldn’t go for long periods of time between bathroom visits. He eyed the waste basket, the empty coffee pot, and the fake silk plant that sat in one corner. He’d just zeroed in on an ice bucket when Maggie breezed out of the bathroom wearing a bright yellow pants suit. Pants already unzipped, Gus hurried past her.

  She put on the miniature two cup coffee machine to brew for him, and pulled a can of A&W Root Beer out of the mini refrigerator for herself.

  Gus emerged looking relieved. “Damn, woman. You take a long time in the bathroom, for pete’s sake.”

  “Well, you can just go back to your own room, then,” she pouted.

  He found his putter, propped against the dresser and put his weight on it, as if to make sure it would still hold him up. “Maggie, I’ll park my shoes under your bed anytime. Just so long as you speed it up in the toilet.”

  Flattered, she fluffed her curls before changing the subject. “It’s raining and our itinerary is shopping at Broadway at the Beach. Then a walking tour of Mansfield Plantation in Georgetown. In this weather? Yuck!”

  “Who the hell wants to go shopping anyway, for pete’s sake? Why don’t these little bus trips have a round of golf or a football game in a sports bar with a big screen television on the schedule? Answer me that!”

  “Gus, you are like a character out of a movie. An old codger. A scrooge.”

  Hurt, Gus seemed to shrink an inch. Even the putter slumped.

  “I’m not the one complaining about a little rain!” he said.

  “It’s a down pour,” she retorted.

  “This?” The putter pointed to the sliding doors and balcony, and the ocean beyond. “This is nothing. Come on, let’s go for a walk. We’ll put on our visors to keep the rain out of our eyes.” He snatched their newly-purchased matching ‘Sea Shell Resort’ visors from the dresser. “If it doesn’t let up, we’ll buy us a couple of those cheapie rain suits.”

  “You’re a maniac.” Maggie plopped down on the bed.

  “And you have forgotten how to have fun.” He retrieved his belt from the bedside table and fed it through his belt loops. “Let’s go have the continental breakfast, tell Sherwood that we’re skipping the shopping. We’ll go for a walk in
stead. On the beach. In the rain. Then we’ll come back and try out the indoor hot tub. That’s if you can manage to hang onto your chompers this time!”

  She threw a pillow at him. He dodged it and finished dressing, thinking that Maggie was pretty easy to be with. He brewed himself a coffee in the countertop machine, adding as many packets of creamer and sugar as he could find. He gulped the finished product while she polished off a root beer. Gus was completely unselfconscious around her, and Maggie liked that. She was completely at ease around him, too.

  “Oh, all right,” she relented. “Let’s go. Maybe for lunch, we can find a sports bar with a big TV and watch a football game. Then we’ll catch up with the bus for the Georgetown trip.”

  “You’re not bad for a girl.” He flashed her a row of teeth—real ones. He slid the Sea Shell visor on his head and with a flourish, grabbed the putter. He was ready to go.

  “You’re not going to take that... that lightning rod with us, are you?” Maggie’s mouth was open with disbelief.

  “Maggie, the lightning has stopped. Besides,” he held up the putter, “this saved my life once.”

  “So it’s a lucky golf stick?”

  “I don’t know about that, but it sure as hell can stop an alligator.”

  ***

  Nell Sloan drew open the thick vertical blinds and looked outside with a long yawn. Thick drops of heavy rain looked back, mocking her sunny vacation at the beach. Nell shrugged plump shoulders and smiled. The breaking waves below were soothing, even though the sky was a menacing dark gray. Jack snuck up behind her and bear-hugged his wife.

  “Morning, Babe!” he said, picking her up off her feet.

  “Put me down!

  “Have I got a wonderful idea for us,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Champagne. I want some champagne. What were those things that we had every morning in Jamaica? Juice and champagne.” That must have been twenty years ago. “You remember what I’m talking about?”

  “Mimosas.” She smiled at the memory. “Dry champagne and fresh squeezed orange juice. And fresh fruit on the rim.”

  “Right. Mimosas. And breakfast. Right here in the room,” Jack continued. “I’ll order from room service. You call Sherwood and let her know we won’t be with them this morning.”

  “The Sea Shell doesn’t have room service, Jack.”

  “Oh. Then I’ll bring us up a continental breakfast to go, along with two big glasses of orange juice, and bribe the desk clerk to get us a bottle of champagne from the bar.”

  “Sold.” Nell turned to give him a kiss on the mouth. “You can still surprise me, Jack. It’s one of the things I love about you.”

  “Must be the salt air. Makes a man adventurous.”

  Half an hour later, wrapped in thick terry robes that came with the room, they sat on their balcony alternating toasts. A Styrofoam container of fresh fruit and another with bread and jam was on the table between them.

  When Nell had called Sherwood to tell her they were skipping that morning’s activity, the young girl had said with exasperation, ‘you, too?’ Nell wondered who else was missing the shopping excursion, and if they were having as much fun as she and Jack were.

  The rain had softened but still fell from the clouds in a steady stream. Every so often, a stray drop would hit the balcony rail at just the right angle to splash in on Jack’s feet. It felt good, fresh. He was energized and thought of yet another toast to swap with his wife.

  “To seafood!” Jack raised his plastic cup to touch his wife’s. “Especially salmon. And King Crab legs. And scallops.” The champagne bottle was nearly empty and he opened a second with a loud pop, very glad that he’d thought to get two.

  “To feather pillows. I love feather pillows!” she responded.

  “To wave runners!” Jack said raising his glass between gulps.

  “What’s a wave runner?”

  “It’s the same thing as a jet ski.”

  “But, you’ve never been on one of those,” Nell reminded her husband.

  “I haven’t? Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure.”

  “Not even that time we went to your aunt’s step-sister’s friend’s funeral in Florida?”

  “That was a speed boat, darling. You even tried to get up on the water skis.”

  “Oh. Well, it sure felt like a wave runner.” Jack stopped and thought for a moment then raised his glass again. “To trying out a wave runner for the first time!”

  Nell laughed and said, “Yes! And to remote controls. And, the Movie Channel. And, Atlanta Braves baseball!”

  Jack sang the Braves chant and refilled their glasses. He tried to re-cork the empty Korbel bottle. Nell watched with amusement.

  “The damn cork grew! Would you look at that! No way this sucker’s going to fit in there.”

  “Honey, the bottle is empty. Besides, you can never re-cork a champagne bottle with the same cork!”

  “Right, then,” Jack said tossing the cork through the open glass door behind him. “To Simosas! Minus the orange juice, of course,” he said.

  “I think you mean Mimosas.”

  “Right. Mimomas. That’s what I said.” They touched the rim of their cups together once again. “Hey, look!” Nell grabbed Jack’s knee and pointed at the beach. “Isn’t that Gus?”

  “Where?”

  “Right down there. On the beach. See, the man with the golf club. I think he’s walking with Maggie. That’s her orange hair.”

  “You’re right! That old coot is walking in the rain with his orange-haired girlfriend!” Jack grinned. That partially explained who else besides them was playing ‘hooky’ this morning.

  “God, he’s going to get struck by lightning carrying that silly putter,” Nell declared.

  “You know what?” Jack’s voiced lowered to a whisper as if he were about to disclose a valued piece of gossip in a crowded room.

  “What?” Nell whispered back with raised eyebrows.

  “His putter. Gus’s. The grip screws off, and he keeps his money inside the handle.”

  “Baby, you’re cute when you get liquored up with champagne at breakfast.”

  “Seriously. I saw him putting money in there one time. When I asked him about it, he showed me the club. It’s custom made. The handle has a container inside, sort of like a woman’s purse. Said he carried the club for luck, because it saved his life. Or maybe it saved the alligator’s life. It saved somebody’s life.”

  “I’m really enjoying this bus trip, Jack.”

  “Me too. And you know what? I love you. I fell in love with you the first time I met you.”

  Nell smiled at her husband of fifty-one years. As they sat in silence, she realized that their time together on earth was limited and wondered what the future held. The thought of one of them dying before the other momentarily paralyzed her with a fear of the unknown. She couldn’t imagine life without him, but knew that the love they felt for each other had to be a form of communication with the God that created them. Deciding that their souls were united for eternity was comforting, and the levity in her mood returned.

  Holding his hand between hers, she recalled the day that Jack had proposed marriage to her. They were snorkeling off the coast of Destin, Florida, when Jack pretended that he’d found a treasure beneath the clear salty water. It was a rusty wooden box with a padlock, and when they pried it open back on the beach, there had been a small diamond ring in it. Nell didn’t clue in until he had said, ‘Well, what’s the answer? Will you?’

  She thought back to the birth of their first son, and their second two years later. Both were spitting images of Jack and both had done well for themselves. Now, they both had their own adult children. She could picture their grandchildren, beautiful products of her initial union with Jack. They now had a great-grandchild and warmed at the image of the happy, nearly toothless one-year-old baby girl. She remembered the first home they’d bought after years of struggling and saving money for a down p
ayment, and how excited they were to move in. She reminisced over their many moves, homes, lifestyles, and adventures. Their time together, which to Nell seemed like her whole life, in retrospect had passed too quickly. Events that occurred twenty years ago seemed like they happened only a few years ago. She wanted to go back for a second helping and savor everything some more. But this is the here and now, she thought. Live for today.

  Whatever the future brought, Nell knew that she’d be happy as long as Jack was there with her. She hadn’t felt so romantic in years. Squeezing his hand, she decided that there truly was magic in the rejuvenating ocean air.

  Eleven

  The Sea Shell Hotel

  Friday morning

  It was eight-twenty in the morning and the Great Wingers gathered in the Sea Shell lobby after a leisurely continental breakfast. They milled around clutching cameras, Styrofoam cups of steaming coffee, purses, umbrellas, and a various assortment of jackets and shawls. Surprisingly, they were happy and relaxed, despite the rainy weather. Waiting to depart for their trip to Broadway at the Beach, they were hopeful that the rain would end by the time they reached their destination. Of course, Ethyl had planned ahead and was prepared with a clear plastic rain suit and several coordinated accessories. She pulled the matching rain bonnet onto her head, and carried a folding umbrella in one hand and a laminated traveler’s guide in the other. A fanny pack was fastened securely around her waist.

  The travelling expert was telling a captive group all about their upcoming adventure. Sherwood, happy to keep Ethyl occupied, let her roll on. The Strand’s largest shopping and entertainment complex, Ethyl told everyone, Broadway at the Beach was a favorite with both locals and tourists. It covered about thirty acres and featured a Hard Rock Café, a sixteen-theater movie house, and a bunch of shops and restaurants. There was enough to keep even the most discriminating tourist engrossed for an entire day. The seniors would be there about three and a half hours, including lunch.