Savannah Breeze

by Mary Kay Andrews

“You know, what she said, back there at the Binnacle. She was pretty trashed, and it was a pretty rude suggestion.”

  “Oh that,” he said, patting his mouth with his napkin. “I didn’t think it was rude at all. Crudely phrased, yes, but not rude. Anyway, she did say I was cute. Nobody’s called me that in a long time. Probably not since my mama died.”

  “Weezie thinks you’re cute.”

  He put down the napkin. “Weezie is a woman of unusual tastes.”

  “I think she has great taste. Look at what she did with the Breeze.”

  Harry considered that. “But you don’t share her taste.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t say I’m cute.”

  “Cute’s not the word I’d use to describe you. You’re…”

  “Tacky?”

  “No.”

  “Cranky?”

  “Yes, but we’re talking about appearances.”

  “Then?”

  “Give me a minute,” I said. “I’m thinking about it.”

  Finally, he pushed his empty plate away.

  “Dessert,” he said happily.

  “No!” I cried. “Not another bite. I’ll explode.”

  “You must,” he said. “I’ve already ordered it.”

  As if on command, the girl materialized at our table with two small, shallow dishes of what looked like custard.

  “Flan,” Harry said, sinking a spoon into the hard, caramelized sugar topping. “You haven’t lived till you’ve had Brazilian flan.”

  “No,” I protested, but I took a spoonful, and he was right. Rich, silky, creamy, flecked with bits of vanilla, it was divine.

  “Coffee?” he asked, helping himself to the leftovers on my plate.

  “No,” I said weakly. “You may have to carry me back to Mangoville as it is.”

  The girl brought the check, and Harry laughed. “Thirty bucks, plus tip,” he said, taking the money out of his wallet. “Can you imagine a meal like this for that little bit of money?”

  “No,” I said truthfully. “If I’d served this meal at my restaurant back in Savannah, we’re talking $120, at the very minimum.”

  It had gotten dark while we were in the restaurant. Harry casually took me by the arm and steered me toward the motel.

  The little courtyard was deserted. The pool glowed an inviting azure in the moonlight, and pockets of pale green light spilled from behind the drawn curtains of the units surrounding it.

  We drifted over toward a pair of lounge chairs facing the pool and sank down into them by mutual, unspoken agreement. Tree frogs croaked from the jungle of palms and orchids, ferns and other tropical-looking plants, and a sweet, flowery scent drifted with the faint breeze ruffling the palm fronds.

  “What’s that smell?” I asked, tilting my head up to get a look at the stars.

  “Flowering ginger,” Harry said, without hesitation.

  “How—”

  “They have fish in Fort Lauderdale too,” Harry explained. “I like to know the names of things. You know, if you buy a really fresh piece of gingerroot, and plant it, usually you’ll get it to grow. If you’ve got the right climate,” he added. “I’ve planted a piece behind the office, back at the Breeze. Be nice to have that smell to come home to.”

  “We should plant some of this kind of stuff back there,” I said dreamily. “Do a little landscaping. Hibiscus will grow in Savannah. And some of these ferns and things, if we don’t have a really cold winter. And you know what would be really nice?”

  “What’s that?”

  “A pool,” I said. “Nothing big or elaborate. Just a little dip pool, maybe with a hot tub at one end, for guests who come in the winter. And a beautiful little courtyard. There’s plenty of room, in the parking lot. I hate seeing all that paving when you first pull in.”

  “A pool would be great,” Harry said. “Cost some money, though.”

  “Yeah,” I said with a sigh. “A pool, landscaping, a courtyard, all of that takes up valuable real estate with no practical return on the dollar. I mean, let’s face it. A motel can’t make any real money these days. Look at this place. It’s a dinosaur. I hate to say it, but those Sandcastle people, damn them, have the right idea. Condos are the way to go.”

  Harry looked away, visibly annoyed.

  “What?”

  “Does it always have to be about money with you?”

  “I’m a businesswoman,” I said. “I don’t apologize for that. So yeah, I do want a business that turns a profit.”

  Harry sat up and swung his legs around to face me. “Didn’t you ever want to do anything just because you loved it?” he asked. “Because it felt good, pure and simple?”

  Stung by his unspoken but understood criticism, I turned away.

  “I loved the restaurant business,” I said quietly. “I loved meeting people, serving them good food in a beautiful setting. And yes, I loved making money at it. Guale’s success meant I was a success. Does that make me a money-grubbing greedhead? I mean, isn’t that what most people want out of life?”

  “Some people define success differently,” he said.

  “How do you define success, Harry Sorrentino?”

  “Doing what I want to do,” he said promptly. “Doing it the best way I know how, without hurting anybody. Living my life so I can be with people I care about. I’m just not a very complicated person, BeBe.”

  Now I was sitting up too. “See, I think you are complicated. Very complicated.”

  “How?” he challenged.

  “You’re a mess of contradictions,” I said. “You like to play the part of the salty old redneck. Yet, you’re anything but. You know food. You’ve obviously traveled. And you read. A lot, and widely.”

  “Lots of people read,” he said. “You think rednecks don’t read?”

  “What’s with the law books?” I blurted out. I’d been curious about them ever since the first night I’d spent at the Breeze.

  “I went to law school,” he said finally.

  “Where?”

  “Does it matter? I’ve never practiced law. I never even took the bar exam.”

  “Why not?”

  “I didn’t want to be a lawyer. I just wanted to know how the law worked. So I went to law school.”

  “Did you find out what you wanted to know?”

  “I found some answers,” he said cautiously. “I didn’t care much for the way the law works. So I found an honest way to make a living.”

  “Fishing.”

  “Fishing,” he repeated. “It makes me happy. When I’ve had a good day fishing, I’m a success.”

  “What’s so good about it?” I asked. “I mean it. And not in the snotty way you think I mean. Really, what is it about fishing that appeals to you?”

  “Everything about it appeals to me,” he said simply. “I love the physical part, working on the boat, bringing in a trophy fish, being out in all kinds of weather. Mostly, I like the challenge. Figuring out the right combination of temperature, tide, time of day, the ocean topography, matching the bait and the tackle to the species of fish I’m after. Some of it’s science, some of it’s art.” He shrugged. “And a lot of it’s dumb luck.”

  He yawned widely then. “I don’t know about you, but I’m whipped.”

  “It’s been a long day,” I said, struggling to get out of the low-slung chaise longue.

  Harry pulled me up, and then pulled me into his arms, brushing his lips on my forehead, and then briefly on my lips.

  “What’s that for?” I asked, too shocked to hide my surprise.

  “I’ve been wondering what it would be like,” he said.

  “What did you decide?”

  He kissed me again. Slowly, this time. He got his hands tangled in my curls, and then he lazily let his hands wander down my back, pressing my hips into his. I wrapped my arms around his neck and took my time getting to know the feel of him. His shoulders were knotty with muscles, and his cheeks were rough with a day’s growth of beard
.

  Harry leaned back and considered me in the moonlight. “Pretty nice,” he said finally. “What did you think?”

  I ran my fingers through his coarse brown hair. “Just how old are you?”

  41

  “How old are you?” he asked, tracing my lips with his fingertips.

  “No fair. I asked first.”

  “Too old to be called cute,” he said.

  “Come on,” I said. “It’s time for full disclosure. I’m thirty-five.”

  “Hot damn,” Harry said, kissing me again. “Past the age of consent.”

  “Way past,” I assured him. “Stop dodging the issue.”

  “How old do you think I am?”

  I took a step backward, then circled slowly around him, taking a careful survey.

  “Nice ass,” I said thoughtfully, letting my fingertips brush against it. I squeezed his biceps. “Muscular build.” I was standing in front of him. “May I?” I said, trying the top button on his sport shirt.

  “Be my guest,” he said. “Just so you know, it’s my turn next.”

  “Hmm,” I said, deliberately noncommittal. I took my time with the buttons. “Nice pecs,” I said, trailing my fingers over his nipples. The chest hair, as I’d remembered from seeing him work around the Breeze, was salt and pepper gray. But he had just the right amount, not clean-shaven professional figure skater, and not bath-mat furry either.

  “You’ve got gray hair,” I said.

  “All over,” he agreed. “Want to see the rest?” He reached for the waistband of his slacks.

  “Not necessary,” I said, covering his hand with mine.

  He kissed me hungrily, and then murmured in my ear, “Lady, if I’d known this age-guessing thing could be this much fun, I’d have stayed all day at the county fair.”

  “Okay,” I said, holding his face between my hands. “I’m ready.”

  “Not as ready as I am,” he said, running his hands up under my blouse.

  “You’re forty-eight.”

  “Wrong,” he said quickly. “Maybe you better take some more of my clothes off and try again. Or, I could take some of yours off.” He pulled me in the direction of the chaise longues we’d just vacated.

  A door opened in one of the units then, and an elderly woman emerged with a tiny white poodle under her arm. “Hurry up and make tinkle, Snuffy. Mama wants to go to bed.”

  She set the dog down and he promptly trotted over to where we were standing and looked up at us.

  “Hurry up, Snuffy,” Harry urged in a low voice.

  But Snuffy wasn’t going anywhere. He circled us twice, sniffing at our legs, then sat down on his haunches and wagged his tail.

  “Snuffy!” his mistress called.

  But Snuffy wasn’t going anywhere. He’d made new friends and he wasn’t anxious to abandon us anytime soon.

  “Go, already,” Harry said, groaning.

  I bent down and scratched the top of the poodle’s ear, and he responded by flopping over on his back. Harry nudged him a little with the toe of his deck shoe.

  “Stop,” I said, laughing despite myself. “Come on, I thought you said you were sleepy. It’s getting late, and I need to get to bed.”

  “That’s what I had in mind,” Harry said, pulling me back toward the chaise longues.

  “No deal,” I said, freeing myself and heading back toward my room.

  “Hey, look,” Harry called.

  I turned around. Snuffy was lifting a leg on a palm tree.

  “Too late,” I said.

  He was beside me in a minute. “Let’s go to my room,” he said. “You still haven’t correctly guessed my age.”

  “My grandfather is sharing your room,” I reminded him. “I don’t want to give him a heart attack.”

  “He’s eighty years old. He’s probably been asleep for hours,” Harry said. “We can be very quiet.”

  “You don’t know Granddad,” I told him, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him. “Sorry, but we’re going to have to continue this discussion another time.”

  “You could sneak in later, after he’s asleep,” Harry suggested. “Take advantage of me.”

  “Nope.”

  “I could sneak into your room and take advantage of you.”

  “Sorry. I’ve got a roommate too.”

  “I could rent another room.”

  “Maybe another time. Good night, Harry,” I said, opening my door. “Sleep tight.”

  42

  Hours later, I heard the faint click of the connecting door between our rooms, and smiled groggily to myself through the mist of sleep. Prince Charming had arrived. I congratulated myself on having slipped into a vintage pink satin nightie donated to me by Weezie, and prayed that my roomie, who was one of the soundest sleepers I’d ever met, would stay asleep.

  “Hey!” Granddad announced.

  I rolled over and opened one eye. He stood in the open doorway, fully dressed in another pair of knee-length Bermuda shorts—this time with vivid purple-and-orange flowers—a shrunken white T-shirt that said “I (heart) NY,” and white rubber zori sandals. At least he’d ditched the calf-length dark socks.

  “Hey, Granddad,” I whispered. “What time is it?”

  “Nine o’clock,” he bellowed. “I was worried you two were dead over here.”

  I sat up and looked at the clock radio. It was indeed nine o’clock.

  Granddad strolled over to the windows and jerked the drapes open, blinding me with a blast of nuclear-grade sunshine.

  “What?” Weezie jumped out of bed. “What’s wrong? Is something wrong?”

  “It’s nearly noon,” Granddad said. “I want to get some breakfast in before lunchtime. But the milk and orange juice are in your refrigerator.”

  “Oh.” She sank back down onto the bed. “Is it really nine o’clock?”

  “Afraid so,” I told her, yawning and stretching. “Guess we overslept.”

  “I’ll say,” Granddad said. “Half the day is gone. Thought we had a criminal to catch today.” He opened the tiny refrigerator and peered inside.

  “I’ll fix you some breakfast, Granddad,” I said. “Just let me shower and dress.”

  “I’ll get it,” Weezie offered, padding over to the kitchenette area. “You get showered and then I’ll take my turn.”

  “Where’s Harry?” I said, as though it was an afterthought.

  “Gone,” Granddad said.

  “Gone where?” This time I wasn’t nearly as offhanded.

  “Don’t know. I went in the bathroom to put my teeth in, and when I got back, he’d cleared out. Made his bed before he left, though. Nice fella, that Harry.”

  I went to the window and looked out. I spotted the corner of the Buick through the leaves of a huge flowering shrub. “He didn’t take the car,” I said, feeling relieved.

  Weezie held up two boxes. “Cap’n Crunch or raisin bran?”

  “Better make it raisin bran,” Granddad decided. “I get a little stoved up when I travel. Lorena usually makes me eat prunes when we go on a trip.”

  “Good to know,” Weezie said, pouring the raisin bran into a pink plastic bowl.

  I hurried into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Where had Harry gone? I wondered as I washed my hair. Could he really have run off, just as things were starting to get interesting between us?

  No, I decided, toweling off, and sliding into a pair of white jeans and a turquoise top that Weezie had picked up at a thrift store during her shopping tour the previous day. He couldn’t get far without a car, and anyway, hadn’t he been the first one to make a move the night before? If he got scared off by a little harmless kissing and fooling around, I didn’t need him in my life. Hadn’t I sworn off men? What was I thinking?

  I took a critical look at myself in the mirror as I brushed my teeth. What was there to run from? I was a reasonably attractive woman. My hair was nearly a natural blond, I had good skin—although I tend to get a little ashy after too much sun—I had blue eyes
and thick, dark eyelashes. My eyebrows were probably too dark for my hair color, but I couldn’t afford to have them professionally lightened right now. My upper lip was maybe a little too full and pouty, but every man I’d ever dated claimed that was a turn-on.

  So just what the hell was Harry Sorrentino’s problem? And why did he have to disappear—right now, just when we needed every hand available if we were to make this scam of mine run properly?

  Screw him, I decided, rubbing styling gel into my towel-dried hair. Weezie and Granddad and I would have to pull off the con without Harry. I couldn’t do anything to make him stay. But I’d be damned if I’d be in a hurry to pay him the back wages he said he was owed. Let him wait.

  Screw Harry Sorrentino.

  I stormed out of the bathroom and into my room—and right into the man of the hour’s arms. In fact, I nearly knocked him down.

  “Hey!” he said, when he got a look at my tightly clamped jaw. “What’s with you?”

  “What’s with you?” I said, in the morning’s most brilliant bit of repartee. “Where have you been?”

  “What, did I miss bed check?” He carefully peeled off a section of the orange he was eating and offered it to me.

  “You did it again,” I said, batting the orange slice away. “Just disappeared. Without a word to anybody.”

  He looked from me to Weezie, who was sitting cross-legged on her bed, reading what looked like a newspaper classified section.

  “Did she wake up with a bug up her butt this morning, or is it just me?” he asked.

  “She has abandonment issues,” Weezie offered.

  “I do not!”

  “She’s just not a morning person,” Granddad put in. “You shoulda seen her when she was a baby. She used to howl like a stuck pig when her mama took her out of her crib every morning. Cute little thing, but mean as a snake until she got some formula in her.”

  “He disappeared!” I said, looking for some support from my best friend and my oldest living relative. “Doesn’t anybody else find that alarming? Especially when we have so much to do and time is so short?”

  “I’m okay with it,” Weezie said. “He brought me the Sun-Sentinel want ads. I can’t believe how many estate sales there are today. And a chocolate croissant!”