A Second Chance in Paradise (5 page)

Chapter 5

As soon as I stepped into the bright sunshine outside the Hemingway House, I realized I hadn’t really seen Wendy in there. I wasn’t that far gone yet. I told myself I was just tired – that all the stress and heartache since my birthday had weighed heavily on me. The long
, three-day drive to Florida hadn’t helped either, nor did the uncertainty of what my life would be like in the coming days, weeks and months.

I sat on a bench in the side yard for a while, resting my mind the best I could. After quickly convincing myself that fatigue was definitely my problem, I stayed there a while in the shade of a tall fig tree, watching the descendants of Hemingway’s six-toed cat laze beneath bushes and out on the lawn. With no other visitors in this quiet part of the estate, time seemed to slow down and so did my thoughts. Things focused back into their proper perspective, and I was very thankful for that.

Later on I drove the short distance to Elizabeth Street, parked the van, and walked for a while amongst the legions of tourists scurrying up and down bustling Duval Street. It was there that I decided I still liked Key West. I knew I could live there if I found work and an affordable apartment, but the latter would
have
to be a little ways from Duval Street – on a quiet side street or lane. After knocking around for some time, I picked up copies of the Key West Citizen and the Keynoter, the local papers, and was fortunate enough to find a vacant bar stool at Sloppy Joe’s. The place was jam-packed, but I had a pretty good time nursing a couple of cold Coronas, listening to the band and people watching. After a while I opened the newspapers and checked out the classified ads. The work situation did not seem very good and apartments were very expensive to rent. Somewhat disheartened, I took my last swallow of beer and left. The whole time I was there I hadn’t once allowed myself to look at the table in a far corner where Wendy and I once sat.

While driving back to Wrecker’s Key at dusk I, for the first time, questioned my decision to come to Florida. I had a troubling feeling that it may not have been the right thing to do. Steering my van
across a small bridge between two uninhabited keys, I wondered about that as I looked out over the endless expanse of water. Way, way out there, on the western horizon, the huge magenta sun seemed to be melting into the Gulf of Mexico. It was a magnificent site, but it was also a blurry site. I was looking at it through misty eyes.

With my spirits low as they were, I had all but decided not to go to
Barnacle Bell’s that night. I was in no mood to be around a bunch of jovial holiday revelers. But all that changed when I drove onto Wrecker’s Key at around nine o’clock. As I came up on the bar, I suddenly had one of those do-I-or-don’t-I moments. The next thing I knew I found myself making a sharp left into its crushed-shell parking lot. As much as I didn’t want to be around people right then, I wanted to be alone inside the trailer even less.

With the
marl crunching beneath my tires, I actually had to look for a place to park. Cars and pickup trucks, most sporting Monroe County plates, were lined up door to door in front and on both sides of the wooden building. Barnacle Bell’s was not your basic tourist oasis. Most of the vehicles belonged to locals from nearby Big Pine and Summerland Keys. I found a place to park, stepped out into the balmy evening air, and inhaled deeply. I didn’t know if I really wanted to go inside, but with the thick ocean air now filling my lungs and the perfume-like scent of night blooming jasmine in the air, I ambled slowly towards the port-holed front door of Barnacle Bill’s.

Inside, patrons
were shoulders to elbows around the circular mahogany bar, some sitting on stools, still more standing. Somebody dropped a cell phone on the floor and when I glanced down at it I noticed that around the bar’s base a rigid anchor chain had been fashioned into a footrest. The place was saturated with barroom chatter. Pa Bell, wearing a long, white apron like that of a butcher, was at the center of this arena, methodically mixing drinks. All along the bar there were sweating, brown and clear beer bottles and all sorts of pink and yellow libations adorned with tiny pastel umbrellas. Despite the efforts of two, seemingly-tired paddle fans, a thin cloud of smoke remained intact just beneath the ceiling. On the back wall, next to a flashing blue “Coors” sign, a huge tiger shark jaw hung. Its gaping mouth was frozen open, exposing seven rows of ferocious, triangular teeth. To the side of a small cleared area for dancing, a hippie-like duet – a man and woman both with long hair parted in the middle and matching paisley bellbottoms, strummed guitars as they sung the lyrics to Creedence Clearwater Revival’s classic hit
Bad Moon Rising
. 

I wasn’t standing there
for very long when, in the dim light, Julie Albright suddenly appeared like a beautiful apparition. She’d been sitting in a back corner talking with three men, and I couldn’t help but suspect she’d been keeping an eye on the bar’s entrance. I say that because I hadn’t been standing there but a few seconds when she quickly rose from her chair and started making her way toward me. As she slid between two couples, each of them grinding away on the makeshift dance floor, Julie looked more intoxicating than straight tequila. She was wearing snug, white jeans and a black halter-top that really enhanced the fullness of her breasts. The white hoops that danced beneath her ears as she strode in my direction contrasted beautifully with her flowing raven hair. She was totally female alright – the rare kind of women that could turn the head of a celibate monk.

Funny thing was, even though her smile was wide when she came up to me, she seemed a tad shy. I couldn’t help it, but she put me to mind of a smitten schoolgirl when she
said, “I’m glad you could make it, Sonny. Did you have a good time in Key West?”               

“
A real trip!” I said in a tongue-in-cheek tone before quickly catching myself. “Yes ... it was nice down there, kind of like a tropical Greenwich Village.”

“
That’s one fitting analogy if I ever heard one,” she said, taking my hand.

All of a sudden I thought
she
might not have been all that bashful after all. With my hand now in hers – tight as she was holding it – I was the one feeling embarrassed. Just like an adrenaline rush does, an arousing flood of heat suddenly coursed through my entire body. Now
I
was the one feeling like a school kid, and I didn’t like it. I was just about to give myself a mental lambasting but before I could Julie said, “Come with me. I want you to meet some of the locals.” Still hand in hand, feeling as if she were a teacher and I a student in tow, she led me to a wooden table where the three men sat.

“
Guys, this is Sonny Raines. He just came down from Long Island, and he’ll be staying in Mr. Doyle’s trailer for a few days. “Sonny, this is Jack, Buster, and Fred.” 

As I shook hands with them they a
ll seemed friendly enough. When I stretched my arm across the table to shake Jack’s hand, I noticed that he was sitting in a wheelchair. After that I settled into the empty seat next to Julie.

“
What part of Long Island you from?” the stocky, red-headed Jack Beers asked.

“
I grew up in Queens ... but I’ve been out in Smithtown for about 15 years.” 

“
Jack’s an ex-Brooklyn policeman,” Julie interjected; obviously intent on making this meeting go smoothly.

I was about to glance at the wheelchair again but caught myself and said, “
This is a long way from Brooklyn, how do you like it down here?”

“
This is as close to heaven as I’ve ever been ... right here on Wreckers Key. Ain’t no other place for me,” Jack said, his neck seemingly having a tough time supporting his slightly bobbing and wavering head. I wondered if he had some kind of physical impairment or if he was just lubed-up from too much beer. There were quite a few empty bottles on the table.

A moment later t
he astute-looking, bald guy, Fred Sampson, turned to the ex-cop and said, “Yeah, you were just what we needed here, Beers, another New Yorker.”

“Okay,” Jack came back, “lighten up there plowboy. Otherwise I might just run you over with my chair.”

Fred Sampson only smiled. It was obvious the two men were good friends. Fred then turned to me asking, “How are things up north ... the economy picking up at all?”

“
Nope, it’s getting worse all the time.” 

“I hear you
,” Fred Sampson came back, as if we were both on the same page. He then laid the cigar he’d been holding in an ashtray, straightened up in his chair a bit, downed a shot of whiskey in one motion and continued, “I used to be a pretty a well-paid economist for a big company up in Indianapolis, until I dropped out. Had my fill of the bullshit corporate scene, came down here eight years ago, and never once looked back. Yupper, I’m like Jack – perfectly content being right here.”

As I was talking to the two men, I could feel Julie’s alluring eyes locked onto me. Out of the periphery of my own, I’d been watching her. And now she turned her head to the bar.
Pa Bell was hustling his tail off behind it when Julie said, “Pa should have asked Sissy to help out tonight. He’s having one heck of a time pouring drinks and serving them to the people at tables, too. I’ll go get ours.” Standing up now she asked, “How about it, anybody for another drink? Sonny, what will you have?”

After I asked for a
Miller Lite and everybody else requested refills, Julie went to the bar, stepped behind it, and got the drinks herself. As she did, all but the most preoccupied male eyes around the noisy circular bar were watching her every move. She was that gorgeous. Even the women sitting on stools watched her, throwing daggers from their jealous eyes. Once Julie returned with all the libations atop a round metal tray, she handed me mine first, and as I thanked her I just had to steal another brief, assessing look. I’d always had a thing for women with long hair, especially long black hair.

I wasn’t the only person that night who thought
Julie was giving most of her attention to me. When she slipped away to the ladies room later on Buster Bell said to me in his slow easy way, “Ya know ... Julie seems to be takin’ a particular likin’ to you.”

Taken off guard, not knowing what to say, I just looked at him for a quick moment. A big strapping man in his mid-forties, he was wearing a
red ball cap with a “Red Man” patch on its crown. By this time he, like the other men, was a few drinks deep, and the cap was tilted way back on his head. The long, sun-bleached hair that hung down in waves from beneath it touched his shoulders and framed a large blocky face. But it was a boyish face, an amiable face.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, dropping my eyes to the beer bottle on the table in front of me then turning it a bit. “I just think she’s being nice because I’m new down here.”

“Believe me,” Buster came back, “I’ve known Julie for quite a spell now, and I ain’t never seen her get all goo-goo-eyed like she is tonight.”

“Come on, man,” I said, “she’s just being hospitable.”

“Hospitable my ass,” Jack Beers chimed in, his voice slightly slurred. “Julie’s got her eye on you, my friend. You’re one lucky guy. I can’t tell you how many men I’ve seen hit on her and get nowhere. She’s a true lady and a class act.”

I kept to myself the fact that I was still trying to get over the loss of my wife. I also didn’t mention, even after a few beers, that my mind had drifted back to Wendy more than once during our conversation. And I of course didn’t say a word about how I tried to picture Wendy sitting in Julie’s empty seat when she had first gotten up to get the drinks. On the other hand, I couldn’t help but feel very fortunate that the three men thought I’d been the object of Julie’s attention all evening. I liked that it did seem quite obvious. But then again, there was that lesson I’d learned early in life. The one I picked up firsthand during my adolescence – a man can
never
take anything for granted when he’s around a woman he doesn’t know too well. There is no way he can be totally sure he knows what’s going on in her mind – not until she comes right out and says it.
Nooo,
I thought to myself,
that’s just her way! She’s nice to everybody
.

But I was wrong. About the time I was getting ready to call it a night, head back to the trailer, something happened. Something convinced me that the way Julie had been acting was far more than just her innate good-natured personality.

During the entire hour and a half I’d been at Barnacle Bell’s she had only drank one glass of red wine. Another was sitting on the table in front of her by now, but she’d been nursing it for quite some time. Since she hadn’t drank much I knew well and good that while Fred, Buster and Jack were deep into a discussion about the Miami Dolphins the private, alluring smile that rose on Julie’s lips had nothing to do with alcohol. Neither did the telltale look in her eyes – her
bedroom
eyes. As our eyes locked together, the sixties-throwback duet had just begun a rendition of the old Bee Gees hit
To Love Somebody.
It’s a slow song, an emotional one, and as soon as Julie heard it she laid her hand on top of my thigh. Her smile widened in a way I can best describe as adoringly, and she whispered in my ear, “Come on, Sonny. Dance with me.”

Our gaze lingered for just a moment before I
stubbed out my eighth cigarette of the day and found myself saying, “Sure ... why not?”

As if
I
were some kind of prize, Julie led me by the hand through the crowd. Once we were out on the dance floor, she quickly but gently slid her hands around the small of my back, drawing me toward her. The feeling was incredible; the scent of her perfume, my face nestled against hers, the slight tickle of her ebony hair, the heat from her uplifted breasts and stomach snug against my body. As our hips slowly swayed in unison I felt like I was going to implode. Then she held me tighter yet, and together we listened to the music and the old song’s sentimental lyrics.

As we danced on, something told me that
Julie Albright was overwhelmed by desires she hadn’t felt in a long, long time. I can’t tell you why, but I just knew it. And I was right. Just before the song ended she whispered something in my ear. Her voice was low and sensual, but I couldn’t quite discern her words. Leaning my head back, I asked her what she’d said. She didn’t answer right away. Instead she studied my face, as if she was double-checking something. Then her eyes shifted to mine. She looked at them –  into them, for what seemed like a long time but really wasn’t. It was one of those moments when time seemed to stand still. Finally she spoke. In that same soft, sexy tone she said, “Come home with me, Sonny. Let’s go right now.”

We
said good bye to the guys at the table, paid the tab then drove in the darkness back through the pines to Julie’s trailer.

As I followed her, I saw in the periphery of my headlights a raccoon coming out of the woods. It stepped quickly to the side of the road, reared up on its hind legs, and looked my way. It was uncanny. In the conical light the black-masked animal’s eyes glowed bright yellow, and they seemed to be looking into the van – directly at me. The creature stared through the windshield, right into my eyes. I didn’t know why but I immediately thought of Wendy. “No!” I said shaking my head. “Don’t be ridiculous.” I of course didn’t believe it was a sign or a message or anything hokey like that, but Wendy did appear in my mind. And when I saw her face, I suddenly believed there was no way I’d going inside Julie’s trailer with her. Quickly, frantically, I started scouring my mind for an excuse.

A minute or so later Julie pulled in alongside her place and I parked next to Doyle’s. I knew by then what I was going to tell her – the truth. That deep inside, angry as I was with my ex-wife, I still hoped we’d somehow get back together. But I didn’t tell Julie that. As I stepped across the thin strip of grass separating the two aluminum trailers, my plan went all to hell. For standing outside her car now, in the soft light of the moon, Julie Albright looked like Venus herself. Not only did the glow from the heavens accentuate every curve of her body, but it highlighted all the kind, beautiful features on her face. I was mesmerized. I’d have followed her anywhere.

When I walked around her car and stood in front of her she took my hand. I’ll never forget the way that moon reflected in her eyes when she looked up at me and said, “Sonny, I don’t want you to think I’m a fast woman. It’s been quite some time since
... since I’ve been with a man. And when I’m around you, well, I get these feelings. Good feelings, undeniable feelings, feelings that I’ve only felt one other time in my life.”

She rose to her toes then and kissed my lips gently before saying, “Come with me.”

And I did.

Hand in hand, we walked through the screened porch, went inside, and made our way to a
small bedroom in the back of her home. After Julie switched on a small bedside lamp, she fused her dark, alluring eyes to mine. She kept them there as she slipped off her halter top and undid the front of her bra. That was it. No longer did anybody or anything else exist. It was all Julie and me. I could no longer hear the crickets outside. There was no Wendy, no Steve Silverman, no Ronald Halstead, or any nagging concerns about my future. It was just the two of us, the here and now, and our carnal instincts. At first we explored each other’s bodies – gently searching, touching, and caressing as we kissed. But the prelude didn’t last long. Soon our anticipation and urges became uncontrollable. Urgently, as if the trailer was on fire and there wasn’t much time, Julie took me and we became one. Flooded by pleasure as we were, our minds no longer seemed to belong to us. There was no thinking. We only did what came natural. Desperately, recklessly, our muscles tightening and bodies shuddering, we made passionate love until finally, simultaneously, we climaxed. In all the years Wendy and I had been together I’d never experienced anything like this. And when it was over, Julie Albright and I slept well together. We were two mates; satisfied, relaxed, so thankful to have found each other.

The next morning I w
oke an hour after the sun’s first rays crept through the vertical blinds. Back in the trees, behind the trailer, the two mocking birds were making a ruckus as they ceaselessly squawked at each other. A blue jay called, “Jay, jay, jay,” from a place deeper in the woods, and I turned my head to look at Julie lying beside me. Her naked, flawless body was in the fetal position, a pillow clutched snugly to her white breasts. I studied her, and I couldn’t believe how fortunate I’d been to have found her. But my sense of deep contentment didn’t last. Something happened. I noticed something – something very, very unsettling.

Julie’s left hand was exposed, just above her pillow, and I was shocked by what I saw. No, I was devastated.
There were only three full fingers on her hand. Half of her pinky was missing and all of her ring finger. My face went slack and my lower jaw dropped. All I could do was gawk at her. I felt as if I’d been cheated, as if something too wonderful for words had been stolen from me. As she had sensed my gaze, Julie slowly opened her eyes. She saw my eyes trained on that hand, and the shock on my face. Without lifting her head from the pillow, her eyes pivoted to her lost fingers. Ever so slowly, she closed her hand.

My
eyes then came up to hers, and I didn’t have a clue what to say. I tried in vain to speak, but nothing would come out. What could possibly be appropriate in a situation such as this? Both of us in deep, disappointed thought, Julie continued to look at me and me at her. She was crushed. Finally, unable to counterfeit a smile, she asked, “Should I put some coffee on?” She knew what my answer would be. That strong connection we’d felt since the moment we’d met the morning before just wasn’t there anymore. Poof! As if it had been short-circuited it was gone.

“
No, that’s o.k.” I said as nonchalantly as possible. “I ... I haven’t had any exercise for over a week. I want to jog a few miles before it gets too hot outside.” Then, while rising from the bed I added, “When I run, I have to do it first thing or I won’t do it at all.”