by Autumn Piper
“Drew, I’ve got lemonade, or would you like something stronger?”
When in Rome, do as the Romans. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
“A hangover,” Dennis said, chuckling. “She’s having a hangover from last night.”
“Oh.” What else could I say? I wasn’t sure whether he found his mother’s alcoholism funny, or it was his way of coping. “So, so you, um, live here?”
“Nah,” he answered after a long drag on his smoke, “I store my shit here. ’Til I get another place.”
“Oh.” For someone who spent her career thinking on her feet and responding to the unexpected things kids say, I was doing a spectacularly bad job of conversing. With my own father.
“Yeah. Machine shop I work for’s been kinda slow. So I let my apartment go, while I look for…other work. Didn’t need that big a place anyhow.” He took another, almost desperate drag.
Was he talking about the place he’d had with Mom? “Wow, it’s hot here, for the first of March,” I said, rubbing my hand over my forehead. Where was Grandma with those drinks?
“March?” He looked at me like I’d sprouted horns. “It’s only February twenty-third.”
“Oh.” I felt like pinching myself for using that response again. “Right.” But how did I end up a week earlier? The picture clearly said March first. That date stamp couldn’t be wrong, could it? But the stamp…was the date the film was processed, dummy!
While I was still trying to figure out what day of the week it was, Grandma came in with the drinks. She handed me mine with a grin, saying, “He likes to hang around here to make sure I behave and make it home by curfew.”
I managed to restrain myself from saying “oh” yet another time. Taking a swig of my drink proved a horrible experience, as she’d made me exactly what she was drinking: scotch and water on the rocks. Half choking, half gagging, I set the tumbler back on a Miami Dolphins Coaster.
The scowl Dennis shot her made me glad he’d never been around to scold me when I was a teenager.
The idea of my Granny out kicking up her heels intrigued me. Paired with his edict that she was suffering a hangover, it seemed she might be something of a party animal. “Do you, ah, get grounded when you come in too late?” I joked.
“Don’t give him any ideas.” Googly eyes rolled behind her glasses.
Her son glued his gaze to the TV.
Patting my knee, she took a seat beside me. “You can be my partner in crime tonight.”
Dennis’s gaze whipped away from the TV to her. “No stew?” He sounded hopeful, and maybe surprised.
Stew? My stomach growled at the thought.
“Of course Stu will be coming along. He’s my partner in the contest. Now, Drew, how long will you be in Miami?”
“I’m…a week, maybe. I was hoping you could help me find a hotel close by.” Actually, I was hoping I’d be staying at the house, so I could get to know them quicker.
“You’ll stay right here,” Grandma decreed.
“I really don’t want to impose.”
“You won’t,” she insisted. “It’ll be nice having some company around. Right, Dennis?”
Dear Randi,
I made it!
I know, I can hardly believe it myself! But here I sit in sweltering Miami, the last Saturday of February, 1980. Of all the surreal things, what seems to bug me the most is it was nighttime when I left Sedona, but I landed in the early afternoon. Hard for my clock to adjust. I should be sleepy, I suppose. Grandma’s house is quiet. After downing a couple of hi-balls, she went to “nap” ’til evening.
Dennis took off on his bike before she’d finished her first drink. He gave some obscure comment about looking for work and headed out. I can’t tell if he’s a putz or what. His room looks fairly neat. Even though most of his stuff is in boxes in the corner, I get the feeling he’s been staying here awhile. Maybe he is keeping an eye on his mom. After all, if he’s really selling drugs like I’ve been told, wouldn’t he be able to afford a place of his own? And he doesn’t look like a junkie himself. I’m sure he’s not spending his earnings to support a habit of his own. Appearances can be deceiving, though. So I’ll withhold judgment until later.
What I do know is, there are several textbooks on a shelf in his room. He’s taking college classes. Trying to do something with his life. That’s admirable, isn’t it? He’s handsome and takes care of himself and obviously cares about his mom, the way he worries over her. And the way they tease each other—At least a few tiers above worst possible monster.
On the agenda tonight? Deep breath. Roller disco! Grandma is some kind of serious amateur roller-dancer. She and this Stu character took the Greater Miami Golden Skates award last year. Now, how could I have never been told something like that?
I wonder if anybody knows what I’ve done yet. If Mitch knows? Has any time passed on the other end of the wormhole? Probably not. He’d have found a way to ruin my fun, even from across the space-time continuum. Wet blanket. Well, he won’t be messing up my fun any more. In fact, I might have to go looking for something crazy to do. I wonder if they have paraskiing here?
Ta-ta for now.
Randi
Chapter 14
Overhead lights dimmed, while out on the rink floor, twin spotlights merged and a disco ball flashed. In stark contrast to the nautical navy-and-white I’d always seen her in, Grandma Bea Keenan rolled out confidently dressed in red leather shorts and a tight black tank. And she looked good. So did Stu. He had to be ten years younger than her, which put him close to my current age. He called himself a landscaper and certainly had the muscles of a manual laborer. Judging by the way he touched Grandma, and the way her face lit when he did, they had a scorching physical relationship.
Dennis probably hated that, but I liked the idea of her having some happiness. After all, she’d been widowed for almost ten years.
“Next up,” the emcee boomed, “we have Bea Keenan and Stuart Jones. Skate Fever 4Ever is proud to sponsor them again in this year’s Greater Miami Roller-disco Dance-off, coming up this July. Make sure to spend your hot summer nights right here, at Skate Fever 4Ever! Every weekend we have Saturday Night Fever and weekdays, two get in for the price of one. Stu and Bea, take it away!”
The spotlights dimmed. Music pulsed, then the lights came back on and the couple moved in perfect fluidity. I recognized the song as Working My Way Back to You, by The Spinners. Around me, the crowd clapped to the beat as the dance moves became more complex.
I shouldn’t have been surprised; my forty-something Grandma had faced down a sixteen-year-old in the limbo contest mere minutes before.
“What, no skates?” a voice said at my side.
I turned and Dennis was there, pretending to not watch the pair on the floor.
“No, I, uh…” When the rink had been available for open skating, I’d fibbed and told Grandma I had a knee injury, but really I hadn’t wanted to leave my backpack unattended. I couldn’t afford to lose what was in there, not the least of which was the fat stack of twenties I’d gotten at the ATM on the way to Bell Rock. “I’m not really into skating.”
“So what do you do, anyway?”
Out on the floor, Grandma executed a neat tuck and cruised between her partner’s legs. The crowd cheered.
As natural as breathing, my answer slipped between my lips. “I’m a teacher.”
At his disbelieving “Yeah?” I turned to look at him. “Then what are you doing here in the middle of February for a week?”
Whoops. “I, uh, took some personal time. To go meet my father’s family.” At least part of it was true.
His forehead had a way of wrinkling whenever he narrowed his eyes.
“Wow!” Maybe I could turn his attention back to the floor. “They can really skate, huh?”
“Yeah. Ma still hasn’t got over being a carhop when she was a teenager, I guess. Used to drag me down here every weekend night when I was a kid.”
“It’s nice she has
a hobby.” Great to see another thing that made her happy. Would she give it up when her only son disappeared?
The music wound down, and we joined everyone else clapping.
“So. I’ve got somewhere to go, and it would look better if I showed up with a date.”
Oh, hell. This felt entirely too creepy. “Um, yeah.” I slid a step away. “I’m not into the whole kissing cousins scene.”
Dennis curled his lip at me and laughed. “I didn’t mean I really wanted you to be my date. It would be for looks. Jesus. You’re kinda old for me anyway.”
Great, I hadn’t even hit thirty-five yet, and I was too old. It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him I had no doubt I’d be too old for him since he seemed to go for underage girls. Luckily, Grandma and Stu came pushing through the crowd to us, halting my retort.
Her face glowed, and not only from perspiration. She hugged Dennis like it was normal to see him there.
The emcee announced the next team, and Michael Jackson’s Rock with You started up.
Dennis sneered. “Such a dumb song.”
Grandma’d told me the couple on the floor was her stiffest competition.
Grinning appreciatively at the insult to their rivals, Stu looked happy as hell. He wasn’t handsome in a way that normally would make women look twice at him, but rolling up with his hands resting contentedly on his lover’s hips, he turned plenty of heads. Of course, the stunning physical performance he’d given could have drawn the attention.
“You guys were great,” I said. “Really awesome performance.”
“Awesome, huh?” Grandma repeated with a grin. “Thanks.” All three of them gave me a strange look, while I remembered Valley Girl talk hadn’t really come into play yet in 1980. Oops.
“I’m takin’ Drew here out on the town,” Dennis announced.
Stu seemed relieved to be rid of their third wheel, but Grandma asked, “You’ll be careful with her? Not get into any trouble?”
“When have I got into trouble, Ma?” Dennis breezed. He spun in a carefree, silly circle, arms out. “Look at me. Free as a bird.”
“That’s what worries me,” she muttered. “Dear, you take care.” With a pat on my arm, she delivered a warning glare to Dennis.
“You know, you’re assuming I agreed to go with you,” I told him as he led me out the door. “Which I never did.”
He dropped my hand and turned on me, jaw set. That was the first time my dad had ever held my hand. And I’d screwed it up with my snide remark. “You wanta come along or not?”
I did want to come along. Very much, in fact. If I didn’t seize this chance to get close to him, I might never learn his fate. “Yes.” I felt the fool. “I do.”
“Let’s roll then.” He took off at a fast pace across the parking lot toward his bike. “You can use my helmet for now, and we’ll stop by the house to pick up my spare. Then you can drop off that backpack.”
“Oh. Your helmet?” I hurried to keep up. “Maybe I should take a cab to the house—”
“Now why would you waste money on a cab? I won’t get a ticket, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Actually, I was worried about him riding the streets of Miami with no helmet. It would be my fault if he got killed. And then, would I be a paradox? Get lost in Never-existedness? Tickets aside, it was not safe.
Wait a minute. Tickets? He’d sounded entirely too confident when he made that remark. “Hey! How do you know you won’t get a ticket?”
His chuckle almost sounded like an evil laugh. “There’s a reason my nickname is ‘Keen Keenan’. I always know where the cops are.” With a smug grin, he handed me his helmet. “Always.”
“Still.” I hesitated to put on the head protection he was supposed to wear.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake! Put the damn thing—”
“Here.” I had a vision of myself trapped for eternity in the hectic space-time continuum. Since I hadn’t liked it all that much, the prospect was not inviting. “You wear it.”
“Jesus. I’ll do it. But only because I’ve got places to be and people to meet.” Throwing a leg over his bike, he snatched the helmet from my hands. “Get on.”
I did. And I pressed my face into his back, as much to keep the wind from my eyes as to stay warm. Not to mention, to avoid seeing the world flying past at alarming speeds. I definitely had not inherited my father’s penchant for unsafe driving. Clutching at his jacket, I couldn’t help compare this bike ride to the one with Mitch. That ride had seemed surreal, like a fairy-tale. Idyllic. I’d been so happy then. And now here I was, living out a lifelong fantasy and remembering my ‘real life’ with fondness. Surely there were screws loose in my head. That job-worshipping dude I’d known for only a few days was not going to ruin this time for me. With that goal in mind, I turned my head to the side and watched the Miami nightscape.
Ten minutes later, I stood looking around Grandma’s house, searching for a safe place to stow my backpack. There were too many things in there I didn’t want anyone in 1980 to look at. Dennis had gone down the hall to raid his mother’s closet in search of a jacket for me to wear. The Levi’s one I had on wasn’t quite sufficient for riding a motorcycle at night in February, even in Miami.
Having given up on hiding my pack, I decided to shove it in a corner of the sofa. I was digging in the pocket for my driver’s license when Dennis appeared with a red leather jacket over his arm.
“Got it,” I announced, slipping it into my jeans pocket.
“What’s that? ID? No, don’t bring any ID along.” It wasn’t a suggestion, but an order.
My confusion manifested itself in temporary muteness and probably a dumb look.
“You don’t need it where we’re going,” he said in a softer tone, and laughed. “Don’t tell me you honestly believe somebody might think you’re underage?”
How rude! “You know, I’m not exactly old. Where I come from, the thirties is still considered the prime of life.”
“So tell me…” He held out the jacket to me. “…you don’t wear a wedding ring. How’d you get so old and still be single?”
I grabbed the jacket from him, but before I could answer, he taunted, “Or are you, like, a butch girl? You know—lesbian?”
“No,” I huffed, punching one arm into a sleeve. “I am not gay. It just so happens I used to be married. But now…I’m…not.”
“Not, huh? Why’s that?”
“We just,” I shrugged, smoothing the jacket over my shoulders, “didn’t see eye to eye on some stuff.”
“Lotta that goin’ around. I got a divorce decree, too.” As if confessing to a felony, “And a kid.”
“Yeah?” My voice squeaked, but I strove for cool. “That the baby in the pictures down the hall?” Feeling totally inspired, I added, “The one who’s bald as a cue ball?”
“Uh-huh. You ready?” Much more abruptly than I’d have liked, he turned on his heel to leave.
“Yes, I’m ready. So, do you ever see her? The baby?”
“Nah. Lives in Colorado.” Then with a degree of finality that truly stung, “Got a new step-daddy a few months ago.”
“Oh.” Back to my old standby reply. “So. Where are we going, anyway?”
“Just hang on.”
Chapter 15
In a business district of Miami where security bars covered windows and street lights were few and far between, Dennis led me to a door under a sign that read simply ‘Conga’. Even before the two large men at the door nodded us through, fading strains of a salsa melody drifted out. As we rounded the corner in a dark hallway, a faster song started amid whoops and whistles.
The dance floor was bright, and quickly filling with fast-moving couples. Men wearing anything from tight jeans and cowboy boots to suits with flared legs or traditional costumes kicked and twisted to the frenetic beat. Their counterparts wore evening gowns or frilly, ruffly dresses, or skintight jeans and tube tops. No matter their clothing, they all moved with practiced ease, at a rate I co
uld hardly follow.
“Colombian dance,” Dennis yelled in my ear. “Fast, huh?”
Fast, yes. And more than a few people out there were performing some very stimulating moves on each other. “This crowd makes Dirty Dancing look like a church function,” I answered.
“Dirty dancing in church?”
“Oh.” Whoops. No Dirty Dancing back in ’80, either. “Never mind. Just an old movie.”
The place reeked of beer and rum, cilantro and cigars. My mouth watered for all but the cigars.
We skirted the dance floor and went straight to the bar, where he found an empty stool next to a hideous plastic palm tree. Quite chivalrous, he waved for me to take the seat.
A bartender in jeans so tight they must have hurt and a white sequined shirt unbuttoned to the waist hurried over.
“Señor Keen! Como está?”
“Fine, Ramón Give me a cerveza and…” he looked at me questioningly.
“Sangría, por favor,” I answered.
Ramón left to get our drinks and Dennis raised one brow at me.
“You can’t live to be as old as me,” I teased, “and not be familiar with a few foreign cocktails.”
He grinned in answer, and in that instant, I understood exactly why my mother had fallen for him. My father was devastatingly handsome when he turned on the charm. Knowing he was my flesh and blood gave me a little thrill of pride.
“You know, you really must be a Williams,” he said. “You’ll fit in fine on Ma’s side of the family with that smartass attitude.”
Ramón reappeared and slid our drinks across the bar with gusto. “The best sangria en Miami,” he proclaimed. Then he stood there, watching, waiting for me to sample my drink.
I sipped, nodded, and murmured appreciatively.
He smirked, then sauntered away.
Beside me, Dennis chugged half his bottle of Schlitz before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’ve gotta go look into something. You be all right here?”
“Sure.” I turned on my stool and watched him disappear into the constantly moving crowd. What was he up to? Hopefully once we were more familiar, I’d find out.