Key Weird 06; Key Dali

by Robert Tacoma

  ∨ Key Dali ∧

  16

  Stoney’s

  “It’s not far from here, just a couple of blocks.”

  Walking hand-in-hand, the evening air is filled with sexual anticipation and we are there in no time. She looks at the building.

  “Your friend lives here?” She stops in front of the t-shirt shop, then looks up at the second floor apartment. “Upstairs?”

  I motion for her to follow around back to a low door behind some trashcans.

  “Actually, his place is down here.” I unlock the door and bend down and reach inside until I find the light switch, then step back. Socks bends down for a tentative look inside.

  “A basement?”

  “No basements in Key West, or the rest of the state for that matter. More of a crawlspace. Go on in, you’ll like it, I guarantee.”

  We both crawl in and Socks gets her first look at one of the best-kept secrets in Key West.

  “Wow! This is something!”

  While I’m busy with the incense bowl and candles by the door, Socks is crawling around checking out the large open room with three-foot ceilings. Against one wall is a sink and stove on the floor next to an apartment-sized fridge that just does fit. There’s a dinette table missing its legs surrounded by pillows, and more pillows in front of a flat-screen television and stereo. The low ceiling is painted wooden floor joists, the walls treated plywood. There are several columns in the big room, and the floor is packed dirt covered with sheet plastic, carpet, and oriental rugs. She sits on one of the mattresses made up as a bed, her head almost touching the ceiling.

  “This is pretty cool! Where’s the bathroom?”

  I flip off the electric light as I’ve gotten several candles going now around the room.

  “The door on the right is the bathroom. More like a head on a boat actually. It’s a bit complicated, but there’s an instruction sheet on the wall inside. The other door is storage. Stoney’s into storage.”

  I take a seat next to the bed and lean back against the wall since there’s not quite enough headroom for me to sit on the bed. I find the remote for the stereo and work on some music. Socks’ enthusiasm had dropped when I showed her the low door behind the trashcans, but now she’s all smiles again, looking around the room, taking it all in.

  I finally find a radio station with the right soft jazz to cover the sounds of the street outside just as Socks pats the place next to her on the mattress. I bump my head and that gets her laughing. She then arranges me on the bed so I’m lying on my back with my head in her lap. A kiss on my bumped forehead and I can’t think of anyplace I’d rather be as she softly strokes my hair and hums along with the music.

  “Okay, Dali, tell me about this place.”

  “Well, when Stoney hit town a few years ago he worked cheap doing handyman jobs and slept in his truck at the beach. He did some work on this building back then, and since he was cheap, over time the owner gave him first shot at any of the repairs the old place needed. Stoney got permission to keep his tools under the building and before long he had more and more of his own stuff under here. Stoney never told me right out, but I think the owner of the building had a lot of old business records under here as well.” I pointed to the locked storage door. “I know Stoney’s a curious sort, so I’m thinking he read through the records and found something. Something that made the owner not care what his now former handyman did under the building, or ask about rent.”

  “Well, he did a good job on the place. It’s really cozy in here.”

  “Stoney’s been living here for years. In fact, he’s kind of the Crawlspace King of Key West since these days he’s managing several other crawlspaces around town. A couple are apartments like this, but most of the others are storage units.”

  “Did your friend do all this work himself?”

  “He did some of it, but Stoney’s a people person. He’s really good at finding people with special skills and working with them.”

  “The mark of a successful entrepreneur.”

  “Exactly. Anyway, he met this guy in a bar once who everyone these days calls Mole. The story goes that Mole used to work on a shrimp boat but got caught in a really bad storm once, and when the boat when down he spent three days out in the gulf holding onto an ice chest. He swore he’d never go back on the water, or even near it, and stayed in Key West because he’s scared to death to even go over a bridge. Mole had been looking for construction work and was down to his last dollar when Stoney met him in the bar. The only construction work at the time was as a roofer, and Mole wouldn’t do that because there isn’t a roof in Key West you can’t see the water from. Mole wanted work that put him close to the ground, so Stoney gave him a rake, shovel, and roller to smooth and pack the floor. Ever since then Mole has done all of Stoney’s crawlspaces, and even the maintenance. The man does good work.”

  I gesture with my hand at the perfectly level floor. Socks just smiles and shakes her head.

  “Amazing. I’ve walked by this place several times and would have never known.”

  “Hey, would you like something to drink?” I start to roll over to get up, but a firm hand presses on my chest.

  “Maybe later, let’s do something else first.” So I settle my head back into the lady’s lap where I have a perfect view of her jacket, t-shirt, and bra as she smoothly slips them off.

  ∨ Key Dali ∧

  17

  Pillows

  When I wake it takes me a moment to remember just where I am. I dig my way out of the pillows on the bed and see Socks on hands and knees coming out of the bathroom on her way to stage a raid on the fridge. She’s still wearing just the knee-socks I’d begged her not to take off.

  “Do you think your friend would mind if I drank this?” She holds up a diet soda.

  “Is there any wine?”

  She closes the refrigerator to take a look in the cabinets.

  “Actually, there’s three bottles in the fridge and several more in the cupboard.”

  “Let’s have some wine. Your choice.”

  “Sure.”

  “And some cheese? Stoney always has some cheese somewhere.”

  As Socks rummages around in the kitchen I recline back in the pillow pile. I can’t help but smile a contented smile while enjoying the view of the exquisite nude form in the candlelight kneeling in front of the fridge.

  The sex had been great. She didn’t hesitate to pull my pants down and tease with her tongue for a few minutes before getting serious with her mouth and bringing things to a quick conclusion. She made me go to the kitchen to find something sweet, and thanks to Stoney always having a fully stocked pantry, I came back grinning with a can of whipped cream. She made me lie back and went at me again, my only job to lie back and enjoy it and put a line of whipped cream on myself whenever she came up for air. It didn’t take much whipped cream before we were both ready and at each other for a wild ride in the pillows that ended in an amazing photo finish.

  “You sure he won’t mind if we eat this stuff?”

  Socks is back with snacks and two glasses on a tray in one hand and dragging a bottle of wine in the other.

  “Stoney is a very good friend, he told me to make myself at home. Plus he’s off with his bartender girlfriend tonight anyway.”

  After I do the gentlemanly thing and make a trip to the kitchen for a corkscrew, we pounce on the food. We drink cold wine and eat cheese on wheat crackers, both of us making little happy sounds. Amazing how sex, especially really good sex, can stimulate your appetite. After a brief discussion on who gets the last piece of cheese, we split it and lay back in the pillows with glasses of wine.

  The lady glass walker takes a sip and lays her head with all that hair on my shoulder. “This place is great, but doesn’t it get hot in the summer?”

  I point to an air vent across the room. “Stoney ran a duct down here from the T-shirt shop’s air conditioning. He was going to put in a fireplace but thought that might be a bit much. After
all, this is Key West.”

  I have a call and give myself a pop to the head. Socks sits up and looks over at me.

  “Doesn’t that hurt?”

  “A little, but I’m used to it, and it hasn’t been happening so much lately.” I shrug to let her know it’s nothing, but now she’s curious.

  “What happens when you’re asleep? Doesn’t it wake you up?”

  “Sometimes. Other times I sleep through the calls and end up with some pretty bizarre dreams.”

  I’m getting a sympathetic look as she gently strokes my head. We sip our wine and listen to the soft music before she says anything else.

  “Well, I really like this place, though I don’t know if I could live somewhere where you can’t ever stand up. Do you stay here with your friend?”

  “No, I have a condo in New Town.”

  Socks snuggles even closer at this news, so I venture a query.

  “Where are you staying?”

  “Oh, I’m renting a room in a trailer from this woman over on Stock Island.”

  “I thought you might be staying with the big guy I saw you leave Mallory with that time.”

  I feel her body stiffen for a second at this.

  “With Steve? No, he just helped me with the jury thing so I could do my act at Mallory. Though he did offer to let me stay on his boat.”

  “He has a boat?”

  “A big old thing at the marina. I’ve seen it and it’s not bad actually. He told me it’s his, but I think it’s a rental. Plus he’s kind of a creep, you know?” The hand is back in my hair.

  “Did I hear him call you Carla?”

  Again she tenses up for a second.

  “Carla Castanada.”

  “Really? Like the famous fiction writer who wrote those books about Indian sorcerers?”

  “It’s not fiction!” There’s a flash of anger in her eyes, but it fades just as quickly. The hand stroking my hair is back. “Do you have a boat?”

  “No, but I’m thinking about getting one. It has to do with one of my plans. Would you like to hear some of my ideas?”

  “Sure.”

  So I tell her about the orphanage, the stone crab telephone, and the six-toed cats. I start to tell her about miniature Key West gravestones with, ‘I Told You I Was Sick’ on them when I sense her interest waning. I pause and she changes the subject.

  “I’m thinking about opening a bank account. What bank do you use?”

  If I could stand up to rail on about banks I would, but I have to settle on sitting up a little, and then rant on about the evils of banks. I’m on a roll, and about to move on to iguanas next when she interrupts.

  “Well, if I don’t put my money in a bank where else would I put it to be safe? With the incredible art you make for the tourists, you must make a lot of money. What do you do, bury it?”

  For some reason she thinks this is funny. When I don’t answer, she gets it finally and apologizes. My turn to change the subject.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask you where you learned to walk on glass.”

  She exhales big and slumps down into the pillows and looks at the ceiling, which is right there.

  “I learned glass walking when I was in the military, but there really isn’t much to tell.”

  “Well, it really is amazing what you do, I would think there’s plenty to tell.”

  “Oh, there is, but I learned it in a country I can’t talk about while involved in an operation I also can’t talk about.”

  “I see.”

  The anger I’d seen in those innocent eyes earlier is so damn sexy I’m tempted to press for a repeat showing, but decide to see what happens if I stroke a green-socked calf that just happens to be within easy reach instead. It has the desired effect, on us both, and before long we are into the pillows for the evening’s encore performance.

  ∨ Key Dali ∧

  18

  Marina

  There’s something about the morning air in the tropics. In the cool months, the breeze coming off the water can energize a person and sharpen the senses. On such a morning a person walking down the streets of a place like Key West will sometimes stop on the sidewalk just to fill his lungs with the sweet mixture of ocean air and fresh baked bagels.

  I stop in the bagel shop just off Duval. In addition to the effects of the invigorating weather, my body is still tingling and hungry from the night before.

  “Can I help you, sir?”

  “Toasted pumpernickel with everything to go, my good man!”

  “Here you are. Will there be anything else?”

  “No, thank you, I already have plenty of ocean air waiting outside.”

  On the sidewalk I face the breeze and breathe deep, then stick my nose in the warm sack. Can it get any better? Did I mention I’m in love?

  Ah, and Key West is looking its very best this morning under crisp bluebird skies as I nibble along the sidewalk on my way to visit Taco Bob.

  I walk on air up Truman, past the laundry and quaint collection of motels, parks, scooter shops, small ethnic restaurants, and strip clubs on my way to the marina to visit my friend with some news. I do hope he’s there, as right after parting with my love a short time ago I went by the Grunt Pier and it was empty.

  The thought of the glass walker brings a wash of pleasant feelings. I would have been fine with staying with her for the day, or forever, but when she said she had to go I walked with her from Stoney’s to where her bicycle was chained to a light pole.

  “I have to feed my cat.”

  “Toes?”

  “Five.”

  “Still…”

  She assured me she’d keep her cat safely inside the trailer for a few days, and I watched with the melancholy of separated lovers as white shorts stretched tight above green knee-socks pedaled away towards Stock Island. That vision, still fresh, makes me sigh with longing.

  But I also keep an eye open on my way from the Grunt Pier to the marina. I haven’t seen the kid and wonder if he’s given up, or just gotten better at spying on me.

  Thinking of Socks feeding her cat reminded me of my own duties and I detour to the condos. I see the manager troll and he looks a bit haggard. I start to ask him how he’s been sleeping at night but don’t want to tip my hand as to who might have set the Vanguard 311 Smoke Alarm Sentinels in his unit to come on at full shriek every morning at 3 a.m.

  Goldfish fed, I head for the marina. As I reach the boats I notice a bad smell in the breeze. I also see a plumber’s van by the bathhouse.

  Taco Bob has told me on calm days he’ll often be fishing out on the flats in his skiff boat, but if it’s windy he’ll fish grunts off the pier, or hole up in the library or a café, reading and writing. So I hope he’s around. I know the man had enough years as a rancher in Texas eating dust to really appreciate the salt life. Same amount of sun, but a lot more water and a lot less dust. Not to mention much less stress from dealing with everything Mother Nature and government agencies could throw at him.

  I’ve been through the marina before, but never really noticed how many boats are here. A lot. Some of the houseboats look more like houses than boats, and many have satellite dishes and gardens of potted tropical plants.

  I’ve always enjoyed strolling along looking at boats and daydreaming, and as a man deep in the throes of love, I have an even deeper appreciation of everything, so I’m really enjoying the boats and thinking about life in a marina.

  I saunter by the charter boats, taking in the tranquil morning atmosphere until I’m at the area where the odd lot of live-aboards are moored. I read the names as I walk along, trying to remember the name of Taco Bob’s houseboat. I see the boats Strangely Green, Pop Top, High Keels, and Go Away, but none of those names rings a bell. But I do get a ringing in my head just as I see a white-blonde mop of hair up on top of a houseboat. So I pop myself in the side of the head to stop the ringing, and walk over to where a bikinied Consuelo is bending over polishing brightwork on the old boat.

  “Hi, Cons
uelo!”

  I get a smile as the young woman stands and stretches, testing the breaking point of the briefest of bikinis. But as a man in love I do not even give a second glance to her well-tanned and perfectly-toned body. However, we both notice the town perv on his three-wheeled bike making lewd gestures and loud grunting noises from further down the dock.

  Consuelo gives the perv the finger and a look that could kill small animals. The perv’s self-preservation instincts must kick in, as he gets quiet and backs up a few feet, but continues to stare.

  The bright blues eyes soften considerably as they come my way. “What’s up, Dali? Is that a new cape?”

  “Why yes, a present from a dear friend.” I twirl once for effect. “Is Taco Bob around? This is his houseboat, right? The Sandy Bottomed Girl?” Though nearly as big as the floating houses in the marina, this one is definitely a boat.

  “Yeah, this is his boat, but him and Slip are off on a recon and supply mission.” Consuelo sends another hard look in the direction of the perv, who again moves further down the dock. “Come on aboard if you want, they should be back soon.”

  As a man hoping to be in the market for a houseboat someday, I take advantage of the opportunity to give the old boat a good looking-over as I step aboard. I climb the ladder up to the top and join the young lady.

  “This boat, she is very nice.”

  Consuelo has gone back to polishing the railing with a rag. “It’s okay, but it takes a lot of work to keep these old tubs shipshape.”

  There’s a steering wheel and controls for the boat up here, and seats, and even a small roof. “This really is a great boat, and a great view.”

  The shapely young woman straightens ups and looks my way, but I am enjoying looking out over the marina, not checking out her ass. This elevated perspective reminds me I must visit the old lighthouse in town again soon.

  “Here they come.”

  I look where Consuelo is pointing with her chin and see Taco Bob and a shorter, stockier man coming down the dock. As they get closer I see that each man is carrying grocery bags. We go down the ladder to the main deck.