—Thank you, Kevin, I say. We’ll be right back.
Casey smiles up at me, and as we turn to head over to the Starliner, Monica grabs my hand and pulls me back.
—I’d love and adore you if it was just the two of us, she says, but the way you are with my — our — children makes me worship you.
I wake with a start.
It’s late, the night dark, empty, the beach abandoned.
I sit up in my seat, angry at myself for falling asleep, and realize my phone is vibrating in my pocket.
Pulling it out, I turn my wipers on to remove the dew from my windshield and confirm Vic’s van is still here. It is. In fact, his and mine are the only two vehicles in the lot.
Glancing at the display on my phone, I see that it’s Casey.
Hey, I say, then clear my throat in an attempt to get the sleepiness out of it.
—Merrick?
—Yeah?
—What’s wrong?
—Whatta you mean?
—What’s with all the calls and messages?
—I just wanted to make sure you’re really okay.
—I am. I told you. We’ve been through this, she says, her voice ragged, impatient. I told you, I’ll call you if I ever need anything. Please stop calling. You’re freaking me out.
—Sorry. I was just worried.
—Well, don’t be. I’m a big girl — can take care of myself. I’ll let you know if I need anything. Okay?
I nod as if she can see it.
—I’ve been patient, she adds, but I really mean it.
—Okay.
—Good.
—But I’d like to see you in person.
—What? Why?
—Just to make sure you’re not being made to tell me you’re okay.
—I’m at work. You can stop by if it’ll... her voice changes, moving away from the phone. Huh? Oh. I’m up next. Got to go. Remember what I said. I’ll call if I need you.
I start to say something, but she is gone.
— So swing by work and see her, Rashard says. Know for sure.
—Yeah?
Though his call is just a few minutes after the one with Casey ended, I had already dozed off again.
Eyes stinging, head hurting, throat scratchy, I pop open the glove box, withdraw the small, plastic tupelo honey bear, tilt my head back, and squirt a large dollop of the thick, golden elixir on my tongue. Old timers around Wewa had always sworn by the healing powers of honey — particularly tupelo. As a kid, I thought it a wives’ tale, but the older I get, the more convinced I am it’s true. The sweet medicine is soothing to my throat, and makes me realize how hungry I am.
—And whatever Vic the prick’s up to out here, got nothin’ to do with her if she’s in town at work, he continues.
—Guess not — or not directly, or not at the moment. Still want to know what it is.
I look over at his van, then scan the area again. No sign of him — or anyone else.
—The fuck you still doin’ out here? Go. Go check on Casey, then go home. Go to bed.
—What about Vic?
—Prick’s on my radar now. Safe money says he’ll be in jail before Fourth of July.
I drop by The Dollhouse just long enough to make sure Casey is okay, and though Regan’s car is in the lot, I don’t see her, and I’m glad.
Casey is even more annoyed with me than before.
—See, she says, waving her hand across her skimpily clad body, I’m not missing.
We stand not far from the bar, near the reception counter.
—Sorry, I say. I know you don’t want me seeing you like this, but I just had to be sure.
My relief that she is okay supersedes my awkwardness at seeing her in what amounts to little more than bra and panties, but I keep my eyes locked on hers, not looking anywhere else.
—Doesn’t matter, she says. And what if it did?
Those words, that question, sounds so world-weary, so futile, so fatalistic, they break my heart, and cause me more guilt than she can ever know.
—I’m just trying to look out for you, Case.
—Like you used to, she says.
And should have never stopped, I think.
—I tried, I say.
—No, you did. But that’s been a while. I’m not a kid anymore.
—Obviously, I say, nodding toward her body, though never taking my eyes off hers, but you are in danger.
—You... Are you...
—What?
—You sure you’re not just trying to make up for...
She’s right, and I know it, but this isn’t just me attempting to exorcise regret.
—Guys warning me not to look for you, ones treated my new car like a piñata, and whoever they work for, shouldn’t be taken lightly.
—Then I won’t. I’ve got to get back to work. Regan’s in the VIP if you wanna wait.
I leave relieved and frustrated, guilt and remorse feeding on the fringes of my thoughts. In the car I crank up the dance music from La Vela on PFM, attempting to keep from falling asleep on my long drive home.
I fall into bed as the sun is coming up, and sleep too much of the next day away. Maybe if I hadn’t, I could’ve prevented what happened, but Casey wasn’t the only one I failed to convince just how dangerous things really were.
I wake feeling restless and frustrated. It’s as if I’m sleep deprived and hung-over, though I’m neither.
I don’t feel like doing anything, but I force myself to get up, read, think, jog, workout, and shower.
In between each activity, I check my phone, and a few times I call or text Regan.
By the time I’ve finished everything, it’s mid-afternoon, and still no response.
Eventually, I climb into my car and head back out to Thunder Beach to hang around the events, to be close by in case Casey needs me. Of course, it means that if Regan calls and says she’s in town, I’ll be close enough to meet her with just a few minutes’ notice.
Bikes everywhere.
The traffic is much heavier now, every other vehicle a bike.
Not having eaten since the oysters and crab cakes with Regan the evening before, I’m famished, but I manage to hold out until I can stop by Cahall’s on 23rd Street for one of their legendary chicken salad sandwiches, then by Gaston’s downtown for a piece of fresh strawberry cake.
The slice of cake is so good, I have a second, while talking to Gaston about the upcoming UFC fight he’s showing on his big screen the following weekend. Promising to return for the match, I get a third piece and a cup of coffee to go — he even lets me take a mug when I promise to bring it back soon.
When I finally make it to the beach, I stick to the official Thunder Beach venues — Boardwalk, La Vela, Sharky’s, Sandpiper Beacon, Pier Park, Frank Brown Park, Edgewater, and Rock’it Lanes.
Moving slowly from place to place, I look through the seemingly endless line of vendor booths, live music playing in the background.
There are exhibits, demonstrations, stunts, drill teams, bikini bike washes, Show Us Your Tats and Rate The Rack contests, poker runs in progress, lingerie shows, and every kind motorcycle known to mankind.
I arrive at The Boardwalk in time to see the Miss Thunder Beach pageant finale.
Miss Thunder Beach began as a bikini contest — always one of the most popular events of the rally — but has grown into a full scale-pageant series with a spokesmodel program.
Truly beautiful women with amazing bodies are walking across the stage in skimpy, sexy bikinis, and I can’t imagine the judges saying that one looks better than the others. But that’s exactly what they do.
Thankfully, Casey isn’t among them. Making herself scarce is the safest thing she can do right now.
Following the pageant, I spend a little time looking around the vendor booths, watching people, listening to the bands.
Somehow, between the noise and the crowd and my movements through it, I miss her call.
It’s not until I’m back in m
y car, that I see — not only do I have a missed call from Casey, but she left a voicemail.
I’m so happy she called it helps mitigate my disappointment at not hearing from Regan all day.
As I call for my messages, I tell myself, not for the first time, that I need to break things off with Regan and move on. I just can’t take her inconsistency and inconsiderateness. I’m not sure what makes her so seemingly schizophrenic, but I’ve got to have enough self-respect to stop subjecting myself to it.
I punch in my security code and wait.
—Hey, Merrick. It’s me.
I can barely hear her over the loud music in the background.
—Can’t believe I’m calling you after I was so rude. Sorry about that. I told you I didn’t blame you for what happened, but maybe subconsciously I do. I don’t know.
She pauses a beat, and I hear a couple of voices yelling above the music like she’s at a bar or concert or something — most likely The Dollhouse.
—Anyway, you said to call and I know you meant it — such a good man — it’s probably nothing, but there’s this guy. Something about him. Hasn’t really done anything yet. I mean sort of, but not really. But he’s creeping me out. I’m sure I’m overreacting. It’s probably nothing. I’m sure I’m being silly. It’s nice to have someone to call. Thanks. Just talking to your voicemail has me feeling better. Like I said, just got a little spooked. I’ll call you later. Sorry to be so... I don’t know... sensitive or whatever. Okay. Just disregard this whole stupid message. Really. Don’t start calling me. Don’t freak out. I’ll call you in a little while just to let you know I’m fine — which I will be, by the way. Okay. Crazy person signing off now. Love you. Bye.
Against her wishes, I call Casey as I’m driving back into town.
When I get her voicemail, I leave her a message of my own.
—Hey, Case, it’s Merrick. Got your message and I was just checking on you. Call me back as soon as you can. Sorry I missed your call, but I’ll be listening out now so call again soon. And don’t apologize. I’m so glad you called. I am here for you. Anything you need. Anytime. Anywhere. You can count on it. I love you.
After ending the call to Casey, I punch in Rashard’s number.
—You know where Vic is? I ask.
—I’m not following him or anything, just keeping tabs on him. Why?
—Casey called and said she’s being creeped out by some guy and —
—Vic?
—Don’t know, I say.
—You didn’t ask her?
—It was a voicemail. I’m pretty sure she would’ve said if it was him. Just wanted to make sure he didn’t have anything to do with it.
—I’m not far from 11th, he says. I’ll swing by and see if he’s home.
—Thanks, man. That’d be great.
—I’ll hit you back when I know something.
— Tiffany working tonight?
The big bouncer gives me an elaborate shrug.
Entering The Dollhouse, he’s the first person I encounter.
After placing the armband around my wrist, he motions me over to pay the lady behind the counter.
I do.
—Seen Tiffany tonight? I ask her.
She smiles and shakes her head. Sorry, sweetie, but I’m new here, and I can’t keep all their little dancer names straight.
She gives me my change, and I place a couple of dollars in her glass tip jar — trying not to think about how few dollars I have left.
—Thanks, sugar, she says. Good luck finding your girl.
It’s early — at least in the relative world of a strip club — and the place is busy, but not packed. I normally avoid coming on Friday and Saturday nights because of just how crowded it gets.
I scan the room for Casey, willing myself not to notice if Regan’s here or not, the way I had refrained from trying to spot her car in the lot. I’m here for Casey. Wouldn’t be otherwise. I’m through chasing a woman who doesn’t want to be — or doesn’t know what she wants.
It’s hard to see everyone in the dim, crowded room — and the flashing stage lights don’t help any — but I don’t see her.
The remix of “Wicked Games” wraps up, and I take a seat in the front right corner close to the DJ booth and dressing room.
—All right guys, the DJ says, we’re setting those two lovely ladies free and bringing up two more. Remember, if you want a private, more personal, intimate dance, all you have to do is ask. Up next, it’s Mystic on the main and Sky in the playpen. Mystic on the main, Sky in the pen.
Sitting alone at a strip club is never comfortable, but when it’s crowded, when you’re surrounded by groups of people laughing, talking, enjoying themselves as they share the experience, it’s even more acutely uncomfortable.
Eventually, the waitress makes it over to me, and I’m grateful for someone to interact with and to soon be holding a bottle in my hand.
—What can I get you? she asks, placing a cocktail napkin on the table.
—Corona.
She nods and starts to move away.
—Is Tiffany working tonight?
She purses her lips and looks around.
—Not sure, but I’ll find out for you.
—Thanks.
—I thought Raven was your girl.
Shaking my head, I think, Me, too, but I was wrong. She never had been, and I feel myself flush with anger and embarrassment. Do I really mean it this time? Sure. But I did every other time before, too, didn’t I?
She leaves, and I look around some more.
Mystic, a tall, thin black girl in a wig, is on her third song on the main, dancing feverishly, cupping her small breasts. The stage is littered with singles, and a group of young black men in baggy outfits that match their baseball caps are standing in front of her, continuing to make it rain.
—Raven, check’s out, the DJ says. Raven, check’s out.
My pulse quickens at the mention of her name, my body betraying me.
In a moment, I see Regan step out of VIP and head toward the dressing room. Looking away, I’m grateful my beer arrives.
I pay and overtip, and she’s about to walk away, but I call her back.
—What about Tiffany? I ask.
—Sorry, she says. I forgot. I’ll go find out right now.
—Thanks.
As she walks away, Regan comes up on the other side and attempts to hug me.
—Hey, she says, sitting next to me at the small table. I’m so glad you came in.
—Have you seen Casey?
—No, why?
—Is she working?
—I’m not sure.
The song ends and Sky and Mystic are replaced by Jade and Ling, two Asian dancers, who, with the way they’re dressed, could pass for sisters.
—You don’t have to cover for her anymore, I say.
—I wasn’t covering for her. I just respected her wishes. What’s wrong?
—She called and said a guy was bothering her.
—Here? she asks, turning to look around the room.
—She didn’t say where she was. Sounded like here.
—I’m surprised she’d call, she says.
—Some people actually do that — make calls, even return calls.
—What’s wrong? I meant all she has to do is let a bouncer know.
—Could she be in VIP, not able to let a bouncer know what’s going on? I ask.
As soon as I ask it, I realize she was able to call me with her phone. Still, she could’ve gone in VIP after calling, so we should still check it.
—He walks by at the beginning of every song, but I guess if they were — let me check with the DJ.
She jumps up, disappears into the DJ booth, returning to the table less than a minute later.
—She’s not in VIP and she’s not on his rotation.
—Meaning? I ask.
—She’s not here.
I nod.
—Thanks for checking, I say.
—Are you ma
d at me?
I shake my head.
—Why’re you acting so —
—Any idea where she might be? I ask.
—She’s never mentioned going anywhere else. Was she doing something for Thunder Beach?
—Not sure. She wasn’t at the Miss Thunder Beach Pageant. I was just out there and didn’t see her, but could’ve easily missed her in the crowd.
I pull out my phone and check it.
—Are you worried about her? she asks.
—Just want to know she’s okay.
—Please don’t be mad at me.
—I’m not.
—You act like it, she says.
—I do?
—Well, no, you’re still polite, but you are acting different.
—I’m just here looking for Casey.
—Oh.
—Oh what? I ask.
—I thought... It doesn’t matter.
—Doesn’t, does it? I say. Took me a while to figure that out.
—What?
The waitress comes back and nods.
—She is, she says.
—What? I ask.
—The girl you asked about. Tiffany. She is working tonight.
—You sure?
—Yeah. Diamond and Taylor talked to her.
I turn toward Regan, but she’s already up and moving toward the DJ booth.
I stand and begin to walk around the room, winding my way through partying people around small tables, men and women at the tip rails, and girls giving lap dances.
I’m over near the bar when Regan comes up to me.
—She was here earlier, she says, but the DJ thinks she must’ve left. She didn’t tell him, but he called her to the stage several times and she never showed.
—Would you check the dressing room and the girls bathroom?
—Just did. She’s not in either of them.
—Nobody saw her leave? I ask.
She shakes her head.
—Not that I’ve found so far.
—Ask the girl at the desk, I say. I’ll check VIP.
—Bouncer won’t let you in VIP, she says. Let me do both.
—Okay. Thanks.
I find the waitress, and place a fifty on her tray.
—I’ll double that if you can find anyone who saw Tiffany leave and who she left with.
—I’ll see what I can do.
Regan comes out of VIP and shakes her head.
MICHAEL LISTER'S FIRST THREE SERIES NOVELS: POWER IN THE BLOOD, THE BIG GOODBYE, THUNDER BEACH Page 39