Florida Key

by Neil Watson

  Ozborn, for no reason in particular, kicked a mound of stones and gravel at a nearby dog, causing it to howl and instinctively dart away back toward the cycle. It was then that he was drawn to turn and see the bright red and black object fixed on the bike’s handlebar. He meandered over to it and observed what he thought was a small transistor radio, one like he’d never seen before. He twisted the top dial, and after the initial click, it came to life with some country tune that he liked. How cool. Amused, and without giving a second thought, he tugged at the device and could tell straight away that to remove it from the handlebar, he merely needed to slide it forward, which is exactly what he did.

  When reaching his truck, he brazenly tossed the radio in through the open window, where it fell onto the seat, bouncing off and onto the floor. Ozborn climbed in and, before driving off again to nowhere in particular, he leant down to pick up the radio and placed it on the seat next to him, pleased with his new acquisition. Noticing his bottle, he thought he may as well take another swig of his Bourbon, before stepping on the gas and leaving a plume of dust behind his spinning tyres.

  It took a while before Yushi felt nourished and refreshed enough to embark once again on his journey. But with his stamina now returned, it was time to leave $4 on the counter, sling his rucksack strap across his shoulder, and move on to his next ten-mile target as shown on the map. As he pushed open the door and walked to his bike, he immediately noticed that his radio was no longer attached to the handlebar.

  “Ah, shit. Shit, shit, shit!” spewed from his mouth. Even he was surprised at his own fury. As if in denial about what had happened, he looked around the car park in case it had miraculously come loose and fallen off somewhere. How could he have been so stupid to forget to remove it, especially with it being so easy to do so? Eventually, he couldn’t deny the fact that it had been stolen, and that he should have been more security-conscious in the first place.

  As he mounted his bike and rode away from the diner, his anger with the perpetrator as well as himself for having left the radio on the bike, turned to sadness. Incredibly downhearted, Yushi spent the whole of the next ten miles in a dreamlike state of mind, going over and over what had happened, feeling more and more sorry for himself and hardly paying any attention to the road ahead. He cycled through the next town without paying any attention to it, such was his feeling of melancholy. A further period of three hours of solid riding elapsed, and it was only by good chance that he happened to look up when he did, seeing the signpost for Paris. Why did that name ring a bell, he wondered? And then he remembered, of course, about his accommodation for the night at Sandy’s.

  “Okay, Yushi,” he conversed with himself under his breath, “Forget about the radio. What’s done is done. You’ll just have to buy another one when you see a cycle store.” Conscious of his finite budget, he told himself that he should work for the money—maybe something like picking fruit on a farm somewhere. Perhaps that would make up—financially at least—for his own, completely avoidable, misfortune.

  So, with a plan in his head for his own redemption, angry and sad as he was, he concentrated instead on finding his way, with the help of Sandy’s directions that she’d scribbled down, to her address. Perhaps he may be able to put the bad day he’d been having so far well behind him, and enjoy the rest of it—in her company.

  Turning into her road, he saw—a few hundred yards ahead—her bungalow exactly as she’d described it. One of a pair of properties set back from all the others in the street, and with a distinctive tree growing in the front yard next to the drive. As he approached, he could see her Volvo parked up against the door of the double garage, and he knew for certain that he’d arrived at the correct house. As he got off his bike and pushed it the few remaining yards along the drive, the fly-screen on the porch flew open, and Sandy stood there, beaming a welcoming smile at him. She looked amazing—even more glamorous than on their first meeting yesterday, and she’d looked pretty darn hot then, he thought. As she stood there dressed in high boots and tight jeans, with one hand perched on her hip, he felt her eyes follow his every movement as he approached.

  “Hi there!” Sandy called out in a welcoming tone. “Glad you made it. I can’t believe that you actually cycled all that way since I saw you yesterday. That’s one heck of a long ride. Come on in and make yourself at home. You must be exhausted, and starved as well, I bet!”

  Without giving much of a chance for Yushi to get a word in edgeways, she went on to say that she’d got them both a dinner of chicken stew bubbling away in the slow-cooker, if he’d care to join her later. But meanwhile she’d open up the garage so he could store his bike away for the night, and then she’d show him his room, and where the bathroom was so he could take a shower if he wished to.

  “That’s real kind of you, Sandy, and I’m very grateful,” Yushi politely replied, expressing his appreciation for her hospitality. Although feeling a little shy, he managed to ask whether she might have a cold drink he could have.

  “Why, yes, of course,” she replied. “No wonder you’re thirsty in this heat, and I think I may even join you.” And with that, they returned outside and sat on the porch drinking one Bud after the other, and picking up from where they’d left their conversation the day before. All the while, Sandy was becoming quite mesmerised by her guest. She found his apparent lack of any self-confidence, his naivety and his softly-spoken demeanour surprisingly attractive.

  The attraction was definitely mutual. Yushi was having some difficulty in not staring at the upper half of Sandy’s body, her cleavage in particular. He didn’t realise that her posture was a deliberate ploy to create maximum impact. He also didn’t pick up on the fact that she was enjoying subtly teasing the poor shy guy, and then catching him squirm with embarrassment at being caught gazing trance-like at her. Sandy wondered what more games she might be able to persuade him to play with her later.

  “Why don’t you go and get comfortable now, take a shower, unwind, while I make us a green salad to go with the chicken?” she suggested, with a little plan up her sleeve. Yushi was glad of the offer. He was admittedly weary, and also very sweaty and probably quite smelly from his day’s hard riding, as well as being hungry. He was looking forward to getting out of his cycling gear and putting some fresh clothes on. He obediently followed Sandy through to the room that she’d prepared for him.

  “Only one bathroom, I’m afraid,” she indicated to the room across the hallway. Although Yushi’s legs and arms were understandably aching, he was in much finer spirits now than earlier. It wasn’t possible to feel otherwise, such was Sandy’s way of making him feel so welcome and relaxed. And she was incredibly gorgeous, too, he couldn’t help noticing. Remembering back to Cincinnati, he realised how stupid he’d been to misread the signs from Megan—but this was so different.

  He was sensing a sure-fire chemistry with Sandy, of that there was no doubt.

  As Sandy meandered back to the kitchen, she felt glad that she’d never gotten around to fixing that rusty old bathroom lock that didn’t quite latch properly. After tossing some pre-washed salad leaves around in a bowl with some balsamic vinegar and olive oil, only taking a few minutes if that, she uncorked a nice bottle of her favourite Ernest and Julio Gallo Zinfandel from the wine rack, settled back in her sofa, and waited. She waited until she could hear her guest exit his room and enter the bathroom, closing the door behind him. And then she waited a further few minutes until she could hear the distinctive sound of the glass shower door being pulled to, and the swoosh of the water being turned on. She waited, as she took a few more sips from her glass, and then got up to make her move. She knew exactly how to open the bathroom door completely silently, so that she could step inside the room and be seated on her old Lloyd Loom chair, to watch Yushi standing in the cubicle while he soaped and shampooed himself, eyes shut and oblivious to her presence. This could go one of two ways, she thought. She’d do her best to ensure it went the way she wanted.

  Yushi was sh
ocked with self-consciousness after he’d washed the soap from his eyes and saw his hostess brazenly sitting there, unabashed. He instinctively crouched his body, covering his privates with his hands.

  “Take no notice of me, Yushi,” breathed Sandy. “I only came in to put a fresh towel out for you. I’m sorry to have startled you—I didn’t realise you were already in here,” she lied. “But I gotta say, I liked what I saw, so I stayed!”

  Deliberately, she stood up to hand him a towel, necessitating him to raise his arms to open the door with one hand, and take the towel with the other. With him now fully exposed in front of her, Sandy felt an electrifying tingle pass through her entire body.

  Confident she had read the signs correctly, she made her big move. “Yushi, have you ever been on a waterbed with a woman before? You have been with a woman before, haven’t you?” she baited. Before waiting for his answer, she held out her hand for Yushi to take, as he tried to dry himself, at the same time clumsily hopping along, as she assertively led him through to her room.

  Yushi felt as though he were in a trance. “Can this actually be happening?” he asked himself. “Have I had too many beers? Have I fallen asleep, and is this all just a wonderful dream?” He pinched himself hard, quite literally, and the pain confirmed the scenario was indeed all very real. Well, if this is what happens when you go cycling across the country, I may as well get to LA and turn right back to do it all over again, he concluded. Rather than protest against Sandy’s invitation, he allowed her to take control of the situation. Besides, he didn’t really know what to do anyway. Luckily for him, Sandy did.

  “So Yushi, have you ever been on a waterbed before?” she repeated. “Come, you should try it,” she beckoned, patting the bed next to where she now lay. As he nervously but excitedly climbed onto the bed, its surface flowed back and forth while making an unusual but sensual ‘glup, glup’ noise as it did so. The more he moved, the more waves he created, and it was an altogether strange, but rather pleasant, sensation.

  “What do you think?” asked Sandy, eager to impress her young guest.

  “Well,” began Yushi. “It’s a bit like laying on top of an air-mattress in a swimming pool, but with much more movement up and down.”

  He tried continuing with his comparison, but Sandy eased herself across, and gently placed two fingers on his mouth. “Enough talk,” she said. “Let’s see how it feels when we do this . . .” And with that, she certainly did take complete control of the situation, sitting cross-legged in front of him so that she was able to lean forward and lift up his t-shirt, remove it and toss it across the room. Her own instinct told her that this might be his first full encounter with a woman, and the thrill it was giving her was greater than she could have imagined. She hoped it would be an encounter that this shy young man would remember for ever. It was also a first time for her too, of a different kind. The first time she’d ever seduced a virgin—and she was loving every minute of it.

  As far as Yushi was concerned, he wasn’t sure what he should be doing next, so he thought he’d better let his teacher do whatever she wanted. It was as though all his dreams had been answered in one go. His head felt dizzy when she undid the buttons on her own shirt, revealing her incredible breasts only inches away from his eyes. They were as good as any he’d seen in the magazines he hid in his bedroom at home. And when Sandy stepped off the bed in order to remove her jeans, creating a tidal wave—in body and mind—it was all too much for him. As he climaxed at the sight of Sandy standing there, facing him, in only her panties and open blouse, he felt incredibly embarrassed. But he needn’t have. Sandy knew exactly what she was doing.

  “That’s okay, you sweet innocent thing, you needed to let out all that tension, didn’t you?” As Sandy whispered her reassuring words, Yushi was too mesmerised to answer. He’d waited a heck of a long time to experience a situation like this, and he was more than happy to let his tutor guide him all the way. The ecstasy he felt left him breathless but he was soon ready for more. “It’s quite alright and nothing to worry about,” Sandy continued. “Now we can carry on and have some serious fun.”

  Convinced that Sandy was enjoying the liaison as much as he was, Yushi was unfortunately unable to differentiate between her basic carnal lust, and love, whatever love was. He imagined he must be falling in love with this stunning older woman, and he presumed that the feelings must surely be mutual. Yushi had a lot to learn about women in general, and certainly this one in particular. But for now, like the cliché, he lay back on the bed, letting the motion of the waterbed beneath him add to the sensation, closed his eyes, and thought of America. This had now turned into the best day of his life, and he would never forget it, all thanks to Sandy Beach of Paris, Illinois.

  Later, after a very pleasant meal together, they spent the rest of the evening watching TV, playing some records and chatting about this and that, including Yushi’s forthcoming journey on his bike to the next major city of St. Louis, Missouri. According to his calculations, the city with its famous arch, the ‘Gateway to the West’ was about 180 miles away, so it should take him two days to reach. As well as loving the sex, Sandy was also enjoying Yushi’s company, and expressed sadness as she remembered he was supposed to be leaving in the morning. Not only that, she had more bedroom tricks she wanted to teach him and fantasies of her own to fulfil. “Why not stay one more day?” she suggested. “I have to go to work, but afterward we could go for a cycle together—I have my own bike in the garage. It looks like we’re in for another hot day, and we could go down to the creek, take a swim . . . and who knows what might happen?” she suggested provocatively.

  Well, Yushi wasn’t going to turn down such an offer, and his imagination already began running away with him. Besides, he had been making good mileage so far on his journey, and while he was staying at Sandy’s it wasn’t costing him a dime, so what was stopping him? Nothing, he concluded, as he enthusiastically agreed to stay.

  But for now, all the cycling—and not to mention the other more exceptional exertions of the day—had taken their toll on him. He yawned heavily, and although he tried to cover it up, Sandy noticed, and it set her off too.

  “Come on,” she said. “You’ve had a long day, sweet thing. It’s time to turn in. I guess you’d prefer to have your own room . . .” Yushi feigned tears, and Sandy picked up on them, joining in with the little game. “ . . . But of course, if you prefer . . .” She got up off the couch and ushered Yushi into her bedroom for the second time in the space of a few hours. They slept naked together, both of them content. Relieved as well; they had both achieved the experience they’d been craving.

  CHAPTER 9

  (MONDAY, 13TH APRIL, 1981)

  Ozborn’s Return

  A s was normal for Marc Ozborn’s mornings, he awoke with a headache. After driving away from the diner the previous day, he, as usual, had nothing much to do except find a bar and get wasted. By the afternoon, he’d decided to go home, smoke some weed and fall heavily asleep, not waking again until 9.00a.m., with the usual barks of mongrel dogs roaming around outside. Home was a 25-foot aluminium, single-skinned mobile house-on-wheels, situated in a trailer-park on the outskirts of a run-down industrial town that had seen better times. Some days he’d turn on the TV to watch James Garner solve another case, and wish his trailer could be more like Jim Rockford’s—at least clean and relatively tidy. Instead, Ozborn’s was in a permanent state of filth, with dirty dishes, discarded clothes everywhere, and beer cans overflowing the trashcan. While he was drinking some strong coffee, his peace was disturbed by a banging at his door, that initially he ignored. The banging continued, and it was easy to recognise his landlord hollering. The thin walls weren’t exactly good sound insulators.

  “Ozborn, I know you’re in there. Your rent’s way overdue, sir. You know the rules. I’ve got a dozen others like you on social, queuing up for a place like this. If you don’t pay up by tomorrow, you’re on your way, okay?”

  “Fuck off. I’ll get you
r money,” was the only response Ozborn could be bothered to make.

  “Make sure you do, Mr. Ozborn. By tomorrow, y’hear?” shouted the trailer owner, issuing a final bash against the door, before going on his way to other tenants on the site who were also late with their dues. Ozborn looked around for the document he’d need in order to collect his welfare money. There it was, under an old National Enquirer magazine. He’d have to go to Terre Haute, the main town of the county, to cash it. While there, he may as well enquire whether the owner would give him another stint in The Old Parlor Tavern in Paris—not far away—to gain a few extra dollars and down some more free beers. Doing his best to look respectable, splashing some water on his face and smoothing it over his greasy hair, he stepped outside into the hot sunshine.

  While driving along, he glanced down at the radio that he’d dishonestly acquired the day before, deciding not to take a swig from the nearby Bourbon until after collecting his money. Some weeks he’d be asked into the back office for a compulsory meeting with his job liaison officer, who would update him on any fresh vacancies that had arisen since their previous meeting—all of which Ozborn had no intention of pursuing. But he needed to go through the motions, and at least appear interested, in order to keep getting those payments. And best to be sober too, so there’d be no arguments, he decided reluctantly.

  Today turned out to be one of those type of days. Ozborn reflected for a moment on how he hated those “dumb interrogations”, as he called them. He couldn’t understand why he would possibly want to work his balls off, for just a few dollars an hour in some factory or grocery store or farm. Sure, he thought, he could just about manage bar-work at a push, but having to be polite to stupid opinionated a-hole customers wasn’t his idea of fun. At least The Old Parlor in Paris wasn’t too bad though—Dean, the proprietor, was kind of okay, and it was also kind of easy to slip a few bills from the cash register into his back pocket when Dean’s back was turned. And of course, he could drink a few free beers there.