“You two are just precious,” she said in the deepest voice possible. She must have read the obvious confusion on my face.
“Why don’t you guys come in for a drink? It’s OK, you can bring the girls too, everybody’s welcome,” she said and pointed one long, red-polished finger at a sign in the bar’s window.
Four brightly colored and flamboyantly dressed people adorned the ad with the words, “The Queens of Key West” emblazoned over their heads. There was the red-haired woman in the center wearing the same red dress and a pink feather boa. Surrounding her were Barbara Streisand, Cher and a woman with short-cropped black hair I didn’t recognize.
Lindsey started laughing, as did Shoddy and Emily. It took me a second longer but eventually realization slapped me in the face. I couldn’t help but laugh along. The woman, or man, in the red dress chuckled heartily.
“You must be the smart one in the group,” she said looking right at me. “How about you come in and buy me a martini and I’ll explain the whole thing to you?”
Shoddy, Lindsey and Emily burst out in hysterics. Passers-by stopped and whispered, some pointing at the drag queen. Again, I couldn’t help but laugh.
“No thank you Ma’am,” I said.
“Ma’am? Oh come on, honey. I know I look better than a ma’am,” she said with a charming mix of sass and humor. “But that’s alright. I can see you’re already taken by this lovely blonde biscuit.”
I was still holding Lindsey’s hand. She was grinning widely.
“Just remember, nothing beats a red-head. You stop by on your way home and I’ll prove it,” she said and blew me a kiss.
Before I could stop myself I said, “Oh, I know.”
Lindsey immediately let go of my hand. Lily was a redhead.
“So,” Shoddy said when we were once again on our way, “looks like Shaw has a new admirer.”
“Apparently he’s a fan of redheads,” Lindsey chimed in. I reached out and grabbed for her hand. She pulled it away. On the second try she reluctantly took it but held it limply.
“It must be weird living a lie like that,” Emily said. “Those guys go around everyday lying about who they are. They can’t choose who they want to be—gay or straight, man or woman, Sonny or Cher.” She laughed at her own joke.
I thought about what she said and squeezed Lindsey’s hand.
“I think they’re the most honest people down here,” I said. I felt the eyes of disagreement burning into the back of my neck. “Well, think about it. They’re the only people with enough balls, literally, to show the world who they really are. To go around and not be ashamed of what they’ve done or what they want. I bet ninety-nine percent of the tourists and travelers down here have more skeletons in their closets than those drag queens do.”
“That’s because they’ve been out of the closet for a long time, Shaw,” Shoddy said, snickering.
“That’s just what I think,” I said. “The world would be a better place if everyone were that open and honest with each other.”
Lindsey finally squeezed my hand back. I felt good because what I said was actually honest. I wasn’t just saying it to get a girl to sleep with me, although, it probably would end up having that bonus side effect.
“Alright, thanks Plato,” Shoddy said. “Enough philosophizing. We’re here. Irish Kevin’s.”
Sure enough we had arrived in front of a raucous building, huge floor to ceiling windows opened to the street and a large leprechaun holding a pint of beer hanging above the main door.
Even on a Monday night the bar was crazy. On the wall was a large chalkboard with a list of specialty shots for the week. We started at the top with something called an Itchy Crab. It was a bright red shot that tasted like cinnamon schnapps.
The place employed generous bartenders who guided us through lemon drops, redheaded sluts (to which I did not make any extraneous comments), mind erasers and many other potent shooters with funny tropical names. Two full rotations through that list and Emily, Shoddy, Lindsey and I were clearly in Spring Break mode. The eponymous shot for the evening was the Hazy Summer’s Night, which we hit—for the third time—right around midnight.
I was the first awake the next morning. I stumbled around Shoddy’s bed. He was face down and wearing his jeans, one sock and no shirt. How we got back to the hotel was a little blurry. I did remember that on the walk home we crossed to the other side of Duval Street when we neared the drag queen’s bar. The rest was blacked out. Did I hook up with Lindsey? Shoddy passed out on the bed next to me suggested no, but it wasn’t concrete evidence.
I felt better than I anticipated. Either my tolerance was at a pinnacle or the hangover had yet to surge ahead. I went to the bathroom for a cup of water, splashed some on my face and brushed my teeth. I slipped on my boat shoes, hung a Boston Red Sox jersey loosely on my shoulders and didn’t even bother changing my shorts from the night before.
The air conditioner under the window rattled on, circulating a frigid, fake breeze.
I wanted fresh air so I headed outside. A not-yet humid tropical wind caressed my cheeks as soon as I closed the hotel door behind me. In a way, it was much more refreshing than the industrial-strength artificial air swirling inside the room. I walked across to the tiki bar at the beach and found a little table in the sand.
The ocean was rough. Large piles of seaweed and debris lined the water’s edge. There must have been bad weather last night. Resort workers were clambering to clean and rake the sand.
“Rough night last night?”
I looked up to see a man of about fifty blocking the sun. He was wearing a flowered Hawaiian shirt and nametag that said Charlie.
“You have no idea.”
“Oh, I’m sure I do.”
His dark natural tan meant he had been a local for a while.
“You’re probably right. Well then, what’s the cure, Charlie?”
“The cure? The cure is an extra large margarita, with rocks and salt. But since the bar isn’t open yet, I’d suggest that hammock over there by the water. And coffee. Want some coffee?”
“Absolutely, yes.”
“Make it two, please,” said Lindsey from behind Charlie the waiter.
“Right away young lady,” he said and shuffled off across the sand to the tiki hut. But not before giving Lindsey a second look.
She was showered and fresh, clad in her skimpiest black bikini visible just barely underneath a sheer cover-all. She wore big dark bug-eye, celebrity-like sunglasses propped up in her hair and was carrying a pink beach bag.
“Can I sit?” she asked as she sat. “Quite a night, huh?”
I just nodded.
Charlie stopped by with two black coffees, piping hot, a tiny pitcher of milk and a few packets of sugar.
“Just wave if you want some nice, greasy food to sop up the alcohol,” he said before shuffling away again back toward the tiki hut.
“Hey don’t take this the wrong way, but did we have sex last night?” I mumbled.
Thankfully she laughed.
“No. We made out in the hallway near your room and I think we probably would’ve but Emily started yelling from our room. She was puking everywhere and freaking out.”
“Ah, OK. It’s coming back to me slowly.”
She laughed again.
“So is Shoddy all banged up?” Lindsey asked. She used one delicate finger to tip the milk into her coffee. Some dripped onto her hand and she licked it away.
“Banged up is an understatement. I think he might be dead,” I replied. She laughed.
“Looks like we’re the only ones who can hold our booze,” she said.
“Always were the only ones. Even back in high school.”
She laughed again. I don’t know if it was her laughter, the sun or the fact I was ninety percent still drunk, but I couldn’t help thinking about our long history.
“Do you remember how we met, Linds?”
“Do I remember? Yes, actually, clear as this beautiful day.”
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“So you remember that night at my high school?”
“Actually, Shaw we met earlier that night at the ice cream place down the road.”
She was right. Lindsey and I met our senior year of high school. She went to the sister school to my all-boys Catholic prep school. We had similar traits and upbringing. We were supposed to be fixed up on a date by a couple we both knew. They said we’d be good for each other. We never had that first date.
One random night at an ice cream parlor two groups of horny high school students, sexually repressed by their respective religious, educational and parental authorities, flirted outside. We all drove back to my high school. I ended up kissing Rose, one of Lindsey’s high school friends, in the bushes alongside the gymnasium. Lindsey made out with the goalie from my hockey team.
Even though I dated Rose for more than a year, Lindsey and I became close friends. We connected on every level. We liked the same music, the same movies, laughed at the same jokes and had no idea what we wanted out of life. Lindsey felt like she wore the pants in our relationship. I let her have that because I grew accustomed to having her around, whenever I needed her or wanted her. From her I learned loyalty was a rare and precious commodity among friends. When one found it, like a vein of gold in the Yukon, one defended it with any method available.
When college decision time rolled around later that year, we got together with a few other friends who had similar choices. In that group was Duncan, an outsider I befriended. Lindsey never liked Duncan. She never trusted him. But the three of us decided to go to Providence College. Duncan and I were going to room with a kid I knew from high school. His name was Ben. Lindsey did like Ben.
Within the first month of arriving at college, my relationship with Rose crumbled. As all high school friends do, our group tried to stay in touch as much as possible. We relied heavily on online chatting and grapevine gossip. But because Lindsey and I were away together, the obvious rumors swirled through our group of friends and soon Rose confronted me with some damning, albeit untrue, evidence. She claimed a firsthand source witnessed my infidelity with Lindsey. I was a horrible person. I was to tackle college on my own, without Rose’s supposed love at my side. Duncan comforted me. He was dating one of Rose and Lindsey’s other friends but they too had broken up only weeks before. We commiserated.
Immediately Lindsey blamed Duncan for speaking out of school. She accused him of spreading rumors that she and I were cheating. Of course Duncan denied it, but in retrospect Duncan denied everything.
“You look sad,” Lindsey said, interrupting my memory. She was stirring her coffee and staring at me.
“Me? No.”
“Yeah, you do. Your smile just went away, like you thought of something terrible.”
“It did? I was just thinking about how Duncan spread those rumors about us.”
“I knew it!” she said a little too loud. The few other customers that had wandered in cast us an annoyed stare. It was too early and most people in Key West had too much to drink the night before.
“That little rat was the one who started those rumors. Wait, you knew?”
“Well, yeah. He admitted a few days after Rose and I broke up. I thought I told you?”
“No, you never told me. I wish you did. What did he say?”
“He told me the breakup was for my own good. He said, ‘Rose was holding you back, Shaw. Now you and I can really enjoy college.’”
“But he admitted he spread the rumors that you and I were hooking up?”
“Yeah, he even sent Emails directly to Rose. I guess that was why she was so pissed off.”
“That’d explain it. It’s too bad because she and I were good friends. But if she was that quick to judge, I guess I chose the right side.”
She smiled and reached over to touch my hand.
When she pulled her hand back she said, “so did Duncan ever apologize or try to fix what he did?”
“Not exactly. Actually, he admitted he did it for selfish reasons. Since he just broke up with his high school sweetheart he wanted me to be single too. Like Rose’s feelings never really mattered to him. Weird thing was, he had this crazy look in his eyes when he told me but was really calm. Like cool and calculating, ya know? Like the demeanor the villains in movies always have. It was almost like he was bragging to me about how he manipulated the whole situation just for the fun of it. It’s the one thing I’ll always remember about him. The obvious malice.”
“That’s great, but did he apologize?”
“Never.”
She sat in front of me noticeably trying to repress a new anger caused by a long forgotten situation. The soft hand she had just touched me with clenched.
“Figures. It’s probably better you never told me. I would’ve killed that little weasel. Maybe I still might. Yup, I’m gonna kill him!”
She raised her voice again. I flinched.
“Don’t say that,” I said, looking down at the table.
“Say what? That I’m going to kill Duncan? Come on Shaw, since when did you care about him. You hate Duncan more than anyone.”
“Regardless, it’s not good to talk about people like that. Duncan was a human being.”
“Was?”
“Is. Whatever. You know what I mean.”
“I’m not sure I do,” she said. She squinted her big blue eyes as if trying to see into my brain. Finally one corner of her lips rose in frustration and pursed to take a sip of coffee.
“Anyway,” Lindsey continued, “I still don’t know why you never gave him a good beating. I know you scuffled with him a few times, but you should have taken him out behind some building and kicked his ass. Actually, I was always surprised a lot of people didn’t do that.”
Obviously Lindsey hadn’t read the past weekend’s Providence Journal.
“He could use a good beating,” she repeated.
She looked back out at the ocean. The sky was blue but the water was stormy.
We sat without talking for a few minutes. In the silence my brain switched off Duncan and back to Lindsey. Her temper had gotten better over the years but she still had a fire inside rarely seen in the fairer sex. It was part of what turned me on to her. She was sweet and sour all at once.
After four years of college the only people still close to me were the balanced ones. They were the people who were simultaneously perfect and imperfect. Emily was a smart, compassionate, callous bitch. Shoddy was a loyal drunk. Lindsey was a short-tempered angel. The strictly good and solely bad were gone. I was amongst the undecided.
Four years of college had rolled by. People came and went. Friends were gained and lost. And after all the scars and lies, role-reversals and regrets, Lindsey and I were sitting like adults at a beachside café at the bottom of America; as far away from Providence one could get on East Coast.
For all intents and purposes Lindsey and I were a couple, even though I wouldn’t define it and we tried to hide it. But because of our strong friendship, we were at a point in our relationship that most couples only reach after years of marriage, or years of counseling. We knew each other’s little quirks and stupid intricacies that only best friends or lovers appreciate.
I knew she was a quarter Native American on her mother’s side. I knew she had a secret love of the Bee Gees and had an unnatural crush on Barry Gibb. I knew depending on her level of drunkenness, she would tell any guy about the small butterfly tattoo she had in a very private place; and I knew from experience it didn’t really exist. I knew that when she slept she snored—but not a rumbling thunder snore. It was something more innocent, like a pigeon coo in stereo. I knew the last thing she deserved was me messing with her heart. I knew she was too good for me.
On the flip side, she knew about my sloppy but determined guitar playing. She knew I rarely showed emotion but she knew that deep down it was there, somewhere hidden behind a wall. She knew the last two times I cried were at the movie theater during the Lion King and the day the doctor found a BB size
lump on my right testicle that turned out to be nothing. She knew I dreamed of being a professional writer but lacked a proper Muse. She knew what and who that Muse should look and act like and she knew it probably wasn’t her.
“I always knew you had a crush on me,” I said, bringing her gaze from the ocean back to me.
“Really?” she chuckled. “How sure were you that I liked you in that way?”
“I was pretty sure. I noticed it freshman year, after all the rumors started.”
“If you were so sure, why didn’t you ever act on it? I was pretty hot freshman year.”
She was.
“I don’t really know why. How come you never acted on it?”
She looked down at her coffee mug and stroked the handle.
“Because I didn’t want to prove the rumors. I’m a better friend than that. I didn’t want Rose and whoever started the rumors to be right.”
She paused and drank the last dregs of coffee.
“Then Lily came along,” she continued, “and my chance was gone.”
Again, she was right. Not until Lily was gone did Lindsey and I take our relationship past friendship. I think I needed her then, more than she ever needed me. Since Lily had gone, Lindsey was stronger than me. Lindsey was always stronger.
“Sorry about that comment yesterday,” I said. “The one about redheads.”
She fluffed her hand at me.
“Stop it, don’t worry. I shouldn’t have been angry. You were just kidding around.”
“Yeah. But sorry anyway.”
I thought I saw a little sadness creep across her face.
Another warm breeze, a little more humid than before, blew in from the ocean and tossed Lindsey’s hair up into her eyes. I reached across the table, over our two empty mugs and pulled the strands out of her face and back behind her ear.
She looked surprised I had that much caring in me. She touched my hand, held it to her face.
I pulled my hand back quickly as pang split my temples. I flinched and my eyes squinted.
Suddenly melancholy washed over me like the waves slipping over the debris on the beach. The lingering good feelings from the previous night were gone. I tried to look back up at Lindsey, who was staring out at the ocean, but all I saw were the broken promises. All I felt were the negative emotions. And all of it was totally my fault. I put us in this predicament. Yes, I promised her that when we returned home we’d have a talk about our future together. But I knew I’d avoid it like the black plague. And when it came down to it, when she finally forced me to choose between a future with her or my past with Lily, Lindsey could not win. Deep down, I think she knew it too.
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