Mariposa glared at me, a frown resting on her face. “No. Not really.”
I pointed at her as I backed away. “Lighten up, Mari. You’re too tense.” I gave her and Giselle a little wave. “See ya, ladies.”
I took off towards the resort lobby before Mari could make any other disparaging comments. I waved at the concierge, a tall, broad-shouldered man with short dreadlocks and space to fit a straw between his two front teeth.
“Hey, Desi.”
“Good morning, Mr. Drunk.”
“Hey, J.R.,” I said, pointing at a bellhop who was helping to load suitcases onto an airport shuttle that had just pulled up beneath the porte cochere.
“Hello, Drunk,” said the young man, giving me a winning smile.
The lobby’s glass sliding doors opened, and a blast of frigid temperature-controlled air enveloped me as I walked inside the navy-and-white nautical-themed check-in area. The place was abuzz with both new guests checking in and current ones heading to breakfast in the main dining room. I gave a wave to Alicia and Roxie, the front desk girls, just as a man in a security uniform chased me inside.
“Drunk!”
I paused, my hand resting on the employees-only door. “Hey, Davis. Just heading home?”
“Yes. Do you have a second? I was wondering if I could have next Thursday off. It’s my wife’s birthday and I’d like to do something special for her.”
“You got anyone in mind to cover your shift?”
“Wilson said he’d trade shifts with me if it was alright with you.”
I threw up a hand. “That works. Fill out a shift exchange form and put it on my desk.”
“Thanks, Drunk.”
I pulled down on the door handle and had nearly gotten away when I heard her call out.
“Drunk, wait up!”
My head fell and my shoulders slumped. Mariposa. “What’s up, Mari?” I tried not to let the heavy sigh be too apparent in my voice.
“I’m serious about you messing with my Giselle,” she began again.
I held up a hand to stop her. “Look, Mari. I was serious too. Seventeen is too young for me, alright? I might date a lot of women, but I’m not a creep. Okay? Even I have my limits. You have a beautiful daughter, but I would never go there. You can hold me to my word.”
She squinted one eye at me but then finally nodded, like she wanted to believe me. “Fine. Thank you. I appreciate that, and I’ll do my best to trust you.”
For the first several months that I’d been on the island, I’d done everything I could to get Mariposa to like me. I’d given her rides to her car when she’d gotten off work. I brought her expensive imported chocolates after I’d discovered our mutual affinity for the sweet treat, and I always came running when she needed something work-related.
And yeah, sure, I admit it, I slept with almost every woman on her staff, sometimes in pairs, but I’d completely stopped, and in addition, I wasn’t drinking as much as I had been to start with. I was working hard at the resort. I’d begun to work out again. But even though I’d drawn a hard line in the sand about getting involved with the wrong women, Mari still got on my case.
“You know, I just don’t know what else I can do to get you to believe that I’m really trying hard to clean up my act.”
She shrugged. “I guess only time will tell. Maybe it’s a little too soon for me to really believe it. But I do believe that you wouldn’t go there with my Giselle.”
I sighed. That was the best I was probably going to get out of the woman for a while. “Thank you. Now while you’re here, Mrs. Agostino in 337 stopped me again. We really should get her into the main building. The woman can barely make it up the stairs to her room.”
Mariposa lifted her dark brows and ran a hand over the top of her hair, smoothing her bun. “Oh, we’ve tried. She won’t budge. She said she likes her view and she likes the exercise.”
I sighed. “Well, then, I guess I’ll just have to keep being her errand boy. Artie in?”
“Yes, in his office. Mr. Becker’s in there too. You want me to let him know you want to speak with him?”
“Nah. I need to stop in my office first. I’ll handle it. Thanks, Mari.”
4
I swung into my shoebox of an office and dropped my shades, my earbuds and my iPod onto my desk. I grabbed a Dr Pepper from the little mini fridge under my desk and a candy bar from my top desk drawer before heading over to Artie’s office. I gave it a little rhythmic knock and then burst in without waiting for a response.
“Drunk,” said Artie.
“Hey, Artie, Al,” I said, giving them both a wassup nod.
I took the chair next to Al.
He held a hand up to his nose and leaned away from me. “Hell, kid. You smell like skunk balls.”
“Fuck you very much, Al. You smell like Bengay. You’re not supposed to bathe in it. You know that, right?”
Ignoring our usual playful banter, Artie leaned forward. “Well, speak of the devil. Al was just telling me about the hooker you were trying to buy last night at the bar.”
With pursed lips, I glanced over my shoulder at Al. “I wasn’t trying to buy a hooker last night, Al.”
Al’s brows lifted and he looked away. “Coulda fooled me.”
Artie shook his head and wagged a finger in my direction. “You see, Drunk, this is why I don’t trust you with the company car.”
“Oh, come on, Artie. Who’re you gonna believe, the guy who never knows what day of the week it is, or me?”
“Well, that’s easy. I believe Al.”
Al chuckled. “That’s the breaks, kid.”
“Thanks a lot.” I leaned back in my seat. “And quit calling me kid, Al. I’m thirty-five years old.”
“Puh,” breathed Al. “I have underwear older than that.”
“Yeah? I think it’s time to throw those out.”
“But they’re sacred underwear.”
“Why? Because they’re holey?”
“No. Because when I wear them, my wife says, ‘Boy, Al, you sure are blessed!’” Al chuckled proudly at his lame attempt at a joke.
I rolled my eyes. “You been sitting on that one for a while, Al?”
“Hehehe,” Al and Artie chuckled together.
“Can we be serious here for a second, fellas?”
Al chuffed, waggling his head. “Ohhh, Mr. Big-Shot Thirty-Five-Year-Old wants to be serious, Artie.”
Artie shook his head. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
I lifted my fedora off my head and ran a hand through my sweaty hair. “Don’t quit your day job, boys. Between the two of you, you have half a sense of humor.”
Artie leaned back in his seat, making his chair squeal in protest. Artie was a large fellow. So large he couldn’t shop for his linen suits in big and tall stores and instead had to special-order them. He wore a big white Panama Jack hat with a black band around the crown, and his beet-red face sweated profusely all day long. He wheezed when he walked, but it was okay because he rarely walked, and when he did, he never went far. He had his own personal golf cart and used that to drive around the property whenever there was an issue that required his attention.
“So, Drunk, what’s up with you picking up a prostitute? Mari drained the water outta your dating pool, so you’re shooting fish in a new barrel now?”
I shot Al an annoyed glance. “I’m most definitely not shooting fish in a barrel. The woman was hitting on me. I was just standing there waiting for this guy to come back from the john.”
Al leaned forward. “Look, Artie. I can’t keep hauling the kid around. It’s not good for my image.”
“For your…!”
Al held a hand up in the air to silence me. “If Evie would’ve seen me cavorting with a prostitute? I’da been sleeping in the doghouse last night.”
I shook my head. “Hell, Al. I thought we were buddies.”
“We are, but that doesn’t mean our balls are tied together. I need my space.”
�
�You need your space?” I couldn’t believe it. My eighty-seven-year-old best friend was trying to ditch me. “Shoot me straight, Al. Are you breaking up with me?”
“Jeez, kid. Does everything have to be so dramatic with you? I’m not breaking up with you. I told you last night. It’s time you got your own ride. I’m too old to be staying up late and eating taquitos and taking you to hoochie bars.”
“That’s what this is about, isn’t it? The taquitos? I told you I ordered them for the table. You didn’t have to eat them.”
“It’s not about the taquitos.” He was quiet for a second. “Well, it’s a little about the taquitos. The acid reflux is still giving me hell.” He looked up at me and Artie and then was silent again like he’d forgotten where he was going with that. “What was I saying?”
“That you’re too old to eat taquitos and go to hoochie bars,” said Artie, prodding him along.
“And apparently to remember what you were saying,” I said under my breath.
Al cupped an ear. “What?”
I waved my hand dismissively. “Nothing, continue.”
“Artie, the kid needs his own vehicle. I wanna take him to see Steve Dillon.”
Artie shrugged. “Well, go ahead. You don’t need my permission.”
“I know I don’t, but you mentioned something to me a few weeks back about Steve offering you a good deal on a new vehicle. I wondered if maybe you wouldn’t be able to pull some strings and help the kid out. He’s not as loaded as he once was.”
“Thanks, Al,” I grumbled. Losing that almost seven mil still smarted, I never enjoyed being reminded.
“Eh, rub a little dirt on it, you’ll be okay,” said Al. “So, you think you can help us out here, Artie?”
“I don’t know. I actually don’t even know the guy. He sent me an email out of the blue last month. He called the deal a business owners’ special. I’m not sure he’d extend the offer to my employees. But I can certainly call him.”
Al nodded. “We’d appreciate it, Artie.”
5
“Fuck the sticker prices on these things,” I balked, strolling through the lot at Steve Dillon’s Automart almost a week later. I just about couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Why in the hell would islanders pay these outrageous prices for vehicles?
Al cupped his hands and peered into the window of a new Toyota Yaris. “They certainly don’t give these things away, that’s for sure. I’ve never seen prices this high back in the States. I wonder if it wouldn’t be cheaper just to buy something over there and then have them ship it in.”
“We’re about to find out,” I said as a young black guy in khaki slacks and a white polo joined us out on the lot.
“Hello, gentlemen, my name is Samuel. How can I be of service today?”
I shook his hand. “Hey, Sam. I’m Drunk. This is my buddy Al. I’m new to the island, and I was thinking it was time I bought myself a vehicle, but I gotta be honest. I’m feeling a little sticker shock right now. I’m used to US prices. These prices are astronomical in comparison.”
Samuel nodded, giving a little knowing smile. “Yes, the tariffs on our vehicles are quite high. I hear it all the time. Makes a man wonder if he shouldn’t just buy something somewhere else and import it in, doesn’t it?”
I shot a glance at Al, wondering if there was a hidden camera somewhere on the lot. I cupped a hand against the back of my neck. “Well, yeah, yeah, it actually does make a guy wonder that.”
“Unfortunately, you’ll find that the import tariff is so high that you’re going to wind up paying more that way. You’ll not only pay the cost of the car and the tariff, but you’ll also be paying a shipping company to deliver it to you.”
I groaned. Going through all that sounded like a headache anyway. “So you’re saying it’s actually cheaper to get it on your lot.”
“You got it.” He put his hands behind his back and rocked on his feet. “So, what kind of a vehicle were you interested in?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I kind of like the look of the sportier SUV styles.” Francesca Cruz’s little Suzuki Samurai flickered in my brain. I wanted an off-road vehicle like that, but rugged and with more meat on its frame.
He nodded. “Like a Wrangler?”
My bottom lip popped out and I nodded. “Yeah. A Jeep would be alright.”
“Yes, those are very popular here on the island. I’ve got our Jeeps parked around on the other side. Follow me.” Samuel led us to the other side of his dealership where they had a fleet of Jeep Wranglers in every color lined up.
“Oooh, these are nice.” My head bounced appreciatively. I could almost see myself cruising around the island in one of those. Driving with the shell off, I could feel the island breeze blowing through my hair.
Al shot me a look. He’d told me on the car ride over I was to show no emotion. And since Artie hadn’t been able to score us a deal with Steve Dillon himself, Al was in charge of the business end of the deal.
Al, who had been a Case IH implement dealer his whole life, claimed to know a thing or two about negotiations. Of course he’d haggled with farmers over tractors and combines, but it was basically the same thing. And as he’d told me in the car, the first rule of business was not to get excited. The second they could smell your excitement, they tightened the noose.
Trying to play it cool, Al shrugged. “Meh. They’re not that great. I bet they’re hell on gas.”
“You’ll get about twenty-five miles per gallon highway and about seventeen city,” said Samuel. “It’s not horrible.”
“You got any preowned? We’re not about to lose ten to twenty percent of the value just by driving a new one off the lot.”
“Sure do.”
Samuel led us over to a strip of Jeeps. “How do you feel about green, Drunk? We just got this Sahara in on a trade the other day. It’s only got ten thousand miles on it. It was barely driven. The owner decided it was too big for his needs.”
I lifted a shoulder. “I don’t mind green. That’s kind of islandy.”
Al grunted. “You’re not gonna be driving me around in that John Deere–green bucket of bolts.”
I looked down at Al. “So you’re encouraging me to buy it?”
“I’m serious, kid. You aren’t getting a John Deere–green vehicle if I have anything to say about it,” he said staunchly.
“Okay, Dad.” I sucked in my breath and my gaze skipped across the lot. I pointed down the line. “What about that one over there on the end?”
“The yellow one?” asked Samuel.
“Yeah.”
“That one is a Rubicon. It’s two years old and I believe it has about seventeen thousand miles on it. It has been very well taken care of. It looks like a new vehicle.”
I looked down at Al. “What do you think?”
Al was quiet for a moment. He crossed his arms over his chest and widened his stance slightly. “You know, Drunk, sometimes buying a car is like voting for a president. You have to pick the lesser of two evils. It’s flashy and I wouldn’t drive it personally, but the banana boat is a helluva lot better than that John Deere–green one.”
“Ha. Banana boat, I like that.” I smiled, nodding my head. “It’ll go with my banana hammock.”
“Banana hammock?” said Al, lifting a brow.
I grinned and shot Al a wink. “Let’s just say you’re not the only one with sacred underwear.” I looked over at Samuel, grinning. “I’ll take it.”
6
It was two days later, and my new yellow Jeep Rubicon was parked outside my cottage in the back of the Seacoast Majestic. I’d just gotten home after closing up the bars down at the pool. A warm island breeze blew in through my open front window, making my sheer white curtains dance like ghosts tethered to the wall. I dropped my keys and hat on the side table and then flipped on the television. Characters rattled on dramatically in Spanish. I didn’t understand a word, but I didn’t care. Their voices canceled out the silence.
Flipping on my kit
chen light, I noticed a blue-and-yellow zebra-faced macaw perched on the edge of my kitchen counter. “Hey, Earnestine.”
The bird danced on my counter, her little feet clicking on the Formica. “Welcome home, asshole, welcome home, asshole, rawck!”
I stopped moving and stared at her. A dumb grin covered my face. “Aww, you missed me.” Pride swelled my chest. I felt like a father who’d just heard his sweet little girl say Da-Da for the first time. We’d been practicing that fowl phrase, pun intended, for several weeks, but it was the first time she’d said it without my coaching. I stopped and gave her a little under-the-beak scratch as a reward. “You’re such a good girl.”
She closed her eyes and reclined her head, making a little clicking sound in the back of her throat before crooning, “Pretty bird. Pretty bird.”
Earnestine and I had first met when I’d moved into my cottage. She’d adopted my place as her own, and after a bit of a rocky start, specifically her early wakeup calls and ill-timed insults, I was finally used to her. In fact, I partially credited Earnestine for my lifestyle changes. She woke me up at sunrise whether I liked it or not, prompting me to get my jog on the beach in before starting work.
One would think that because I spent my day surrounded by people, I’d appreciate my nights alone, but I didn’t. I was a fairly social guy, and coming home to an empty cottage was the one drawback to being newly single. So I purposely left my cottage windows open all day in the hopes that Earnestine would be there to hang out with me when I got off work. Of course leaving the windows open all day made for a warm, humid cottage in the evenings, but I didn’t mind. I liked it better than the alternative, a lonesome air-conditioned icebox.
After showering a little bird love on my feathered friend, I went into the kitchen and popped open the fridge, plucking out a beer. Though I did still enjoy the occasional drink, I wasn’t getting hammered every night like I had when I’d first gotten to the island. One hard-and-fast rule that I’d made for myself was that I wasn’t allowed to drink while I was doing security at night. I found I had far fewer hangovers that way, plus I wanted to be prepared in case there ever was a security issue that I had to deal with.
Drunk Driving Page 3