Outside In (8 page)

Cinch motions to the bartender. “Give me two of the usual, T-Bone.”

T-Bone ices two glasses, puts several oranges through the juicer, and adds vodka and a splash of cranberry.

I ask, “Do you have a different drink for each bar?”

“This is the only place with fresh-squeezed juices. Most places have that shitty bar mix—gives me heartburn. I could drink these all day. Especially when I’m partying. They’re refreshing, yet extremely potent when made correctly.”

Nodding to the bartender, Cinch guides us to a table overlooking the public docks, away from the other people in the room. “Since you’re living in the red barn,” he says, “I need to explain something about the drugs.”

“You seem to have it under control,” I say. “Drugs and alcohol are a nice place to visit, but you don’t want to live there.”

Cinch raises his eyebrows. “What if someone were to work there?”

I lower my voice to a whisper. “A dealer?”

“Drugs cost money. I’ve got the connection. Everyone who wants to play has to pay his share. I risk bringing it here and holding onto it, so I deserve to pay nothing and to make some money on the side.”

“What if you get caught?” I say, wondering if the “you” really means “we,” since I’ll be living with him.

“I only deal with people I trust. I sold spring break trips in college to pay for my trip. Did that make me a travel agent?”

Later, on the sidewalk in front of the Round House, a line of people winds through a portable tape maze.

Cinch says, “I love this time of evening. Everything is clean, and the customers haven’t gotten their second wind yet. When we charge cover, people first enter through the maze, show their ID, and pay cover to get a wristband. After that, they can enter through any entrance or exit. All you have to do is direct them to the side to get a wristband and keep the entranceway on the porch clear.” Cinch steps through the entrance and leads a man in his fifties onto the porch, fastening a band around his wrist. “Good evening, Senator. How many in your party tonight?”

“Senator, hah!” the man says. “With what I’ve done on this island, my political career was over before it started. Four should cover me for the night.”

Cinch says, “Is that it? Must be a slow night on the docks.”

The man slides twenty dollars in Cinch’s pocket. “Won’t be slow tomorrow. Stop by my boat for a beer.”

Cinch will be my entertainment for the evening. He’s the politician here—a lot of handshaking and smiling. This is his constituency.

Finished for the day, Caldwell strolls through the park toward the Round House. The mandolin hangs from one shoulder, his backpack from the other. He crosses the street and stops on the sidewalk, peering inside at the crowd. His face glows from being in the sun all day.

I ask, “How were the tips today?”

He shakes the jar. “Sixty-four dollars and thirteen cents. Pretty good for this early in the season.”

A man like Caldwell can live for a while on sixty-two dollars. Cinch told me that because of Caldwell’s long tenure and year-round presence, beers come pretty cheap and no one ever expects a tip. It’s not out of pity; everyone just appreciates having
him around. With only a few hundred year-round residents, what other choice is there but to take care of each other?

I hold out a wristband. “You coming in?”

He removes his black baseball hat and tucks his thin, silver strands behind his ears. “Nope. You’re Shep, aren’t you?”

“Have we met?”

“Nope, just heard and seen you around. Name’s Caldwell.”

He is tranquil when he speaks, making the fugitive stories difficult to believe. I say, “Oh yeah, Cinch told me you used to play in bands or something.”

He smiles. “That’s one of the stories.”

Regardless of what his words actually are, everything he says feels like he’s patting me on the back, saying,
It’s okay, I understand
. His past doesn’t matter to me. I marvel at the free man standing before me.

He stares into the Round House again then shakes his head. “Think I’ll go down the street. Stay out of trouble, Shep.”

The people flow in and out like the tide. When Whiplash starts a set, they wash in, and when the band takes a break, they retreat onto the porch and into the park for fresh air. During one of the intermissions, a pair of hands reach from behind me, shielding my eyes. Their smooth texture and jasmine fragrance divulge their owner’s identity.

I say, “If you’d like to come in, the cover is three dollars. Right around to your left, miss.”

Cinch emerges from inside and ends my game by fastening a band around Astrid’s wrist. She says, “At least one of you is a gentleman. What’s up for tonight?”

“Let’s drink here for free and move the party to the red barn,” Cinch offers.

“Always the planner.” She turns her penetrating stare on me. “Brad, how was the monument today?”

“Kind of eerie—like last night in the water. I felt connected and detached at the same time.”

“Wait until you go there in the dark,” she says. “It’s spooky but comforting. Definitely special.”

At close, it takes us thirty-five minutes to clean the mess that took six hours to create, including using a wet vac to suck up the liquid that stands an inch high in some parts of the floor. Judging from the pungent smell, it’s not entirely beer. Afterward, we all quickly catch up with the rest of the island. I’ve never seen anyone drink Cuervo straight up with a Coke back, and I’ve never seen anyone consume as much tequila as Haley does in the short time we’re at the bar. In Key West, she drank whiskey and only did shots with the group. Tonight Cinch keeps her shot glass full, and she finishes each one regardless of whether we’re drinking with her or not.

Both elbows on the bar, Haley slumps over her empty shot glass. “If you want to go meet the others, don’t feel like you need to stay here with me. Won’t be the first time I’ve been drunk alone on this island.”

“Come upstairs with us,” Cinch says, pouring her another tequila. “Was hoping to snag a case of beer from the cooler and replace it tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry about replacing it,” she says. “Consider it a welcoming present for Brad. I’d join you, but I’m opening tomorrow.”

To Cinch, a case of beer translates to a case and a half and two bottles of wine. Taking the alcohol appears more like entitlement than stealing. His carefree attitude represents everything I wish I could be.

But the refrigerator in the red barn poses a dilemma: sacrifice the food or drink warm beer? Cinch solves the problem by clearing the takeout boxes from the second shelf. “Food, like sleep, is
optional. Now I just need to make a drop at the Park Hotel and we can start this party.”

I say, “Do what you got to do, but I don’t want to be present for the transaction.”

Astrid says, “Me neither.”

Cinch removes a calculator-sized digital scale from his pocket. “No big deal. You guys wait here. No one will even know you were wise to it.” He tears off a corner of a magazine page, creases the paper, and places it on the scale. Scooping out a few pebbles from his bag, he adds some dust until the digital readout oscillates between 0.7 and 0.8. He picks up the fold of paper and pours the contents into a one-inch square green resealable baggie. “Be back in a flash.”

I rearrange items in the room, avoiding eye contact with Astrid. She confronts the awkwardness. “Just be careful with all this.”

“What do you mean? It’s got nothing to do with me. I just live here.”

“For now.” Her eyes narrow then soften. “It’s only your second day.”

Cinch returns and slaps a hundred-dollar bill on the dresser. “Thanks for shopping. Let’s party.”

The blinking beacon on the monument encourages me like a flirtatious wink. The comfort I felt last night at the boat ramp is with me here as well.

Cinch reduces his voice to a whisper. “Let’s climb up in one of those stone urns on the plaza.”

I hand the bottle of wine to Astrid. “If I’d known there would be a physical challenge, I wouldn’t have drunk so much.”

From the base, I grab the top lip and pull myself up, resting on
the edge with one leg inside and the other outside, and I admire the view the twelve-foot elevation provides.

Cinch’s leg comes over the side and I guide him until he is able to straddle the edge. He gasps, “Ooh, that’s a little tough on the jewels.”

I place the wine from Astrid in the middle of the pod. But before I get back to help, her leg is already swinging over. I say, “Maybe you should’ve come first. Some view, huh?”

Astrid stands. “How about another five feet?”

I rise, but I don’t trust my balance, and I immediately sit again.

“Yeah, fuck that,” Cinch says. “Sit down. You’re making me nervous.”

Astrid says, “Nights like tonight are so liberating. We need to do more of this.”

I take a drink of wine. “That’s why I came here. I need to be free. The longer you stay in one place, the more the world closes in around you.”

Cinch says, “Who cares, as long as you feel good?”

“But if you don’t have hope,” Astrid says, “your life is empty.”

Cinch guzzles more wine. “You always have your buzz. That’s a man’s true best friend.”

“Even the best buzz wears off,” I say, “and you wake up more trapped than the day before.”

Astrid asks, “What are you going to do at the end of the summer?”

I close my eyes, turning my face skyward. “I’m staying right here.”

“You’re nuts.” Cinch passes the wine. “You might as well enroll in AA now. There ain’t much else to do but drink.”

“Where will you go after this summer?” I say. “Home to live with your parents?”

“It may be time for me to get a real job,” Cinch says.

Astrid laughs. “Who’s going to trust you with kids?”

“My dad has so many hookups in education,” Cinch says, “I can write my own ticket.”

I take another drink. “You’re not really going to teach, are you?”

“What else can I do? I’m not the type of person to go down to Florida to work, and I certainly can’t stay here.”

Astrid nods. “I’m with Cinch.”

“Don’t give up so easily,” I say. “We can finish the season here, and if we don’t want to stay, we go west for the winter: Las Vegas, California, Colorado. We’ll have fun wherever we go. If we like it, we’ll stay. If not, we’ll go somewhere else.”

Cinch says, “Fuck that. Time for me to grow up.”

“Believe me,” I say. “Work as anything more than a hobby is overrated.”

“It was for you,” Cinch says. “Maybe it’s exactly what we need. If not, we can always quit like you did. Nothing’s permanent. We can always walk away.”

“You better be ready for it, though,” I say. “Once you start working, everything slows down.”

Cinch snatches the bottle from me. “Listen to Mr. Heavy over here. Lighten up. Just because you didn’t like it doesn’t mean we won’t.”

“I look forward to the slower pace,” Astrid says. “And having some control.”

I take the wine from Cinch and shake my head at her. “You think you have control, and you think you’re making a difference. Then one day you realize it’s changing you.”

“Screw it,” Cinch says. “If my parents had their way, I’d already be married with kids, living in the house right next door.”