Sex in a Sidecar (5 page)

“There's been a slight alteration in Myrna's speed and direction. She's now moving at ten miles an hour.”

I looked at Brian and Peter. None of us were laughing now. This was fast for a hurricane.

“Myrna has become a category four hurricane.” We listened to the new projections on direction and speed. “Nothing for us to worry about,” Peter said.

I turned down the volume. “All the same,” I replied, “ It's time to drink up.”

“They've closed the hospital,” Peter said. “Everyone that could walk was sent home. I just saw Jimmy Marsdon and he said that the rest were being taken inland by ambulance.”

Gina turned to Brian and asked, “Did you hear about the woman murdered out on the beach Monday night?”

“Yeah,” Brian said. He drained his glass and asked, “Why?”

“She's thinks you did it, Bri,” I said. “ 'Fess up or I'll have to keep serving you these 'til you do.”

Gina, lost in thought, was stirring the dregs in her glass with her straw turning the bright pink and mint green elixir, lovely colors, into sludge orange. I had an urge to slap her hand, messing with my masterpiece. I took away her glass and poured her a new drink.

Gina asked, “Did you know her, meet her in here? I did, I met her in here.”

I'd had enough. “Hey, Gina, it isn't your problem. Get off this damn island and leave it to Styles. It isn't up to you to solve it.”

“I'm not so sure about that,” she told me. Then she turned back to Brian and demanded, “Did you know her?” Her voice went up a few decibels, competing with the whine of the wind that was now seeping through the vents. “I did,” Peter put in. “I knew her.” We all turned to look at him.

“I met her in here. We went out for dinner.” Chris broke in, “Why don't we have a TV in here like every other bar in town?”

“People come in here to get away from reality,” I told him.

“Not to be reminded of all the problems out there. This is a sanctuary from that shit.”

“I don't want a television blaring away at me,” Brian said indignantly. “People can't wean themselves off the box, the nipple on the body of modern life.” Brian was climbing onto a favorite hobbyhorse. He and Gina had a lot in common. “Eat to it, socialize to it, even screw to it.” Color infused his face.

The radio announced the pressure in the hurricane had dropped to nine hundred and fifty with winds up to a hundred and twenty five miles per hour. Wherever Myrna hit the storm surge would be extensive, between nine and twelve feet.

The lights flickered.

We watched the lights to see if they'd hold. “I called Styles this morning,” Gina said, still focused on the lights. “I don't think he's doing anything.”

Brian's mouth tightened in a grimace. “A hurricane might temporarily distract the police from their regular duties.” He raised his hand to stop Gina's protest. “Even from murder. Besides the murderer probably left the island with everyone else.”

“Yes,” Gina agreed softly. “He probably has. I'm counting on it. But he'll be back.”

A cold sliver of fear trickled down my spine.

The voice on the radio rose in excitement, grabbing my attention. Myrna was at it again. She'd changed direction.

“Just like a woman,” Brian muttered. “Can't make up her mind.”

“Shh,” we all said.

The original projections had been wrong. Myrna was heading due east and was expected to hit somewhere between Fort Myers Beach and Sarasota, right in our backyard.

“Shit,” Brian said.

“That's us,” Peter added.

The commentator began to describe the emergency precautions we should take.

“How long do we have?” Gina asked.

Ever the optimist, Peter replied, “We've got hours yet. No big deal.”

I amended Peter's calculations. “More like between one and two hours, Peter. Then she's going to hit hard.”

The announcer had more bad news. “At the moment, Fort Myers Beach is in the direct path of the storm,” said the radio. “And it is being evacuated as a precaution. Everyone is asked to leave the beach in an orderly manner and move inland ahead of the storm.” “Poor buggers,” Brian said.

The announcer wasn't finished with the bad news. “People north to the Aucilla River are also advised to take precautions. Fifteen inches of rain are expected to fall over the next three hours.”

“Definitely us,” I said.

“Still going to hit south of us,” Peter added.

“If we're very lucky,” I said. “I hope someone told Myrna where she's supposed to head.”

“We're in for a hellish night,” Brian put in. “The way she's been acting, Myrna may still swing north and hit us.”

Chris scuttled away, leaving his barstool rocking behind him.

“Police will remain on Fort Myers Beach to deal with looters,” the radio warned.

Peter said, “Those cops have more guts than I do.” “All bridges in Charlotte Harbor will be on lock down within the hour,” the announcer continued. When the bridges go on lock down to let people evacuate the island no large boats can travel up the intercoastal waterways because the bridges won't be raised to let them pass. Any large boats on the inland waters are trapped and have to ride out the storm at anchorage. Not a good thing. Someone would need to stay behind and let out the lines as the water rises. The other choice is to leave the boats in their moorings to be swamped.

“It's time.” Peter slid off his stool. “Time to rock and roll, children.”

I raised my glass. There was still a smidge of color in the bottom. “Here's to Myrna and all that sail in her.”

“To Myrna,” the three of them answered.

“It wouldn't take many of these to put you on your ass,” Brian said, putting his glass back on the bar.

“Sherri's Sunset, that's what you should call it,” Peter told me.

“I don't care what you call it.” Gina Ross set her glass carefully on the bar. “It's lovely.”

Brian stood. Swallowing and rubbing his chin hard. “See you soon, Sherri.” His voice broke as he added, “Be careful.” He turned abruptly away.

“Wait.” I reached down and got the cooler. “Sandwiches.” I slid the cooler across the mahogany and picked up the thermos of coffee off the back shelf.

Brian came back, stepped up on the foot rail and leaned across the bar to peck me on the cheek. Taking the thermos out of my hand he announced in a loud voice, “An angel of mercy and the best goddamn bartender in the state of Florida…the whole US of A come to that.”

Peter took the cooler and tugged at Brian's shirtsleeve to get him started. “You take care, Sherri! And keep in touch.”

“You too, Peter.” I pulled the other cooler out from beneath the bar and set my purse on top of it.

Chris met them at the door and held it open. The sound of the wind moaned through the room and then they were gone.

Chris stuck his head around the door to the bar and asked, “What should I do?”

“Lock the place up and run for cover.” I took the last of the glasses off the bar and set them in the plastic tub for dirty dishes. “Have you told the kitchen staff to go?” I called after Chris who was heading out the door. “Should I do that now?”

“Unless you were planning on sneaking out and leaving them behind.”

“Only Sara and Miguel are still here.”

“Make sure Sara has a ride,” I told him. “Her mother always brings her in from Pineland. If she doesn't have a ride, I'll take her. I'll tell Miguel on my way out.”

Chris scampered away, eager now to close the place down like he should have hours ago.

“You should be going too, Gina,” I said. What was keeping the crazy woman there?

I wiped the bar down one last time; thinking even as I did it, it was a foolish gesture, the whole thing could be destroyed shortly. Wind and water would be beating on the door in no time. I did it anyway.

Gina picked up her purse from the barstool beside her and slid to her feet. “Sherri,” she hesitated, started to say something more, then shook her head and walked to the door. But before she got there she turned back and looked at me over her left shoulder. “Would you…” then she went silent.

“What?” Impatient to be gone, I was no longer concerned with her problems. “Spit it out girl.” I stuffed the radio into my purse.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and shrugged. “Nothing. See you later.” She yanked her purse up on her shoulder and started out.

I followed her over to the door and flicked off the slowly turning fans. Now only the moaning lament of the wind filled the room. Even with the restaurant out front to protect us it wailed and howled through the bar. Again the lights flickered. Again they stayed on.

I stuck my head into the deep gloom of the shuttered restaurant where Chris fussed at the cash register. “I'm going out the back,” I told him. “See you in a few days.” “Yeah,” he replied, not looking up.

Back in the bar, I gathered up my stuff and looked around, reluctant to leave, although that very morning I'd left the apartment I shared with Clay without a backward glance. “Be safe,” I whispered and killed the lights.

The kitchen smelled of bleach. Miguel had emptied the big refrigerators of all perishables and wiped everything down. It was almost a certainty that we would lose power and any food left behind would spoil in the heat and any spills or mold would multiply. Like me, Miguel took good care of the Sunset.

A lone cardboard box half-filled with fruit and vegetables sat on the counter. He must have already made a couple of trips to his van with food.

“Let's boogie,” I said. “But don't take the elevator, the wind could take the hydro at any minute. How'd you like to be stuck in an elevator with a hurricane barreling down on you?”

He wrapped his thick arms around the box, a mischievous grin spreading across his broad dark face. “Are you going to be with me?”

“Dirty old man. Where's Sara?”

“Gone.” He nudged a light switch off with his shoulder.

“Her mom came an hour ago while Mister Chris was trying to decide whether to close us down.”

I reached past him and turned off the last row of lights as he nudged open the door.

The narrow alley funneled the wind down between the Sunset and the condo behind it, increasing its power so it took the weight of both of us to push the door open. The blast of the wind caught the door, pulling it away from us and slamming it back against the railing. The wind roared through the open door and blew me back a few steps.

Miguel used his short solid body to block the door open so it wouldn't be slammed shut on us while I fought my way out onto the metal grating, barely able to breathe. This was worse than I'd bargained for. I held onto the iron railing, struggling to keep my balance and looked back to Miguel. He tucked his body over against the metal balustrade to steady himself and shouldered the door closed. I yelled at Miguel to ditch the box. He couldn't hear me over the howl of the wind.

Twenty feet down the alley we came out into the parking lot and the full force of the storm. It caught me and threw me sideways into Miguel. We staggered but Miguel kept us upright. The air was dark and gritty with sand. It was like nightfall rather than midday, terrifying and oppressive. I took a handful of Miguel's shirt and we hunched our bodies together for support while we fought our way forward. It was crazy wild out there.

I looked up just as Chris's red Mazda exited the parking lot. He wasn't even waiting to make sure we all got out safely.

Only three vehicles remained in the parking lot: Miguel's beat-up brown utility van, my red pickup and a white car parked next to it that I didn't know. But at least someone was there to make sure we got out alive.

When we got closer, I saw Gina behind the wheel of the white Audi. She waved.

Miguel and I shouted goodbye at each other but the keening wind stole the words away. Miguel struggled for his van, while I dug in my purse for my keys. Miguel drove quickly to the exit, expecting me to follow him. I kept searching; they had to be in there. Miguel stopped and waited for me.

Jimmy's little red pickup sat there with the wind buffeting it, rocking it back and forth, waiting. I was frantic now, searching wildly. The keys weren't there.

I must have left them on the bar. That was all I could think of as I looked back at the building in shock. My keys were inside and Chris, the only person who could let me back in the building to get them, was long gone.

Gina got out of her car and let the wind blow her over to the pickup, bumping hard into the left fender to stop her forward rush and grasping the outside mirror for an anchor as she rolled to a stop at my door. I couldn't make out what she was saying. The motion and pointing of her hand told me all I needed to know. She was offering me a lift to safety. I had no other choice but to leave the little red pickup behind.

All my plans and the careful packing of the covered bed of the truck had gone for rat shit.

We struggled to the Audi. I shoved the cooler over to the back and collapsed onto the passenger seat.

“Thanks,” I yelled. “I bet it's gusting to sixty miles an hour or more out there.” I couldn't hear my own voice but Gina nodded and sped to the exit behind Miguel. The first big fat splats of rain hit the windshield. Miguel was watching us in his rearview. I made the okay sign and he smiled, gave me a thumbs-up and pulled out, heading north to the mainland bridge.

I swiveled back to look at the red pickup abandoned in the lot, Jimmy's pride and joy. “It's going to get sandblasted. I'll have to have it painted.”

Gina couldn't hear me but having no one listening has never stopped me from talking, especially when I'm nervous. “Never mind. If we get a six-foot surge of saltwater, the engine will be ruined. An act of God. The insurance won't cover it.” I turned to her and said, “Screw it, let's just get out of here.”

Now that the rain had started it came with a vengeance. The suddenness of it was shocking. Torrents, buckets, cats and dogs, whatever you wanted to call it, it came down on us, curtaining the windows and obscuring everything outside the car. “Get going,” I yelled.

The taillights of Miguel's van disappeared into the sand and rain. A car appeared through the haze of grit to our left and was gone after Miguel.

Still we sat at the exit to the parking lot. Gina reached out and turned on the windshield wipers, giving us visibility for brief seconds.

I reached out and shook Gina to get her attention. I jerked my thumb to the right; north in the direction Miguel was headed. “Get going,” I yelled. The wind rocked the Audi, the only motion.

“Go,” I screamed, nudging Gina's arm. She sat frozen over the wheel and I thought she couldn't decide when the road was clear, afraid to pull out into traffic. I jabbed her shoulder hard. Gina turned to me. I smiled at her and waved my hand to the right. “It's okay. We're probably the last people out here.” She didn't smile back, didn't respond.

“Go,” I screamed, frustrated, scared and getting mad, desperate to escape.

Gina's lips moved but I couldn't hear her words over the noise of the rain drumming on the roof like a dozen men with hammers.

I raised my hands palm up and wailed, “What?” Her lips were moving, I leaned closer, our heads touching now. I could smell shampoo. I heard fragments, “…my sister…police…I know…I didn't…courage…need you.”

I pulled away so I could watch her lips, clutching her shoulders to keep her close to me. “What?” I shook my head in a frantic attempt to show I didn't get it. “What are you saying?”

I leaned in to her. “He's gone…” That was clear enough but what followed was lost. What in hell was she talking about? Who was gone? I grabbed a handful of her denim dress, jabbed a finger north screaming, “Go! Go! Go!”

She nodded and gripped the steering wheel with both hands. The car shot forward. But it was the wrong direction.

“What are you doing?” My heart was beating a hole in my chest; adrenalin was bouncing me off the seat. This couldn't be happening. The world had swung madly out of control.