1 Margarita Nights (29 page)

A man stepped out of the shadows at the mouth of the alley. I started away in terror.

“Sherri.” Clay.

“Hi,” I said brightly, trying to step around him to avoid his embrace but his arms encircled me, pulling me to him. I turned my head and his lips fell on my cheek.

I pushed away. “We’ll drown out here.” I ran for Jimmy’s truck but he ran me down and reaching out for me, pulled me into his body.

“Leave it. We’ll take my car.”

“Listen, Clay,” I started.

He wasn’t listening. With an arm tight around my waist, he pulled me towards his Lexus.

Inside the car he pulled me to him and kissed me again. My response wasn’t what he expected. He held me away from him and asked, “What’s the matter?”

If you don’t have a good example, it’s nice to have a really bad one. Ruth Ann, my shining example of how to handle a man, took over. “Listen, I think you’re taking this too seriously. We had a little fun.” I lifted the damp hair off the back of my neck, shaking it and letting it settle before I continued. “You know how it is with a girl like me.”

“No. How is it?”

“Well,” I ran my fingers through the sodden hair around my face, “out for a good time, not a long time.” I slid over tight to the door, the handle in my hand. “Has it been a long time?”

“Long enough. I’m just not into anything more than a little fun right now.” I had the door open, sliding away from him. “See you,” I yelled above the noise of the storm and ran like hell.

The rest of the population was safely home in bed and I should have been the only car on the road but a block from the Sunset I became aware of car lights following me. Clay! Damn him.

What right did he have to follow me?

The driving was really wild. There was no way I could speed away from him but I decided to do a little maneuvering to see if I could lose him. I made a couple of right and left turns at random but the lights following me stuck close. At Orange Street, a broken palm frond blew across in front of the truck. I slammed on the breaks to avoid it, sending the ass end of the truck sliding to the left. The vehicle behind me stopped under a street light. I couldn’t tell what kind of a car it was, but it wasn’t a white Lexus. It wasn’t Clay. Someone else was following me home.

I drove even wilder after that, plowing through dips in the road with three or four inches of standing water. I could feel the drag on the tires and knew water was spraying up on the underside. I prayed the truck didn’t stall and leave me to the mercy of the guy behind me. The other set of lights stayed half a block behind me.

I made a decision. I took a right off Banyan, braking sharply and turning off my lights, I swung into the mouth of the alley past Marley’s little red Neon and swung the truck in behind the stairs. I saw the other set of headlights go by the mouth of the alley. I was out of the truck and racing up the stairs, fumbling for Marley’s key on my key ring as I went.

Marley’s place was in darkness so it took some fumbling to get the key in the lock and I wasn’t even trying to be quiet. I slammed the door shut and then pulled back the curtains to see if anyone had followed me up the steps.

The kitchen lights flicked on. I turned to see Marley standing over me with a raised baseball bat clutched in both hands.

“Jesus.” I put my arms up to protect my head. “It’s me, it’s me.”

“So I see.” She lowered the bat. “You might want to call in advance next time . . . to keep me from killing you in place of a burglar.”

“Someone was following me.” I lowered my arms.

“Sit,” Marley said, putting the bat on the table and going to fill the kettle.

I blame it on the coffee. Or maybe it was adrenaline. I was supposed to be sleeping on the couch but here I was going over the North Bridge heading for the mainland again, one eye on the rear view to make sure no one was following me, telling myself I’d lost him when I turned into the alley at Marley’s.

The rain was still pounding down. Even at ten miles an hour, creeping along in the rain with the windshield wipers on high speed, I almost missed the entrance to the Roach Motel. I told myself I shouldn’t be here, told myself to just drive on by.

I turned carefully into the flooded parking lot and stopped in front of Andy’s unit. A light was on. He’d come back. I had another chance.

I ran for the motel and knocked once on Andy’s door. No need to knock more because I felt the door move under my fist. Now a line of light showed around the door. I pushed it open a little further. “Andy?” No one answered.

I pushed against the door with my fingertips and it slowly opened.

The light was coming from the bathroom. “Andy?”

I stepped inside. The first thing that hit me was the smell. Closed up for days, the unwashed body odor mixed with garbage stench hadn’t improved in the heat.

I tiptoed into the kitchenette. This wasn’t the way I’d last seen it. Garbage left in a plastic pail under the sink was now spread over the kitchen floor just like it had been in my apartment.

As I stood there looking at the mess, the storm backed off and the world grew suddenly silent. Some noise outside warned me. I didn’t waste time trying to identify or categorize it, a well-honed survival instinct from a tumultuous childhood made me drop to my haunches behind the low counter. I stuffed my fist into my mouth to keep silent, just the way I had when I was a kid.

Footsteps entered the apartment. They stopped as my heart tried to burst out of my chest. There was no sound of the television being dismantled or anything being dragged out the door but maybe this guy was looking for something else besides what he could sell.

The footsteps went towards the bathroom. I heard the hollow thunk of the shower door being opened and closed. Then I heard movement back into the living area. I curled tighter, harder. I waited for him to find me. His steps came towards the half-wall I hid behind. There was a sharp metallic ring of something against the counter. Surely he could see me? I couldn’t make myself look up to see if he was looking down at me. Could he hear my heart drumming?

The footsteps receded. The door creaked. Instinct, learned early and hard, took over and I stayed curled in the fetal position pushed up against the open cupboard, not moving, not making a sound so that I wouldn’t give myself away. In the silence the refrigerator gave a little sigh and a shudder and grew still. I waited. The heavy silence grew oppressive.

I listened hard. I didn’t hear a car start up. I waited some more. The rain started again. My body started to relax. Outside, something moved or was blown by the wind past the door. I froze. Rigid with concentration, hardly breathing, it was a long time before I could make myself move again.

Carefully, silently, I crawled to where the phone sat on the floor under the window. No dial tone. Andy probably hadn’t paid a bill in months. I remembered the cell phone. I couldn’t bring myself to turn my back on the door so I scuttled sideways, crablike, keeping low, to my bag on the floor behind the counter. I dialed 911 and reported a break-in.

“I think he’s still here,” I said breathlessly and hung up. I crouched behind the counter, the phone clutched in my hand and waited.

Two units responded but only one of the cops entered the room while the other stayed by the door with his hand at his holster.

“They’re gone,” I said to reassure him. I really didn’t like his hand hovering so close to death.

The tall thin cop looked carefully around the room. I babbled on. “My friend is ill. I was just stopping by to pick up some things.”

“You’ve got a key?” he asked suspiciously.

I nodded. “Yes.” I held it up for him to see. “But the door was open and the light was on so I thought someone was still here.”

He went to the bathroom and cautiously pushed the door open with his fingers before entering. “What’s missing?” he asked when he came out and looked around at the jumble.

“I don’t know.”

“Have your friend come by and file a complaint.” He headed for the door.

I was right on his heels. “Wait,” I said. “I have to lock the door.” I didn’t want him leaving me here alone.

The thin cop waited but the other one kept going to his car and took off.

I followed the police car out of the parking lot, followed him all the way back to the Tamiami Trail, trying to make sense of what had happened. If they’d already searched Andy’s place, why come back? Easy one. They’d played my messages, knew Andy had a copy of the video and they were looking for Andy. They wanted the tape as much as I did.

It never occurred to me while I was thinking my way through all this that someone tailed me as easily as I followed the cop out of the Roach Motel.

Fear for Andy replaced my fear of Andy. I drove back to the Pelican Motel and pulled up in front of the last unit. The rain had slackened to a steady drizzle. The flickering light of the television shone through the curtains. Andy was safe. Time to go home.

I slept late. Ruth Ann woke me when she arrived next morning to pick me up for the memorial service. She tsk-tsked at the sight of the old Buccaneer’s football shirt I was wearing. Ruth Ann always sleeps in black lace.

As always, her outfit was way way over the top. I figured she’d been shopping at Second Hand Rose again, her favorite place for what she calls her classy clothes. That’s the only place I could think of where she’d get this outfit, a real classy setup. On her head was a perky little black straw hat with a veil that I’d never seen before. Actually, no one had likely seen anything like it since the fifties or sixties. She wore it set straight across her forehead with the tiny polka-dotted veil down over her bangs as if to say this is serious business.

Ruth Ann likes sexy clothes so I wasn’t too surprised when she took off her short, fuzzy pink jacket. She was wearing a cocktail dress, more a dress you would wear in the evening than during the day and showing more cleavage than was polite at any time. Its one saving grace was the black color. Her heels, fuck-me six-inch spiked sandals, were also black, but they didn’t look like they were designed to go to a funeral.

I put on a long black knit skirt that said hello to my curves on the way by but wasn’t suggestive. A long-sleeved black turtleneck sweater was topped by a wide leather belt, studded with silver grommets and hung low on my hips. To finish the outfit I put on my black leather boots. Then I put in four-inch silver hoops. With our jet-black hair, hers dead ebony in memory of what used to be and mine for real and past my shoulders, we looked like two black crows called Hard Luck and Trouble.

We stood in the kitchen sipping coffee. There was a brisk rap on the door and Evan walked in. I hadn’t thought to lock it after I let Ruth Ann in, but now I decided I’d reached a time and place where I didn’t like people walking in at random anymore and I promised myself I would remember to keep it locked in future.

Ruth Ann squealed with delight. “Evan, sweetie.” She set down her mug and minced around the bar with a big smile on her face. Evan took her in his arms. Over her shoulder he opened his eyes wide at me. I smiled in reply, but he still hadn’t answered my question.

I didn’t know about the rest of the country because I’ve never been out of the South, but down here, God definitely isn’t dead. Florida is the buckle on the Bible belt, with salvation offered up on bumper stickers and billboards and religion pouring out of the radio, morning, noon and night.

Every other block has a church. In winter, when the cotton tops arrive, the churches have to double up on their services and hire off-duty police to handle the traffic so believers can get out of the church lot after the service. The way I look at it, this is a good thing. It keeps them off the golf course on Sunday morning so heathens like me can get on with our own praying.