It Takes Two (26 page)

“Oh, boss-man,” Carmen cooed, waving a delicate hand over the flowers. “There is no trouble when I got two such handsome gentlemens on my hands.” He sniffed the faraway orange blossoms that perfumed the winter air. The scent drifted into town every evening, spilling out of the citrus groves upriver. “Order whatever you like. If we got it in the kitchen, I promise to bring whatever you desire.”

“So what’s particularly good tonight?” I said, opening the menu. “Anything we shouldn’t miss?”

“Coconut cake,” Carmen answered immediately. “Cookie made it from our own Lee County coconuts. The cake is as fresh and untouched as a ten-year-old bride.”

“You can save a slice for me,” Bud said, his voice low. “If you would.”

Carmen made a note on his order pad.

Bud picked up his own menu. Then he glanced at me as if to speak. He thought better of it when stud waiter Lou Salmi arrived, showering ice cubes and water into the goblets and drenching the sweet air with Old Spice aftershave.

“Gents,” Salmi boomed, puppy friendly. “Welcome back. Pleasure to serve you again.”

Bud nodded but didn’t say anything.

Salmi wouldn’t quit either. “How’d ya like them fuckaroo films the admiral got hold of, huh? Boy, Sarge, I bet there wasn’t a virgin safe in Myers today, not with you and Mr. Ewing on the loose.”

Bud scowled. Carmen rolled his eyes. Salmi continued. “You know, the old man, he got right down to it. That gal we fixed him up with? He gave her panties a regular tongue bath.”

Carmen swatted Salmi with a menu. “Shut your trap, amigo. Go get the gentlemens some bread and butter.”

“Maybe you need your Parker House roll buttered, Miss Chili con Carne. Could be the boss-man here ought to rent you out to a donkey farm.”

I almost laughed. The foul-mouthed bastard needed another assignment. At the New Victory Club he’d have functioned perfectly as a room steward for female officers. I wondered if Admiral Asdeck would let me take him off table-waiting duties altogether.

I was thinking with my dick, and my next question came out too coarsely. “So that’s all the old man was up to? He ate her out and she popped? He didn’t get inside?”

Carmen batted his eyes in mock shock. “
Mamasita del Guadeloupe!
You two nasty sailor boys going to embarrass our Lee County official detective here.” He slapped at Lou with a menu. “Do as I tell you. The bread.”

“With my best butter and cheese on it. Coming up. Hot stuff.”

Carmen huffed, turning his attention to us. “You want nice drinks?”

I looked at Bud.

“Beer,” he said.

“
Dos?
”

I nodded. “
Dos.
”

Carmen made another note. “We have everythings on the menu for you tonight. Is nothing we are out of. What you want? Fried shrimp? Shrimp good, yes. And we got sea bass and spotted ocean trout catched by Miss Emma Mae, yes? Start with chowder,” he said, addressing Bud. “Chowder is very
bueno
. And as a first course, may I suggest”—he leaned down and touched his pencil to the menu’s appetizer list— “our
especial
whores douvers that we prepare for you two gentlemens.” He winked at me, then leered mildly at Bud.

Carmen’s teeth reminded me of white neon in a barroom window. “Estreemly
especial
.”

“OK,” I said. “Hors d’oeuvres, chowder, fried shrimp platter, skip the French fries.” I glanced at Bud. “Take the appetizer and soup.”

He nodded manfully. “Same for me. Except T-bone steak for the shrimp. Well-done. Don’t forget. Well-done.”

“I don’t forget nothing you say,” answered Carmen. “That’s why I escribble it down. Yes?” He removed the menus with a flourish and pranced toward the kitchen door.

A sly smile creased Bud’s face. “No forget,
señorita
,” he said. “Fried T-bone. Well-done shrimp platter.”

He took a sip of ice water, then held the sparkling glass up to the light, twirling the stem slowly back and forth in his fingers, examining the shifting pattern of ice inside the glass.

“This is one damn fine hotel,” he said. He took another swallow and set the goblet back on the table. “Damn fine.”

I accepted the compliment with a nod, took my own sip of water.

“Looks like you manage it right too,” he continued, putting down the glass. “So I have to laugh. I mean, why is the admiral trying to piss it all away? Where do you people find all these shit-buckets to work for you? Your restaurant manager thinks he’s a girl. That waiter’s a fucking weasel in heat with a mouth like an open sewer. Not to mention some of the other clowns and strays around here. No offense, of course. Don’t mean you.”

My pulse began the predictable run from idle to full ahead. Salmi returned, set two chilled mugs and two uncapped Regals in front of us, then silently marched away. I poured both beers, took a long swig of mine, then finally gave Bud the same pep talk the boss had given me.

“I’m as stray as they are,” I began. “And I’m here to make a living the only way I know how. That means helping other people get what they want—helping them have a good time, relax and take the pressure off.”

Bud said “Huh,” then swung his eyes out at the river.

“Sarge,” I said, recalling Asdeck’s remarks that morning. “You’ve been in Philippine whorehouses, but have you ever been in the YMCA shower room in ’Frisco? I have. And I ran a club for the admiral in Occupied Japan. We had hot and cold running geishas and card games and Marine studs on call for female officers. You know how many complaints we got? One. From a badly bent preacher the morning after he emptied his nuts into one of our gals.”

“It’s different overseas,” Bud answered. “Soldiers, hell, loneliness. And not everybody goes for that shit. You must of paid somebody off.”

“Commander of the shore patrol just so happened to win our Christmas door prize,” I replied, grinning because I was a little embarrassed. “Fleet officers from Yokosuka patronized the club pretty heavy. Army officers—on up to bird colonels on Emperor Doug’s personal staff—came around a lot. So did the Royal Australians. Did I ever tell you about the time this Aussie fell for me right hard? Wanted to take me home to meet his mom?”

Bud’s scowl deepened. Even in the half-light of the terrace I could see that the scar on his neck had turned scarlet. “You’re bragging,” he said. “Keep it down.”

Looking Bud square in the eye, I said, “I fought the Japs to be free. Not to prop up a bunch of cracker Tojos and Hitlers. If I want to drink beer on Sunday morning—which I do—or wear a dress and fuck black butt—which I don’t—it isn’t the sheriff ’s or the Klan’s business. People have a right to do what they want, as long as it doesn’t hurt anybody else.”

“Didn’t hurt nobody the other night,” Bud countered, “when the Klanners put their dresses on and burned that cross in your parking lot. How’d you like that?”

Bud wasn’t hearing me. I was about to reply when he said, “I ain’t gonna argue with you about whether colored folks is better off in their own part of town. But you got to admit that most decent people have better things to do on Sunday morning than drink beer, and that the good book forbids one man to treat another like a woman.”

I held up two fingers in a Churchillian V-for-Victory sign. “You don’t act much like a woman when we’re mixing it up.”

Bud gave as good as he got. “How would you know, Lieutenant? You told me you’d never been with a woman.”

We both laughed. The tension lessened twenty degrees. Bud nudged my shin with his foot. “That right? That right? Never?”

Paraphrasing Asdeck’s plan of operations, I explained that the club room, though potentially profitable, was technically outside the laws then on the books. “Laws that are due to be rewritten,” I said. “A whole set of forward-looking young veterans are being elected to the legislature and Congress.” I had no reason to doubt Asdeck there either.

“I trust the old man with my life,” I said. “For whatever that’s worth. Ask me are there any risks in running this place? I’ll tell you, hell yes. But I don’t have anything to lose. When the old man asked me to come home and work for him, I resigned my commission flat. No matter what happens, I believe backing him up is the right thing to do.”

Bud leaned forward. “You ever been in jail, Lieutenant? Because, you know, people get arrested for no more than ten percent of what you and your Mr. Carmen do every day of the week. Maybe what goes on overseas or even in ’Frisco is different. But running what amounts to a whorehouse and a speakeasy in Myers isn’t the same as being some kind of Robin Hood or peacetime hero.”

I wanted to shout,
You ever had a ship blown out from under you—had your best buddy and all your men killed? Ever been on a raft on the Pacific day after day?

But I didn’t. Bud Wright had done what he had to do, gone where the generals sent him. So instead, what I said was, “I’m no hero. I’m lucky, that’s all. And I believe the old man when he says he knows what he’s doing.”

Our mugs were empty. Catching Salmi’s attention, Bud signaled for refills.

“Guess you feel like you’re still wearing a uniform,” Bud said gently, turning back to me. “It’s natural. Especially working for your old skipper. Took me five, six months of nightmares to get over it.”

“I’m not talking about nightmares…and quit changing the subject. Our war ain’t over, Sarge,” I said. “The battles didn’t stop in August of ’45. Colored boys still get lynched and women still get raped.”

“Then you can’t be too careful,” he said. “Because sissies like—what’s her real name? Cabildo Morales? They give homos a bad name. And I’d say your weaselly waiter Mr. Big Salami doesn’t do much for the other side, come to think of it.”

“Hell,” I said, “I don’t live as openly as I want to, but Carmen and Lou do.”

“Right. Yes. Your Miss Carmen’s as open as a window. But I can’t see it gets him nothing. Because no real man, much less a woman, would want to bed down with a pansy like that.”

Salmi delivered our refills, checked the untouched bread basket and disappeared again.

“They feel safe working here,” I explained. “They act natural as a result. Maybe too natural. But Carmen’s my best worker. And I may find the right slot for Salmi yet.”

“Right. Yes. Only your Miss Carmen wouldn’t act so pansy if she was working some other place.”

“No,” I said. “He couldn’t. He’s the tip of an iceberg. There are thousands of others like him. They just blend into the scenery. I bet you didn’t see them in the Marine Corps either.”

“Weren’t any,” Bud said, “that I knew about.”

“Promise you they were there. Playing possum and under cover. The same way they stay safe everywhere else. Mostly.”

“Mostly? Dan, you got to understand that you’re…well, not talkin’ my language.”

“Mostly. Meaning there are lots of snug harbors. Carmen— Cabildo Morales—served his country as a female impersonator in Army soldier shows. He even got decorated for bravery under fire. Claims to have a buddy over in Miami who’s still doing drag shows. Hiding absolutely nothing. And getting arrested once in a while. Carmen hides very little here. And stays safe by serving the club. And vice versa. So far.”

“He couldn’t feel too safe,” Bud replied. “Not after that drunk’s threats the other night.”

I felt the alcohol hit my system. The image of Carmen lying dead in a hotel room, his jaw shot off, the bed soaked with blood, jumped up and stopped my train of thought. “I’m mixing this up,” I said. “Excuse me.” Reaching across the table, I poured some of my Regal into Bud’s mug. The beer foamed up swiftly. “Maybe strays and loners don’t ever feel safe,” I said. “I don’t. Not on land, anyhow.” I looked him in the eye. He looked back solidly.

“When I was a kid,” I said, holding the glance, “everything seemed OK. Not a worry in the world. I went up and down Tampa Bay in my uncle’s boat. Swam at school most mornings and afternoons. Classrooms and home were just shore time. Went fishing and sailing out of Cedar Key when I was at Gainesville. Joined the blue water Navy to see the sea—and keep the world safe for Mrs. Roosevelt and the American way. And it was always safe out there. I had friends.”

“And when the
Indianapolis
went down?” Bud asked. “That wasn’t so safe. Having her blown out from under you.” He saw me blink and swallow hard. “You mentioned it before, Dan. Forget I said anything if…”

I shrugged, took another sip of beer, and another. “It was time for that old lady. By wartime standards, she was ancient—thirteen years, and a lot of hard work under her keel. Time to go.”

“Not like that.”

“It was bad,” I admitted. “But it taught me something.”

Carmen appeared at my elbow. “Gentlemens, gentlemens,” he crooned, setting chilled plates in front of us. “
Mucho gusto
.”

“Two more beers,” I said. “Fine.”

Bud stared down at the food. Each serving was an exquisitely composed erotic phantasmagoria. Oysters had been opened and garnished around the edges with dill weed. Lobster medallions, topped with sliced stuffed olives resembled nipples. Cold peeled shrimp and poached scallops suggested randy male equipment.

“Somebody’s idea of a joke,” I muttered.