Chapter 3: “Still time to start a life in the palm trees, Billy Clyde wasn’t insane, And if it doesn’t work out, there’ll never be any doubt That the pleasure was worth all the pain.”

Chapter 3

“Still time to start a life in the palm trees,

 Billy Clyde wasn’t insane,

 And if it doesn’t work out, there’ll never be any doubt

 That the pleasure was worth all the pain.”

Back at the shack after drinking Red Stripe and warm saki with 5 very, very happy, very big tipping Japanese businessmen, Billy Ray sat at the bar, took a deep breath, and opened the big envelope his dad’s lawyer had left him.  Here was the new bank account information and some starter checks.  There was his dad’s obituary from the Charleston Post and Courier.  The rest of the papers were his father’s work on J.C. Calhoun.  Well, if he ever had trouble sleeping, Billy Ray would read these in greater detail.

As he was packing up the envelope, Billy Ray was surprised to hear a knock at his door.  “Who in the Hell ever knocks?” Billy Ray groused to himself as he got up to open the door.  There standing out front was a fairly beefy guy, wearing a cheap Hawaiian shirt.  “Can I help you?” Billy Ray asked.

“Oh, sorry.  I thought this was the motel’s sauna and hot-tub.  My mistake.  Hey, is that a Tiki-Bar?” the guy asked.

“Yes sir, but I’m afraid it’s only open to private parties and friends of the bartender,” said Billy Ray with an ironic look on his face.

“So, how do you get in good with the bartender?  My name’s Jake.”

“Well Jake, unless you’re a leggy blonde nympho from up North, the best way to get a drink at this bar is to have an interesting story.  So what’s yours?  You sound like you’re a Yankee, from Boston or thereabouts?  What brings you to this fair isle; can’t take the winters anymore?”

“You’ve got a fair ear for accents, Mr…?”

“Call me Billy Ray. Everyone does.”

“Ok Billy Ray,” said Jake with a smile, accepting the barstool offered to him.  “Well, not much to tell.  Divorced, late 40’s, on vacation in the Keys, was hoping to work on my tan and maybe do some fishing.”

“What line of work are you in, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Work mostly for insurance companies as a consultant.  Keeps me busy.  The ex gets most of my paycheck, so a Florida motel is the extent of my international vacation experience this winter.”

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, Jake, but so far this story of yours is a bit of a snoozer,” said Billy Ray, stepping behind the bar and choosing a bottle very carefully.  “Now lookee here: this is a bottle of the CSA’s finest Cuban rum, Don Fidel, 1969.  If you want a pull of this baby, you’re going to have to come up with a better story that that one.”

“Ok,” said Jake, “how about the real reason I’m in Key West.  It’s my girlfriend, Simone.  She’s what we call in Boston a barracuda in a skirt –a high-end commercial realtor.  If you’re running for President of the United States and you need a campaign office in a fancy address for only a month, Simone can get it for you.  If you’re looking for that ultimate corporate boardroom on top-of-the-skyscraper with an attached apartment for CEO overnights with special friends, Simone’s your girl.”

“She sounds great,” said Billy Ray.

“Oh SHE’s just fine,” answered Jake, “it’s her goddamn phone that I can’t stand.”

“Mister, you just earned yourself a glass at the most exclusive Tiki-Bar in all of Key West,” said Billy Ray, dropping a pair of highball glasses and some ice between them.  “Do tell.”

“Well, it’ll be like we’re at home on a Sunday, in comfy clothes, reading the paper or playing with her dog, just enjoying some down-time together.  Her phone will ring, and bam! –she instantly becomes Ms. Commercial Realtor and then disappears for hours or the rest of the day. Same thing when we go out to eat, or to a Celtics game, or visit friends.  That phone is always with her and always on.  So I’m like, I need a vacation from your damn phone, Simone.”

“And how’d that go over with her?”

“She says Sorry Baby, I’ll go on vacation with you, so I suggest Florida and she starts bitchin’ about the mosquitoes and complaining that there’s nothing to do, so that’s when I say, Don’t bother, ‘cause you’d probably bring that phone with you, and that’s kind of how we left things.  Probably will need a new girlfriend when I get back,” grinned Jake as he sipped his Don Fidel appreciatively.

“Well, that is sure a much better story than what you started with, Jake –if that’s your real name.  Now, how about telling me your real story, and not just the plot from one of my best friend, Jimmy Buffet’s song, “The Weather is Here –I Wish You were Beautiful?”

Jake froze in mid-sip.  He then quickly tossed his drink into Billy Ray’s eyes, grabbed the envelope that was still on the bar and before Billy Ray could even wipe his face, bolted for the door and ran off into the night.

Now what in the Hell is this all about, cursed Billy Ray to himself as he knocked his own bar stool over and sprinted off after the guy in the Hawaiian shirt formerly known as Jake.