Out of the Frying Pan - Part 2
"Hey, beautiful," he said, "you by any chance got the time?" SIX-MINUTE FICTION
• To read Part 1 of Out of the Frying Pan, click HERE
• To read Part 3 of Out of the Frying Pan, click HERE
• Many thanks to Substack writer, Jim Cummings, for helping me improve this short tale, and for his generosity of spirit. See Jim’s publication, All Day Long, HERE . The man’s a born writer.
The Sail Fish Lounge was not a nice place by any contortion of the imagination. It was dim and damp and smelled of grenadine and cheap brandy. Apparently, they hadn’t changed the records in the jukebox since 1980 – the Knack were throbbing from the speakers like a hangover.
Haylene was snugged up to the bar, stirring her Manhattan with a short straw and flirting with the bartender, who was way too unpracticed for her. Marla was trying to hold a conversation with a slithery guy named Alfonso, who was teetering on the stool next to her. Alfonso didn’t know much English, but he knew what he liked. As far as Marla was concerned, he was leaning in a little too close for comfort.
An unusually tall man came through the doorway, sort of rumpled around the edges, wearing a beat up leather hat. He walked right up to Haylene with his wide hips and his dolphin belt buckle and sat down beside her in a cloud of bay rum aftershave. “Hey, beautiful,” he said, “you by any chance got the time?
Haylene gave him a slow once over and said, “Well, I just might … what do you have in mind?”
He barked out a laugh and winked at her – but with both eyes, so it was more like a slow blink. “What are ya drinkin’?” he ventured.
“Who’s asking?”
“Name’s Jerome.” He shook her hand with an extra measure of charm. The bartender brought Haylene another Manhattan and a Bud Lite for Jerome, who was starting to feel a little optimistic.
“I’m Haylene,” she said, running her eyes over his muscular, tattooed arms.
“So … Haylene, what are you two sweet ladies doing down here in the godforsaken town of Opalachee?
“Oh, we just made a wrong turn off the highway and ended up here at the end of the road. Thought we might as well stay the night. Got us a couple of rooms over at the Miramar Motel.”
“Where ya headed?”
“Anywhere we damn please, Jerome. We been driving around seeing the beautiful state of Florida for a couple a weeks. Haven’t decided where to go next – maybe Key West, maybe Boca Raton. Not sure. What are you doing here.”
“I work over at the Loxahoochie Alligator Farm. I make it a habit to stop by this elite establishment for a beer every day after work.
“My, my, Jerome,” cooed Haylene. “And just what do you do on an alligator farm, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I wrestle with reptiles, Haylene, large reptiles with very sharp teeth and I just try to keep a-hold of all my body parts.”
Marla reluctantly got up to dance with Alfonso. They were trying to Whip it Good along with Devo when he started looking a little over-heated. She looked like a cat about to be stuffed into a pillow sack. Haylene gave her a motherly glance.
About eight pm, they had ruled out Alphonso, leaving him bobbing and weaving with his shadow on the dance floor. Jerome, walked down the street to the Seagrass Diner with a woman on each arm. He told Haylene his middle name was Lucky.
After a bit of fine dining on sand dabs, fries and beer, they walked on down to the Miramar Motel where the neon sign, being a little faulty, actually said ‘Miramar Notel’, which was just fine with Jerome.
Haylene woke up to a soft knock on her door about ten in the morning. Her mouth felt like she had swallowed an owl and her hair looked like it had been struck by lightning. Wrapping herself in her orange silk kimono, she found Marla standing next to the potted palm tree looking real perky in her new white shorts and red-striped halter. She was carrying two large cups of coffee and a bag of donuts.
“Breakfast?” she smiled.
Marla saw that Haylene was alone, but she noticed one of Jerome’s socks was left lying on the floor. She was not surprised. She also found that there were two free tickets on the dresser for the Loxahoochie Alligator Farm, and the 2:30 showtime was circled in pencil.
READ PART 3 HERE
"his middle name was Lucky." "Miramar Notel." "Her mouth felt like she had swallowed an owl and her hair looked like it had been struck by lightning." Terrific.
Sooooooo good, Sharron! Tickets to the SHOW - I wasn't expecting that ending...!!!
"My Sharona was throbbing from the speakers like a hangover." LOVED this!