Gully Wash and Johnny Cakes

On this day in 1985, the headline in the Miami Herald editorial section ran as follows,

                Tallahassee, the Drunkest City  

                                  in Florida

Tallahassee has the lowest employment rate in Florida because residents are often too hungover to go to work. Many Talhasseeans are depressed, feeling they have nothing to live for. When Rico, who was drowning his troubles in a local bar was asked the why of it? He said, 

Miami has a football and basketball team and we don’t. We live a few miles from Georgia so we follow the Atlanta teams. Over the years Tallahasseeans have lost their identities, adrift somewhere between Florida and Georgia, so we drink. 

It’s noon in happy town, Key West! Henry, Lucia, and Summer sip expresso on the front porch of their 3 bedroom bungalow as the Chihuahuas and Pedro the Woodpecker play outside. The phone rings, Henry runs inside, it’s Dave Spleen, speed freak and editor of HEADBANGER Magazine, published in the Big Apple. 

Dude, man, last week’s story, What Flavor are You? A total bust, and it’s no wonder. A story on the taste of vaginal discharge and semen? What were you thinking when you wrote it? At a loss, he answers, 

Dave, I wasn’t thinking, I write from my soul. Dave realizing he can’t change him,

OK, Henry, you’re the artist, just clean it up some, gotta go, got a deadline to meet!

At the heart of it, Dave wanted to get as many magazines on the streets and in reader's hands as possible, which translated into greater revenue. If a piece on the taste of sexual discharge attracted readers, he'd let it float. 

It's a slow Thursday afternoon and the temperature is a perfect 68 degrees.  Summer Wynd is on the run from the New York City Ballet, where she had danced for the last 10 years. On Monday she'd begin a new job at The Martha Graham Dance Academy in Key West. 

As they finish their expressos, Henry suggests they take off for the weekend,

Whataya say we go to the Bahamas? We can drive to Miami and catch a ferry to Nassau. Lucia wondering, 

what about the babies? Henry like Ike planning D-Day,  

let’s get cracken, Summer call a pet sitter, Lucia book 3 tickets for the 10 AM ferry to Nassau, we’ll get up at 6 and drive to Miami! Lucia smiling, 

si, el comandante! 

The tribe stays home Thursday night, ordering pizza, the Chis love it, but Pedro the woodpecker wouldn't touch it, so Lucia gives him a bowl of sunflower seeds, which he opens meticulously with his powerful beak to get at the tasty inner pulp.  

Nibbling on pizza and drinking beer, they watch the 1966 film, The Wild Angels, made exclusively for drive-in theaters. Peter Fonda plays the president of The Wild Angels, his handle is Heavenly Blues, a simple-minded name that makes one wonder what his friends called him? Heaven, Heavy, Blues? Nancy Sinatra plays his girlfriend and her name is even more dimwitted than her boyfriend's, Monkey. 

The screenplay was written on the fly by Peter Bogdonavich, who overdosed on evil-pills during filming.

The opening scene was shot with a dirty lens, creating a muddy backdrop contrasting Blue's metallic and chrome chopper as he burns rubber on his way out of Venice Beach. 

Blue’s first order of business is to visit his pal, Loser, played by Bruce Dern, to tell him his stolen chopper has been found in Watts. Loser’s coworkers in the body shop don’t like Blue’s long hair so the man-babies threaten to quit if Loser isn’t fired, the boss tired of listening to the man-babies moan fires him. 

Then the fun begins, Loser and Blue have a run-in with the man, which figures because The Wild Angel’s credo is, 

We wanna be free to ride our machines without being hassled by the man! And we wanna get loaded! And have a good time! And that’s what we’re gonna do!

Anyway, Loser is shot dead by the man. In a few days, The Wild Angels show at his church funeral and the gang, hyped on bennies, turn the God faring scene into a carnival of rape and butt-kicking. 

Blue knocks his old lady Monkey out and has sex with another woman behind a pew. Then, the party animals pummel the priest and tie him up, exchanging the bound clergyman for Loser in the coffin. 

If that wasn’t enough, Dear John and Frankenstein rape Loser’s wife who is flipping the bill for the service as the rest of the gang strap Loser's lifeless body with rope and hang it on the church crucifix. 

The mock crucifixion is a don't tread on us declaration to the man reeking of messianic suggestion.   

During the 10 minute scene, The Wild Angels break every taboo imaginable and invent a few of their own. 

Lucia tiring of the barbarism gets up and turns the TV off, saying, 

I love, love, I love making love, I love fucking! But, Rape is repugnante! Fidel would have thrown el estúpidos burros who made The Wild Angels in the hole to rot. Henry defending  artistic license,  

in America artists are free to create, some of their work is good and some bad, Summer what-a you think? She yawns, 

the goofy flick was made before I was born, gotta agree with Lucia, I like romantic films, anyway, night darlings! 

The tribe wakes at 6 AM, packing lightly, shorts, swimsuits, t-shirts, and flip flops. They get in Henry's 1974 Chevy Malibu Station Wagon and he wheels the big car through Key West, heading north on Highway 1.

Feeling woolly-headed, Lucia and Summer roll the car windows down, thinking the tepid sea air will wake them. After driving a while Henry pulls off the highway at Layton, Florida, going to Dunkin Donuts and parking. Summer walks inside and orders a dozen donuts and 3 large coffees with cream.

They eat as Henry drives, sipping coffee and munching a 1000 calories of fried fat apiece. Lucia rolls a joint as Summer who is sitting between them puts a cassette in the tape player, ZZ Top, Eliminator. 

Sharp Dressed Man blares through the aftermarket speakers, including a woofer under the front seat which vibrates so much that both girl's panties are soaking wet as Henry wheels the wagon into the Port of Miami and parks. 

Lucia pays 60 dollars for 3 reserved seats on the ferry to Nassau. In need of a drink, they go straight to the lounge, grabbing a table, ordering a pitcher of rum punch. As the ferry reaches Potter Cay port, the tribe is half in the bag. 

They quickly get through customs, luckily, Lucia’s Cuban passport is valid, she lives in the US as an illegal alien, heedless of the consequences. Henry's no better, he hadn’t filed a tax return in 10 years. They believed mentally blocking out thoughts of the IRS and ICE sheathed them in a protective aura, the voodoo would work until they got busted.

Anyway, they get in a taxi at Nassau International Airport, Summer telling the driver, an older black man in a flowered shirt, 

take us to a funky place downtown that’s old and full of color. 

In 20 minutes they are at Miss Emily’s Goombay Inn, a mid-city oasis consisting of 12 rainbow-colored wooden bungalows surrounding a small jungled park, each with a hot tub, a bamboo deck and wall.

The tribe walks into the front office, they are greeted by Miss Emily, a grandmotherly Bahamian woman with grey dreadlocks wearing a pink muumuu, smiling widely saying,

What da wybe is? Local Bahamian for, what’s up? Lucia saying, 

we’d like a room for 3 for 2 nights, Miss Emily gets down to business, 

that’ll be 70 US dollars, will you need a cot for your cousin? Or, are you all going to love together? Lucia laughs as she passes the biscuits and says, 

you're spot on sista!  

They walk into the small jungle, passing voodoo shrines on the way to Bungalow 9. The room is full of painted blue furniture and potted plants.

There's a sliding glass door at the back of the bungalow that leads to the deck where the hot tub is. Lucia, liking it, 

es maravilloso, we'll walk the city, party, then sexo en el bañera!

At night Nassau’s streets run native with smells of sea air, conch barbecuing on grills and the sounds of Junkanoo music blaring.

After prowling the wilds of the funky city, the tribe's hungry, they walk into Curly’s Tavern and sit at a table. The joint is unremarkable, mobbed with people and there's a tonic aroma of cooking food in the air. 

A sizzling Bahamian girl with blond hair styled in a Teeny Weeny Afro brings menus, Summer hands her the tribe’s bungalow key and says, 

You’re so, so ravishing! You must be exhausted darling, after work join us for a drink and a spin in the hot tub at Miss Emily’s! The model lovely black chic smiles mischievously,  

see you there, I get off at midnight. Henry with a lumpish grin on his face butts in, 

wonderful, you're busy so we should order, a pitcher of Gully Wash, conch salad, Jerk chicken, Bahamian fish stew, Pigeon peas with rice and some Johnny Cakes. 

The pitchers of Gully Wash came fast but the Bahamian fare takes time to stew, as good food should. On their 3rd pitcher of Gully Wash, the tribe is full-blown drunk, then the meal’s served, it’s sumptuous. Henry pays, leaving a hefty tip, and the drop-dead gorgeous waitress blows them a kiss, mouthing the words, 

love you, see you round midnight. 

Walking to Miss Emily’s they move clumsily through the night-time streets of Nassau. Henry sees a liquor store, Ko Ko’s, they go inside and buy 2 quarts of Mount Gay Barbados rum, a gallon of fresh guava juice and a bag of ice.

In Bungalow 109, Lucia turns on the radio to 107 ACE FM, all Caribbean music. Summer makes drinks as Lucia dances in place, swiveling like a corkscrew as she generates carnal current.

Summer runs outside in her underwear to a grassy area in the jungle between the bungalows, dancing the prima ballerina's role of the ballet Giselle. Henry sits on the grass watching, in awe of the young ballerina’s talent. 

The waitress from Curly’s shows, her name is Drea, she says, what da wybe is? And sits down with Henry. Lucia brings drinks and the 3 of them sit cross-legged watching Summer dance until she stops, flopping down in place, saying, 

I’m so outta shape, my body aches, let’s go chill in the hot tub. 

In a New York minute, the foursome is stark naked in the hot tub, luxuriating in the suchness of the moment. Summer moves towards Drea, they cling tight and sloppy kiss. Henry lifts and straddles Lucia on the deck of the tub, going down on her, when she's red hot, he fucks her. 

The paramours are a ball of kinetic passion, their tangled bodies shuffle from the hot tub to the bed, where they cum over and over as they traverse the way out sexual terrain. 

By 4 AM the girls have passed out in bed and Henry is asleep on the sofa.

Up at noon the following day, cleaning and grooming one another, Lucia combs Henry’s waist-length hair which is tangled from last night’s ruckus. Summer watches Drea section off, moisturize and style her TWA. Finally, the girls slip into their bikinis, then putting on t-shirts and flip-flops for the beach.

They walk a short distance to the Blue Sail Bar & Grill, which is on the beach, ordering Eggs Benedict, Loganberry crepes, Mimosas with Grand Mariner and a large pot of coffee.

After brunch they hit the beach, relaxing in lounge chairs and passing a joint around— getting high makes the already colorful scene even more colorful.

As the day at the beach blossoms, Henry, Lucia, Summer, and Drea smoke more Kush weed, levitating heavenwards into suspended animation. A reality more vivid than dreams which hovers over willing spirits with able flesh. Summer muses,

I feel as though I’m in a deluge, like Act 2 of Swan Lake when Odette is turned into a swan by the sorcerer Rothbart.