It’s early morning, a sunny day in Key West. Lucia, Henry’s Cuban wife, needs to be alone— something a woman needs from time to time.
She quietly dresses, slipping into a white thong, then covering her nakedness with an oversized Oxford shirt. Outside, she gets on her Vespa scooter, in minutes she’s at Dog Beach, where she rents an umbrella and folding beach chair from Lazy Carlos’s.
Carlos lugs the gear behind her to her favorite spot, under two palm trees, pushing the spiked edge of the umbrella into the sand and placing her chair.
She takes off her Oxford shirt, laying on her stomach in the outstretched folding chair, then removing her top as a group of beachgoers walks past, eyeballing her well-formed body.
Soon, the sun makes her feel so heavy that she doesn’t believe she has the energy to rise and walk to the water. A drop of sweat snags on her sunglasses, tickling her cheek. She pushes it away, looking out at the Gulf of Mexico.
Her stomach is wet with sweat, tingling, so she turns on her back, covering her chest with a towel. Her arms fall limp on the sand, touching a half-buried spoon.
She remembers visiting Henry’s mother in Queens and talking for hours about the septuagenarian's collection of teaspoons, one from each state, each spoon with a story.
Half asleep, she dreams of diving for pebbles in Old Havana harbor with her brothers and sisters, they were poor and fantasized about finding a pirate doubloon or pearl.
A stray dog runs awkwardly in broad circles in the sand, brushing against her, waking her from a dream. She wonders if she dreams too much.
Glares flash off the windows of a fishing boat that’s bobbing in a cross-current, waking her for a moment, then she falls back to sleep.
Meanwhile, Henry’s in his study, typing madly, desperate to sell a story, hoping the Wildly Quarterly or Paisley Press will buy.
He’ll write about the why of his writing.
He had long been a fan of Ernest Hemingway novels and short stories. Yet he thought Lawrence Durrell’s work was singular and unsurpassed in the language. Hemingway was amongst the first writers he read and admired in his twenties though.
He had a poor memory, having forgotten much, there were large periods of time he simply couldn’t bring back, towns and cities, he’d lived in, names of people— large blanks. But he could remember some things. Little things— somebody saying something in a particular way, somebody wild, or low, a landscape, bits of conversations, he could bring back bits and pieces.
But, mostly, he’d make up the conversations, and invented the surroundings in his stories.
Truman Capote said that not much needs to happen in a writer's life after he’s twenty years old because plenty of stuff has already happened before that time, enough stuff to last a writer the rest of his life.
The phone rings, Henry hesitates, then answers, it’s Lucia.
Darling, I’m at Dog Beach, a fishing boat’s stuck on the reef and people from all over the city have come to watch. Carlos the beachnik has cranked up his ghetto blaster and everyone’s getting loaded and dancing in the sand.
I’ll be right down.
He stops typing midway through a paragraph, runs out the front door, and jumps on his Schwinn Cruiser. Twenty minutes later he’s at the beach, where he chains his bike to a fence.
Lucia is some distance away from the partygoers, sitting in the same place she always sits, under a cluster of high blowing palms.
Henry walks past the dancing partiers, meeting Lucia, who’s sitting up on her beach chair, shading her eyes with a magazine. He looks outwards at the bay saying,
It’ll take months or more to free the fishing boat, maybe the Navy will send recovery vessels, who knows? Someone might buy it and open a whorehouse or a casino. I need a drink, let’s go to Moon Dog and hang out with Bruno.
Lucia grabs her large Gucci purse and throws on her oversized Oxford shirt. The couple walks to the Moon Dog Cafe, where they sit at the bar. The room’s flooded with sunlight, it’s open and warm, inviting. Bruno the bartender greets the couple, he knows them, and is happy to see them saying,
my goodness, it’s the king of Key West literati, and his queen, the sexiest woman in South Florida, Lucia chuckles saying,
dios mios, sweet mouth,
what are you kids drinking this fine day?
A pitcher of Bone Island Brew with Clamato and freshly squeezed lime mixed in.
Gotcha, have you been writing Henry?
My goodness yes, it’s an addiction. I’m writing a bit that examines the pith of my work.
The waitress brings two bowls of fresh conch soup, placing them on the bar for Henry and Lucia, Bruno explains,
0ur dishwasher, Hector, brought in a bucket of freshly caught conch this morning and the chef made soup, do you like it?
They sip spoonfuls of the sumptuous fare that’s laced with coconut milk, cumin, cilantro, garlic, ginger, and chili.
Bruno places three shot glasses on the bar, filling the glasses with tequila Joven. He raises his drink, and toasts, a most generic toast,
to bread, without it, we wouldn’t have toast.
Henry buys another round, tequila Blanco, raising his glass and quoting Dorthy Parker,
I realize I don’t know God, but I feel I know as much as Him, at His age.
Rounds later, Bruno, Henry, and Lucia are drunk as lords. Bruno's mind is reeling and he says,
I’m going to crash in the storeroom before I fall. We got out of control, burned a few brain cells, but ain’t life grand? Drinks, gratis kiddies.
Henry and Lucia thank Bruno and walk out. They are blotto, drunk, stewed, pickled, tanked, in no condition to ride the Vespa or the Schwinn Cruiser home.
At the entrance to Dog Beach, they run into Carlos, who’s just closed Lazy Carlos's having run a thick rusted chain through the stacked beach chairs and umbrellas. He says,
the fishing boat is still hung up on the reef, if I had the money I’d buy it and make it into a casino or better yet a whorehouse.
We were thinking the same Carlos— a whorehouse or a casino, or even a pirate radio station.
Yeah, that’d work. I watched you two walking out of Moon Dog, your in no shape to drive, I'll take you home, common.
They follow him to his car, it’s parked in front of Dog Beach— a Volkswagen minibus with no roof. The couple gets into the middle seat and Henry asks,
what happened to the roof, Carlos?
my wife got pissed and chewed it off, she’s got a set of jaws like a hyena.
They give him directions to their bungalow on Peach Street.
Minutes later, his roofless rig is parked in the driveway, Lucia invites him in for a drink.
Henry and Carlos sit in the living room, Lucia turns on the Grundig radio that’s wedged on a shelf between stacks of hard-bound books, then goes to the kitchen to mix drinks.
Carlos is sitting in a Wingback chair facing the coffee table, Henry’s on the sofa, Lucia brings a pitcher of Dewars Twice Aged whiskey mixed with orangeade on a tray with cocktail glasses, placing it on the coffee table. Then, dialing the radio to WPRS, Miami’s Psychedelic Rock station. The Beatle’s song Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds is playing and Henry comments,
Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, its code for LSD.
Carlos reaches into his shirt pocket, pulling out a rainbow-colored cigarette, a Sherman, saying,
I have a cigarette dipped in LSD, whataya say we take a trip to Electric Lady land?
He holds the cigarette with his thumb and forefinger, raising it in the air. Henry giggles excitedly saying,
I was at Woodstock in 69— Wavy Gravies’ crew was passing out hits of Purple Oswald like candy. Three days touching the sky— if you can remember being at Woodstock you weren’t there. Lucia jumps in saying,
I’ve never tried ácida, I’m curiosa.
She's sitting next to Henry on the sofa and Carlos asks,
So, are you guys in?
Henry and Lucia nod their heads, yes.
Carlos lights the LSD cigarette takes a deep drag and passes it to the sofa. Then, Lucia takes a toke, passing it to Henry.
Twenty minutes later, the space cowboys are coming on. Jimi Hendrix’s Voodoo Child is playing on the old Grundig, the music flows out of the radio in rainbow-colored waves, resonating in their bodies.
Soon, the space travelers begin feeling like a Category 5 storm has blown through their heads, obliterating every familiar point of reference— self, then time and finally matter.
As the substance around them melts a layer at a time, they float unbounded in nothingness, not unlike what you experience in a sensory deprivation tank.
Much later, after midnight, they've peaked and are coming down.
Henry hugs Lucia, the power of her life force surges through his body like an electric current and they can't let go of one another.
Carlos catches on saying,
You guys are in your own groove. I've gotta get home and make my kids breakfast, then go to Dog Beach and open my shop. Lucia says,
thanks, sweetie, we love you.
She walks Carlos to the door, he walks outside to his roofless VW Van, gets in, and drives home.
Henry and Lucia go to the kitchen. Feeling dehydrated they down two bottles of Gatorade.
Then, they walk through the patio door to the wooden hot tub in the backyard. As it heats they get inside.
Sitting with their backs against the tub's walls, looking at each other, they feel born again with a renewed sense of love. Henry asks Lucia,
Did you have a good trip, darling?
I can’t remember.
