Lazy Carlos's

 

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.

The Blob is Like The Socialist Revolution

 

It's a sultry Saturday morning in Key West. Lucia's sitting at her vanity in a ripped dressing gown and her big-size-floppy cans are showing.

Looking closely at her face in the oval mirror she wipes the beauty cream off it with a wet face cloth. 

She’s startled by Henry as he walks into the bedroom holding a tray with a cup of coffee on it and admonishes him, 

How about announcing yourself, whistle, or clear your throat, you scared me.

My hands were full sweetie. 

Use your mouth, say something, pendejo.

Is it hunting season between your legs?

So, you noticed my swollen nipples.

She pours a cup of coffee. He smiles at her saying, 

you have the most beautiful mama gamuosh babushka in the world. 

She has a coffee cup in one hand and her lipstick in the other. Het stares at her like any man stares at the woman he loves.

Her long, curly hair is roughed up, she’ll get her hair done at Carmen’s Cubano Salón on Duval Street later in the afternoon.

Lucia is combative this morning, she dials the wall phone in the kitchen, 

I need to eat or I'm going to faint, Henry

he dials a Chinese joint close by for takeaway, one  

Kum Den Chinese saying  

I need to speak with my Uncle Choy, it's important.

He's pulling the Chinamen's chains

Henry busy, busy, chopping fried wild lice with 魚和雞, adding herbs in the kitchen.

Curious, he wises up,

what's your name, 

Choy,

what about Thai massage? 

how much? 

We got a few local girls, Thai masseuses,

In that case, I'll sue, Godammit.  

Go ahead, I'm the executor, the will is going to be read next week at the civil courthouse in Morgantown. You're going to need a lawyer, I'd suggest Fredo Hammerschmidt. 

Never mind miss Clapper. I’m claustrophobic,  windowless rooms close in on me. Do me a favor will ya? Lay a petunia in Uncle Victor’s casket on his cock, it was his life's work.

That will be quite enough Mr. Lucowski, how dare you bushwhack your dead uncle? Thank you for your time, sir.

Betsy Clapper hangs up on him and Lucia who’s been listening asks,

what was that about? I take it your uncle died? I heard you talking like a Chinaman and disrespecting your dead uncle. What's come over you, idiota? 

My right arm's numb and I'm having heart palpitations. Is it indigestion or a mini-stroke? Would burping and farting at the same time help?

Henry, go to the bathroom if you need to pasar el gas. 

He obliges, walking to the privy and closing the door. Knowing it was over between he and his uncle—  dead, gone, done, and buried. 

Later, Henry’s at his desk working and Lucia comes into his study suggesting,

let’s go see a movie,

what’s playing?

Does it make a difference?

No.

They load their Coleman cooler with ice, cans of Budweiser, bottles of whiskey coolers, and snacks in the kitchen. 

As the sun sets, like clockwork at 8, they roll the cooler to their station wagon that's parked in the driveway. Their Chihuahuas, Che, and Mia follow, yapping, eager to go for a ride. 

Henry backs the wagon out of the driveway onto Peach Road, taking it to Highway 1. 

At Boca Chica Key, he follows Langley Avenue to the Starlight Drive-in Theater, wheeling the rig up to the ticket booth and asking the cashier, 

will my dogs need tickets, beautiful? 

The cashier, a piggish looking gal says, 

mister, there’s a line of cars behind you, I don’t have time to talk shit, you wanna see the film or not? 

He hands her a ten, he puts it in second gear moving on the stone driveway, greeted by two cranks with pompadours, wearing jumpsuits and twirling red-capped flashlights. 

Following their lead, he wheels 45 degrees and parks, so the car's front is resting on a stone mound, giving the lovers  

unimpeded view of the screen. 

Lucia opens the wagon’s windows to smell the sea breeze blowing off Jewfish Basin, the windward sea. 

A muffled tin-like sound comes through the cheap speaker hung on the driver-side window pane, watching cartoons on the screen, a drive-in’s lineup of  fried luck and salad, a box of popcorn, a cup of Coca-Cola with rounded eyeballs and insect legs, crooners doing the soft shoe in unison, singing the sales pitch, 

don’t forget to pick up some delicious soft drinks and popcorn at the concessions stand in the rear of the parking lot.

Lucia passes Henry a Bud from the ice cooler and grabs one for herself. On the big screen, the Road Runner's burning rubber, running circles around Wiley the Coyote, always getting the best of him. 

The Chis jump on Lucia’s lap, bracing their front paws on the dashboard, eyeballing the cartoon. She wonders, 

who do you think Chi and Mia are rooting for, the coyote or the roadrunner?

the roadrunner's the hero you know, of course, he always wins.

mi esposo, the know it all.

Another bit, advertising the junk for sale at the concession stand flashes on the screen— a three-dimensional waterfall of popcorn cascades out of the big screen onto the parking lot. This, fooling the Chis, who try to bat down the airborne kernels of corn with their paws. Lucia laughs saying, 

I love America.

The feature film comes on the screen. It’s the sixties’ sci-fi hit, The Blob. Henry asks, 

did you see The Blob in Cuba? 

You’re funny pendejo.

The couple’s full of anticipation as the opening score, Beware of the Blob by Burt Bacharach plays through the cheap-tin speaker.

In the opening scene a teenage kid named Steve, played by 28-year-old Steve Mc Queen, witnesses a meteor crash in a cornfield. When he goes to investigate, he finds an old man who is being consumed by what looks like a hand full of purple jam. Convinced the Blob is a ghoul, the kid runs to town to report the incident and of course, the sheriff thinks he’s crazy.

The flesh-eating-soulless Blob was brewed on mars, it expands, swelling up more with each living organism it gobbles up. The film which in theory is terrifying comes off as goofy. Lucia laughs and says,

el show es estupido, not scary! Henry laughs saying,

let's light a joint.

The Blob continues to expand, becoming a semi-truck size ball of goo that oozes into town, squeezing into the Colonial Theatre and absorbing a few hapless movie-goers.

As the Blob seeps out of the theater, the young hero, Steve, sprays it down with a fire extinguisher and notices the CO 2 fumes cause the jelly-bellied Blob to recoil. 

Steve then convinces a mob of angry town folk to grab every available fire extinguisher in town and spray the bugger down, freezing it in place. 

Later, the Air Force shows and tows the big-size ball of man-eating frozen jelly to a transport plane, dropping it into an arctic wasteland somewhere up north. 

When the film's over, Henry wheels his station wagon through the parking lot, driving south to Key West, asking Lucia if she enjoyed the quirky flick. She answers,

the Blob is like the Socialist Revolution, it wants to eat the world alive. In America, the good guys come in the end, pipi on the fire, and put it out.

Rocky Marciano's Nose

It’s the early 80s— a hot day in Key West. Henry and his Cubano wife Lucia are battling the vines and odd growth creeping into their backyard. His eyes burn as he says, 

focus, dig, puncture, hack, and remove.

Lucia who’s hot and tired says, 

are you loco cariño? So, dramático.

Henry and Lucia are armed with a Honda weed wacker, an ax, and a machete. As he chops a distinctly stubborn vine, it lets loose with a watery sap, the vine's lifeblood gushes all over him, staining his clothes and getting in his eyes— blinding him temporarily.  

Afraid he's going stumble, he grabs the tail of Lucia’s bulky flannel shirt and she guides him through the sliding patio door.

In the bathroom he sits on the toilet as Lucia rinses his eyes with saline solution, using a syringe. He wonders,

what are you putting in my eyes?

Wazz, isn't that what you like? 

Your pee? Yeah, I like it. 

With his sight back, Henry goes to the kitchen with Lucia. They drink shots of mescal and smoke dope, fortifying themselves to finish off the creeping, prodigious vines. He says optimistically, 

we're over the hump. She asks, 

May I ask the great leader, why we're clearing the jungle? 

Summertime is made for croquet. Imagine a party of well-bred people with chiseled features, tall and thin, dressed in white, speaking the way society people speak,

starkly divine, loquacious, marvelous, one never knows, do they? 

Brahmins all, guaranteed decedents of the rich and powerful, owners of fleets of banana boats and big-time rag pickers, croquet aficionados. Lucia knows Henry better than he knows himself. Reeding from MS. Magazine she suggests,

When your mind's maundering, find a comfortable space, sit cross-legged, breathe through your nose, and count your breath. 

By  5 they've beaten back the bush. Henry applies the finishing touch— weed wacking the trambled grass an inch high. Rolling the miniature pitch with a Polly lawn roller. Exhausted he says,

OK, clean up time. Lucia doesn't like the new look.

Our backyard looks bald, the jungle had more character.

He's stymied, wondering what he did wrong. He'll plead, QUILTY. Quilty of being a putz, quilty of holding back, quilty of anything, hell-bent on making things right. Imploring her, 

try to understand, now trust me, doll, you're gonna love it. I’ve ordered a garden parasol and lawn chairs from Sears, and guess what? We’re going to throw a croquet party this weekend, it’s going to be a high-class affair, the talk of Key West. Lucia isn't so sure,   

invite Dick and Jane, see how it goes first. 

Tired after a long day of debilitating work, they shower and go to bed at eight. 

Sunday morning, they're lounging in the backyard, sitting on the patio chairs, drinking spiked coffee — it feels like parade day out, crisp and dry, the air's full of anticipation. 

After coffee, Henry sets up the croquet field, measuring distance and angle as he pounds the hoops and posts into the tightly cut grass. When the pitch is picture-perfect, he places the umbrella parasol and lawn chairs around the outer circumference.

Saturday afternoon Dick and Jane show at the front door. They ring the doorbell and the Chihuahuas jump, barking. 

Lucia opens the door, the couple grins from tooth to tooth— crocodile smiles. Dick's voice resonates, sounding like it's coming through a megaphone.

me Tarzan and she Jane. Lucia laughs out loud wondering, 

where’s Cheetah? 

She leads them to the backyard where Henry’s grilling T-Bones, red peppers, Vidalia onions, and baked potatoes.

Dick and Jane sit down at the umbrella carousal, looking over the backyard he says, 

I like the change, the jungle was out of control. 

Lucia brings a pitcher of mojitos, setting it on the parasol table. Looking at the croquet field Tarzan says,

We played croquet every summer in Pennsylvania, I was unbeatable, you see croquet is like golf, it's all in the wrist and the arms. Covering her mouth with her hand, trying to hold in a belly laugh, 

so you're a stud with a mallet, Tarzan? Dios mío, gue especial. 

Henry turns off the gas grill. Drops of sweat fall on the barbecued food as he arranges it on plates, he wipes his forehead with his hand saying, 

I'm burning up, foods on, gringos.

The party-goers walk to the patio table where the food's displayed— steaks, baked potatoes, peppers, and grilled onions, helping themselves.

As they eat barbecue, Henry asks Dick and Jane,

You know, I should know, but I don’t— what do you guys do? Jane isn't a big talker, she jumps in any way saying curtly,

I'm Tarzan's mommy, he's an overgrown kid, a big baby.

Dick's dumbfounded, wondering why his wife has fingered him. He feels bullied and tries to ice things over.

You know I'm busy, doll, I've got the banana plantation on Cow Key to think about, it's troubling babe, there are so many problems, the laborers don't speak English, they rob me blind. Cheetah's the best worker on the plantation, he's honest and forthright. But, on the downside, he eats his weight in bananas a few times a day, which adds up.

Jane rolls her eyes, Henry and Lucia look at one another, then she says,

Does el mico, Cheetah, live with you? 

No, he stays at the plantation, he's an amazing climber, he can climb top to bottom with a basket of fruit on his back. He's acrobatic, he could be in the circus, Cheetah's a one-man show, a phenomenon.

After sucking down four pitchers of mojitos, the small-time raconteurs are busy spinning yarns. Peppy, Henry says,  

let's play croquet.

Tarzan walks to the pitch, looking over the kit, choosing a mallet, and a ball, placing the ball on the grass in front of the turning stake. Lucia, Henry, and Jane are few yards away.

Positioning himself over the croquet ball he pulls the mallet back with a powerful swoop, failing to hit the ball head-on, brushing it with the side of his mallet instead. This causes the ball to arc sideways in the air, cuffing Henry in the nose. Blood splatters everywhere. Lucia tells Tarzan,

Let’s get him to the outpatient clinic, we can go in the Chevy, can you drive? 

Yes, sure, and just to let you know, I'd like let to pay the hospital bill,

never mind, cariño, it was an accident, we're insured with All-State, a friend you can trust.

Not knowing what to do, they wrap his head with a towel, and Lucia walks him to the garage, helping Henry into the back seat as Dick and Jane get in the front. 

Tarzan cranks the V8 engine up, he pouts saying,

Jeez, this thing has some pep. Are we in a hurry? 

Just drive carefully, Dick, we’re drunk you know.

Dick backs the wagon out of the driveway onto Peach Street, turning on Eaton, reaching Flagler Road driving towards the Stigler Clinic

Twenty minutes they're there and he parks in the clinic lot. They get out, Lucia supports Henry as they walk to the entrance, he's lost a lot of blood.

An orderly meets her at the front entrance saying, 

I'll get a stretcher.

Securing a portable stretcher, he wheels it to them, helping Henry on, so he lays face up on the cart, as the orderly wraps a fresh hospital towel on his bleeding nose. 

The orderly then pushes the upright stretcher to the entrance of the emergency room where he's met by an intern who says, 

we'll need a few pictures of the nose.  

After the X-rays, the orderly wheels the portable stretcher into the emergency room, backing the rig in, then wraping the curtain around it.

Standing, Lucia’s holds Henry’s hand as the intern pulls the curtain open, coming in and saying, 

I’m Doctor Frank, looking over the X-rays I see Henry's nose is broken. I can set it manually, which is painful, or leave it alone and stop the bleeding with Tranexamic acid. If I don't set it, he'll have a saddle nose like Rocky Marciano. 

You serious doc?  I look like a boxer.