14
The lecture hall to elegant dinner to Duval Street pipeline finally landed them at the legendary Sloppy Joe’s Bar. The ghost
of Hemingway was nowhere to be seen, but signs of him were everywhere. From a wall-mounted replica of a huge sailfish that
the author had reportedly caught to a Papa impersonator vibing at the bar. Otherwise, it was like any bar on a Saturday night,
patrons flowed out the open doors and onto the busy sidewalk. While the guys checked out the live band, Vicky ordered a round
of Sloppy Ritas and drew Jules and Ayesha into a huddle. Over dinner, Matty teased his multi-book deal with Operon Comics.
“Quick,” Vicky said. “Thoughts on Matty’s book deal.”
Ayesha: “Hopeful.”
Jules: “Hmm.”
“It’s the sort of deal that can draw him out of debt,” Ayesha added.
Multi-book deals were double-edged swords at best. If it didn’t work out, you were trapped, churning out books for the devil.
Operon was a storied publishing house with iconic characters and rabid fans, and that, too, could prove to be a problem.
“In debt or not, he should think twice,” Jules said. “Anyone who’s been to Comic-Con knows that Operon fans will turn on you,
harass you, even dox you if you fuck around and kill off one of their favs.”
Vicky took a poll. “One hopeful. One holdout.”
“He should take the deal if it feels right,” Jules said. “But he is who he is, Vicky. One book deal won’t change him.”
Ayesha warned Jules that she’d swerved into her lane. “Tough love is my job,” she said. “Matty has grown on me these last
couple days. He’s lovely, so thoughtful.”
This could be a stunning reversal or, most likely, the Sloppy Rita talking.
“You two have great chemistry,” Ayesha said dreamily. “It’s undeniable.”
“Since when do you care about chemistry?” Vicky asked. “I’m following your advice and using common sense.”
“Now is not the time to start taking my advice,” Ayesha admonished her. “I’m living vicariously through you both. That’s the
only reason I agreed to this trip.”
Vicky brought her hand to her mouth. “You mean to tell us that you left your high-earning husband and your well-behaved children
just to hang out with us losers?”
“Yes,” Ayesha admitted. “I’m not proud of it.”
Jules laughed. “You missed us and our sloppy, slutty ways!”
“Oh, stop!” Ayesha said with a roll of her eyes. “And if you want to know what I think, here goes. You won’t find love if
you don’t give anyone a chance. Correct me if I’m wrong, but neither of you have been in a relationship longer than a month
or so.”
“That’s generous,” Jules said. “Three weeks tops!”
The quip hid or revealed her nervousness. Jules feared Ayesha was coming dangerously close to the truth: Neither Vicky nor
Jules had the stamina to run the long-distance marathon that was a stable, committed relationship. They’d find a reason to
clock out, any excuse to cut off a man was valid. He worked too much, he had no ambition and didn’t work enough, he talked
too much, he had poor communication skills and left them guessing, he had a weird laugh, he didn’t laugh at their jokes.
Ayesha cut through their bullshit. “You’re holding each other back.”
She and Vicky were each other’s significant others. So long as one could count on the other for friendship, companionship, and emotional support, they likely wouldn’t seek it elsewhere.
Sebastien arrived with his tequila and lime. “What are you guys talking about?”
“Our tragic love lives,” Vicky answered.
“Not now, ladies,” he said. “We’re here to escape our problems, not solve them.”
Jules studied Sebastien, maybe for the first time since meeting him. “What problems are you escaping?” she asked.
“Wedding planning,” he answered. “Why do I feel like I’m being led to slaughter?”
“More likely a virginal sacrifice,” Vicky said.
“In that case they got the wrong guy,” he said.
“Jitters are normal,” Ayesha told him then turned to Vicky and Jules. “As for you two, there are only two suitable and single
men on this island. Quantities are limited.”
Sebastien cackled. “Get them while supplies last!”
A woman in a Ron Jon Surf Shop T-shirt elbowed her way toward them. She hollered over the music. “They say you’re a bunch
of horror writers! Like Stephen King!”
Sebastien’s expression turned key lime sour. They could fall off the edge of this flat earth and never escape the long shadow
of Stephen King.
When they were alone in the ladies’ room, reapplying lip gloss and fluffing their hair, Jules gently approached Vicky. “I’ve
never known you to second-guess yourself when it comes to a man. What’s going on? Is this about Big Money and Kit Kat?”
“God no,” she said. “This trip is a trip. I can’t sleep. I’ve been dreaming about my grandmother, crazy vivid dreams. She screams at me, repeating everything
she’s ever taught me. I get the sense she wants me to clean up my act.”
Jules was stunned. Why hadn’t Vicky mentioned this before? Could her “crazy vivid dreams” be linked to her own experiences since arriving in Key West? Or . . . more specifically . . . checking into The Aurora?
“Have you tried the gummies you’ve offered everyone?” Jules asked. “They may help.”
“I trashed them,” Vicky said on her way out the door. “They were making it worse.”
Outside, the group had reconfigured. Vicky ran off with Matty. Ayesha and Sebastien were at a table, deep in conversation.
Leo was at the bar, phone in hand, scrolling. She joined him and noticed he was thumbing around a Wikipedia page.
“Leo,” she said with a heavy sigh, “I’ve been observing you these last couple days and I’ve concluded that you’re just a big
nerd. I hate to break it to you.”
He didn’t bother denying it. “Don’t tell the others. I have a reputation to uphold.”
“My lips are sealed.”
He glanced up at her, eyes resting on her lips. “Did you know this structure was built in 1917?”
“Why would I need to know that?” she asked. “What does it get me? A free beer?”
Even as she teased him, Jules looked past the various flags and banners suspended from the ceiling and all the other modern
touches to admire the tall arched doors, exposed brick, and vintage wood bar.
He pocketed the phone. “Research.”
“You’re really going to set a book here, then?” she asked.
“I don’t think so, but I like to gather facts for later projects,” he said. “You never know.”
If Jules were inclined to write about her time here, it wouldn’t be about this historic bar or any other.
It would be about her lived experience, either to make sense of it or trivialize it, so that it wouldn’t have a hold on her the rest of her life.
No one would guess at the truth. It was too farfetched to be credible.
“Want to win a free beer?” he asked. “Let’s play a drinking game.”
“No, you’re sober.”
“We can remedy that.”
“Why? You don’t drink.”
He went still, but the bar was lively, and couples pushed past them to put in orders. By common accord they moved to a free
table. “You order drinks, distribute them, but you don’t drink,” she said. “And you negotiate privately with the waiters to
get mocktails. Blink if I’m right.”
He winked at her, his brown eyes fizzy with amusement.
“And you don’t smoke,” she added with a flourish.
“Well . . .” He reached for his gum, the familiar gesture. “Guess I really am a nerd.”
“That’s not it,” she said.
“My sobriety isn’t a big secret,” he said. “It’s new and I’m just getting used to it. I don’t bring it up, but if anyone asks,
I tell them.”
She ignored that he’d avoided telling her just now. “Will you tell them why you’re sober?”
“No more than you’ll answer a direct question.”
“Fair enough.”
“You’re observant, July Jones,” he said. “But you’re not the only one. I see you.”
So, they were playing a game, only with no clear rules or guidelines to keep them safe. “Your turn.”
“You’re the dark side of the moon,” he said. “So much is left to the imagination. Does anyone know who you truly are? Does
Vicky?”
“Of course,” Jules said. Her tone was clipped, even to her own ears. “She’s my closest friend.”
“But you hide things from her to make that friendship possible.”
“You don’t get to just make shit up, Leo. That’s not how the game is played.”
“I don’t have anything concrete to point to, like drinking or smoking. But you’re hiding something. You have been this whole
time.”
She stirred uneasily and wished she could have that free beer now. “I don’t lie to Vicky, if that’s what you’re saying.”
“You don’t lie,” he said. “Except that one time when you claimed never to have been in love. That was a lie.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“You forget, I read your books. You know something about yearning, and something about loss.”
“My character does,” she replied. “I’m not an adventurous time traveler.”
“You know something about yearning,” he repeated stubbornly.
Jules joined her hands to resist the very feminine urge to scratch his eyes out. “You and Matty seem close. You look like
great friends, but I’m willing to bet good money that you haven’t shared any of your issues with him. I’d go further and bet
against the house that he knows close to nothing about your life, your past or future.”
“Matty is busy falling in love with Vicky, if you haven’t noticed,” he said. “He doesn’t care what I do or who I do it with.”
That could very well be true, but it didn’t negate her point. “Everyone here admires you,” she said. “They think you’re smart,
clever, hot. From brief encounters with you across the globe, they’ve painted a portrait of you in their minds. I’ve been
listening to them praise you all weekend long. Praise that you may or may not have earned. Want to know what I think? They’re
right and they’re wrong. The thing is, they’ll never know for sure. They’ll never know you.”
Leo’s expression changed—not in anger, but with something close to relief. The relief of finally being seen.
“You never disappoint,” he said, at last.
Oh, yes, I do, Jules thought. Let’s hope you never find out.
Matty and Vicky, giddy with the flush of fresh love, dragged chairs to their table. “This looks intense,” Vicky said. “What’s
going on? Are you two plotting a murder?”