To Rowland Rippy with much love ~ Hannah (LadywiththeLamp2017)
Key West, December 1935
I was glad when mother and Alfred decided they didn't care too much for Miami and the three of us caught a bus to spend Christmas in Key West. The swimming was good and the atmosphere was more casual. We decided that first evening to go out for a drink to a bar called Sloppy Joe's. Key West was just the atmosphere where a Bryn Mawr girl such as myself could put the pain of my romantic past and my father's death behind me and concentrate on my writing career, even if it was just for a few days.
The cigarette smoke was thick and made the air blue and hazy. I immediately forgot about the novel I had been working on as I looked all around the dimly lit derelict place which smelt of bourbon, cigars, and the catch of the day mingled with the smoky scent of a rare sirloin still sizzling on its way to the table. The booths and bar stools were tufted dark red leather and mahogany, the walls decorated with taxidermy swordfish and bass. And one alligator. I shuddered.
My eyes immediately lighted on a large, rather dirty man wearing an untidy white undershirt and khaki shorts, his hairy legs protruding comically, his large feet ending in a pair of worn, canvas shoes that so many of the beachcombers wore. His dark hair was shaggy and in bad need of a cut and his face, weathered by the salt air and Florida sun was wreath with an untidy dark beard. He was nursing a whiskey and reading letters. But it wasn't his striking appearance and enormous size that made my heart stutter in my chest.
I knew this man.
His face had stared back at me from the jackets of novels countless times. I knew many of his best lines and characters by heart.
He was my idol, if an atheist like me can have an idol, and his quotes and articles lined the walls of my bedroom at home. Never in all my twenty-seven years had I envied someone their talent and skill as much as I envied this man. His were the novels I read and tried desperately not to as I was afraid they would end up inadvertently influencing me and I did not want book reviewers saying that I was emulating his style. I didn't realize I was staring until he looked up from the letter he was reading, just a flick of his dark eyes from the piece of paper to me, not another muscle moving.
My lips parted as if to say something even though we were too far away for him to hear. Suddenly I was jostled by Alfred.
"There, those people just left," he was saying. "Let's go get that booth before it fills up."
I reluctantly turned, tearing my gaze away from the large man at the bar reading his mail, and followed Alfred and my mother to the recently vacated booth. We slid into the semicircular padded seat, my mother between us, and when the waiter came over I ordered a gin and tonic. I did not dare look towards the bar again although I could feel his eyes on me the entire time. I could see from the corner of my eye he had abandoned his pile of letters and was staring hard at me as if willing me to meet his gaze again.
I was no amateur when it came to flirtations. I considered myself a seasoned player in those terms. But something about that big, dark man at the bar, knowing who he was, what he was, was unnerving me. As I sipped my gin and tonic, I dared to raise my eyes and meet his.
He lifted his whiskey glass in a mock salute, his lips barely turned up in a smile. He was naturally surrounded by sycophants and admirers, yet he only had eyes for me. I should have felt flattered but I knew all too well about his history with women and that I would be well on my way to being simply another notch on his bedpost by allowing this to continue. Slowly, deliberately I reached for Alfred's arm, linking my own through it and leaned towards him. Keeping my eyes on the large man at the bar, I whispered something innocuous and meaningless into Alfred's ear, making it appear as though it were something intimate and endearing.
