Silver Heat Ch. 01

The growling of his stomach broke him out of his reverie, just in time for him to see a little bar and grill, kind of odd, narrow, with a lot of tables and beach umbrellas on the roof, of course to provide a better view of the sea. The Golden Lion. The place was already packed at this hour which probably meant the food was good. "Hmm, okay." He maneuvered the car and trailer into a parking spot with some difficulty. Inside it was as cold as he had hoped it would be, and dark enough to rest his burning eyes. He bellied up to the bar and waited, ordered a Mai Tai. He sipped it slowly, carefully, spinning the little umbrella between his fingers subconsciously.

"Can I eat right here or do I have to sit at a table?" Lance asked the bartender, a busty redhead about forty years too young for him, but not for his dreams.

"No you can order here, sir. Want a menu?"

"Yeah, that'd be great, thanks." After a few sips, the mai tai, the first alcoholic beverage he had consumed in 25 years, started to have a definite effect on him. "No, I'm not having a slip, or falling off the wagon," he told himself, "just relaxing a bit. Well, anyway, if I fell down drunk in my own vomit before the night ended, I'd have a damn good excuse."

He ordered the half pound of peeled shrimp with cocktail sauce and an order of house-made bleu cheese potato chips. He knew he would have to swim a mile to take it off, but he was hungry and feeling very self-indulgent.

About half way through his meal, an attractive looking male, probably in his late fifties to early sixties, sat at the stool beside him. "Mind if I sit here," asked a deep baritone voice.

"It's a free country," Lance replied, smiling.

After a few moments of silence the stranger introduced himself. "Hi, I'm Neal, you from around here?"

"Lance, Minnesota," he replied. "Neal," Lance thought, "How weird! Right after thinking about Neal after all these years. Coincidence or fate?" Lance wiped his hands on a napkin before shaking hands. The hand was warm and dry and lingered a bit. The prolonged contact made Lance check out the stranger more carefully. The hair was gray and semi-long, but not as long as his. The skin was deeply tanned, but Lance suspected it had been pale before retirement. The face was finely etched with a well-trimmed almost white Vandyke, mustache and tiny tickler. The body was trim and firm, the body of a man with an active life style, but not a workout freak. Lance was taken by a sudden impulse to look down at the man's shorts, but resisted. "What was it with him? Now that Martha was gone, was the homosexual side of his bisexuality rising to the fore, after being sublimated for over thirty-five years? Or was he merely beginning to get his healthy sex drive back after the numbness caused by his loss of Martha?"

Lance finally realized the stranger had been speaking to him.

"Huh, what? I'm sorry, I was daydreaming."

"I asked if you were down here on vacation."

"Well, sort of, more like grief recovery."

"Lose someone?"

"Martha, my wife of thirty-five years."

"Hell man, that is rough. I am really sorry. You hangin' in there?"

"Just barely. I figured it would help to get away from everything that reminded me of her. So far, it's working, I've only thought of her about 500 times today. So far."

"I know how you feel. It's only been a few years now since I lost my wife. All I can tell you is the pain doesn't go away, but it does get easier to bear. You'll be fine. We hurt. We pick our asses up off the ground, we go on. What other choice do we have?"

"I am so glad to hear you say that. In the last four weeks, I think I have been asked hundreds of times if I was 'all right'. I swore if one more person asked me that I would scream 'NO' and fall down and make them take care of me."

Neal laughed softly. "Well, at least you've kept your sense of humor. So, what do you think of the bleu cheese chips?"

"As wonderful as I expected."

"So where are you staying?"

"Well, it's kind of funny you asked. I was kind of looking for privacy and so I thought about renting an RV. I have been a little impulsive today. I pulled into this place down the road, Giant RV Village or something like that. In Ormand Beach, I think it was. And I wound up buying this odd little trailer. It's the weirdest thing I ever saw. Guy said it was the trailer of a star in a movie. Made for being used on location. I laughed until I saw the inside. There is a whole dressing room, with makeup table and all that. If I keep it I'll change that, of course. But. It has a great sound system, a kitchen and sitting room, a full bath, with hot shower, stove, refrigerator TV, the works. And it's beautifully decorated, really spacious for the outward appearance."

"Lance, can I buy you another drink?"

"Well, I shouldn't, I have to drive."

"Why do you have to drive?"

"Well I gotta park the trailer. I have made reservations to park it in a place called Bull Creek Campground. I don't know anything about it, I found it online right after I bought the trailer, but they say it is out of the way and claim to have the best fresh-water fishing in the state."

'Cumon, man, Carpe diem!"

"Holy smokes! I just said that to myself, less than an hour ago. You must be psychic or something."

"Well it has been said that I was very sensitive."

Silence reigned for a moment. Was Neal hinting at something? Lance supposed he shouldn't be jumping to any conclusions. But there had been a hint of something, he was nearly sure. He decided to reply with a bit of innuendo of his own. "Well, okay, you can buy. But I may end up, 'not all right' and you may have to take care of me."

"I imagine that could be quite pleasant." Neal replied.

That brought on another spate of silence, which Neal finally broke. "Another thing. You come from Minnesota to Florida to go fresh-water fishing. You've got ten thousand lakes. We have an ocean here. Why not really go fishing and go OUT THERE for the big ones?"

"I don't know enough abut it. Don' know anything about it."

"I could take you."

"Huh? What?"

"Fishing. Deep sea fishing."

"Oh, yeah. For a minute there I thought you meant.... Uh, never mind."

Both men let that comment sit awhile, neither man knowing if the conversation was going somewhere, or if they wanted it to. Lance, for his part, was not at all sure he wanted it to go anywhere. In fact he was pretty sure he didn't want that. He told himself he was merely playing around, toying with the other man and with himself.

"Uh, I don't know, maybe."

"So what is so weird about your new little trailer?" Neal said.

"Well,you kinda need to see it to get it. I was about to yell at the guy for trying to sell me a piece of crap, until I looked inside. It is really unbelievable."

"Well, can I see?"

"Huh,what? Oh. Ah. Er. Okay. You mean now?"

"Uh huh! Now would be good."

"Uh sure, yeah, er... Follow me."

Lance rose and Neal followed. "See it out there?" Lance said, gesturing through the bank of windows at the front of the beach-side bar, " it looks a bit like an airstream in the front, but then it has this weird looking box like thing at the back."

"Yeah, I see it." Neal replied, " Pretty weird!"

"You should see the inside, though," Lance retorted.

"Okay, why not"

"You mean right now?"

"Yeah. why not, carpe diem, as you said."

"Indeed. in-fucking-deed," Lance half shouted, Carpe fucking Diem, good buddy, let's go!"

Out in the tiny trailer, Lance is showing Neal around, pointing out the oddities and the niceties of his new house on wheels, when it comes to him like a shock wave that he has just called Neal, "good buddy", a phrase he had previously reserved for another Neal. He stammers a bit as his mind tries to make sense of its own inner workings. "Uh, uh. . . er, uh, Neal. Check out the queen sized loft bed in the back and the way it overlooks the living room. It makes the place seem huge. And look at the full bath, shower, tub, the works. Every room, even the bathroom has controls for the central music system."

Lance is headed back from the bedroom just as Neal, on his way to examine the bedroom, turns to enter the same narrow passageway. Their bodies bump full against one another. Both men stop. Neither moves for a long awkward moment. Both blush. "Er. . . ," Lance mutters.

"Sorry, ... I. . . Uh"

Still nobody moves. Neal looks down between their bodies, quickly looks up again, steps back.

"Sorry man I was just. . ."

"No sweat."

Finally they move into the less crowded living room space. To Lance it suddenly seems momentous that there is a bed a few feet away. He keeps looking at it, looking away.

Neal clears his throat. "Where you gonna park this monstrosity?"

"Well I have a space reserved at a place called Bull Creek Campground about 30 miles west on what is supposed to be a great bass lake."

"You told me that already. I meant, are you going to drive it out there tonight?"

"Well, that was the original plan, but it is getting kind of late and I have had a couple drinks. Do you think I could leave it right here overnight?"

"Geez, I dunno, probably not. They'd probably call it camping on a public street. They get worried about homeless people hanging around, 'cause the weather is so good. Not that I personally have anything against the homeless, I volunteer in a shelter."

"So what do you suggest? Is there some place close I could park "the monstrosity" for the night?"

"Well, now don't take this wrong, but, well. . . You could park the damn thing in my driveway.

And then, well, I have an outdoor hookup you could plug into and you could sleep out in the monster, or, well. . . What the hell, you could sack out in my spare bedroom. No one has used it in a long time and, well, frankly. . . I could use some company."

"Can I ask you something?" Lance queried.

"Sure."

"How come we only met two hours ago and you are already inviting me into your home?"

"That's kinda who I am. Very trusting, very gregarious."

"If you are so gregarious. . ."

"Wait, wait, That wasn't entirely true. What I said just then. I mean, Oh what the hell. My wife died not too long ago and to tell you the truth, I was sitting there in the bar, feeling kind of sorry for myself. And there you were sittin' there lookin' even worse, struggling to act happy. Something just told me to talk to you, like we were kindred souls or something. Part of it was I am just damn lonely these days."

"Okay, done! You got it! I will come and park the monster in your driveway and I will come in your house and we can sit around and shoot the shit until dawn if you want, maybe listen to some sounds, just as if we have been buddies forever, What the hell! Carpe Diem, right?"

"Right, good buddy!" Neal stuck out his hand as if to cement a deal and Lance shook it vigorously.

"Huh? What? What did you say?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what you just said. You called me 'good buddy'."

"Did I? It was just kinda natural. I mean you said something about 'buddies forever,' and I just sorta picked up on that. Somethin' wrong?"

"No. Er. . . No. That's okay. Its just. . .just. Something that happened a long time ago."

"I'll get my car and you can follow me to my place. Should I pick up a six pack or something?"

"Uh diet coke or coffee would be fine. . . I don't. . .er. . .can't really drink. And one more thing. Don't make me backup with the monster on, I can't do it, never learned."

Neal laughed heartily. "Piece of cake, been doin' it all my life."

About half an hour later, the "monster" was quietly ensconced in Neal's driveway and the two men stood on Neal's back porch, watching and listening to the waves gently shuss, shuss, to the shore.

"Damn nice place you got here," Lance told Neal. "The kind of a place many men dream their whole lives about owning. For myself, it has always been the lakeside cabin in the Northwoods, but what little money I have made in my life came too late for that."

Neal giggled. "Right, but now you've got 'the monster', you can park beside any lake you want. And you know what? I'm thinkin' it's never too late to realize a dream."

"Sure, all I gotta do is get the little piece of shit back to Minnesota."

"Listen, Lance, I gotta ask you a question and it's kinda sticky. I don't want to ruin our friendship before we even get it started. But in keeping with our new 'carpe diem' philosophy, I just gotta ask"

"Well, gee what is it are you a bank robber or a secret agent or something?"

"Well, we are about the same age and I figure you were in college n the sixties like me, so I figure you have smoked a little dope in your life. Well I hadn't smoked in a long time, but a new. . .er. . friend came up with some excellent shit about a month ago. I have smoked twice since than and find I enjoy it as much as ever, but, well I do cough a little more than I used to. Would you like to try a toke or two?"

"Neal Harrington, you are under arrest for possession of Marijuana. I am an undercover cop and we have been trying to get you for years," Lance laughed. "Holy shit. Pot? I don't believe it. In Minnesota we are very close to passing a medical marijuana law, but it'll be years yet before we legalize possession."

"Well, we'd probably have medical marijuana in Florida if it weren't for the Cubans and the rednecks, Certainly enough retired folks down here who smoked when they were younger and have medical conditions now. So what do you say? Should I fire up the old bowl?"

"Jeez, Neal, I dunno. I. . ."

"Remember, Carpe Diem."

"Okay, sure, what the hell, you'll take care of me if I fall apart won't you? I am kind of fragile right now."

"You got it good buddy. Be right back!"

Of course Lance began to worry and second guess as soon as Neal was out of sight. Why had he always been such a nerd? His politics were pretty far left, but man, his personal behavior was pretty conservative. Maybe it would be good for him to seize the day a little, live a little. He stood there on the porch of Neal's little house, not unlike a Minnesota lake house, in which the front porch is in the back, where the view is. Night was descending, and all up and down the beach, lights began to come on. Lance wished they wouldn't. He would have liked a bit of darkness just then, before the moon rose over the Atlantic. "And what is it with this 'good buddy' stuff," he thought. It is almost as if this guy is a reincarnation of my other Neal.

Neal returned with a little wooden box somewhat like a large cigarette lighter. The cover swiveled back on top, revealing finely crumbled pot on one side, on the other, a channel containing a cylindrical brass pipe. "The idea, Neal said," demonstrating, "is to transfer a bit of the pot from the rectangular side into the round channel, then insert the pipe and twirl it, picking up just enough dope for one hit. Cool, huh?"

"Another gift from your new 'friend'," Lance asked.

"Exactly," Neal replied. He filled the little pipe and handed it to Lance, then fired up a large flame from a Bic lighter.

"What the hell," Lance said. "Here we go," inhaling deeply. Immediately he was racked with huge spasms of coughing that went on for some time. Finally, gasping, he handed the pipe to Neal. Your. . . cough, cough, gasp, gasp. . .turn!"

Neal handled it better than he, coughing just a little, then refilled the pipe and handed it back. Lance waited until he was sure he had his breath back, then nodded, "Okay. Fire in the hole! Fuck it!" he said aloud to himself, took a long toke, and held his breath as long as he could.

By the third hit, it went down easily. Lance's spirits had improved tremendously. He declined a fourth hit. "Thank you my new friend, that will do nicely. Haven't done that in over twenty years. I remember when I used to do this pretty regular. It always went straight to my dick. Laughing. You've got quite a place here. Your own little slice of beach, too, huh?"

"I'm lucky, it has been n the family for generations."

"How private is it? I see you have neighbors pretty close. How nosy are they?"

"What are you trying to ask me?"

"I just wondered if you ever go skinny dipping?"

"What do you think we are, teenagers?"

"Why are teenagers the only ones who are allowed to have fun?"

"No, but if teenagers get caught runnin' around naked, they say: 'Look at those beautiful bodies! Oh well, kids will be kids'. If we got caught, they'd go: Ick, look at those two old dudes flopping around out there. Uh huh, a couple of old preverts'." Laughing.

"Hee, hee, hee! I think we should charge them with age discrimination. My flop is as good as a young person's flop! Thank you my friend, I haven't laughed in six months, but all of a sudden everything is uproariously funny." Saying this, Lance put his arm roughly around Neal's shoulder, half rough-housing, half hugging him, the way men do when they wish to be intimate, but not too intimate.

Neal responded my tussling Lance roughly around the waist. The rough-housing stopped. For a moment, each man looked into the others eyes. Their arms fell awkwardly way from each other. A few seconds of strained silence passed.

"If you want to go swimming (and I would not recommend skinny-dipping in these parts), I have a suit you can borrow," Neal went on, as if nothing awkward had happened.

"Will you come, too?"

"I really don't feel much like it. Swimming is kinda 'old hat' around here."

"Well. I'm not afraid or anything, but they say one should never swim alone."

Instead of swimming, the men sat around chatting the rest of the evening, sharing "war stories" and comparing their relative grief. From time to time, they reestablished their high from the tiny one-hitter, not stoning, but maintaining at an easy fluid level. Neal chose music for the stereo, Bob Dylan's Empire Burlesque, of course. The night was a sweet communion of souls, and as time passed, Lance was reminded more and more of his old Air Force friend, also named Neal. Before evening's end, the two men were calling each other "good buddy" with an ease that astounded both of them.

It had been decided that Lance would indeed spend the night in Neal's spare bedroom and so it was. Lance and Neal bade each other good night with a firm double handshake and called it a night. Neal allowed his guest to prepare first in the only bathroom, waiting until he heard Lance exit the bathroom before moving down the hall for his own ablutions. Shower, tooth brushing, gargling completed, he retired to his own room, leaving the dim night light on in case Lance should need to navigate the small hallway during the night. He was about to close his bedroom door when he noticed, that, when held at a certain angle, the reflection from the door's mirror allowed a clear if dim view into the spare room.

Neal was captivated by the sight of his new dear friend, Lance, lying naked on his side on the large bed, weeping inconsolably, his large shoulders heaving, his trim figure wracked with silent, heart-wrenching sobs. Neal was strongly tempted to rush to Lance and throw his arms around the larger man, but the strong male aversion to close bodily contact held him back. Nonetheless, Lance's anguish affected Neal, bringing back his own grief so strongly that his knees buckled. He sank to the floor and buried his face in the bed.

A few minutes later, the wave of Neal's grief had passed on. He crawled into bed, snuggled under the covers and drifted toward sleep. As consciousness faded, the image of Lance weeping came back clearly to his mind. Something. . . What?

Morning arrived on the crest of an Atlantic sea breeze whispering saltily through all the screen windows and doors in the Florida-style house. Those inside stirred, shifted, awoke slowly and easily, drifting in and out of sleep to the ebb and flow murmuring of waves on the shore.