The woman replied yes, and after taking down his name, she told him that the custodian would unlock the hall so he could put the board near the stage.
Inside the parish center, decorating had just begun for Saturday’s dinner and floor show. Student posters hung near the stage were the first items in place. He found the one Emma’s class had drawn.
He kneeled to set the board down and gave it a long last look, as if aiming everything he hated about himself onto it. What he felt instead were the eyes of the angry island god. Behind its evil smile he heard his daughter’s voice.
Daddy, what are you doing here?
Part III
Grifters’ Paradise
Tall, Dark, and Handsome
by Ace Atkins
Westshore
Except for being really, really old, he was exactly what she’d wanted.
He was well dressed, navy suit with pressed white shirt, good teeth (that she hoped were real), and seemingly most of his own hair. They met, as had been arranged over e-mail, at the Hyatt on the Courtney Campbell Causeway. The restaurant was called Armani’s, and she knew it was nice because they expressly stated that they didn’t allow cutoff shorts and flip-flops. He ordered oysters Rockefeller. She ordered butternut squash soup. Her mother always told her not to eat too much on the first date or men might think you owe them something.
The view was amazing. Top floor of the hotel looking out at Tampa Bay, the sun going down across the water, streaks of black and gray against the orange sky. Real postcard stuff. The very reason she’d left Detroit, her third husband Frank, and a worthless job as a teller at Citizen’s Bank in Bloomfield Village. Only yesterday, she’d mailed a postcard to her friend Judy reading: You throw snowballs for me while I pick oranges for you. With love and kisses from Debbie Lyn.
“Really something, isn’t it?” he said. “Takes your breath away.”
“When I lived in Michigan, my tootsies would get so cold,” she responded. “I had to wear snow boots to work and then slip into my high heels. Every time I left the office, I had to change out my footwear. Ankle-deep in slush. That’s really no way to live.”
He smiled at her, all dark tan and silver hair, holding the gaze. “My God. You are simply the loveliest creature I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Oh, quit it.”
“No,” he said. “I mean it, Debbie Lyn. I think I mentioned to you that I used to work in the film business, and you have what they call a perfect face. Completely symmetrical. Wonderful blue eyes and the most interesting nose. They used to measure that stuff with rulers. Measure how far apart your eyes were. That’s why the old stars looked so grand.”
“I think my nose is too big.”
“Hogwash,” he said. “That’s what they said about Barbra Streisand and she’s done pretty well for herself with the Yentl and the Oscars and all that. I knew her in my other life.”
“You kind of look like her husband,” Debbie Lyn said. “James Brolin? The one who used to be on Hotel. And his son is that purple bad guy in those comic-book movies. My son just loves that stuff. All he does, reads comics and plays online games with his friends. Star Wars: Battlefront. Call of Duty.”
“How old is your son?”
“Twenty-five,” she said. “I really wish he’d meet a nice girl.”
“You never know when you’ll meet the right girl.”
“Stop it,” she said. “You are a charmer, aren’t you? Tell me what films you worked on.”
“Oh,” he replied with a flick of his wrist. “I was just a producer. Major League. Tremors 2. A little film called Tango & Cash. Remember Stallone and Kurt Russell driving that big monster truck? Spent most of my time arguing with the studio about the budget. You’ll never imagine what it costs to have a rat wrangler on set. One little nibble on Jack Palance’s pinky and you’re shut down for two whole days. For a tough guy, he could be so precious.”
He lifted his Rob Roy in a toast and she met him with her glass of rosé just as the sun hit the water, turning the darkness all gold and electric. Outside the windows, as he smiled at her, a slight wind kicked off the bay and rattled the palm trees. Debbie Lyn felt a little shiver at the base of her spine. This was it. This was actually happening. Tall, dark, handsome. Rich. All of it.
The waiter returned to bring another round. For the main course, she ordered the mushroom risotto, thinking, My God, what a wonder to be on an actual date. He had the bone-in veal chop with the cauliflower hash. The sun was gone now, and it had grown dark and calm across the water, a few pleasure boats heading back to the marina. Small white lights flickering across the countless piers. He kept on staring at her with a twinkle in his eye. She couldn’t help but notice the thick gold chain around his neck and some kind of old coin hanging from it. He fingered at it.
“A good luck charm,” he said.
“For what?”
“Finding the rest one day,” he said. “We were so incredibly close before the storm.”
She tilted her head, playing with the stemware. “What exactly is it that you do? I mean, now.”
“Oh,” he said, looking away, grinning. “A little of this. A little of that. I’m mainly retired. But certain interests and passions can draw me out. That’s what happened to my last relationship. I was told that I didn’t know how to relax, when to quit. Who wants to get old? Who wants to stop chasing their passions?”
Debbie Lyn beamed, wondering what scent he wore — sandalwood, bourbon, citrus, old suede. Over Christmas, she’d taken a job at the Art of Shaving at the International Plaza. She taught men how to apply the perfect mix of scent, rubbing it on their necks, chests, and even a dab behind their knees. Never overpowering. Find your signature scent, she’d told them. She looked across the white linen table as he continued to stare and smile, enjoying being with her, in her presence.
“Would it be too much, before our main courses have even arrived, to say I think I’m falling in love?”
He was playing with her. He had to be. Thirty minutes in and he was already in love? Either he was completely nuts or a hopeless romantic.
“Let’s see how you feel after the veal.”
“I’m even more in love on a full stomach.”
They’d just met and already she could see how that new life might work out. Out of that crummy apartment on Gandy Boulevard and away from living out of boxes, eating Jenny Craig frozen dinners while watching taped episodes of Days of Our Lives, telling her empty living room that dumb Eric better get his life together and realize that Jennifer was the best thing that ever walked into his young life. Her ex-husband calling over and over. Debbie Lyn, where the fuck did you put my chain saw and safety helmet? Talking to those teenage boys at the shave shop about making the proper strokes, them laughing as she walked away.
He reached for her hand and squeezed her fingers. “This is only the beginning. Today starts our adventure.”
Looking back at it, at that very moment, that man across from her looking so sharp and contrasted, white on navy linen, silver hair and gold coin, smelling of goddamn sandalwood, yep, in that moment, he would’ve been the very last person in the world she thought she’d shoot right dead center in the head.
But damn, thinking back on it now on her bunk at the Orient Road Jail, she was still sure of it. The son of a bitch had it coming.