Conch Sleigh Ride

Sitting at the same bar the third night in a row, I watched the aquarium behind me for a while.  It must have cost the bar $10,000 to build and several thousand to stock.  It divided the big oval bar from a dining area.  Both diners and the drinkers could watch the boats just outside the open overhead garage doors, and evaluate the passers-by.  Most of them were from the North, here to enjoy the warmth for a week before returning to their desks.

It was just getting dark, the bar still only half full even though it was Happy Hour, with half price drinks.  I was tired and sun-burned, killing time, studying the menu, listening to the bartenders in hula shirts, and quietly pressing the shutter on a camera that rested on the bar next to my drink.  On the camera's viewing screen, the digital pictures gave the bar a mysterious, luminescence.  The mahogany bar reflected the light from the sky and two outside lamps through the bottles and glasses.  The aquarium behind me gave a neon cast to the scene.  Couples passed behind me, looking at the fish, pointing, and talking, nuzzling against each other.

Focusing the camera, which rested on the bar, on a couple on the other side of the oval bar, I pressed the shutter as discretely as possible.  He was about 35, dressed in a white polo shirt, a little pudgy and looked like his job would always come first.  She was younger, with short brown hair, and a new dress with a v-neckline, alternately attentive and aloof.  She wasn't his wife, maybe wouldn't ever be.

The conch chowder and a salad came.  I ordered a second glass of wine.  I was occupied with the food, but the bar was still quiet until, a few minutes later, like a gust of wind on a warm evening, a group appeared at the other end of the bar, and the noise level stepped up.  A couple of young women sat down on the two stools to my right.  I watched my soup, blew on it, and put the camera away.

Turning right to look at the aquarium, I could see a dozen people filling the space between it and the bar.  They were in full tilt party mode, talking, laughing, wheezing, coughing, and ordering drinks.  Their initial reticence had worn off.  Now they owned the bar.

A thirty-something blonde, who filled her black pants suit, parted company with her date, who had a flashing light baseball cap and dread-locks, and brought her drink over to talk with the two young ladies beside me.  "They wonder why you're so quiet.  I said that's OK -- I'll go over and hit on them."  

The two younger ladies laughed quietly, shifting on their stools.  They didn't know what to say.  The blonde was talking at 70 MPH, so there was no need for them to work at making conversation.  I worked on my soup.

When the conversation paused, I touched the shoulder of the lady in black, who was by now standing almost behind me.  She turned slowly.  I said, "Would you adopt me?"  

"What?"

"Could you adopt me?"

"Yeah, sure .... for fifty dollars."

Doing my best to look shocked, I said, "I'm not that kind of man."

She said, "It's OK, honey.  It's for a good cause.  Every year, we organize a little trolley tour around town to see the lights and stop in at a couple bars.  This year it's for abuse.  Anybody who pays the fifty dollars can come along."  She turned to leave.  The trolley was going on.

I burned my mouth finishing my soup, ate a little salad standing, threw down some money for the dinner, and hurried to catch up with her.

As I was handing her sixty dollars, I learned that she was Loretta.  She worked for a radio station, a Clearchannel station, in Key West.  The trolley was a bus that looked a little like a San Francisco cable car, and was driven by a white haired lady with patience and skill.

The tour took off down dark little streets in search of lights on houses, with people laughing and singing on the bus.  There were plenty of lights to look at.  Some were primitive.  Some were potent.  One was on fire. 

The entire house glowed with thousands of lights and scenes set in the yard.  The bus stopped and the group got out.  They stood quietly, sort of praying at the picket fence, with thousands of lights glowing and windows showing santas and angels, all set against pitch black night.  They were moved.  They set their drinks on the sidewalk, next to the picket fence and entered.  The host appeared on the porch, like a pontiff in a balcony.  He descended the steps and held out his hand.  Each of the members of the tour waited patiently to greet him, to ask for his blessing.  He invited the group onto the porch and into the house.  It was his birthday, as well as Jesus's.

Ten minutes later, the bus was back on its route, looking for lights in the dark streets.  The microphone boomed out amateur carols, with the group singing the chorus.  Most of the choruses ended in "Twins!".  A big bald guy in a bright yellow sport coat and tie led a stirring rendition of something risque and funny.

A bar named "Jerky's" loomed out of the night and seized the guests. They descended the steps of the trolley and entered the place, one that must have been familiar to most. A line formed at the women's restroom. I stood there, talking quietly with the young ladies, some other blondes, a young woman fresh from Cuba, and a nice blonde who seemed just a little nervous. She was a masseuse someone had said. Her escort stood nearby in protective silence, while she held her hands anxiously.

When he went to get a drink, I took her hands in mine. She was surprised, but didn't withdraw them, but didn't smile. She looked at me hard, and asked why I was doing this, still without pulling back. I said, as I dropped her hands, "Your hands seemed distressed. I wanted to help. I really don't know other than that."

Her escort returned and I retreated, still unsure if she was offended or pleased.

"All aboard. We're going", Loretta called. The spell was broken. Rationality set in. The tour ended. The trolley would go on, but the fun was over for me. When the trolley loaded up again, I stood in the door of the bar and watched, wondering if I could remember where I had parked my car. Loretta and a couple of other ladies tugged me toward the bus. "Oh, you can't stop now. Just get in the bus. We're going back to my house. There's a drawing -- you could win." "Yeah", I thought. I think I did win tonight. If I go home now, If I can find my car, maybe I can win again tomorrow.