Modern-Day Mythica, Chapter Four: Martin

When the sun began to set Joe drove over to the Jolly Roger, a restaurant/oyster bar on the beach that his uncle owned. A sign by the front door read:

Lifeguard night
Only on the Quarterdeck!
Kegger served from 9:00 till it’s gone!

Wednesday nights the Jolly Roger hosted lifeguard night. Every night of the week some bar or restaurant in town or on the beach (usually the beach) hosted their own version of lifeguard night. Some were better than others, but the Jolly Roger’s was widely considered to be the best. This was primarily because the Roger provided a whole keg, free of charge, whereas most other places only gave drink specials.

‘Shucky,’ the owner of the Jolly Roger, would place a keg and a pile of cups on one of the tables on what he called the Quarterdeck, which was really just a big porch, and let the ‘guards have their way with it. The process hadn’t changed in some years: the lifeguards got the free kegger once a week so long as they would plug the bar while they worked the tourists on the beaches. The only requirement was that they had to police themselves—only lifeguards drink from the keg and nobody damages or steals the keg. The first time something happens to the keg the deal ends. The lifeguards were remanded to the Quarterdeck because it was separate from the main bar and restaurant and had its own side entrance. That way the ‘guards didn’t crowd the main entrance (although the Quarterdeck was built right alongside the Gangplank, which served as the restaurant’s main entrance and exit, so the ‘guards still got to see who was coming for dinner), and Shucky could keep the ‘guards and his paying customers separate. The ‘guards didn’t mind, though: the Quarterdeck was where the best seats were to watch the drama unfurl inside the bar and along the strip. And there was always drama.

The Jolly Roger was a ship-themed restaurant; it had the Quarterdeck, the Gangplank, and the Fo’c’s’le, which was the main bar. There was a small balcony upstairs called the Crow’s Nest. For a treat, patrons would visit or eat in the Galley, which was a dining room that Shucky had built on a hydraulic-actuated teeter that replicated the sway of a ship on the sea. Shucky spent most of his time in the Fo’c’s’le shucking oysters and serving up the drinks. 

Shucky was a wizened old salt. His real name was Sherman Davidson, but he’d been known as Shucky since he was a young boy growing up in Tampa. He’d gotten a job working an oyster boat, and slit his hand open from thumb to pinky shucking an oyster fresh out of the bay. From then on he was called either Shuckster or Shucks, which eventually evolved into Shucky.

Shucky had a white cap of hair and a tight white beard and a mustache that he curled up at the tips to look more the part of the salty sea captain. It was quite effective. If he put on a sou’wester he could be the poster boy for Red Lobster. But he didn’t wear a sou’wester, he wore sailor’s hats he called “squid lids” and blue chambray shirts.

He was a retired Navy man, of course, who opened the Jolly Roger in 1976, right after retirement, saying that the only thing he knew how to do other than float a boat was shuck oysters. He hired a waitress and worked the bar himself in a ramshackle hut near the beach, running a skull and crossbones flag up the mast. Now, nearing seventy, he was drawing a steady retirement income supplemented with a decent summer draw at his bar. The old hut he’d had torn down in the winter of ’82, when it became obvious that his business had grown too large for it. His new place was slightly larger and new, although it was designed to look ramshackle, and was open just in time for the summer crowds. That was one of only two winters he’s worked since he retired from the Navy; the second one was when he added the teetering dining room, which, as it ended up, had been a stroke of genius. It was the most successful restaurant on the strip, primarily because of the kitschy shipboard ambiance.

Joe was born the year after the Jolly Roger opened. His dad, Kevin Copeland, had been a sailor in the boatswain’s shop on board the USS Tuscaloosa. Shucky had been the shop supervisor, and he took Kevin under his wing and gave him a first-class seaman’s education. In four years aboard the Tuscaloosa, Kevin whizzed through the ranks until he was only one behind the Old Salt himself. In those four years, the two not only became steadfast friends, but very much like father and son.

Kevin’s own father had run out on him and his mom when he was very young, and he had no recollection of the man at all. Whenever he thought of him, all he felt was a dull rage burning in his stomach. Shucky was the first man who’d ever shown any interest at all in helping or teaching him, and for that Kevin loved him. They visited ports-of-call together when their shore leave days matched, and when they didn’t they usually roamed around alone, soaking up as much culture as they could so they could go back and tell one another what they’d seen or found, where the best places were that they knew of so far, and where to buy the best souvenirs.

Kevin was promoted to shop supervisor when Shucky retired, and he accepted it without much cheer. It just wouldn’t be the same without the Old Salt around. Once Kevin’s enlistment expiration was due, for the first time since he’d known Shucky, he refused to accept Shucky’s advice and gave the Navy up. He bought a car and drove to Naples, where Shucky had set up his bar, and got a job at a mechanic’s shop. Shucky wasn’t too disappointed that Kevin had gotten out, he was damned glad to see him, but he also knew that Kevin was already, after only four years, a first-class petty officer, which was a huge accomplishment. It would be a cinch for Kevin to make chief, a goal which Shucky had given up on with eight years left on his enlistment. He knew he wasn’t chief material. But Kevin was, and he would’ve been a good one. He could have retired at a young age on a Senior Chief’s salary, set up for life. But he wanted to follow Shucky, and Shucky couldn’t begrudge him that.

Kevin soon met a girl, Brenda, and married her. Six months later they had Joe (then Joey), and Shucky gleefully became the baby’s godfather. From the time Joe could speak he knew Shucky as ‘Unca Shuck.’

When Joey was five, Brenda died at a railroad crossing, trying to release a baby from a car seat that a teenage mom had abandoned at the sight of the oncoming train. Kevin told Joe that his mom would rather have died trying than to have lived knowing that she did nothing, and that was why she was gone. He explained that his mother had died a good death, a death that made her a hero for many people, and that in some ways she would live longer than any of them because she had chosen to try to save that child’s life. Even though she was unsuccessful and had died herself, Joey should be proud to have had her as his mother. But, at five years old, Joey couldn’t help the sorrow, the agony of life without her. His mom had meant so much to him; they’d always had a good relationship, and her death was almost too much for him to take. He developed a depression that Kevin feared would never let go. He began to call Joey “Blue.” “Why so blue, Blue?” he would ask, years after her death, but know the answer without ever receiving one. He tried and tried to draw Joey out of the funk, and finally thought it was happening, that Joe was finally letting her go, but then he began to feel ill and found out he had cancer. It took all his strength not to put a gun in his mouth and blow his head off. The only reason he didn’t was Joey.

Kevin made sure Joey was taken care of, and then he wasted away, with Joey and Shucky at his bedside. When he finally died, Shucky attended the funeral with Joey, let him grieve, and then wordlessly accepted him into his home. Kevin had already arranged to have the house sold and put the profits into an account for Joe, to be managed by Shucky. There wasn’t much, certainly not enough for college, but it helped Joe buy his truck when he turned sixteen and helped him pay rent for a couple of years after he moved out of Shucky’s house when he turned eighteen.

Joe and Shucky came to be as close as Kevin and Shucky had been. Shucky never tried to be Joe’s father, he just gave him the same encouragement and direction as he’d given to Kevin, and Joe responded in much the same way as Kevin had. He loved Shucky like a father.

At the bar, Joe went straight to the bar. Shucky set a long neck in front of him.

“Why didn’t you come by earlier?” Shucky asked, knowing this to be Joe’s off day. It was no coincidence that the Jolly Roger’s Lifeguard night was on Wednesday night. Since Joe had worked for Broodal’s, the Jolly Roger lifeguard night coincided with Joe’s off-day. If Joe’s day off changed, lifeguard night changed as well. It was no great mystery that Shucky wanted Joe to be assigned to the Roger’s beach. He could have made that a condition of the service to Broodal’s, but Joe wanted to move up the right way. It was an important beach, maybe the most important beach in Naples (other than Gator Point), and Joe wanted to be sure he was duly trained and ready before he took on a job of that importance. So he worked the dreaded mile, figuring that next year would be the year he would be ready to move to the Jolly Roger, even if he had to get Shucky to request the move.

“I’ve been busy,” Joe replied. He’d been at the library for most of the day, in fact. He’d always been a reader. He’d read his first book before he turned four years old, had known his entire ABC’s before he turned two, before he could even put together a coherent sentence. The library was his favorite place in the world. He could get lost in mysteries, westerns, horrors, and sci fi all the same. He could even walk into the substantial reference section and lose hours of the day delving into subjects from feudal Japan, the Civil War—he’d read all three volumes of the Shelby Foote Civil War Narrative sitting at the library’s desks, medieval Europe, the discovery of America, so on and so on. He was a fast reader, too. He could never type particularly fast, but he could read a four-hundred page novel in three days, just in his off time.

Today, Joe had gone directly to the reference section and began reading about wolves. He read the majority of Of Wolves and Men again by lunch, and absorbed a few others before he was through. Once, while he was reading The Wolf Almanac, he swore he heard a woman’s voice say, right behind him, “Go into the Wash.” But he turned and had seen no one. It happened again a little while later and he thought he must be hearing the library’s announcement system, even though he’d never heard it before. At the counter, he had an armload of books and asked the lady who was checking them out for him if she knew what the Wash was. She replied, “Sure, that’s what I’ve got to do when I get home.” They both laughed, but Joe a bit uneasily. First the wolves and now he was hearing ghost voices chiming in his mind about mysterious things. Not for the first time he began to doubt his sanity. Once, when he was sixteen, he’d actually felt his sanity slip away from him. He’d been sitting in this same library, much too young in Shucky’s opinion to be reading about the mysteries of the universe, but that’s exactly what he was doing. He’d pulled down a book about the solar system, and began to read it. He moved on to Stephen Hawking’s A Brief History of Time, and finally he picked up The Universe Explained. What he read in that book—literally—almost blew his mind. The sentence that did it seemed simple enough: ‘That the universe is never-ending is granted; even if it wasn’t, what would be on the other side of it, rock? But it should be stated even more impressively that there are infinite universes.’ He’d pushed the book away from him and sat back in his chair, his mind suddenly calculating the expanse of what was, what is, and the Great Beyond and for one brief moment he felt his entire mental system shift. It was as if his mind had floated two feet to the left. He reeled it back in and shook his head, deciding that he could accept that the universe was unending without actually having to go there. But now, hearing voices and wolves in the south Florida night, now he was afraid he was losing it and he wouldn’t be able to reel it back in. And the Wash; somehow it seemed more substantial than just doing laundry. The name resonated with him, even though he had no idea what it was, it felt significant.

“Busy! I’ll bet. That’s a good one,” Shucky laughed.

“I’ve been at the library,” Joe said.

Joe smirked and took a pull from his beer, and then asked the question he felt he already knew the answer to, which he’d already asked several other people that day who lived near the beach. “Shuck, did you hear anything last night? Late?”

“Like what?” Shucky asked, smoothing his beard with his hand and leaning across the bar. “How late?”

“I don’t know. Like… something weird. Early this morning.”

“Can’t recall anything,” Shucky said.

“Like he gon’ hear anyting wit’ dat log cutter he got,” one of the regular patrons injected, referring to the sound of Shucky’s snoring.

“Cheers,” Joe smiled at the fellow, tipping his beer.

“Damn ingrates,” Shucky said with dramatic flourish of mock rage.

“Well, let me ask you this: Do you know what the Wash is?” Joe asked, this time a little more secretive.

“Sure,” Shuck said, “There’s a whole pile of it in the back that needs doin. Want me to get yer a washrag?”

Joe just shook his head and, smiling, made his way out to the Quarterdeck. He picked up a cup and poured the rest of his beer into it. He didn’t want anyone to think he got special treatment, even though everyone knew the score and didn’t begrudge him an ounce. Joe was well thought of in lifeguard circles.

It was still early, so only a few lifeguards were there. But they would begin to stroll in soon enough. As they did, they individually looked beat but brightened when they got to the Quarterdeck, filling a cup and then sitting back to enjoy the night in paradise. The night was still hot and a light salt spray filled the air that smelled of brine. They could hear the faint lapping of waves on the shore behind them and tunes playing inside the bar at roughly the same volume as the waves, and merriment. The Quarterdeck was on the road-side of the bar, facing the strip where cars of vacationers crept bumper-to-bumper, most with no particular destination. There were two tables on the Quarterdeck, wooden, with tiki-type umbrellas over them. A wooden rail surrounded the porch, and there were a few neon lights in the windows of the bar. Across the street there was a souvenir shop—the Crusty Barnacle—and its parking lot was full. It bathed its parking lot and half the street with a blaze of white light, but the Quarterdeck was comfortably dim. For the next few hours Joe milled around asking the ‘guards if they’d heard anything strange the night before, but no one had.

Around ten o’clock a limousine slid into the parking lot near the Quarterdeck and stopped. 

“Who’s that?” Punk, one of the Broodal’s crew, asked.

“Dunno,” Joe replied.

“What’s with the limo?” another lifeguard asked.

“We’ll find out in a minute. Better not be that prick… aw, hell,” Joe said, as Dymo’s head sprung up through the sunroof. He was howling like a wolf.

The limo door opened and he climbed out. “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you and fuck you,” he said to everyone he passed, including Joe, who was still amazed at what a dickhead Dymo could be.

“Whose limo?” Joe asked, sucking on a lemon wedge.

“Mine for tonight,” Dymo said, snatching Joe’s beer away from him and popping a pretzel in his mouth from the bowl on one of the tables, a devilish grin on his face. “So’s the passenger.”

Dymo stared into Joe’s face as if challenging him to say something about the beer, but Joe just looked past Dymo’s shoulder at the limo. A pretty dark-haired girl wearing a party dress was visibly preening, mirror in hand, by the dome light.

 “What’s her name?” Joe asked, sucking on his lemon, his right hand feeling particularly naked now that his beer was stolen. Dymo was guzzling it down with fervor, utterly unrepentant. 

“Get this… her name, Godzhoness truth, is Bliss.” He said this with his hand over his heart.

“Bull,” Joe said. 

“Swear to God,” Dymo said. “But I don’t want to interrupt your happy little lifeguard night. I just came by to say hi to my old chums…” he picked up is hand and waved once and said, “Hi!” Dymo had a way of saying anything with measured amounts of sarcasm and disdain, and when he said hi, everyone within earshot turned up their eyes and shook their heads. All except Butch, Dymo’s greatest—and only—supporter, who was belly-laughing at Dymo’s wit. 

Dymo turned and walked a few paces toward the limo, but then ran back up to his ‘friends,’ placing an index finger to his lips in an exaggerated shush. He spoke with a whisper at first, but finished with a shout: “I guess I don’t have to tell you, but I’m gonna be in Bliss tonight!” He howled with laughter and ran to the limo, slamming the door and tossing Joe’s now-empty plastic beer cup out the window. 

“Idiot,” Joe said under his breath.

“Geez, how do you put up with that guy?” one of the ‘guards asked. It was well known that Joe catered quite a bit to Dymo’s needs. Dymo was always demanding, though, and never gave anything in return.

“Humility. Lot’s of humility,” Joe said of his relationship with Dymo. He got another cup and filled it with beer.

“You seen Sunny tonight?” Punk asked.

“No, why?” Joe asked. 

“Man, she’s a knockout.”

Joe just nodded, and Punk said, “Yeah.”

“You should have to look at her in a bikini every day,” Joe said.

“The agony,” Punk said, shaking his head.

“No kidding,” Joe replied.

“Hello, boys,” came Sunny’s voice from behind them. “Who’s buying my drinks tonight?” She always loved to coy it up with the ‘guards because they always smiled at her and always bought her drinks. Sunny was very pretty, with long blonde hair and big blue eyes. She had a full bottom lip—all the better to pout with—and was petite in every way, from her tiny little toes to her tiny little hands. She was wearing a bikini top and a pair of blue jean shorts.

“Hey, beautiful,” Joe said.

“Hey, Joe,” she smiled in reply. Sunny worked the beach as a photographer. The past three years she’d been working the same beach as Joe, even though she could make more money on any number of other beaches. But Joe always set up her booth for her and helped her out if she needed it, and she liked him. “You buying me a beer tonight?” 

“Sure,” Joe said. “Just tell Shucky to put it on my tab.”

“Hey Joe,” one of the ‘guards asked as Sunny turned to go in the bar for a beer. “How do you like your eggs?”

Joe shook his head, not understanding where this was going, when one of the other ‘guards chimed in, “Sunny side up!” and everyone laughed hysterically.

“Come on, guys, leave Joe alone,” Sunny turned back to say, “he’s worth at least five of the rest of you.” Everyone laughed all the harder at that. Even Joe was laughing. Only Butch was silent, and he was glaring at Sunny.

“Why don’t you shut up, bitch?” Butch said.

“Aw, come on Butch. You know I’m just kidding,” she said.

Butch’s wide, bronze, hairy chest bounced as he hopped off the rail he’d been sitting on. To everyone’s surprise, he looked genuinely angry, even though it’d been obvious to everyone there that Sunny was just hamming it up with the guys.

“Settle down, Butch,” Joe said, stepping over between him and Sunny.

“Up yours, puss,” Butch said. He was still glaring at Sunny.

“Butch, do you really want Zed to come throw you out again?” Joe asked.

Butch’s eyes narrowed and dropped and locked with Joe’s. Then he sneered, shook his head and walked past Joe and Sunny inside the bar. “Fuckin bitch,” he said, forcing Sunny to step out of his way as he walked by.

“You should watch it around him,” Joe said, approaching Sunny. “He’s loco.”

“Well, I’ve always got you to protect me, don’t I?” Sunny asked, stepping closer to Joe as he walked over. The rest of the ‘guards were silent now, mostly trying to figure out what Butch’s problem was.

“We’d best leave the protecting to Zed. C’mon, let’s go get that beer,” Joe said. 

The got a beer at the bar and walked back to the Quarterdeck. There were at least fifteen lifeguards out there now, along with a few girlfriends and a few unidentified folks that everyone was keeping their eyes on. Nobody drinks from the keg but lifeguards, all the ‘guards enforced it; even Sunny, even though no one would mind, minded the rule.  

A loud cheer rose from within the bar and everyone turned to see Butch doing the Bump-N-Grind with a blonde girl on one of the tables. The blonde called out, “I’m just a Georgia Peach!” as she pounded a shot of tequila. She pulled her shirt up, exposing a huge pair of breasts, and Butch shoved his broad skull amidst her bosom and shook his head. She just howled and kept on dancing.

“Butch got ‘im a tourist,” Jesse said. A few of the ‘guards outside began migrating up to watch the show. Joe still stood with Sunny near the keg, along with Punk and Jesse and a few other Broodal’s ‘guards.

“Is this where Lifeguard night is?” asked a dour looking pale boy who’d come walking up from the street.

“Yep. What can we do for you?” Jesse asked.

“I’m a lifeguard,” the boy said.

“No,” Jesse said. “You’re a pool-guard.”

“I… I’ve only been here for a couple of weeks. I just wanted to get a beer.” 

“Then go to the bar and buy a beer,” Punk said. “But leave the kegger alone. It’s for beach-guards only.”

“How old are you, anyway?” Punk asked.

“I’m twenty one.”

“You don’t look it,” Jesse said.

“Well, I am.”

“What’s your name?” Joe asked.

“Kenny.”

“Kiddo, if you want to drink these guys’ beer you’d better have ‘coon eyes next time you come here,” Sunny said. “I work the beach, too, but they won’t even let me have any of the kegger.” She took a pull from her bottle as the others drank from plastic cups.

“Damn right,” Punk and Jesse chimed in, in unison.

“‘Coon Eyes?” the kid asked.

Sunny rolled her eyes. “Look at everyone here. See how they’re all so tan, but then notice how they all have those little white circles around their eyes?”

“Sunglasses,” the boy said.

“Bingo,” Joe said.

“Genius,” Punk said.

“You stand out like a sore thumb, kid,” Jesse said.

A raucous noise emanated from the bar. It seemed Butch was headed out the back with his new girlfriend who was now topless and latched onto him like a suckerfish on a shark.

“Dude!” Jesse said. “Butch is in.” 

“Butch and Dymo. I wonder if anyone else will get any tonight,” Punk said, looking at Sunny who was looking at Joe who was looking at Butch and the bare-chested babe who had her legs wrapped around him and was grinding her hips and kissing him with a lot of tongue.

“I guess they’re goin’ down by the beach for some carnality,” Punk said, smiling.  Everyone groaned. 

“Big word, Punk,” Joe said.

“High five, dude,” Jesse said and Punk slapped him five.

Joe shook his head. “It’s a sad day when Punk starts getting creative,” he said.

“Oh, well, at least Butch is in,” Jesse said. “I haven’t been in in months.”

The scene inside the bar shifted: a throng of gyrating vacationers had been observing the show between the Georgia Peach and Butch, but now they were easing back into their seats and ordering fresh beers. 

“Where you going, dipshit?” Jesse said to the pool ‘guard, who started walking around toward the side of the bar.

“Nowhere. I gotta go,” Kenny said.

“Good riddance,” Punk said, refilling his cup from the keg.

“You working tomorrow?” Sunny asked Joe.

“Not at the beach,” he breathed.

“Doing what, then?”

“Changing light bulbs.”

“On a tower?” she asked.

He nodded.

“See? I told you you were psycho. Who am I stuck with tomorrow?”

He nodded toward Punk. “Punk.”

She looked at Punk and Jesse, who were both staring at her and Joe, grinning like lab rats given cheese. “Shit,” she said loud enough for all of them to hear.

Punk gave her a hearty, hyuking Goofy laugh and went on grinning.

“Are you going to lifeguard night at Trader’s tomorrow?” Sunny asked Joe.

“You know it.”

“Well, maybe I’ll see you there,” she said.

“You’re not going?” Joe asked.

“I’m tired,” she said, sashaying away from Joe and the motley crew.

The other ‘guards looked from Sunny to Joe and back again with grinning, goofy expressions. Sunny turned back once and said, “I’m going to bed.”

Joe stood watching her departure for several moments, performing a fish-out-of-water ritual with his mouth when Punk loudly whispered, “Joe… Joe! Ask her if you can come!”

Joe glanced back at him grinning like an idiot and, upon realizing his golden opportunity was slipping away, the smile disappeared and he called out, “You… uh, want me to tuck you in?” Joe called back.

She turned around without slowing down, looked briefly at the ground, then smiled and shrugged as she turned back toward her car.

Joe’s heart leapt. “I’m out, boys!” he said as he chugged the last of his beer and ran toward the car. He tossed his empty cup over his shoulder, toward Jesse and Punk.

“Joe!” Punk yelled. “How do you like your eggs?”

“Sunny side up!” Joe called back, just quiet enough so Sunny wouldn’t hear.

“Shit,” Jesse said. “Joe is in!”

“No kidding. ‘Bout time, too.”

“What do you mean?”

Punk glared at Jesse. “Shit. He’d thump me good if he knew I was telling you.”

“So tell me already.”

“Joe’s a virgin.”

“No. Shit.”

“Yeah. And worse, he’s only been in love with her all summer long,” Jesse said.

“Who’s that?” Bo said, a newcomer to the conversation but nevertheless one of the guys. He was filling his cup with the kegger that Jesse and Punk were dutifully guarding from pool ‘guards.

“Joe.”

“Joe’s in love with Sunny?”

“Sure. Always has been.”

“No shit.”

“None.”

*** 

Joe and Sunny were riding down the strip in her Tercel. 

“You know you’re not getting laid, don’t you?”

“Well, I was hoping…”

“Keep hoping,” she said.

He grumbled playfully.

She giggled. “Let’s just try to be friends, OK?”

“Hell no. I’ve got friends. I’m not about to agree to be friends with the girl I want to make love to.”

“Make love to?” she giggled.

“Okay, I’m not about to agree to be friends with the chick I want to bone,” he said.

“Now that’s more like what a girl around here is used to hearing.”

They laughed, and then Joe said, “Still, I’m not falling into the friend zone.”

“Well, you’ll have to do something. Since we work together.”

“No I don’t,” he said with a smile. “We work the same beach, but I work for Broodal’s Beach Service and you work for Beach Memories. We are not coworkers, therefore I don’t have to have a ‘friendly’ relationship with you.” 

Sunny smirked, said, “So, we can’t be friends.”

“Well, we can’t just be friends.”

“What if I don’t think about you that way?”

He shrugged. “Then I guess I’ve been wasting my time thinking about it.”

Silence. Although he wouldn’t look at her, he strongly felt she was smiling.

“Do you feel anything for me?” he asked, eyes locked on the road ahead.

It was obviously not information she was willing to share with him, which made him smile even bigger because he knew that meant that she did have feelings for him.

“I guess…” she began. “I’m just not ready for a relationship. I don’t know what I want.”

“Well, that’s not good enough either.” 

“Then I guess you’ll do without, won’t you?” she said.

“Been doing without my whole life… What’s going to be different?”

“Whose fault is that?” she asked.

“What, just cause I don’t bang every skank that comes my way means it’s my fault I’m a virgin?” he said. And of course the opportunities had been there. But one thing led to another and the end result was a woeful condition of ridicule among his friends and peers. The truth be known, he’d just never felt close enough to any of the girls he’d been with to want to go all the way. He’d had Kelly Swann’s shirt off and was fumbling with her bra when she’d backed away for a moment, looked him in the eye and moaned softly. At that moment he knew that this was the point where he would finally be freed of the shackles of virginity, but as he looked into those eyes the thought passed through his mind that this was something bigger than just sex. This was love, or it was supposed to be, and those eyes told him that she expected love in return, something he searched for in that instant and, regrettably, could not find. He’d wanted to; so badly his crotch ached under the constraint of his blue jeans. He’d wanted to so badly that the look in her eyes almost broke his heart when he pushed her away. And when they were back in school and the word got around that he’d turned her down the ridicule started. At first it wasn’t so bad, he was called a chicken and a wimp. But then people began calling him queer and fag. Even Kelly, her eyes now vicious little buttons of black hate as she whispered with her friends, telling them, he knew, that he couldn’t get it up or that he liked boys instead of girls. None of it was true, of course. Joe was straight and was eager to enjoy the thrill of loving a woman, but he shrank away from it because he wanted the moment to mean something more than that moment ever could have. In that respect, he supposed, he was more like a girl than a boy, but he couldn’t help the way he felt. With Sunny, he knew the moment would be right and that he would be ready. He would marry her on the spot if she would consent. His moment of reverie was interrupted by a startling statement from Sunny:

“I’m a skank now?” she said. 

Joe blushed so hard his head nearly exploded. “No, that is not what I meant…”

“I know, but it’s fun to see you blush,” she said. “Virgin.”

“Thanks,” he said, and that old familiar ache began again to heat up his crotch. 

“Really, though, I think it’s endearing. Might as well not rush it. You can only give it up once.”

“Yeah,” he said, and his aching subsided, if only for the time being.

They grew silent.

“I’ve had my chances, you know,” he said.

She said nothing, but smiled. They fell silent again.

“So…” he said.

“What do you want me to say?” she asked.

“Nothing. Just keep it real, that’s all. Keep on keeping it real.”

“How do you like your eggs?” she asked, smiling, and Joe shook his head and blushed.

“I’ve got to drop by my room for a minute,” Sunny said.

“Your apartment?”

“No, I don’t have an apartment. I have a hotel room that I rent monthly.”

“Oh. At the Crown?”

“No,” she said. “At the Dunes.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“It’ll just take a sec, here it is now.”

She pulled through an opening beneath a crosswalk into a courtyard surrounded by rooms. She stopped in front of the door marked 12 and popped out of the car. 

“Be right back,” she said as she closed the car door. He watched her go into her hotel room.

Suddenly there was a tap on the window and Joe rolled it down. A man was standing there, fiftyish and graying, fit and wearing khakis and a blue oxford shirt. “Joe Copeland,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“You’d better come with me,” the man said, sounding authoritative, handing him a card. “I can help you.”

Joe took the card and looked at it:

Martin Caster
Paranormal Investigator
Order of Pallium
Prague ● Jerusalem ● New Orleans ● Hong Kong

“Uh, this is not really a good time for me,” Joe said, handing the card back.

Martin didn’t accept the card back, though. He said, “I know about your experience last night, and I think I can help you. But you’re going to have to trust me and come with me right now.”

Joe looked at the door to room twelve and then back at Martin, thinking hard about the situation. The ache was there, and his heart tugged him to her, but if this guy could explain to him the phenomena of the last two nights then it would be worth giving him a few minutes of his time. He wanted to stay, but he felt he needed to go. “Do you know what the Wash is?” Joe asked, doing his best to test the guy out before he agreed to go.

Martin leaned down into the car’s window and said, “Yes.” And Joe knew he did. He knew it.

He looked back at room twelve again, cursing under his breath. “Can I just tell her goodbye?”

“There’s no time to waste, and explaining to your girlfriend that you’re off to save the world isn’t likely to be a short goodbye. You can phone her from the road, but we need to make haste now.”

Save the world? He could feel shock in his features as the guy said this. How could the experience of hearing a wolf pack in south Florida equate to saving the world? We must be talking about a different experience, he thought. But at the same moment there was that undeniable tug from the north, that invisible force that seemed to be drawing him away, trying to get his feet moving in that direction, and somehow it was inexplicably connected to the calling of the wolves and the Wash, whatever that was.

“Crap,” Joe said, and almost beyond his ability to control it, he felt his hand open the car door and his feet settle on the ground. Then, with a sick feeling in his stomach that told him his chances with Sunny would now be over for good, he followed his feet to Martin’s car and got in.

***

Sunny walked inside her apartment for two things: a sweatshirt because the night was apt to grow cool, and her diaphragm cause the night was apt to get hot. She didn’t know what it was about Joe; she had almost decided that his naivety, his slight nerdiness but total honesty, and his infatuation with her was just adorable enough to cause her to start liking him in the same way he liked her. She was no slut: she’d only been with three guys in her life—but still, there was something about a virgin, something that made him all the more adorable. She almost flushed with the realization of what she was thinking: he is adorable! It was an immediate understanding, and a rush swept through her as she came to terms with the immediacy of her longing for him. It was almost like… she loved him? She wouldn’t touch that one yet, but she felt a deep like growing in her and she may just let him round second tonight. If he put forth the effort. 

When she got back to the car Joe was gone without a trace. She felt herself begin to get mad. A red flush rose in her cheeks, on her neck. She’d been so damned excited—she couldn’t remember ever being that excited before in her life. The realization that she had feelings for Joe had taken hold of her and she’d let them and now he was gone. Typical of the gender. Her anger flittered away from her and she began to grow afraid that she’d done something wrong—but what? He’d made it clear he had a crush on her and she told him she just wanted to be friends. Had that hurt him so badly that he just ran? She went back inside and put her diaphragm back in its place.

Not tonight, she thought.