Reinventing Mike Lake Read online

  11

  The drive to the beginning of the Florida Keys took about six hours, but because I was heading to the southernmost point in the United States, Key West, it took another two hours. What I mean to say is that it would have taken another two hours if I would have driven straight there. Instead we made a stop along the way, adding another hour to our trip.

  The beginning of the Keys is sort of like driving into a new state, but that analogy doesn’t really do it justice. For example, when you are driving into Georgia from South Carolina, you don’t see any discernible differences except a sign welcoming you to the birth place of Jimmy Carter. Entering the Keys is almost like driving into an entirely different place unlike anywhere else in America.

  What you first notice is that there is a two-lane highway on both sides of the road separated by a median. If you are heading south, you are driving along the Gulf of Mexico. If you are heading north, you are driving along the Atlantic Ocean. These two sides of the road are simply known as the “bay side” or the “ocean side” by the locals. To get to nearly any place on this stretch of road I learned you need to only have two questions answered. Question #1: What mile marker? Question #2: Which side? There are neighborhoods as you travel, but 99 percent of the restaurants and tourists attractions on the way to Key West can be found by following those two simple directions.

  Shortly after getting into Key Largo, the first main Key, and perhaps the most popular one thanks largely, in part, to the Beach Boys song “Kokomo,” Bahama made a sound that indicated she had to use the bathroom, and quick. I pulled into a hotel resort called Kona Kai. At first I was just going to let Bahama do her duty and head right back into the car, but the palm trees, and the view of the Gulf through those trees appearing to me from the parking lot, had us off and walking.

  I saw the building that was both the lobby and office. I didn’t think much of it because I had no intention of staying at this place seeing that I wasn’t planning on spending as much money as I thought this place would cost nightly, but as I got closer I noticed works of art in the building. Not much of an art appreciator, I was surprised when I found myself walking through the door. Looking back on it, I believe I walked in because of the promise of air conditioning. While the temperature wasn’t extraordinarily hot, I was already sweating buckets because of the humidity, which ranks up there as the highest percentage in America, on average. Walking in, a woman sitting behind a desk with her bare feet visible under a typical office desk, introduced herself to me and Bahama, and we responded by returning introductions to Becky.

  Becky, it turned out, is the primary owner of the property, sharing the duties with two other partners. She said she enjoys the day-to-day of running the smallish, yet beautiful property, and asked me if I liked art.

  “Ummm, yeah” I said, glowing red. I wasn’t a big fan of art, but I was a big fan of talking to Becky.

  I suspected Becky figured out that I didn’t have a clue about art, but she was nice enough to continue anyway. “Well, here we have a large display of statues, mostly created by local artists, and some of the best photographs, all original, of many of the popular places in the Keys.”

  It was near the end of her description of her property that I casually looked at a four foot work of art, an intertwined body’s statue, symbolizing God knows what. I then examined the price tag – $50,000. The shock of the price physically caused me to jerk, and take a step backwards, right into another four foot statue, which I heard rocking on its pedestal. I was temporarily paralyzed with dread, unable to turn around for fear I would certainly knock it over.

  Somehow I made a move where I stayed facing the $50,000 statue, but reached my hands behind my back. Luckily, I was able to grab on to the tusk of the four foot elephant, preventing it from causing the most expensive domino effect in history. When order was restored, I checked out the price tag on the tusk – $75,000.

  “All prices are negotiable,” she said, before adding with a laugh, “unless you break them all first.”

  As I was ready to make a beeline to the door, and to the safe haven of my car, she spoke.

  “The sun’s getting ready to set, would you like to go to the dock and watch it with me”? Her voice didn’t suggest she was making a move on her clumsy customer, instead just asking a question she would have asked to any man, woman, child, or dog who happened to be standing with her at that moment.

  Weighing my options, I thought of two scenarios: I’d find some way to fall into the water, or something equally embarrassing. I was just figuring out that my safest option would be getting into my car and continue driving when Becky spoke. “Come on, it’s a Keys tradition!” Bahama accepted the invite, so I had no choice but to follow. After all, at that point in my life there weren’t too many attractive women, or any women for that matter, inviting me to do anything lately.

  Becky walked towards the deck, and I was surprised to see so many people, maybe around 30, taking up various spots to watch the sunset. This didn’t seem to surprise Becky at all, as she explained that not only did the property have 14 rooms, but many people driving by at this time often stop to watch the sunset.

  It’s hard to explain a sunset and what makes one particularly better in one place more so than the other. The sun, after all, is the same for everyone even a million miles away, but by just changing your view of the setting sun, you see something you have taken for granted all your life.

  The climax of the sun setting lasts about 20 minutes, with varying degrees of sun beams bouncing off the water in every angle possible. The last few minutes are the most exciting, watching the sun close up shop for the night by going behind the curtain that is the horizon known as the Gulf. This evening, unfortunately for some, due to the placement of the sun, they didn’t get a clear view. I personally didn’t mind this, but this was the first time I had ever heard anyone let out disapproving sighs, just short of boos, when it came to a setting sun.

  Seconds after the sun had gone to bed, Becky reinforced the idea that she wasn’t interested in me. “Thanks for stopping by. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  As I was stammering through another answer, Bahama made a beeline towards the end of the pier, dodging the legs of tourists and locals in the process. Before I could say a thing or even gasp, she leapt into the water. I knew Bahama could swim, but I didn’t hesitate, running towards the point of the pier where she had jumped in. I briefly remember that during my dart towards Bahama that Becky was watching me run, another one of my awkward moments.

  Becky ran behind, and was able to make sense of what was happening before I could. While I was running, if you can call it that, I heard Becky say that the Gulf was only a few feet all around, meaning I could jump in if I had to with no real fear. That information helped calm me down as I reached the end of the pier. As I looked down I saw two creatures, not including Bahama, near a bubbling manmade spring. I have no idea how Bahama knew they were there, or if she did before she decided to jump in. My heart stopped beating as fast when I noticed Bahama was neither trying to attack the creatures, or being attacked by them, instead just swimming with them.

  “Those are manatees; we’ve sort of adopted them as mascots. They come up to the pier around this time about once a week. I guess your dog just wanted to introduce herself.” I later learned that these fountains are a bit of a controversial subject in the Keys. Many people, particularly longtime residents of the Keys, don’t think that natural things should be at all manipulated by manmade objects, such as this fountain. Fresh water fountains attract manatees.

  Of course, now I was embarrassed again. Between nearly breaking thousands of dollars of art and now Bahama jumping into the water, perhaps scaring away the “mascots” from ever returning again, it had been quite the last half an hour. Thankfully the manatees seemed hardly interested at all in Bahama. I guess when you have people reaching into the water to touch you day after day and swimming with all the other animals in the gulf, a little dog isn’t go
ing to be much of a bother. Still I felt my damage was done.

  After Bahama had her fun, she swam back to the shore, and shook herself dry and returned to my side as if nothing had happened. Becky, who had laughed during the entire ordeal, told me repeatedly not to worry about it. “If anything, you gave all these people a good show,” many were still staring at Bahama and me.

  Before I came close to destroying anything else, man-made or living, I thanked Becky for her hospitality, and made a brisk walk for my car. For good measure, Bahama took a long pee on a lizard statue right next to the parking lot. I didn’t dare turn around to see if Becky was still watching.

  12

  I called a bed and breakfast in Key West, Frank and Jean’s, where I made plans to stay. In my mind, choosing a bed and breakfast, as opposed to a traditional hotel, had a more romantic quality about it. Fortunately for me, Key West is pretty animal-friendly, at least for the independently owned places, so I had a few choices to pick from. But, Frank and Jean’s won out in the end. Lucky them.

  I always choose a place that has free breakfast in the morning, or at least built into the price. Also, the pictures online featuring a beautiful pool in their backyard helped seal the deal, though I hardly used it my entire time there. It only has six rooms, but it was just a couple of blocks from Duval Street, the center of the action, meaning if things got too wild, it was a short walk back to my room.

  When I parked, I was stunned to see how big the place was. I later learned it used to be the mansion of a successful businessman during Key West’s infancy. I was greeted almost immediately by a motherly-looking woman who introduced herself as Jean, who walked me into the “front room” which acted as registration when guests arrived, and a place for people to hang out when they just want to get away from the heat and humidity for a few minutes. During the day there was always a tray of ice cold water sitting on a table just inside the front door. I don’t think this was done for the tourists, because they would have had no way of knowing they were welcome inside. It was instead for the local working population that had to walk to and from their jobs, often in the sweltering weather. Nice touch.

  After telling me a little about the property, Jean checked me in and insisted on taking my bags, showing me to my room. The room wasn’t as big as I thought it would be from the outside, but it was just fine. It had a full size bed, a small desk with a lamp on a table on one side of the bed, and a small older-style TV in the right corner. In front of the bed was a storage chest. In the other corner were two doors, behind one was a small kitchen, complete with stove, and the other was a bathroom.

  Jean opened the two windows in the room before I could protest, but realized she was probably doing this to get some of the muggy air out of the room. She also blasted a wall unit A/C. It was loud, but effective. Jean explained that she could have the room cleaned every day, even if I just left for 20 minutes. I thought of asking her how she would know if I was there or not, but with six rooms, I guessed she knew who was there and who was not. Breakfast is served at 8 a.m. daily, dinner at 5 p.m., and there was a refrigerator that had bottled water and fresh fruit, which I was free to help myself to at anytime. It was only about 8:00 p.m., but after the long drive, my art store antics, and Bahama’s swim, I was pretty beat. Before too long I crashed onto the bed.

  The next sound I heard sounded like a child screaming, and a loud crashing. Between not remembering where I was, and being unable to locate a light, I was soon in a panic. After a few seconds of being awake, my senses came back to me guided by the light peeking in from the open window. There was a cat in the room, and Bahama was obsessed with getting to it. Bahama generally likes cats, but with me asleep and being in a new area, she had turned into my little guard dog.

  I figured out by doing my best Sherlock impersonation that the cat must have entered through the open window. I was just telling Bahama to settle down when I spotted the digital clock on the desk, it was easier to find now that the lamp had crashed to the floor thanks to our early morning intruder. 2:16 a.m. Knock – Knock – Knock.

  “Everything okay in there?” asked a man from the other side of the door.

  “A cat’s in here going crazy – got in through the window,” I replied, trying to direct the cat to one of the two open windows and protecting myself from the cat’s claws. I was hoping Bahama didn’t follow the cat out the window.

  He must not have heard me over the hissing. I heard a key turn, and he came in. Rather calmly he asked me to put my dog into the kitchen and picked up the cat and placed it outside of the window.

  “Hey, I’m Frank, Jean’s husband. I guess she didn’t tell you,” he said, while reaching out and shaking my hand. “We started leaving food out for the cats down in the courtyard by the pool, and they sort of became part of the charm of the place. A lot of people come here just because of the cats. They’ve grown accustomed to coming into visitors’ rooms.”

  First, I apologized profusely for waking him up, and everyone else within a three mile radius, but he just said, “Don’t worry about it; it happens all the time. Jean usually forgets to tell our guests about the cats, and sometimes I don’t get to you all in time. If you don’t want them to come in, just shut the windows. They have their regular shots, so there’s nothing to worry about, unless you’re paying for them,” he added with a tired chuckle.

  I liked the idea of cats coming in out of the heat, and even though I wouldn’t mind leaving out food and water myself I knew I would have to make sure Bahama was okay with the idea before trying that. My parents had cats, so she was used to them, so I figured it wouldn’t be a problem once Bahama got used to the way things worked around there.

  Frank once again told me to not worry about the disruption and to enjoy my stay, but after that start I knew I wasn’t going to sleep anymore. My stomach was growling, having not eaten much that day, so I went quietly downstairs to the refrigerator that I was told held the fresh fruit. I guess most of the supply of fruit had yet to been restocked, so all I saw was water and a type of fruit I had never seen before. My stomach was growling in anticipation of food, so I gave the mystery fruit a go.

  The fruit was a yellowish green color, which I could see from the glow of a street light through a window in the downstairs kitchen because I hadn’t turned on the light. It was very oddly shaped, with what felt like ruffles. I didn’t know where to start. I just sunk my teeth into it, and once I got through the sour outside I was met with a delicious sweet flavor in the middle. A couple minutes into making a mess of my face and shirt due to the dripping sticky juice, a light turned on. The embarrassments never end, I thought.

  “Most people cut that first,” declared Jean, before heading into the kitchen and grabbing a knife and plate. She saw me rubbing my face with the back of my hand, so she also handed me a paper towel. Jean then grabbed another one of the fruits from the fridge, cut it up into clean slices, and held up one when she finished. “Star fruit. Can you guess how they got their name?”

  I couldn’t remember the last time I needed someone to cut my food for me, but was thankful Jean was there. Over three or four more star fruits, this time with me cutting them, I told her about what I was doing on this trip. I spoke about my wife, but didn’t get into too many details.

  Jean didn’t speak much but I could tell she was listening, and it was very therapeutic for me. She reminded me of my mother in a lot of ways, but was quieter. She was the type of person, the kind I had met just a few times in my life, where she almost commanded me to spill my soul without saying a signal word. She didn’t offer much in the way of advice, but instead just listened.

  It was nearly 3 a.m. when our conversation wrapped-up. I could tell she was getting even more tired because she was speaking less and less, but over the weeks I learned Frank did most of the talking in their union, which seemed just fine for Jean.

  Before heading to bed, Jean told me of a few restaurants within walking distance that stayed open 24 hours, so if I found myself hung
ry at that hour during my stay to check those out. I also suspected she told me this so I didn’t wake her up at odd hours of the night. I was a bit of an oaf when it came to getting around a kitchen.

  Heading out of the kitchen, leaving me at the table, she told me I was free to stay as long as I want, and she wouldn’t make plans to rent out my room until I told her I was leaving. She also mentioned that I could pay a weekly rate, which would save me about 100 bucks a week, as opposed to paying daily, if I thought I was staying for an extended period of time. She knew I was planning to stay for an extended amount of time before I did.

  During the drive from Treasure Island, I had dreaded thinking about how I was actually going to be on my own for possibly the first time in my life. As I sat there alone in the kitchen, I thought about how I wasn’t nearly as on my own as I expected. Jean, as mentioned, reminded me of my mom, and after listening and showing a genuine interest in my life, I felt safe around her. I knew I would be comfortable with Jean and Frank looking after me, or at least having the feeling they would.

  With a full belly, I went back to my room and slept soundly for a few more hours. Waking up around 6 a.m., I hung out in my room for a couple hours, showering and writing, and headed downstairs for breakfast. I wasn’t expecting much more than a continental breakfast, but was instead greeted by a meal fit for a farmer. Ham, sausage, bacon, eggs, potatoes, biscuits, and freshly squeezed Florida orange juice, and of course, star fruit.

  I usually wasn’t a big breakfast eater, but just like my mom, Jean was the type of person who would make sure you’ve eaten at least one full plate before she thought you were properly stocked to start your day. Being that this was a Wednesday, and not at full capacity, I knew that this was going to be the size of breakfast every day, at least. I resigned myself to the fact that this portion of the trip was not going to be a stop where I would be eating healthy.