Dreamland(6)

When she arched an eyebrow at my lack of response, I had the feeling that she’d known exactly what I was thinking. She returned her attention to her friends, and I kept walking, fighting the urge to turn around. The more I tried not to look, the harder it became; finally, I allowed myself another quick peek.

Apparently, the girl had been waiting for me to do just that. She still wore the same expression of amusement, and when she offered a knowing smile, I turned and kept going, feeling a flush creep up my neck that had nothing to do with the sun.





Sitting here in my beach chair, I’ll admit that my thoughts have drifted back to my encounter with the girl. I wasn’t exactly looking for her or her friends, but I wasn’t opposed to the idea, either, which is why I’d hauled my chair and cooler all the way down the beach in the first place. So far no luck, but I reminded myself that I’d had a pretty good day no matter what happened. In the morning, I’d gone for a run on the beach, then inhaled some fish tacos at a lunch spot called the Toasted Monkey. After that, with nothing pressing on my agenda, I eventually ended up here. I suppose I could have done something more productive than practically beg for skin cancer. Ray had mentioned there was some good kayaking at Fort De Soto Park, and before I left home, Paige had reminded me to check out the Dalí, a local museum dedicated to the works of Salvador Dalí. I guess she’d visited Tripadvisor or whatever, and I told her I’d add it to my itinerary, although sipping a cold beer and doing my best impression of a certified man of leisure felt far more compelling, at least to my way of thinking.

With the sun finally beginning to drift lower in the sky, I lifted the lid to the cooler and pulled out my second—and likely last—beer of the day. I figured I’d sip on it for a while, maybe even stay long enough to enjoy the sunset, then make my way to Sandbar Bill’s, a cool place up the beach that happened to serve the best cheeseburgers around. As to what I would do after that, I wasn’t quite sure. I supposed I could do some barhopping in downtown St. Petersburg, but because it was Saturday night, it would probably be crowded, and I wasn’t sure I was in the mood for that. Which left what? Work on a song? Watch some Netflix, like Paige and I sometimes did? Read one of the books I’d brought with me but hadn’t yet started? I figured I’d play it by ear.

I twisted off the cap, surprised that the beach was still as crowded as when I’d arrived. Hotel guests from the Don CeSar reclined in lounge chairs shaded by umbrellas; along the beach, dozens of visitors lay on colorful towels. At the water’s edge, some little kids were building a sandcastle; a woman was walking a dog whose tongue lolled almost to his paws. The music from the pool area continued behind me, making me wince at the occasional off-key note.

As it happened, I neither heard nor saw her approach. All I knew was that someone was suddenly hovering above me, casting a shadow over my face. When I squinted, I recognized the girl from the beach yesterday, smiling down at me, her long dark hair framing my field of vision.

“Hi,” she said without a trace of self-consciousness. “Didn’t I see you playing at Bobby T’s last night?”





I guess I should explain something else: Even though I’ve mentioned that I’d hoped to run into the dark-haired beauty at the beach, I didn’t have a plan after that. I’m not nervous when it comes to meeting women, though I am out of practice. Back home, aside from when I play the occasional gig for friends, I seldom go out. My excuse is usually that I’m too tired, but really, if you’ve lived in the same small town your entire life, doing pretty much anything on a Friday or Saturday night feels a bit like the movie Groundhog Day. You go to exactly the same places and see exactly the same people and do exactly the same things, and how often can someone experience the endless déjà vu without finally asking themselves, Why am I even here?

The point is, I was a little rusty at making conversation with beautiful strangers and found myself gaping up at the girl wordlessly.

“Hello? Anyone home?” she asked into the silence. “Or have you already killed off the contents of that cooler, which means I should probably walk away right now?”

There was no mistaking the playfulness in her tone, but I barely registered her teasing as I took in the sight of her wearing a white half shirt along with faded jeans shorts that exposed part of a tantalizing purple bikini. She looked like she might be part Asian, and her thick, wavy hair was windblown in a messy-casual kind of way, as if she’d spent the day outdoors, just like me. I lifted my bottle of beer slightly.

“This is only my second of the day,” I said, finding my voice, “but whether you walk away is up to you. And, yes, you may have heard me at Bobby T’s last night, depending on what time you were there.”

“You were also the guy with the tattoos on the beach yesterday, right? Who eavesdropped on me and my friends?”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” I protested. “The four of you were loud.”

“You were also staring at me.”

“I was watching the dolphins.”

“Did you or did you not peek over your shoulder when you were walking away?”

“I was stretching my neck.”

She laughed. “What are you doing out here behind the hotel? Trying to accidentally eavesdrop on me and my friends again?”

“I came out to enjoy the sunset.”