Florida Straits(7)

"One day," Sandra said, a little sheepishly. She seemed to understand already that Key West was one of those places where people, for lack of much else to say, bragged about how long they'd been there. You couldn't get much lower on the social ladder than one day.

"Well, you know," the broker said gently, "one of the things you'll discover is that no one really cares what anybody else does down here. The island's too small and the weather's too hot to get bothered. Believe me, a more tolerant town you're never going to find."

—

"Doesn't look like much from outside," Joey said. He was standing under a scorching sun in a narrow gravel driveway, between a rank of plastic garbage cans and a row of rusty mailboxes with names scrawled on pieces of adhesive tape.

"That's the whole idea," said the broker. "Laid back. Unpretentious. Very Key West. But watch."

He punched in a combination and pushed open a wooden door cut into the grape-stake fence. Instantly the temperature dropped five degrees and the baked, dusty smell of the street disappeared. The compound was a small private jungle of palms and ferns, jasmine bushes and banana trees, bougainvillea and hibiscus. Right in the middle, like the old village well, was a big sunken hot tub, and to the left of it was a free- form pool ringed with pale blue tile. A man was standing waist-deep in the water. He had his elbows propped on the edge and was reading a paperback. In front of him were three cans of Bud in foam rubber sleeves and an ashtray full of butts.

" 'Lo, Steve," the broker said to him. "Whatcha reading?"

Steve turned the book over, as if he had to look at the cover to remind himself. "Nazis," he said. "Buzz bombs."

"Ah," said the broker. "Well, this is Joey and Sandra. They'd like to see the place."

"Help yourselves," said Steve. Then he smiled. "If you're interested, we'll talk. This is where I do most of my business." Then he smiled. He never smiled while he was talking, only after. You could count the beat, waiting for the teeth to come out from under the wiry red mustache.

The house was small but bright and airy. Sisal rugs. Ceiling fans. A Florida room with louvered windows. Bad paintings of seashells and water birds.

"And it's got an outdoor shower," said the broker.

"I usually shower inside," said Joey. "I'm funny that way. Whaddya think, Sandra?"

Her answer was without excitement but very definite. "It's by far the best for the money. I think we should take it."

"You think he'll come down on the rent?" Joey asked the broker.

The broker shrugged. "Compounds cater to, well, it's a special market. Ask him."

Outside, Steve had lit another cigarette and moved on to the next beer down the line. "How d'ya like it?" he asked. Then he smiled.

"It's charming," Sandra said.

"Yeah," said Joey; "lotta charm. Very Key West. But about the rent..." He paused, hoping Steve would take over. Steve just sipped some beer. "I mean, it's a little small."

"Cozy," Steve said. "But you've got the grounds and the pool. And we've got a nice group of folks here. Over there"—he turned and pointed to a trellised cottage half hidden by vines—"that's where Peter and Claude live. They're bartenders. Work nights at a place called Cheeks. Over here"—he gestured toward a bungalow tucked away behind the hot tub— "that's Wendy and Marsha's place. They have an antique store. And back there"—he did a little pirouette—"that's Luke and Lucy. He's a reggae musician and she's a mailman. Nice people. Considerate."

It was only at this point, when Steve was maneuvering around the swimming pool, that Joey realized he was naked. Dwarfed by his big, stretched belly, his submerged private parts looked like baby birds left home in a nest beneath an overhanging cliff. Of buttocks he had virtually none.

"And whadda you guys do?" Steve asked. Then he smiled.

Joey hesitated. This was not a question that was asked among his circle of acquaintances, nor was he accustomed to chatting with naked guys in mixed company. "Well," he said, "Sandra here is in banking. And me, well, I do this and that."

"This and that," Steve said. "Well, that's what most people do down here. You'll fit right in. Anyway, you wanna think it over, think it over. This is where I'll be."

Sandra tugged at Joey's sleeve.

"Excuse us a minute," said Joey, and they retreated to a shady alcove in back of the gas grill. Joey took off his sunglasses and put them on again.

"I don't know about this, Sandra. I came here to be a businessman, not a goddamn nudist. I mean, you gonna get naked with these people?"