Sunburn(8)

Of this particular bimbo, not much could at first be seen. She was wearing big round sunglasses that covered her from the middle of the forehead to below the cheekbone, and a vast sun hat that carried its own eclipse as she moved toward the front door.

As for Gino, he'd gained some weight he didn't need. His sheeny pants were creased between his beefy thighs from sitting on the plane, he walked like the material was crawling up his ass. He squinted in the sun, or maybe he was smiling; pads of fat crinkled at the corners of his flat black eyes, his full lips spread and the flesh stacked up in his pudgy cheeks.

It shouldn't have been surprising that he brought a bimbo, but he hadn't said anything about it, and as Joey, Sandra, and Vincente stood there in the doorway, a slight strain on their faces hinted that maybe they were a little bit surprised.

Sandra thought: His mother just died; he's here to see his father; he's such a jerk.

Vincente thought: Gino, he's my firstborn; I love him, but he reminds me of the worst and saddest things about myself when I was young.

Joey thought: My big brother; it kills him that I have a house big enough for him to have a room in; he worked it out so there's no way he can stay here.

They all met on the lawn, under the frangipani tree. Gino kissed his father on both cheeks, shook hands with Joey, gave Sandra a hug she didn't want. Then he stood back, glanced up at the sky, and spread his arms in a mock-hearty gesture, the gesture of a lounge comedian telling his audience that life is wonderful now that he's onstage. "Florida," he said. "Beautiful."

He dropped his hands, folded up the smile. So much for Florida. "Come on, let's go in. I gotta pee like a racehorse."

He started for the house, then noticed that slightly awkward glances and attempts at greetings were passing between his family and his traveling companion. "Oh yeah," he said, "this is Debbi. You'll like 'er, she's a good kid."

Inside, Gino trundled off to the bathroom, seeming to make a point of seeing nothing on the way. But Debbi took everything in; she turned her head this direction, that direction, her enormous hat tracking like a radar dish. "This is so nice," she said, looking at the louvered windows, the ceiling fans, the white wicker furniture sparsely arrayed along the pale bare wooden floor. "So airy."

Sandra decided she liked her.

"Can I get ya something?" Joey asked. "You guys had lunch?"

Gino, coming back up the corridor, one hand still fussing with his fly, answered for her. "Nah, nothin', Joey. We just stopped by ta say hello. We gotta go get checked in, have a shower."

"Where you staying?" Sandra asked.

Gino welcomed the question, the chance to make it clear that for him there could only be one place. "Flagler House. Oceanfront. The best."

Sandra and Joey shared a look. The last time Gino had been in Key West, he'd misplaced a fraudulently rented Thunderbird, run up an eleven-thousand dollar tab at Flagler House on someone else's Gold Card, then bolted by water in the middle of the night. But there was a lot of turnover in the hotel business, it was a universe of forgotten faces, and Gino would no doubt have a different piece of plastic and a different name this time.

"So you'll come have dinner later," the older brother said. "You'll be my guests."

"We thought we'd all have dinner heah," said Joey.

"Nah," said Gino, "come on, let Sandra outa the kitchen for a change."

"We don't cook inna kitchen," Joey said. "I grill out onna patio."

But Gino hadn't waited for an answer. He was heading for the door. A jolt and a breeze pulsed out behind him, like when a truck slams past on the highway. He blew by Debbi and she started to follow; then she stopped and walked up to Vincente. For the first time she removed her sunglasses. Her eyes were a green that was almost blue, and even though her hair was all up in her hat the old man knew she was a redhead. Joey's mother had been a redhead.

"Mr. Delgatto," Debbi said, "I just want to tell you I was very sorry to hear about your wife."

The Godfather took her hand in both of his and shook it warmly. "Thank you, dear, that's nice a ya ta say."

Gino started up the rented T-Bird. Joey, standing in the doorway, said, "Nice car. The license and the credit card—they match this time?"

The visitor gave a serene thumbs-up. As soon as the bimbo had got in he floored it in reverse and spit some gravel onto Joey's lawn.





"Kids," said Vincente. "You never had any, didja, Bert?"

"Nah," said Bert the Shirt. "My wife. Her insides. Nah."

"And the girlfriends? No slips wit' the girlfriends?"

They were on the beach across the road from the Paradiso condo, where Bert lived. They sat in folding chairs and looked out at the ocean. If you had to talk about the past this was the place to do it because the ocean was a wide flat bath of forgiveness and forgetfulness, it took the sharp edges off memories like it did off stones. Here an old man could recall things with acceptance, with affection, and with less pain than he feared would be there.