Hannah J. Flynn (hannah_flynn) wrote in low_tide, @ 2010-03-11 21:29:00 |
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Entry tags: | gw robichaux, hannah flynn |
The Annual Conch Blowing Contest
One of the things GW really enjoyed about Key West was the festive atmosphere that permeated the city year round. It reminded him of New Orleans back home in Louisiana with the mix of cultures and how there was always something going on. For a professional musician it was a paradise. With the dense collection of bars and clubs and a thriving live music scene, it wasn't hard for a good band to find gigs.
Today though, he was on his own and for once there were no classes to teach or maintenance to perform on his boat. The Cajun stood in the gardens of the Oldest House, conch in hand and waiting his turn to blow on the shell and participate in the 48th Conch Shell Blowing Contest. He'd been practicing with the natural instrument, and judging from some of the other contestants it was a good thing he had. Who knew so many different sounds could come out of a crustacean's shell?
A few spots ahead of him, a petite blonde stood hugging an enormous conch shell. The outside of it was still pearly pink, but the inside had been hand-painted into a vibrant ocean landscape. Hurricane Hannah's was written in curly letters across the blue sky. While waiting for her turn, Hannah ran her thumb over the nodules of the shell, only stopping when she came across a prominent one that reminded her of a nipple. Grimacing, she flailed a bit. "Eww."
The Annual Conch Shell Blowing Contest, sponsored by the Old Island Restoration Foundation, was held to honor the historic importance of the conch shell on Key West. The shell had been used by the Calusa Indians for communication, by sailors as fog horns, and by early settlers (aka thieves) to signal salvagers that a ship was sinking offshore. Now it was used for door stops and planters. Kind of a downgrade, in Hannah's opinion.
As a particularly tan, shirtless man stepped up to take his turn, the sun got behind him juuust right. Hannah was struck by his figure. Toooooooot... Tooooooooot.
"Oh my god. That's perfect." She could see her next romance novel unfold before her eyes. A European ship carrying the beautiful, ladylike Esmerelda would wreck on the reef. Juan, a Spaniard and settler of the island, would witness the tragedy and alert his fellow pirates. He would row out to the ship in the guise of a rescuer, but he would only have eyes for the booty... Specifically, Esmerelda's. "Holy shit, it practically writes itself." She dug into her pocket for a little notepad and pen and began to scribble.
GW scowled slightly at the tanned man as he passed by on the return from blowing the conch. Outside of the beach or out on the water, going shirtless in public was just showing off and a mark of poor breeding. Even today as a grown man who'd seen the world and spent years on the front lines of combat, he'd still get a smack upside the head by his mother if she ever saw him preening like that.
With a shifting of the line, the Cajun saw a flash of blonde hair and a familiar slender shape scribbling away in a notepad. "Coming up with your next best seller, Hannah?" He called out in amusement, edging past the older woman who was between them so he could talk to the petite woman directly.
Hannah's lips pursed in suspicion. "Are you mocking me?" she asked. An eyebrow went up, as if to better scrutinize her martial arts instructor. "I'll be lucky if I sell enough to cover the advance." She looked again at her notepad. 'Conch-blowing Island Adonis'. Mmmph. She'd sleep on the idea and see how ludicrous it looked in the morning. Hannah put away her notes and switched the conch into the cradle of her right arm. At first she couldn't figure out what looked different about GW. Was it his hair? Then she realized she'd never seen him outside of gym clothes. It was like the disorientation kids felt when they ran into their high school teachers at the grocery store and they were wearing bermuda shorts.
GW put a hand to his heart as if he'd suffered a mortal blow, staggering back a half step to help sell the joke. "You wound me, madam," he drawled before breaking out into a grin. "Nah, I'm sure one o' these days I'll be able to say 'I knew Hannah when...'"
It was only the second time he'd seen her outside of a class setting, she cleaned up pretty well he had to say. The Cajun was dressed in his typical 'knock about' clothes: sandals, a pair of khaki cargo shorts and a faded polo shirt that had once been a dark blue but had obviously seen better days. For Key West he was practically in formal wear.
"So have you tried your hand at Conch blowing before today?"
Hannah proudly patted her customized shell. "Five years running. This is Conchita, my trusty friend. We've never won," she allowed, tipping her head, "But I like to think she prefers it that way. She's a modest shell. Doesn't really care for the fame. She's just happy to participate. What about you?" Hannah craned her neck, trying to see GW's conch. Had he picked up a generic one at the entrance to the contest or brought his own? If it was store purchased, where had he gotten it?
"C'mon, G-dub, show me your secret weapon." Belatedly, Hannah realized the comment could be taken in scandalous directions by a dirty mind. Which meant she had one, or she wouldn't have noticed. Oh well, she couldn't help it. Instructor or not, he had nice arms. Occasionally, when he stood over Hannah during her stomach crunches, she entertained the notion of yanking down his drawstring pants. It'd be so easy. Those things were like a red lever that said 'DO NOT PULL'.
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours," GW waggled his eyebrows, his mind having gone immediately to the gutter with her comment. He couldn't help it, not with his background. A thick skin and ability to deliver a snappy comeback was almost a requirement in the Corps. It didn't hurt to be using it with a good looking woman either.
Nevertheless, he dutifully handed over his shell, nine inches long and a pleasant rosy color. "I found it snorkeling out in the Dry Tortugas last April. It's been sitting on top of my cabinets most of the year waiting for a chance to get put to work at the contest." He looked over at Hannah's colorfully decorated shell, wondering if he should have given his shell a name. "It never occurred to me to slap paint on the shell."
Hannah passed Conchita into his waiting hands, hoping he would be impressed with her handiwork. "I sell crafts on Mallory Square. Sea shell art's a big deal to tourists." She held up GW's shell and inspected it. "This one's a beauty." She held it to her ear like a phone and listened for the sound of the ocean. It dwarfed her head. Before moving to Key West, Hannah had never seen a shell that wasn't polished and price-tagged in a store. So she said, "I think you should keep it au naturale. But it definitely needs a name. Like..." Hannah consulted the shell's outer appearance. "Honk Williams, Jr."
"Honk Williams Jr. huh?" GW took his attention off Conchita for a moment to eye the petite blonde a bit curiously. "Where'd a slip of a girl like you learn about Hank? Didn't peg you for a country fan." He had to admit the name had a certain ring to it, and he hefted Conchita to eye level with a playful expression on his face. "What you think, Conchita? That name work?" He put the painted Conch to his ear and pretended to listen to whatever sounds he could hear out of it. "You like it huh? That's good enough for me then. Honk Williams, Jr. it is."
He handed the shell back to Hannah. "Did you do the painting yourself on the inside? It looks good, sure enough."
Hannah frowned, though she wasn't serious about it. She cuddled Conchita close to her ribcage. "I'm from Noble County, Oklahoma, population 11,000. What do you think we're listening to, gangsta rap?" She reached out and poked GW in the stomach. Just then, another contestant blew air through their conch shell and it seemed as loud as a fog horn. She paused long enough to politely applaud. When that was done, she went back to talking. "Yep, I painted it. I know just enough to do little things like that. When I first started making crafts, I bought a bunch of books and taught myself how. But don't ask me to paint a person. They'll look like an alien life form."
She replayed GW's words in her head. A little slip of a girl. Hmm. That wasn't good. Apparently, Hannah's approaching twenty-third birthday hadn't lent her much age credibility. Perhaps she should dog-ear a copy of her romance novel on a particularly saucy passage and accidentally leave it at the gym.
GW applauded as well, then returned his attention to Hannah as the line crawled forward a bit. "That's pretty small." He'd mistaken her for a city girl. "Acadia Parish has about sixty thousand people and that's practically in the middle of nowhere." The Cajun shrugged a little at her comeback. "I just didn't peg you for an old school country fan, that's all. I figured you were more a contemporary pop country lover like my sisters, though my youngest sister seems to think that Miley Cyrus counts in that category." He shuddered slightly at the thought.
Another blast from a conch, this time in a short three note melody, and GW had to tuck his shell under his arm and clap a bit at that. It took talent to coax more than a single tone out of this instrument. Maybe he wasn't the only musician at the festival?
"I actually like oldies the best," she said. "Stuff from the '50s and '60s, but my grandmother listened to country all the time. Hence the familiarity with Mr. Williams, Jr. She also had an unhealthy love for Roy Orbison." Hannah cringed. As they came closer to the front of the line, she got a tickle of nerves in her stomach. Winning the competition didn't matter much to her, especially since she had no chance in hell amongst the born-and-bred islanders, but she did have a competitive streak and hoped she'd do well. It wouldn't do to fail spectacularly in front of GW.
"Are you ready?" she asked, turning to him. "Normally I go through a series of lip loosening exercises, but I can't do that with you here."
GW raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "Why not?" It didn't make any sense to him. If she was worried about making faces in public then why would him being there make any difference? There were at least a good hundred people between the contestants and audience. "I've seen all manner of strange things in my life, a pretty blonde making funny faces isn't going to faze me any."
Hannah hesitated. "Because... I might spit on you."
But what was worse, spittle or doing poorly? She decided it was the latter. She put her back to GW anyway and began to noisily blow air through her lips and puff her cheeks out. Taking deep, cleansing breaths to expand her lungs and oxygenate her system also helped her prepare to hold out a long note (or so she hoped). "By the way," she said between puffs, "Thanks for saying I'm pretty."
"No problem, I meant it." GW was sorely tempted to turn her around so he could watch her make the faces anyway, but restrained the urge.
Hannah had that classic 'girl next door' kind of look in a petite package, he decided after a moment's contemplation. She wasn't the tallest girl around, that was certain, but she ran rings around people twice her size and had an infectious kind of enthusiasm for life that he wished more people shared.
The fact that she'd been infected by old school country music was just another fascinating quirk among many.
Another conch sounded off, this time a weak, blustery attempt that ended almost as soon as it began. GW winced slightly and clapped a few times in polite sympathy as the contestant in question, a middle aged female tourist, made her way back with her face bright red. He wasn't sure if it was from the effort of blowing the conch or embarrassment at the poor result or both.
"Looks like it's your turn, mignonne Hannah."
"Looks like." Hannah took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. No fear! She walked to the forefront of the celebration and allowed the man on the microphone to introduce her as Hannah Flynn, proprietress of Hurricane Hannah's and a local author. When it was time to go, Hannah lifted the shell like a trumpet, coil down, and put her mouth to the tip, which had been sawed off. She pressed her lips into the proper embouchure and buzzed air through them and the hole.
The first note was a long, high one. It tickled her nose. On her second attempt, she relaxed her lips and a lower note came from the shell. Changing the placement of her hand in the 'bell' of the conch altered the note slightly, bringing it down. When she finished and the clapping began, she dropped into a curtsy. "Thank you, thank you."
Backing away from the performance area, she made sure to catch GW's eye and sweep her arm at the stage, as if laying down the conch-blowing gauntlet.
GW inclined his head, accepting the challenge. The Cajun strode up to the performance area and allowed himself to be introduced as fitness instructor and musician by the announcer.
No pressure Robichaux, no pressure. He'd practiced, some, but this wasn't like any other instrument he'd ever tried to perform with. Banishing any hesitation, he brought his lips to the tip and began to blow air through the shell. His notes were loud, but warbled a bit as he tried to get a better feel for the makeshift instrument. In the end he turned in a performance just good enough not to humiliate himself, and the polite applause told him that he wasn't going to be walking away with a prize from this performance.
He bowed and walked off the stage. "Think I'll stick to guitars, fiddles and harmonicas from here on out."
Hannah was waiting on the sidelines with a sympathetic face. "Nice try. My first time, nothing came out except spit," she confessed. "Then, some drunk guy offered to let me practice blowing on him. You did way better than that." There were refreshments on hand and, after flashing her green wristband, she picked up a cup of semi-cold beer and turned back to GW. "I'm just hoping to get an honorable mention for style or something."
She sipped past the foam in her cup. The beer was a cheap, domestic brew, but since she paid ten bucks for a wristband, she wasn't letting it go to waste.
"Years spent blowing into harmonicas and bellowing out cadences helped, I think," GW commented idly, keeping Conch Williams Jr. tucked under one arm. "Still, thanks for the boost. I appreciate it. You'll get the honorable mention for sure, that was a good effort getting the sounds you did outta Conchita."
The Cajun eyed her speculatively. "So what made you decide to come down to Key West from Oklahoma? That's a big move for a girl as young as you were then, if you've been down here five years."
Hannah looked behind her for something to lean against and chose a tree. "I came with my grandmother," she said, pulling her hair over her shoulder to keep it from sticking to the bark. "The summer after I finished high school. She was terminally ill and wanted to live it up with the time she had left. We had a couple of great months before she passed. After that," Hannah shrugged, "I didn't really have anywhere else to be. Besides, I like it. Hot weather suits me."
She studied GW. "If you weren't stationed here, and you could move anyplace, where would it be?"
"Stationed?" GW looked at her quizzically. "I've got another eighteen months in the ready reserve, so the Corps could still call me back if they get desperate for experienced warm bodies, but I've been out for more than a year now. I'm here by choice."
That out of the way, he pondered her question. The Cajun scratched the back of his head and then shrugged. "There's no real work in Cajun Country, so I wouldn't be going back home to stay. Maybe Nashville, but only if I really wanted to make a run at a record deal. San Diego and Hawaii were good duty stations, but I think I'd still end up here. I like Key West, there's lots to do and a blend of cultures that reminds me of 'Nawlins. Besides, I like the weather too."
Hannah lifted her foot and used her tennis shoe to scratch the back of her calf. "Wow. San Diego and Hawaii... I'm kinda jealous, GW." Hannah smiled a little and squinted up at him. "I'd love to travel. I really wanna see the Pacific ocean someday." Actually, she wanted to see lots of places. Growing up, there hadn't been the means for it. In Key West, she had enough money to take care of herself, but couldn't justify grand adventures yet. Meeting the passengers from the cruise ships was as close as Hannah came to world traveling. If money weren't an issue, she'd set up a bartering system with them. They could take vacation keepsakes from her stand in exchange for things they brought from home, wherever 'home' was. Then she'd have the kind of collection travelers did.
"Sometimes I like to watch those live webcams on my laptop." Hannah wrinkled her nose. "Not the kind with the naked people on them, though I'm sure they have their perks, but the kinds on street corners. They're like little windows to anyplace you wanna be."
"You'll see them in person one day, without a doubt." GW smiled genuinely and patted her on the shoulder. He could see it now, Hannah traveling all over the place selling her books and scouting out settings for her next big novel. Her wanderlust was understandable, he'd had it himself at one point.
"Ocean is ocean, once you get out into the deep water, out of sight of land and past the continental shelves. Trust me, I've spent enough time floating from point A to point B to know." Wasn't that the truth? Of his ten years in the Corps, he'd probably spent a good three of them afloat in the Fleet Marine Force traveling from one godforsaken place to another. Add in his combat tours and his time in Okinawa and maybe he'd spent a total of eighteen months of his time in the Corps physically in the US since he'd graduated from Boot Camp and then the Infantry School.
"Sailing around the islands can be fun though, there's something magical about just hauling anchor and letting the wind carry you where you want to go."
"You do that?" Hannah asked. She laced her fingers together behind her back. "I've only been out on a sightseeing boat, not a sail boat or a yacht or anything." Privately, she wondered if she was the type to get sea sick. It never happened in a car, but you never knew. There was nothing Hannah loved more than a good road trip, but she only had a scooter these days to get around the island.
"I'll take you out sometime if you want." He wasn't quite sure why he was suddenly offering to take her sailing, but it felt right. "Fort Jefferson would take a good day to reach with my boat, and then a day back, but if you just wanted to go sailing for a day around these parts I'd be happy to have you aboard. Bring a friend if you want." He added, almost as an afterthought. Didn't want her thinking he was trying to set her up for something untoward.
Which was the farthest thing from her mind. "Really?" Hannah's eyebrows went up and she straightened against the tree. "You'd be okay with... I mean, even with you being my instructor and all? I guess it's not the same as being an academic teacher." She made a face at her temporary airheadedness, then brushed it off. "Because that sounds fun. I could bring food." Was that what people did? She imagined herself opening a picnic basket on a boat and it came off a bit strange. What did people eat on boats anyway?
"If you'd been a Marine I was teaching or a member of my squad when I was still in, yeah it'd be fraternization." GW nodded at the question. It was reasonable after all. "But what I'm teaching you is fairly straightforward and if you can't do the moves you don't get the belts. There's no real conflict of interest on my end. If it makes you uncomfortable after I can always recommend another instructor.
"Food is good, I've got a small fridge on board but I don't keep much in it most of the time." He could always rustle up some coolers if the need arose. "Bring some if you want, if not I'll stock up on essentials the night before. I've got a galley but foods that are already cooked or don't need cooking would probably be best."
Hannah snapped her fingers and pointed at GW. "Don't you worry about it. Food, I got covered." Maybe it was her grandmother's influence shining through, or a gender role that was turning out to be accurate, but Hannah felt like food was her territory, if only because it was her sole contribution. Well, that and delightful company. Already, she imagined fried chicken on the menu. It was good cold or hot.
"Oh. Do you have my number?" She pulled out a metallic-blue cell phone and eased away from the tree. "You could always cheat and get it off my paperwork at the gym, but that's so clandestine. I dunno, maybe you enjoy clandestine." She shrugged.
"Only if it involves someone I'm going to kill," GW replied deadpan before winking to let her know he wasn't serious.
"Seriously though, I could look it up on the spreadsheet. I've got all the names and numbers on it but I think I'd rather do it this way." He reached into one of the cargo pockets of his shorts and pulled out a metallic-red cell phone. "What's your number? I'll call it now so you'll have mine." She could always reach him through the gym, but that was... impersonal and they seemed to be going beyond that.
Hannah's eyebrows shot up at the 'kill' comment. "Mmmhmm." After the most scathing, 'better not try it' look she could muster, Hannah said, "It's 305-292-7777." While she waited for his call to come through, she bent down and retrieved Conchita the Conch Shell. It wouldn't be long before the competition concluded. She was pretty sure she was in for another 'certificate of participation', which was a-okay. Once the winners were announced, she would climb on her scooter and drive home for dinner and a red-box movie on the couch.
GW dutifully typed the number into his phone and hit the 'send' button, waiting for the call to go through. "So any big plans for your evening? Once this is all done that is." He really ought to have something planned himself, but for a change he was at loose ends. No gigs, no classes to teach, and no one to share the evening with.
Maybe he'd just go watch the sunset on the beach and then go on a pub crawl and hear some of the rival bands.
"That would be telling!" Hannah saved his number into her contact list and snapped her phone closed. No way was she admitting to a night with reheated spaghetti and He's Just Not That Into You on dvd. Let him think she had someplace fabulous to be. Or at least someplace other than snuggling on the couch with a wiener dog. "Thanks for keeping me company." She gave him a smile. "Good luck with Mr. Williams, Jr."
"My pleasure," GW smiled back and picked up his own shell as the announcer returned to the stage to draw the festivities to a close. The Cajun took that as his cue to leave and started to turn down that path. "Be seeing you Hannah, take care."