Kryptonite
Cassidy managed to find a good sandwich shop on one of her wandering trips around Key West, and it was close enough to the beach that she could watch the water while she ate her lunch. It was getting dark way too early for her taste, and it seemed like the streets rolled up a lot earlier than she was used to. Still, she was getting so she liked it in a quieter place. Maybe she really was getting a little too old for bright lights.
She had ordered a tuna melt and cheese fries, and she added a little vinegar to the fries before eating a few of them. Tomorrow was grocery run day. She was pondering getting a washer and dryer, because the nearest laundromat was scuzzy. Fortunately her money wasn't going to run out anytime soon, and she had a few investments that were still paying off. If things got tight, she could go through some of the stuff she'd gotten from past admirers. She really only needed so much stuff these days.
The sandwich was very good, and she had another bite before washing it down with some orange soda. Life might have slowed down, but it didn't have to be in a bad way. It could even turn out to be pretty good.
Speaking of laundry, the washing machine tucked in the small garage behind Hayden's house was broken. Whenever he or the neighbors tried to do a load, it whined and smoke came out of the wires. He went as long as possible on the clothes in his dresser, but sooner or later, a guy needed clean boxers. He hauled his basket to a laundromat on the corner and read a book through a washing cycle. After tossing his things in a dryer, he headed out to a sandwich shop nearby. He had some time to kill.
He went to the counter and jangled his pocket full of quarters. "Yeah, can I get a turkey club, chips, a large fountain drink?" Hayden waited for the employee to ring him up. He looked around the small eat-in shop. There was a middle-aged couple sharing a newspaper, an elderly man picking a tomato off his sandwich, and a brunette staring out the window. He watched her pick through her fries and turned back to hand over a ten dollar bill and get change. "Thanks."
While the sandwich came up, he took his cup to the fountain and poured himself a Mountain Dew.
She was going to get fat if she ate like this every day, but she'd been thinking of taking up yoga or something now that she had more time on her hands. There was no need to let herself go, after all. Cassidy scarfed down a few more fries, went rummaging through her messenger bag for that day's crossword puzzle. At least come summer she'd be able to hit the beach. Vegas just had the sand, not the water.
She would solve the appliance issue later, after she'd done her crossword. Maybe the want ads would be good for some bargains.
When his sandwich and chips arrived on a tray, Hayden set his cup on it and balanced the rectangle on his forearm. He looked around for a clean table. There was a two-seater in the corner, but he'd have to squeeze past the brunette to get there. He headed in that direction. A couple of napkins fluttered while he cut between the tables and chairs. "Excuse me, I'm just gonna slide by you," he said, turning sideways to move behind her chair.
That's when the contents of his tray slid to one side. He corrected -- just in time to keep everything from falling off -- but the cup tipped over. The plastic lid popped off. Yellow soda and ice cubes flooded the tray and spilled down the woman's shirt. "Shit!"
"Sweet Jesus!"
It was almost a squeal, and Cassidy leapt out of the chair as ice cubes pelted the tabletop, spotting her newspaper with water. And damn if she hadn't worn a white shirt today. Well, at least she'd put on a white bra. "Goddamn." An ice cube slithered down from her shoulder, and she plucked it out of her shirt and pitched it across the room. It landed near the couple with the newspaper. If she hadn't been awake before, she was now.
Hayden stumbled back into a table when she jumped up. It held up his weight, barely. He put the tray down and shook the liquid from his hands, mainly to distract himself from the inevitable, which was checking out the damage on her. "Oh man." He rubbed a hand over his mouth and stared at her shirt. "I'm-- I'm sorry." The napkins on his tray were soaked, so he picked up a silver dispenser and started tugging them out by the fistful.
"Hey!" A man in wire-rimmed glasses stood up, pissed about the ice cube toss.
"Easy," Hayden shot back. He wasn't sure whether to dab at her shirt, or if that would look like he was feeling her up.
"Don't touch me." It was a warning, and she'd taken the self-defense classes to back it up. Cassidy took the napkins away from him, glaring at Wire Rims in case he wanted to open his mouth, and wiped at her shirt. At least she'd refrained from putting on anything really nice today, but shit, that was cold. Could you catch a cold from having soda dumped on you?
"God almighty. They need to manufacture better lids for those things." From the neck of her shirt down, there was a yellow blotch, and some of it was drip-dripping past the waistband of her jeans. "Apparently they just spontaneously part company with things sometimes."
Hayden put his palms up, still clutching the napkins between his fingers. "I'm not!" His voice had a note of mild hysteria in it. Did she honestly think he was going to grope her? He looked around to make sure nobody else thought he was up to anything. Then he shook his head and sopped up the pond that his chips and sandwich were floating in. Luckily, both were wrapped. "It's my fault," he said, balling up the wet napkins and making a mountain out of them. "I wasn't carrying it with two hands. Though I always wondered why the wide part of the cup is at the top."
Guilt-ridden and a little red in the ears, he looked at her, though truth be told, he was half-afraid to. "Sorry about your clothes."
After the actual leakage had been taken care of, she decided she would probably survive the incident, and she took the sodden napkins and threw them away in the trash can. She got some more from a second dispenser, carried them back to wipe up the rest of the mess that had made it onto the table. At least none of it had managed to drench her lunch. "I'll live," she told the guy, using a voice that said she was calming down.
She tossed out the second bundle of napkins, returned to her table again. Managed to crack a smile when she said, "If this is how you try to meet women, I suggest a different approach."
"What?" Using an index finger, Hayden gestured at their corner of the sandwich shop. "This isn't working for you?" He held the inquisitive face for about three seconds before grinning and shaking his head. "Nah, usually, I'm a little more suave. Can I buy you a drink, not can I pour one on you." He sat down with his back to the window and peeled a sticker off his packaged lunch. Once the wrapper was open, he knew the turkey club stayed dry. It was no less than a miracle. He picked it up and eyed the woman. His eyes kept going to the yellow stain; he couldn't help it. "Too bad I didn't order Sprite," he said. "That yellow's toxic." He took a huge bite.
"I always wonder what they put in Mountain Dew to make it that color," the former dancer said as she reclaimed her seat. At least her food was still warm; it might help take some of the chill off. She added another packet of vinegar to her fries. He was fifteen years her junior, maybe twenty, with a layer of scruff. She'd have pegged him as a construction worker, but she'd seen no work being done since arriving in Key West. "It can't be anything good. I keep waiting to see some report on the news that its kryptonite or something."
She took a bite of her tuna melt, having retrieved some dry napkins before sitting down again. "And now that we've had that little adventure, my name's Cassidy. What's yours?"
"Or anti-freeze," he said around a mouthful of turkey and tomato. His jaw worked hard to chew the sandwich, which needed mayo. He balled up a napkin and wiped his mouth. "I'm Hayden." Eager to make peace, he leaned across the narrow aisle and extended his palm to her. After it was out there, he remembered that command earlier -- 'Don't touch me' -- and wondered if he was committing a second faux pas, even worse because they were eating lunch, but it was already there, so he couldn't exactly pull it back. She's city, he thought.
"You're from up north, too, aren't you? The accent... sounds like Jersey." Hayden's eyes stayed on her face this time. She was older, a knock-out, too, just a few lines around her eyes giving it away.
His hand was big and rough with calluses, and his fingers dwarfed hers when they shook hands. He either worked with his hands or he was a weekend hobbyist. Both? "I worked in Atlantic City for a few years, then moved west. When everyone around you talks the same way, it's almost impossible not to pick it up. Verbal osmosis."
A customary check of those large hands. No gold band. It paid to be sure. "New York?" she hazarded. "If so, you're a long way from home."
"Upstate," he said, confirming her guess. "I came down for college and never took off." He settled back into his seat and opened a packet of mayonnaise, which he squirted onto the top slice of bread. His eyes cut to her legs once, then politely went back to his lunch. She stayed fit, that was for sure. The next bite went down easier. Hayden watched a teenager come into the sandwich shop, texting instead of paying attention to her surroundings.
"I went to Atlantic City once," he said, washing his food down with soda. "Sophomore year in college. I was home with my fraternity brother on Thanksgiving break. He was from Northfield, you know, right outside?" He thumbed in a direction. "We had these fake IDs. Man... we were wasted." He laughed at the memory, a little ashamed of it, too, by the looks of things. "I don't remember half of it. We started out at this bar on the beach, and then Steve tried to get us into a gentleman's club. I think it was called Coconutz. But we were wearing like...jeans and hoodies, so that wasn't gonna fly."
"It's loosened up a little in the last few years, but it used to be collared shirts and ties or go home. Places like that had reputations to maintain, not to mention keeping the 'kids' out so they wouldn't get raided." Cassidy added a good-natured smile to take any possible sting out of the remark, pointing at him with a fry. "I'm sure you and your friend were perfectly nice, but cops are a problem no one needs."
She liked the scruff, she decided, maybe just because it made him look older. "So what's fun in Key West? I've only been here about a month, haven't seen much yet."
Hayden had taken no offense. A drunk twenty-year-old had no business in a place like that. "Yeah, I mean, we were nice," he said, "Still am, for the record, but back then, I couldn't hold my liquor. I probably would've passed out on the side of the stage." He opened his chips and shook it, looking at the contents. Once the food settled, the bag was mostly air. "I've got a bar now." He reached up, tugged on his earlobe. "So I get what you're saying. It's hard enough to keep people in line when the staff's got clothes on."
Folding his arms on the table, he got comfortable and ate a barbecue chip. Under the table, his knee slowly swayed back and forth. "There's a lot to do. Just depends on what you're into... bars, water sports, places to shop, art. What are you looking for?"
"Shopping, at least for now. I'm renting a place a few blocks from the ocean, and I'm working on getting more furniture." She'd sold most of her furnishings back in Nevada rather than deal with moving them cross-country, and she was buying piecemeal. She'd always had an eye for color and what would look good, and with money to spend she felt like she could class up a condo pretty decently.
"I'm kind of starting over, I guess. Women of a certain age don't get much play in gentleman's clubs either."
Hayden had opened his mouth to recommend a furniture store when Cassidy dropped the second piece of information. It took a few seconds to catch her drift. He felt his face shift, more in surprise than anything else. That explains the nice legs, he thought inanely. "Ahh..." The bag of chips crinkled in his fingers. "I hope you didn't take offense... What I said earlier, about trying to sneak into that club." He put his fingers over his mouth and smiled behind them. The whole thing made him feel like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"Man." He sniffed and shook his head, like a dog that had taken a knock to its skull. "Ah, furniture stores. There's a discount place called Royal Furniture on Roosevelt. If you, uh... want something more upscale, you should go to Southernmost Furniture. It's on Big Coppitt Key."
She hadn't meant to embarrass him, and she looked down at her half-eaten sandwich, wondering when she'd last seen a man get caught like that. Nice boys blush. It made him weirdly endearing.
"No offense taken," she said, lifting her gaze again. "It's a job like anything else, although I don't think anyone plans on making a career of it." She lifted the cup of soda to her mouth. She was warming up again, thank God. "And I'm probably somewhere between discount and majorly upscale. But thanks for the recommendations, it'll help."
"No problem." He put down his sandwich crust. "Y'know," he reached into the sleeves of his t-shirt and held his arms. "I didn't plan to make a career of pouring drinks, either. I studied History. It just happens when you need to pay some bills or don't know what else to do." He looked from the empty chair opposite him to Cassidy. "I always wanted to be one those people that figures out what they wanna do when they're... you know, twelve years old. Like a calling." The lid was already off his soda cup. He tipped it back and drank the last few swallows of melted-down Mountain Dew.
It was a conundrum talking to her about jobs. He couldn't do it without his brain wandering to hers and serving up mental pictures, which made him feel like a jackass. Maybe he should've changed the subject.
"Mind out of the gutter, please." Because even nice boys could be predictable. Cassidy finished off her cheese fries, wiped her hands off on a napkin. She bumped his calf under the table, found it solid. It was almost five o'clock, which meant she should be getting going. She would have to check the phone book for those places Hayden had mentioned, hit the stores tomorrow.
"Where's your bar? I might drop by just to see what it's like."
He ignored her question for a second and stared at her, face trapped between confusion and a laugh. "Wait... How'd you know my mind was in the gutter?" Christ, was he telegraphing it now? Try as he might, Hayden couldn't figure out what he'd done. Since the remark about toxic yellow, he had taken pains not to look at her shirt. Of course, statistically speaking, he was more likely to be thinking about sex at any given time than anything else, no matter where he was, but he couldn't help that. It came with the territory.
His wallet was in his hip pocket. He went into it and pulled out a business card. Nothing with his name, just the logo and address for the bar. It didn't fit well in his wallet, so one corner of it was bent. He tossed it on Cassidy's table.
She picked up the little rectangle of cardboard and looked at it, then tucked it into her pocket. It'd be good to find a hangout spot if nothing else, and Hayden was a nice guy. Her life was running low on nice guys.
"It's more osmosis," she said with a chuckle. "It all depends on what wavelength I'm on for how much I can pick up." She was starting to tend to her trash, wadding up papers to throw them away. "I'll come by, maybe in a few days. Hopefully with less spillage this time."
Hayden didn't bother denying it. Instead, he just shook his head and wondered how many other women knew when he was thinking about them naked. Hopefully, Cassidy's 'osmosis' wasn't a common skill. Why hadn't he been slapped more often? "Ah, yeah. Definitely stop by. I'll buy you a drink to make up for it." He made a stack out of his garbage and got up. When he picked up his tray, Hayden took up Cassidy's, too, ferrying them both to the nearest garbage can.
He wiped his hands on his jeans. Then he checked his cell phone, figuring his laundry was near to done. "So I'll see you at the bar sometime. Good luck with the furniture," he said. He lifted a hand in a casual wave.
She returned the wave, tucked her crossword back into her back. Did a subtle check-out as she watched him exit the shop. Because she hadn't said she minded. The chair scraped back, then scraped forward again as she tucked it back under the table. She'd go home, then make plans for tomorrow. Life was shaping up again.