in. . . in. .. What the hell did
people do in Minnesota? What did they have up there, cows? O.K., a
place that made cheese, something like that. So of course he liked
to fish, to get away from the cheese smell. The wife, well, she
mostly liked to do stuff at home, stuff with thread, that's where
she really felt confident. Joey wanted to think that after they'd
walked away, she said to her husband , What a nice young man. It
must be hard just to talk to strangers like that . But the
husband, he'd want to show that he was the worldly one, he knew
what was what . Once they get you inside, it's hard sell, Martha.
Real hard sell. This fella Bill, he was once in Puerto Rico, and
one of these fellas got him to go inside, and four hours later. .
.
"Hey, New York, how ya doin'? Your friends
are gonna hate ya when they see that tan, ya know. But that's why
you're here, right? So your friends'll hate ya? Looks good. Use
that sunblock, though, don't be a wise guy. What parta New York ya
from?"
The fellow in the Yankees baseball cap just
kept walking, urged along by his ladyfriend, who was tugging at his
elbow. Across Duval Street, shadows were lengthening in front of
T-shirt shops and narrow stores selling frozen yogurt. The first
early drunks were starting to bob and weave, and the steady hum of
noise was occasionally punctuated by a tattooed grotesque in a
sleeveless leather shirt going by on a Harley.
"Hello, folks, you enjoying our beautiful
weather today? What are you, Japanese, Hawaiian, what?"
"Hello, folks, how's Key West treatin' ya
today? Hey, that is a fabulous hat you have. How they get all that
fruit to stay in there like that?"
"Hello, folks, great afternoon, huh? You
been puttin' your time in onna beach, I see. Those blisters'll be
gone in a coupla days, don't worry. But hey, since you're outta
commission anyway, how'd ya like ta see the Clem Sanders Treasure
Museum ..."
"Hello, folks. Hey, what's with the
crutches? ..."
"Hello, folks, awesome weather, huh? Hey,
you really go to Harvard, or you just wear the sweatshirt?"
"Hello, folks, gorgeous day, isn't it?"
"Yes, ittis," said a small, white-haired
lady in crisp khaki pants. She put a lot of bite into her t's, and
Joey was so surprised that someone actually answered him that he
found himself leaning forward on the sidewalk, his arm stuck out in
a hooking gesture, his smile frozen, momentarily unable to
speak.
"Ittis, indeed," said the husband. He was a
silver and pink old fellow who didn't seem to like the sun. He wore
a Sherlock Holmes cap with one brim for his forehead and another
for his neck, and his plaid shirt was neatly buttoned at the
wrists.
Joey knew immediately that these were people
who would take the tour and would never in a thousand lifetimes buy
a time-share at Parrot Beach. But that was not his problem. They
wanted the meal ticket. They wanted something to do. Probably more
than anything, they wanted to sit down.
"Where you folks from?"
"Ottawa," said the lady. She bit the
t's.
"Zat in England?"
They thought Joey was kidding. They laughed
politely. Joey felt suddenly the way he sometimes used to feel when
trying to get a girl to go to bed with him.
All parties wanted the same result, for all
intents and purposes the matter was settled. Yet there were certain
forms and rituals that needed to be adhered to, still the awkward
business of maneuvering her into the bedroom or onto the couch. So
Joey spieled, and the nice old couple from Ottawa played along. A
Harley-Davidson roared by, trailing a string of mopeds like a goose
with goslings. Sunlight flashed off the tin roofs of downtown Key
West. Finally, when all the ceremonies had been observed, Joey led
the nice couple up the path to the Parrot Beach office. They would
sign the guest book. They would admire the scale model. They would
ride the shuttle bus to the property, sip fresh-squeezed orange
juice, let themselves be hammered for a while by the sales staff,
and Joey Goldman would get his
people do in Minnesota? What did they have up there, cows? O.K., a
place that made cheese, something like that. So of course he liked
to fish, to get away from the cheese smell. The wife, well, she
mostly liked to do stuff at home, stuff with thread, that's where
she really felt confident. Joey wanted to think that after they'd
walked away, she said to her husband , What a nice young man. It
must be hard just to talk to strangers like that . But the
husband, he'd want to show that he was the worldly one, he knew
what was what . Once they get you inside, it's hard sell, Martha.
Real hard sell. This fella Bill, he was once in Puerto Rico, and
one of these fellas got him to go inside, and four hours later. .
.
"Hey, New York, how ya doin'? Your friends
are gonna hate ya when they see that tan, ya know. But that's why
you're here, right? So your friends'll hate ya? Looks good. Use
that sunblock, though, don't be a wise guy. What parta New York ya
from?"
The fellow in the Yankees baseball cap just
kept walking, urged along by his ladyfriend, who was tugging at his
elbow. Across Duval Street, shadows were lengthening in front of
T-shirt shops and narrow stores selling frozen yogurt. The first
early drunks were starting to bob and weave, and the steady hum of
noise was occasionally punctuated by a tattooed grotesque in a
sleeveless leather shirt going by on a Harley.
"Hello, folks, you enjoying our beautiful
weather today? What are you, Japanese, Hawaiian, what?"
"Hello, folks, how's Key West treatin' ya
today? Hey, that is a fabulous hat you have. How they get all that
fruit to stay in there like that?"
"Hello, folks, great afternoon, huh? You
been puttin' your time in onna beach, I see. Those blisters'll be
gone in a coupla days, don't worry. But hey, since you're outta
commission anyway, how'd ya like ta see the Clem Sanders Treasure
Museum ..."
"Hello, folks. Hey, what's with the
crutches? ..."
"Hello, folks, awesome weather, huh? Hey,
you really go to Harvard, or you just wear the sweatshirt?"
"Hello, folks, gorgeous day, isn't it?"
"Yes, ittis," said a small, white-haired
lady in crisp khaki pants. She put a lot of bite into her t's, and
Joey was so surprised that someone actually answered him that he
found himself leaning forward on the sidewalk, his arm stuck out in
a hooking gesture, his smile frozen, momentarily unable to
speak.
"Ittis, indeed," said the husband. He was a
silver and pink old fellow who didn't seem to like the sun. He wore
a Sherlock Holmes cap with one brim for his forehead and another
for his neck, and his plaid shirt was neatly buttoned at the
wrists.
Joey knew immediately that these were people
who would take the tour and would never in a thousand lifetimes buy
a time-share at Parrot Beach. But that was not his problem. They
wanted the meal ticket. They wanted something to do. Probably more
than anything, they wanted to sit down.
"Where you folks from?"
"Ottawa," said the lady. She bit the
t's.
"Zat in England?"
They thought Joey was kidding. They laughed
politely. Joey felt suddenly the way he sometimes used to feel when
trying to get a girl to go to bed with him.
All parties wanted the same result, for all
intents and purposes the matter was settled. Yet there were certain
forms and rituals that needed to be adhered to, still the awkward
business of maneuvering her into the bedroom or onto the couch. So
Joey spieled, and the nice old couple from Ottawa played along. A
Harley-Davidson roared by, trailing a string of mopeds like a goose
with goslings. Sunlight flashed off the tin roofs of downtown Key
West. Finally, when all the ceremonies had been observed, Joey led
the nice couple up the path to the Parrot Beach office. They would
sign the guest book. They would admire the scale model. They would
ride the shuttle bus to the property, sip fresh-squeezed orange
juice, let themselves be hammered for a while by the sales staff,
and Joey Goldman would get his
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