Tony Partly Cloudy (12 page)

“I was thinking Godfather Part Two,” Martin said, “but I think you’re right. Much more Goodfellas.”

“Martin, we’re embarrassing Tony, and we haven’t even given him an answer,” Donny said. The two men stared at each other for a long moment, then both simultaneously smiled and nodded.

Martin turned to Tony, and said, “It’s a deal. Welcome to your new home.” Tony shook hands with him, then with Donny. Both had surprisingly firm handshakes, although Donny held his hand perhaps a little longer than necessary.

“So Tony,” Martin said, “what’s your last name? Am I correct in assuming that it’s got to be Italian?”

Tony laughed. “And then some. It’s Bartolicotti.”

“Bartolicotti,” Donny carefully repeated. “That must have taken a while to learn to spell.”

“Yeah,” Tony joked, “I still get it wrong sometimes.” Feeling more comfortable now, Tony said, “My friends call me Tony Partly Cloudy. You know, on account of how my name sounds, and the thing I do for a living.”

“
Da ting I doo
,” Donny mimicked. “That accent is precious. And the nickname is too perfect. I love it. Don’t ever change.”

Tony shrugged. “I don’t think I could.”

The three sat down in the dining room of the main part of the house to fill out the lease forms. Tony noted that the names at the top of the lease were Martin Smith and Donald Smith. He hesitated a moment, then said, “I gotta ask – I couldn’t help but notice your last names on the lease. Are you guys, you know, married?”

“No, Tony,” Martin said, smiling sadly as he shook his head. “I’m afraid Florida is still in the dark ages as far as same-sex marriages are concerned. The fact that we’ve been together twelve years means nothing to the lawmakers. It’s just coincidence that we happen to have the same last name.”

Donny said, “But if they ever change that law, at least we won’t have to argue about who takes whose last name!”

All three laughed at this, and soon the papers were signed, and Tony was presented with a set of keys.

“Thanks, guys,” Tony said as he left. “I gotta go clear out of the Keyward Winds. I’ll see you later on.”

“Need any help moving?” Martin asked.

“No thanks,” said Tony. “All I got’s a suitcase and my briefcase.”

Martin looked accusingly at Donny. “You could learn a lot from this man about the virtues of living simply.”

Donny put a hand to his chest as if in shock. “What? And miss out on all that glorious
shopping
?”

Tony left the two cheerfully arguing on the front porch. Getting into his rental car, he paused to look back at the house.

Home sweet home, he thought.

LIFE IN KEY WEST was...
different
.

First there was the heat.

It was everywhere, pervasive and incessant, making it a frequent topic of conversation. Tony lost track of the number of times he heard the phrase
it’s not the heat, it’s the humidity
. That was bullshit – it was freaking
hot
in Key West.

Tony finally got to the point where he could walk across a room without breaking a sweat, but it took a while. And it definitely required Tony to make some changes. Over the months Tony’s wardrobe migrated from suits and ties to golf shirts and khakis; finally to Hawaiian shirts and shorts. But he drew the line at wearing flip-flops.

This made him one of the better dressed employees at the NWS. His ever-cheerful coworker Travis (who had no problem crossing the flip-flop line) favored cutoffs topped with faded T-shirts sporting logos or slogans, his favorite being one that said
reality is overrated
, a motto Travis had adopted as a personal mantra.

Then there were the people.

The people of Key West were, at the very least,
colorful
. The island hosted a large, thriving, openly gay population, having become a haven for nonconformists of all kinds. People who didn’t fit in anywhere else found a home in Key West. Walk into any bar – an easy task, given that Key West had more bars per capita than anywhere else in the country – and you’d find yourself rubbing shoulders with smugglers, sailors, drag queens, lobster fishermen, artists, beach bums, and God knows who else.

As always, Tony got along well with his coworkers and neighbors. But he had a hard time making really close friends, seemingly surrounded by men who worshipped either Jimmy Buffett or Barbra Streisand.

As for women, in whom Tony had a very healthy interest, they all seemed to be barmaids, strippers, or spring breakers who had never bothered to go back to school. No nice Italian girls, like Mama always wanted Tony to meet. Well, that one stripper had been Italian, but Tony suspected his Mama hadn’t meant for him to marry a woman whose entire body was covered with tattoos and piercings. Even if she was double-jointed.

Then there was the attitude.

Travis wasn’t alone in considering reality to be overrated. Reality was in short supply in Key West, and its citizens wanted to keep it that way. This was, after all, an island that had seceded from the United States in 1982 to form the “Conch Republic,” an act followed by taking military action against the US by attacking Federal agents with stale loaves of Cuban bread, then surrendering and demanding “foreign aid” from the US. You could still find Conch Republic flags in most of the local gift shops.

The most popular form of transportation in Key West was a tiny motor scooter, preferably pink. For citizens with one too many DUI violations, bicycles were a popular alternative, usually painted in loud colors and equipped with high handlebars adorned with streamers – such décor qualified a bike to be considered a “conch cruiser.” Tony stayed away from the pink scooters, but finally succumbed to the lure of the conch cruiser. He purchased an aging Schwinn at a local pawnshop, comforted that the bike was painted in a color scheme slightly more subdued than most.

And then there was Fantasy Fest.

Each year during the ten days leading up to Halloween, the island loosened its already tenuous grasp on reality to host something called Fantasy Fest, which Tony figured might be like one of those bacchanalia things that Jimmy Carbone sometimes talked about.

Whatever you wanted to call it, it was nuts – it made Mardi Gras look like a church picnic. The way the men and women dressed up – or, more often,
un
-dressed – and carried on was unlike anything Tony had ever seen. Everybody seemed intent on making out with everybody else, on a non-discriminatory basis. Frankly that didn’t seem like a bad thing to Tony, who was growing hungry for some kind of romantic action, even if it was largely fueled by alcohol. So, during his very first Fantasy Fest, he was delighted when he ran into Debbie.

Actually, she ran into him. Literally. As one of the incessant nightly parades swept past the vantage point Tony had taken up on Duval Street, a tall woman in a grass skirt came spinning out of the flow of people, apparently having let go of her dance partner. Like a 130-pound tornado, she spun right into Tony, crushing against him as he caught her. The drink Tony had been holding, a bright-red rum-based concoction rightfully called a Hurricane, splashed all over his pale blue Hawaiian shirt.

Clutching Tony to steady herself, the woman said, “I’m so sorry! I was just dancing, and I guess I lost control.”

Tony realized that in having instinctively caught her, he’d wrapped his arms around her. And that neither of them seemed to be in a hurry to let each other go.

“That’s okay,” Tony said. “I think lots of people here are losing control.”

The woman smiled. “I think control is highly overrated, don’t you?” Before Tony could answer, she kissed him. Caught up in the moment, Tony kissed her back. Their tongues intertwined, mingling the flavors of rum, tequila, and tobacco. After a long moment, the woman broke off the kiss, pulling back slightly to look up at Tony. She didn’t have to look up very far – she was nearly six feet tall.

“I’m Debbie,” she said with a giggle. She broke the embrace to step back and offer Tony a handshake.

Tony laughed at the backward direction their introduction was taking, and shook her hand. “I’m Tony. Tony Barto—”

“Shhhh,” Debbie said. “No last names. Let’s keep the mystery going.”

Tony wasn’t sure what mystery she was referring to, but he was more focused on the woman who stood before him. Debbie was a knockout: tall, lean, and tanned, with a muscular but feminine body covered only in a minimal bikini top and a grass skirt. Debbie danced in place as she spoke, the sway of her sweat-slickened body captivating Tony as he watched her undulate to the beat of the music that surrounded them.

Debbie reached out to touch Tony’s shirt, soaked and stained from their collision. “Oh, but I’ve ruined your shirt,” she moaned, her voice low and smoky. “Not only that, you lost your drink. And just what were you drinking?” With that, she surprised Tony by ripping his shirt open with both her hands, then bending down to lick his stomach and chest. The world melted away for Tony as he surrendered to the sensation of Debbie licking his belly, holding his hips to steady herself.

Debbie stood up, licking her lips. “Mmmm, rum,” she said. “Got any more?”

Tony struggled to regain the power of speech. “Uh, yeah, I mean, I can get more. I just bought this at Tiny’s, across the street.”

“We could go there,” Debbie said, pouting slightly. “Or we could go to your place. Where are you staying?”

“Staying? Oh, you mean like a hotel? No, I live here – just a few blocks away.” Tony said. Getting his hopes up, he asked, “How ‘bout you?”

Debbie shook her head. “Just visiting. But my hotel’s way on the other side of all this. Let’s go to your place.” She began to run her hand up and down Tony’s chest. “If you’ve got anything to drink there.”

Tony thought fast. “Well, I don’t have any rum, but I’ve got some beer in the fridge.”

Debbie took Tony’s hand. “Perfect,” she said. “Take me home.” She leaned up to kiss Tony, but surprised him by instead biting into his lower lip. Once he got past the shock, he realized he liked it. A lot.

“Sounds like a plan,” he said, when she’d released his lip.

The two wove their way away from the crowd into Tony’s neighborhood, which was just marginally quieter than the parade route. Loud music blared from most of the houses, and Debbie would pull away from Tony occasionally to dance to whatever music happened to dominate the sonic mix. The way she moved was so fluid, so feline, Tony found himself stopping in his tracks just to watch..

When they finally got to Tony’s house, there was no sign of Martin or Donny – they must have still been at the parade. That was okay with Tony, who was feeling an increasing urgency to be alone with Debbie. He’d never had a one-night stand, and frankly had never been inclined to. But tonight, with the heat, the music, and – let’s be honest – the alcohol, this was too much of a Letters-to-Penthouse experience for a healthy Italian boy to resist.

Tony let Debbie into his apartment, then went to the refrigerator to fetch some beer. He heard the flick of a lighter, and turned to see that Debbie had lit a cigarette, and was now dancing around Tony’s room, trailing a wisp of smoke as her body swayed to the music that drifted in from the street. It seemed that Debbie
never
stopped moving, making Tony think this might turn out to be a long night. He smiled as he opened the beers.

Dear Penthouse: I’m a bachelor on a small Florida island, and never thought this kind of thing could happen to me...

“Do you have an ashtray?” Debbie asked. Tony found one that he kept in case Frankie ever visited, and offered it to her. He didn’t smoke, but had to admit he liked the low, sexy growl of Debbie’s voice, which was probably enhanced by her nicotine habit.

Tony handed Debbie a beer, and was going to suggest that they sit down on his couch, but he was too transfixed watching her dance in front of him.

She noticed him staring at her, and smiled. “You like?” she asked, her smoky voice playful and promising.

“I like,” Tony stammered. He took a swig of beer to calm himself.

“I’m glad,” Debbie said. Then she reached behind herself, and suddenly the bikini top was on the floor. Her breasts were high and firm, the two triangles of untanned flesh that the bikini had covered now seeming to glow in contrast to the rest of her tanned, glistening torso.

“I like a lot,” Tony said appreciatively.

Debbie began to dance toward Tony. “Good,” she purred. “Now let’s get that wet shirt off.” With surprising force she pulled Tony’s ruined shirt from his shoulders, throwing it on the floor without a glance. Then she drew in close for another kiss, pressing her breasts against Tony’s bare torso. Again her kisses were combined with bites, and her breath started coming in short bursts as she responded to the touch of Tony’s roving hands.

Debbie pulled back slowly, smiling at Tony, her eyes lascivious. “Well, now that you’ve seen more of me, let’s see more of you.”

With that she dropped to her knees, and began to fuss with Tony’s belt buckle.
Dear Penthouse,
Tony thought again.

“Oh, my...” Debbie cooed, having succeeded in undoing Tony’s fly and pulling his pants and boxers down. She smiled up at Tony, running a finger along his erection before gripping it more firmly in her hand.

“We’re going to have fun with
this
,” Debbie said, licking her lips. As she began to lower her head to take him into her mouth, she murmured softly but distinctly, “You’ll see. It’s almost as big as
mine
.”

That was when Tony threw up.

When Martin and Donny finally came staggering up the sidewalk, they found Tony sitting on the front porch, surrounded by a row of beer cans.

“Looks like somebody lost his key,” Donny teased.

Tony looked up. “What? Oh, hi, guys. No, I’m not locked out or nothing – I just needed some air.”

Sensing that Tony shared none of their high spirits, Martin asked, “Is something wrong?”

Tony saw the man’s concern. He had learned to really like his housemates, particularly Martin, who tended to be the more serious of the two older men. “I don’t know,” Tony said. “I just had a kinda weird night is all. I was hanging out with somebody who, uh, didn’t turn out to be what I expected.”

Martin and Donny exchanged a look, and Donny stifled a giggle.

Martin remained serious. “That happens a lot down here. Sometimes people aren’t what they seem.”

“That’s a freakin’ understatement,” Tony said with a grimace. He picked up the beer can closest to him and drained it.”

“Tony, did something happen?” Martin asked. “Did somebody do something – or did you do something – that’s got you upset?”

Tony shook his head, but continued to scowl. “Nah, it stopped before things went too far.”

Martin pressed on. “Well, did anything happen that made you feel, you know, confused? I mean, some men are troubled when they find out the person they’re attracted to is a man.”

Tony snapped, “I never said that!” Calming himself, he spoke more quietly. “Jeez – how did you figure that out?”

Donny spoke up. “Like Martin said, it happens a lot down here. But don’t worry, it’s not like it means you’re gay, if that’s what you’re fretting about.”

Tony laughed. “No, I think the fact that I puked on her – well, on
him
, I guess – I think
that
proved that I’m not gay.” Tony hastily added, “You know I got nothing against being gay, right?”

Martin laughed. “Yes, Tony. We know.”

“It’s just not my style, you know?”

Martin nodded, saying nothing further.

Tony said, “I don’t know – it just kinda freaked me out, you know? I mean, I haven’t exactly been doing great with the ladies since I got here, and tonight, I was thinking my luck might be changing.”