Dream Me(40)

“Great idea!” The thought of spending an evening alone with LeGrand was intimidating so I jumped at the chance to include Mai. I dialed her number hoping she’d pick up, which she did.

I’d smelled a whiff of alcohol on LeGrand’s breath. Barely noticeable. I hoped my parents hadn’t picked up on it too. “Why don’t you drive? I probably shouldn’t.” LeGrand said. I was just about to suggest we take my dad’s truck but driving the Beemer would definitely be more fun. LeGrand explained that his family left the car at Crystal Point year round.

“No problem. You probably don’t know your way around the other side of the bay anyway. Have you ever been there?”

“Can’t say I have,” LeGrand pulled his seatbelt across his chest and pointed to the start button when it became obvious I was looking for a key and a hole to put it into. “Make sure your foot’s on the brake or it won’t start.”

“So how did you find my house?” It was the question I’d been waiting to ask.

“Lots of folks at Crystal Point know where Pat Fremont, the golf pro, lives.”

“And the ones who know are willing to share that information?” I was thinking about employee privacy issues and whether those even existed here.

“Let’s just say someone who knows was willing to share the information with a charming scoundrel.”

“And who would that someone be?”

But LeGrand wouldn’t say.

__________

I drove over the bridge and into the guts of Sugar Dunes, the part of the city where normal people lived and worked. LeGrand stared out the window at the long stretches of budget motels, car dealerships, and fast food restaurants. A dead basset hound had been dragged off the road and left half hanging over the sidewalk.

“Now that’s a sight you don’t see every day,” LeGrand said thoughtfully and respectfully, almost as though he wished he did see sights like that every day.

I pulled into Nguyen’s parking lot, which was empty since it was after hours. Mai’s family lived in a house in back of the market which was even smaller than mine.

“Nguyen’s,” LeGrand said. Except what he said came out sounding more like oowin’s which was pretty close to the way I heard Mai say it.

“How did you know how to pronounce it?”

“Our chef buys all our seafood here and that’s how he says it. I’ve never seen it before, though. Is this where Mai lives?”

“This is her family’s place.”

“Small world.” The perpetual half smile of his expanded into a grin of sudden delight. Like he’d just figured out the surprise ending of a movie a full thirty seconds before the plot twist is revealed.

“What’s the joke? I feel left out.”

“What joke?” He looked over at me, surprised.

“I don’t know . . . that little smile you always have on your face. It’s like you’re thinking about a joke nobody else is in on.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Babe. It’s just the way my mouth is shaped.”

I laughed.

“But if I ever figure it out, I’ll let you know,” he said, the smile lifting the corners of his lips. “Any more questions?”

“Why do you drink so much?”

I’m not exactly sure where those words came from. For the first time since I’d known him, the line of his mouth went straight.

“How about you show me where Mai lives? She might be thinking we got lost.”

__________

Mai got the idea to go to an oyster bar for dinner and she knew just the right one. It couldn’t have been the décor of the place that made it special. The neon light out front was spitting and hissing its dying breaths. Part of the sign had already gone dark, leaving a headless flamingo under a leafless palm tree. The most important word, Oyster, was still visibly spelled out in lime green, although barely. Its partner word Shack had gone the way of the flamingo’s head.

The story inside was not much better. A formica-topped counter was the main gathering place, although there were a few tiny tables in a corner so dark that I couldn’t tell if anyone was sitting there. Most of the fake red leather covers of the bar stools were partially split, white fibrous material protruding from the torn spots like gaping wounds. Too much pounding of too many butts over too many years.

“Princess Mai!” The huge bald guy behind the counter hollered out his greeting. “How’s my girl?”

“Hey, Georgie. These are my friends Babe and LeGrand.” And then to us she explained, “Summer’s not oyster season but if there are any fresh oysters to be found, Georgie will have them.”

“I think we can rustle something up for your friends,” he winked at us. “You know what they say, any friend of Mai’s . . .”

This was my first experience with raw oysters on the half shell. Spritzed with lime juice, dipped in a horseradish sauce, eaten with plenty of saltine crackers, and washed down with Dr. Pepper. Of course it doesn’t hurt to finish up with a slice of Key Lime pie. And along with a whole lot of talking, that’s exactly what went down that night at the Oyster Shack.

__________

“So what’s going on with the FAB program,” Mai asked. “Is it still FABulous?” Mai was semi-obsessed with the program that really annoyed her.