“I know it looks suspect that I hightailed it across the Gulf on a shrimp boat to Mexico and disappeared on you, but there was a reason.”
“I’m listening,” Donna Kay replied. “How long will depend on your sincerity and honesty.”
I took a deep breath, looked up at the moon, and then began. “My memories of our time together are some of the happiest of my life.”
“They call that the honeymoon stage,” Donna Kay said.
I was taken aback a little by her crisp response, but I gathered my thoughts and stayed focused.
“That’s a good name for it,” I replied, “because it felt like a honeymoon. I enjoyed every single minute that we spent together, but I knew it couldn’t last, even before I was kidnapped.”
“Kidnapped? Now, Tully . . .” Donna Kay began, with a doubt in her voice like a teacher who had heard too many excuses.
“It’s true. I swear,” I pleaded. “Please. This is important to me, but I have to start at the beginning. My original intention after leaving Wyoming was to keep going and never look back, just like Butch Cassidy did. I’d had it with my life the way it had been. I needed a break. I’d never seen the ocean. I had wanderlust, but there was something else. Then, I walked into the Chat ’n’ Chew, and there you were.” I pulled my chair closer to the hammock where she was slowly rocking. “Donna Kay, I have been in love with you right up until the moment you told me you were marrying Clark.”
Donna Kay made no sudden reaction to stop me, and once the dam broke, the river of words just kept coming. It was almost as if someone else was saying them. “So in my mind, I just assumed that you would want to do what I did. It was naive of me, but I just envisioned the whole thing working out perfectly.”
“That is a common mistake that most men make,” Donna Kay said.
“I know. My idea was for you to come down to Mexico and visit me and fall in love with me and the tropics at the same time. My problems in Wyoming would be far behind me. We would live happily ever after. You would open your restaurant on the beach. I would help in the kitchen and learn to make omelets when I wasn’t tending my fishing business, which I would start. We’d spend our days growing old together under the tropical sun and shady palms of Mexico.”
“Sounds like The Swiss Family Robinson,” Donna Kay said dryly.
“Not quite.” I got out of my chair and walked to the rail so Donna Kay couldn’t see the tears that were welling up in my eyes. “I wasn’t really free to pursue my dream life with you because I was hiding something. A lie.”
“What lie?” Donna Kay still sounded skeptical.
“I wasn’t really a carefree cowboy loping along, taking his pony to the shore. Back in Wyoming, I committed a crime.”
“What kind of crime?” Donna Kay wanted to know. She suddenly sounded nervous. “Did you murder somebody?”
“No, nothing like that. It was back at the ranch. I got in a big fight with the boss lady, a real control freak named Thelma Barston, and I ended up throwing a table through her plate-glass window. She reported it to the cops and made up a lot of other stuff about assault, and pretty soon I was all over the Wyoming papers with a warrant for my arrest and a big fat reward for my capture. I ran.”
“You have got to be kidding,” Donna Kay said.
“I wish I were.”
“Go on,” Donna Kay told me.
She was listening.
“Thelma isn’t a woman to be scorned by an out-of-work cowboy. She also hired two bounty hunters to track me down.”
“Oh, God. Bounty hunters. I thought they only existed in old movies,” Donna Kay said.
“Horror movies,” I replied. “Within a week, with her political connections in Wyoming, they had trumped up the charges against me, increased the reward money to twenty grand. That certainly got the villagers fired up to find Frankenstein, and the newspapers painted me to be Charles Manson on horseback. All this happened while I was cruising across the country towing Mr. Twain to the beach. I wasn’t watching the news, I hadn’t read any papers, and I was all the way to Alabama before I even heard about it. Meanwhile the two bounty hunters were on their way—I kid you not, their names were Waldo and Wilton Stilton.”
Donna Kay shook her head and laughed. “Tell me this is just a tall tale, Tully. It’s too weird to be true.”
“How could I make up names like Waldo and Wilton Stilton?” I asked.
“I don’t think you could,” she said.
“It gets a lot weirder,” I continued. “I had a client last month who was a writer for The New Yorker. We were having a sunset cocktail at the Fat Iguana when the rumor of my Wyoming background came up, and the Stiltons returned to haunt me. This guy had written a piece on modern-day bounty hunters, and guess who his subjects were?”
“Waldo and Wilton,” Donna Kay said, on cue.
“Exactly. The guy said that their great-grandfather was an Irish immigrant who changed his name to Park Stilton because when he got off the boat, he had to sleep in Battery Park, and he got through his first week ashore by eating a huge wheel of Stilton Cheese that he stole. I kid you not, it was all in the article—he showed it to me.”
“Tully, how do you remember all this stuff?”
“They were hunting me—for money. The Stilton brothers were third-generation ne’er-do-wells of a family that had made the classic transition from robbing people with guns to robbing them with fountain pens. Great-Grandpa Stilton had pillaged, stolen, and murdered his way across the Rockies until he was hung outside of Livingston, Montana. His son, Park Jr., was the one who figured out that he could make more money catching outlaws than being one. He got religion and a badge and hunted down his friends for the rewards.
“Providing protection and intimidation for railroad barons had made the family a fortune, and money bought the family respectability. It was only a matter of time before they entered politics, and when a few Stiltons had law and accounting degrees, they became pillars of Western society.
“But not all of them were criminal geniuses, and that’s what brought Waldo and Wilton Stilton into my life, and vicariously into yours. It took every connection their father had with the local politicians, law enforcement officials, and school board members in Missoula just to keep them in high school and out of jail.
“After finally graduating, the Stilton twins celebrated their achievement by following the Metallica tour around America. It was on the road that they decided not to follow in the family footsteps but to enroll in chauffeur school in Salt Lake and become limo drivers for rock stars. That summer, they also set a personal goal of putting folded two-dollar bills into the thongs of one thousand strippers. They were at number eight ninety-six when Daddy ordered them home to Montana to get real jobs or lose their inheritance.
“He had already planned their future. In order to keep them out of the real family business but actually working, he had created a company of their very own. In one fun-filled week, Waldo and Wilton bought new guns and handcuffs, and with the help of their answer booklets, they passed the one-page written exam that provided them with diplomas to hang on the wall of their new offices—along with laminated ID cards and free BEA insignia caps. After that, they went to work in a three-state area, chasing deadbeat dads and repossessing pickup trucks. The lofty, new age term used to describe their job was ‘Bail Enforcement Agents,’ which really meant they were bounty hunters.
“At first, having left the state, I managed to stay pretty well off the radar screen of the Stiltons.”
“This is beginning to sound like the plot of a bad movie,” Donna Kay said.
“It gets even worse,” I told her. “Thelma had been upset with their inability to find me, so she put some pressure on their father. I heard about the whole thing and couldn’t believe it. I was not going back to Wyoming to a jail cell and the smug satisfaction of that ranch Nazi. I was heading to Mexico, and I wanted to tell you why.”
I took a half-filled bottle of rum from the shelf of the bar. ?
??I could use a drink. How about you?” I asked.
“Sure, but I’m not so sure about the end of your story.” Donna Kay held out her hand and took the glass.
“Don’t worry. Nothing really bad happens.”
We touched glasses and sipped the rum, and then I continued. “You ever heard of the Galactic Wrestling Federation?”
“The GWF?” Donna Kay said it as if it were as common to her as IBM. “Sammy Raye is part owner of that circus.”
“You are shitting me.” I took another sip of rum. “You ever heard of Kelly Brewster?”
“Of course. He’s the world champion—or was the world champion, until Ric Flair cracked him over the head with a pogo stick and then proceeded to literally tap-dance on his skull.”
“Well, along with their job of chasing me around the country, the Stiltons also wound up in show business as bodyguards for Kelly Brewster.”
“So how did you get tangled up with that bunch?”
“At the Mullet Toss.”
“Oh, Jesus, how did you wind up there?”
“By mistake, of course. I went for a fish sandwich. How was I to know that there was a place on the planet where people throw dead mullet across a state line as an excuse to have a party and a beauty contest?”
“This country is going to hell.” Donna Kay sighed. “It’s a wet T-shirt contest, Tully, not Miss Fucking America.”
“Whatever,” I replied. “The point was that I didn’t know Kelly Brewster from Kelly McGillis, but he was the honorary judge for the Mullet Toss, and that is how he and the Stiltons wound up in Alabama.”
“Seems like everybody in this soap opera wound up in Alabama,” Donna Kay said. She motioned with her hand for me to continue. “I guess I want to hear the rest.”
“It was the day before my departure for Key West. Kirk had suggested that I go over to the Flora-Bama for a sandwich and a beer, and to take a walk on the beach. When I got there, the Flora-Bama was more like a rock concert than a bar. My first instinct was the right one, to get out of there, but I was hungry, so I tried to hang out inconspicuously at the end of the oyster bar, which was away from all the action. I was eating a fish sandwich with my head buried in Islands magazine, thinking about my future and my rendezvous with you—really.
“I didn’t notice the crowd of large, loud men at the end of the bar, huddled around a three-foot-high mound of oyster shells and a mountain of empty Dixie beer bottles. I never recognized the blond mullet cut or the tattooed biceps of the two hundred sixty pounds of twisted steel and sex appeal in the form of Kelly Brewster—as he chewed a beer can in two with his gold teeth. Two local girls in skimpy bikini bottoms and flimsy, tie-dyed T-shirts with holes in them were going wild. I never saw Waldo and Wilton standing behind them, but they sure as hell saw me.
“I left the Flora-Bama to head back to the boat in Heat Wave, but the Stiltons blindsided me in the parking lot. I fought like hell to get away, but they maced me and the lights went out.
“They stuffed me in the back of their rented station wagon, and I came to with a splitting headache and a singed feeling in my lungs when I inhaled.
“Somehow I had clicked into survival mode and had begun to think quite clearly. The first thing that came to mind was that we were not moving. Then I heard Wilton’s voice.
“I opened my eyes to see Wilton Stilton sitting in the driver’s seat. The winner of the Miss Mullet Wet T-shirt Contest was sitting in his lap. Wilton was bragging into his cell phone to Thelma Barston about what a dumb fuck I was. He held the phone with one hand, and the other hand was fondling the knot of Miss Mullet’s bikini top. Wilton told Thelma that Waldo had gone ahead to the airport in Gulf Shores and that I’d be in the Heartache jail by morning.
“My idea was to launch my escape plan as soon as Wilton cranked up the car. I would pry my way out from behind a pile of suitcases and onto the backseat, and I hoped that the engine noise would cover my escape when I made a dash for the beach and ran like hell.
“I waited for the car to start. It didn’t, but the music on the radio suddenly got louder. As Jerry Garcia sang about scarlet begonias and a late-night card game, I made my move. I couldn’t believe my luck. Wilton was now sprawled out behind the steering wheel, moaning as his head rested on the top of the seat, and he stared out the sunroof. He was singing along with the Dead as Miss Mullet’s blond hair bobbed up and down in his lap.
“When Wilton started to scream, ‘Oh baby!’ again and again, and the car began to rock back and forth, I took off. I don’t know who that Deadhead chick was, but in my book, she is a mullet-tossing guardian angel. I just ran like hell for the boat dock and the Caribbean Soul, where I tried to act casual and took refuge belowdecks. Captain Kirk calmed me down, and we set sail for the tropics on schedule.
“Looking back, I know I should have just returned to Wyoming and faced the music, but at the time, it didn’t seem like a real option to me. I figured the best way to avoid trouble was to just disappear for a while. The Stiltons went back to being ringside bodyguards for wrestlers, and I heard through my sources out west that Thelma Barston was more determined than ever to find me and drag me back to Wyoming. That woman is completely crazy. I saw no choice but to stay out of the country until the statute of limitations ran out or Thelma spontaneously combusted. When I won that lottery, I wrote to you and sent you the winning ticket.”
I paused.
Donna Kay said nothing.
I looked around. No ghosts were hanging in the tree branches—just the evening breeze. “That’s it,” I added.
Donna Kay climbed out of the hammock and silently strolled across the deck and looked out at the moonlit ocean. “Jesus, I don’t know what I think right now. Either you’ve had one hell of a run of back luck, or you’ve made up this whole story and you are the most pathetic man on the face of the earth for trying to get me to believe such a pile of horseshit.” She turned and looked at me, hard. “Tully, you have never struck me as the kind of man who would lie your way out of your responsibilities. So I am going to have to think good and hard about that one.”
“I know it’s bizarre, but it’s true, Donna Kay. I swear it.”
“Tully, I came down here because I had a score to settle. I wanted to start my marriage clean and clear, with no unfinished business left from my past. Plus, I didn’t think it was fair that you could just sail in and out of my life like I was some kind of port of call. I wanted to tell you that, face-to-face. Falling in love with Clark sure helped, but I guess I couldn’t take this big step in my life without making sure it was the right one. I came down here to vent my anger at you, but now you—the man of so few words—are the one who got to make the big speech.”
“At least now you know the whole story. That’s the reason I disappeared, and I’m sorry for the trouble I caused you.”
I was through talking. There were no more words to say. I was exhausted, but I felt as if something had been accomplished.
“I guess that means you won’t be coming to the wedding?” Donna Kay asked.
I smiled and shook my head. “Stranger things have happened, Donna Kay. If that is an invitation, then I am going to work on an RSVP.”
Once again we descended from the heights of the tree, and I walked the bride-to-be to her cottage. The final act of the play starring Tully Mars and Donna Kay Dunbar was now completed, and even though it had not worked out as I had originally planned, I knew that Donna Kay was still my friend.
At the door of her cottage, she quietly said good night and gave me one of those friendly pecks on the cheek. It was no movie love-scene kiss, but it worked just as well, because I felt forgiven. Then, as any great departing love interest should do, she disappeared behind the bamboo curtain.
12
If I Were Like Lightning
Once again it was Mr. Twain who showed me the path out of the swamp. After a restless night of twisted dreams, I was awakened before dawn by that familiar and predictable sound of my horse in the nearby c
orral. It was again time to take my pony to the shore.
Donna Kay had not only brought the news of her marriage to Lost Boys lodge—she had also brought the weather. That morning, as I pulled myself up aboard Mr. Twain by his withers and turned him to the east, we were greeted by a perfect tropical day. The ghostly winds of the previous night had dissipated, replaced by a gentle breeze that made itself visible in the small waves that carpeted the bay. Mr. Twain was ready to run, and I was full of cobwebs.
We were scheduled to meet up at the dock at nine, which would put Bucky and Sammy Raye right on the incoming tide at the south end of the bay. Willie was taking off for Mérida, and I was left to entertain Donna Kay. I had no idea what she might want to do. Despite our past relationship and our revelations in the tree house, she was still a paying customer, and I was the guide.
I galloped through the spray, trying to put a little distance between me and Johnny Red Dust, Alabama wedding bells, and that nagging question about what I was really doing with my life.
“Just me upon my pony on my boat,” I sang to the motionless orange starfish camped on the flats who had no idea who Lyle Lovett was. I repeated the line like a broken record as we headed along the shore toward town. At the end of the beach, I nudged Mr. Twain into a right turn, and we ran headlong into the crashing waves until we were both swimming. I ended up where I had always been with regard to Donna Kay—over my head.
A short while later, Mr. Twain and I were sprawled out, lying on our respective sides in six inches of clear Caribbean water, looking at each other. Mr. Twain had that “What’s next?” look in his big brown eyes, and I had no answer.
As we headed back to our waiting world, I noticed a small thunderstorm had darkened a portion of the sky and momentarily blocked the sun’s rays from the beach where we were walking. I stopped my gait, and Mr. Twain stood still. As we gazed at the gray mist of rain below the dark cloud, a searing bolt of lightning arced over to a random spot on the surface of the ocean, sending a cloud of water skyward. The sun came back out, and something had changed. I looked at my watch. I still had an hour before I had to be at the dock. I had no idea what the day had in store for me, but I knew that it was going to start with breakfast.