Two Drifters, Off To See The World

It was a Saturday night in June. We knew it was going to be busy. Most Saturday nights were busy. This was summer. This was the beach. Busy had a whole different meaning in the summer. I was lucky, I had the ‘the duces” that night. They were a row of five two-tops that ran right next to the windows that sat right on the boardwalk. They had a great view of the ocean even on dark nights thanks to the two floodlights on the roof of “The Kettle”.

I was in the kitchen discussing the possibility of getting one of my orders out of that kitchen and to my customers, with Roger, the chef. The order had been in the system for quite a while. During a pause in the conversation, I was confronted by my buddy Rat.

“You’re one lucky shit.”

“Don’t give me that. You had the duces last night and made a ton of money.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Then what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about that “smoking hot, little black dress” sitting in your station, all by herself. She doesn’t have a date. According to Queen Bee, she’s not going to be joined by anyone. You’re one lucky shit.”

“You know as well as I do, that could be a good thing or, most likely, a very bad thing.” At the beach, who eats alone?

“I am more than happy to take her off your hands, if you’re a little gun shy.”

“Don’t be silly. You need to go take care of your station before you end up in the weeds.” You never wanted to be in the weeds.

I then continued my discussion with Roger. We reached an agreement whereby I supplied his four line cooks with four ice cold cokes and suddenly all my orders started receiving priority treatment. Graft will always be alive and well in the restaurant business.

As I returned to my station with my two dinners, I found that Rat had greatly underestimated the situation in my station. Sitting at one of my duces was not a “smoking hot, little black dress” but a stunningly beautiful young lady in her late twenties. She had thick raven tresses that framed her face and cascaded down her back. She also had blue-green eyes that held an innocence and a bit of sorrow. She was slender and petite with a ballerina like grace to her movements. She wore no jewelry, save a pair of gold studs in her ears. She was the type of woman who didn’t need jewelry.

I came over to introduce myself. When she looked up at me, I noticed  a certain simplicity to her face. So much so, my heart took one of those adrenaline jolts that never happen with me but just did. She didn’t wear much makeup. She had high cheekbones and that dark skin tone that tanned way before it ever burned. The skin looked soft and smooth but had a slight pinkness from her day in the sun. I was speechless, which was very unusual for me. I talked to beautiful young ladies all day long during my walks on the beach. She was different.

I guess, I had been standing there for a while because she said, “I’m sorry, are you here to help me?” Her voice had a low pitch and the words flowed from her in long unbroken ribbons as if from a cello. It had a soulful quality.

“Yes, I’m sorry. My name is Zack and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Yes. I would like a glass of white wine, sauvignon blanc, if you have it, and my name is Kate”

“Nice to meet you, Kate. I’ll be right back.”

Queen Bee was our matre’d. He was standing at the service bar as I approached to place my order. “I didn’t think you’d mind me sitting her at one of your tables but as skinny as she is, she isn’t going to eat much, so you’re not going to make much money.” He snickered and left. He was sometimes amused by simple things.

I returned with her glass of sauvignon blanc. “Would you like me to tell you about tonight’s specials?”

“No. I kind of know what I want.” As she said this, she looked up at me  and smiled. It was a smile that warmed my heart. “I’d like a half dozen of the oysters on the half-shell, with just sliced lemon, please.”

“Good choice. They are “Rappahannock’s”. We just got them in this morning.” I smiled. “You like raw oysters?”

She laughed. It was one of those silver bell laughs that are clear, bright, and musical. “Yes, I was raised in Northern Virginia, close to D.C. My father indoctrinated me at an early age to the pleasures of raw oysters, specifically Chesapeake Bay oysters. It’s like taking a crisp bite of the ocean with all the briny, minerally, sweetness that encompasses. I have been a fan for a long time.”

”I see. And what would you like for your main course?” I was beginning to be a fan of this young lady.  

“All I really want is a simple piece of fish. What would you suggest?”

“The fillet of flounder, it also came in fresh this morning. I can get the chef to do a sauté with lemon and butter. Perhaps with some fresh asparagus spears.”

“That sounds perfect.”

“Let me get that started for you.” As I turned away and headed to the kitchen, I shook my head. What was I missing? This lady was stunning and yet she is eating alone. From the pink tone of her skin, I could see she had spent most of the day on the beach. So, why hadn’t one of my fellow beach bums tried to pick her up? There are all sorts and ages of us on the beach. One of them should have struck her fancy and yet she sat here all alone.

I did my best to keep a conversation going with her, but we were reaching peak hour, seven to eight o’clock. Everyone wants to eat between seven and eight o'clock. With the “duces”, I was expected to turn them at least three times sometimes four on a busy night. That’s at least 30 people. Well 29 tonight because of Queen Bee’s amusement.

I got in the “zone” where there was no wasted motion as I went about my duties. I was doing forty things at once but appeared calm and collected. I spent a little extra time with her because she was dining alone. As I served her oysters and flounder, I found out she was a teacher, fifth grade, lived in an apartment complex in Arlington, was a terrible cook but could do the simple things, enjoyed the museums and art galleries in D.C., and liked Beach Music, the Tams in particular. She had gone to school at Duke, so she knew the “Carolina Bop”.

While I was in the kitchen Rat came up to me and said, “You got her room key yet?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Yeah, she’s staying next door in the Hilton according to Queen Bee. That makes it pretty convenient for you.”

“People get fired for doing shit like that.” The “Kettle” was the restaurant for the Hilton. So there were rules. The restaurant property was owned by the Hilton but leased by another company. The “Kettle” did room service and breakfast for the Hilton and got the benefit of that tremendous view for dinner. They didn’t want employees having any kind of relationships with any of the guests. There was a rule against that. The restaurant was predominately by reservation but if we had an empty table, they would take walk-ins. The “All Mighty Dollar” is the main rule in the restaurant business.

“That’s true but it has never stopped you before.”

“I know but I don’t think she’s interested in me.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. Maybe she hasn’t warmed up to you yet. My offer still stands. If you want, I can take over at any time.” He kind of snickered when he said this, which pissed me off.

“Fuck you. Go take care of your vast hoards in the back.” His station tonight included one large window table and several large tables with children in an area we called “Siberia”. Children are not conducive to fine dining. I know the argument, “How are they supposed to learn?” That’s a valid point but oh, the learning process.

Kate had finished her dinner, passed on dessert and ended things with a Moka pot of coffee and a snifter of Grand Marnier. Nice. That’s how I like to end a meal.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“No, I’m good. You can just bring me my bill.”

I returned in a few moments with her check in a leather cover. “It was a pleasure serving you. I hope you have a great rest of your night.”

“Can I charge this to my room?”

“Certainly.”

She signed the check, stood and started to walk away. I don’t think any man was ever disappointed in watching her walk away. She did have on a pair of enhancing black spiked heels. She stopped, turned and walked back to me. “Listen I have a bottle of single malt scotch up in my room. You look like a single malt kind of guy. Would you like to come by for a glass after you get off work?”

I was stunned for a second, but after a beat said, “Yes, I am and I would love to, but I have another idea. How about we immerse you in the total beach experience. Why don’t you put on something a little less formal and we can take a stroll down the boardwalk, admiring the ocean as we go. On 17^th street, there’s a place, a block off the beach, called “The Shack”. It is the perfect beach bar. I hang out there a bit. Well, that’s not true. I hang out there a lot. They only serve beer, the jukebox has a ton of Beach Music classics, and it has lots of interesting Beach people, not a lot of tourists. They don’t have a dance floor, but people have been known to dance anyway.”

“Is the beer ice cold?”

“As cold as my landlord’s heart.”

“That sounds perfect. I’m in room 321, but of course you already know that.” She pointed to the check in my hand, smiled, turned and walked away. I can’t imagine ever getting tired of watching her walking away, but that’s me.

It took me about an hour and a half to finish up, change clothes and make it to her door. I was wearing jeans, a Shack t-shirt, and a pair of “Top Siders”, which was my usual late night drinking attire.

When she opened the door, I was amazed. “You look fantastic,” I said. She stood there in a white linen sundress. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail. The dress was solid bright white that fell gracefully in an A-line to just below the knee. It had a smocked bodice with a round crew neckline and short, slightly flared flutter sleeves. On her feet were a pair of white Chuck Taylor hi-tops laced halfway up and tied in bows.

“Oh no. Is this too dressy? I didn’t bring a lot of clothes. I have a pair of jean, if…”

“No. You look absolutely perfect.” I didn’t know if I liked the “Smoking Hot, Little Black Dress” with the spike heels or the “Simple White Sundress” with the Chuck Taylors more. They both looked great on her.  

We came out of the hotel and walked to the railing of the boardwalk. We stood there for a moment and looked at the ocean. It was a clear night with a quarter moon sitting on the waves.

“It’s always a great view but I really love the sound,” she said. It’s soothing and powerful at the same time.”

“Yes, It’s hard to believe anything bad could happen out here. Bad things do; they happen everywhere but it’s hard to imagine nonetheless.”  

“Zack, there is something I need to talk to you about.”

Oh boy, here it comes. I knew it. Things were just too perfect.

“Sure, what is it?”

“I know you’re wondering why I was eating alone.”

“I have to say yes. Knowing all the “whore dogs” on the beach and this beach in particular, including Matt the lifeguard on this stretch, I was wondering why you were dining alone. I know you had to be propositioned at least 10 or 20 times this afternoon. I’m sure you have your reasons and it’s not really any of my business. People always have reasons for what they do. I respect that.”

“Look at me. Don’t you think I have heard every line out there. I was propositioned several times and some of them were very imaginative. I know the type. They have been around me my whole life. They want one thing and when they get it, they’re off to the next conquest. They don’t care about me. I don’t listen to them. I shut them down the moment they start to speak. They eventually backed off. Matt was among them. When he realized where I was coming from, he discouraged the more persistent ones.”

“I can understand your feelings and your desire to be left alone, but a lot of ladies come to the beach in search of male companionship. They want some nice looking guy to lie to them. The really good “whore dogs” are successful 98% of the time. I’m not really sure who is taking advantage of whom.”

“Is that so. 98%? What is your success rate?”

“No where near that.”

“I find that hard to believe?’

“Why?”

“Tanned toned body, sun kissed hair, and drop dead blue eyes? What’s not to like.”

“You are way too kind. Most women don’t look at me that way. So my success rate is not very good.”

She shook her head and said, “The main reason I wasn’t interested in all those other “whore dogs” as you call them, is because I’m a single mom. I have a little girl. She’s 4. It’s just me and her.”

“Her father’s not involved?”

“No. He was my big mistake. He left a long time ago. I have no idea where he is and I don’t care. My parents help out with money, and they watch her some of the time. That’s where she is now. It gives me a break.”

“He’s an idiot.”

“Why do you say that? You don’t anything about me.”

“That’s true but I’m a good judge of people. I’ve been hurt too. I’m pretty sure you’re one of the good ones. So, he’s an idiot.”

“Can I ask one thing of you?”

“Sure.”

“I’m not looking for a boyfriend or a husband. I don’t think you are looking for a girlfriend or a wife. Neither one of us is ready to settle down. There’s too much out there. You know, the stuff around the bend we need to see. I like to travel. I’ve been to a few places, and I want to go to more. I want to do that while I’m young, before my daughter gets to be too much.”

“I understand that. I’ve been traveling most of my life. My dad and I don’t agree on much. He was in the military. You know how that goes, my way or the highway. We never lived longer that 18 months in any place the first 15 years of my life. There is one thing we do agree on and that’s travel. He indoctrinated me in the wonders of visiting new places.”

“So, we have something in common.”

“Yes, that and oysters. My buddy Rat and I are going to Vermont in November. We met a couple that run a surf shop on 17^th street. They do that during the summer and then head north and run a ski shop at Mount Snow in the winter. They’ve been talking up Vermont so we’re going to give it a shot.”

“That sounds like fun.”

“It does. We’ll probably hit some other spots like, New York, or Cape Cod. There’s a lot to see up there.”

“I don’t have very good luck with men. They lie to me and end up hurting me. Since neither one of us is looking for any kind of commitment, will you do me a favor and just be kind to me.”

“Be kind to you?”

“Yes.”

“What makes you think I can do that? What if I’m like all the other guys. Aren’t we all pretty much alike.”

“No, I think you are different. Maybe it’s the magic in those blue eyes. Or maybe it's the magic in the wine I had. It’s a feeling. With you I feel safe.”

“Okay. I’ll do my best to be kind to you. I won’t make any promises I can’t keep, and I won’t lie to you.”

“I see no reason we can’t be kind to each other as we go through this, whatever this is. I have always thought that actions speak louder than words. Words can lie. Actions don’t.”

“I agree. Now can we go get that “ice cold” beer. All this talk has made me quite thirsty. I also want to see if you really know how to dance the “Carolina Bop”. One of the money men behind The Shack is Big George Lineberry. They say he was one of the inventors of the “Carolina Bop”. Most people don’t call it that. They call it the “Shag”, but it’s same dance.

“I could use a beer. Just so you know, I realize this talk of feelings, and such probably has made you very nervous. I will tell you here and now that I will never fall in love with you, so you don’t have to worry.”

“Well, you are making this very difficult for me not to fall in love with you. Just so you know, I have had a couple of young ladies tell me that exact thing in the past. They ended up making that statement into a lie. Fair warning, but it was only a couple.”

“You’re a funny man. How did you end up here in Virginia Beach…” We started our 10 block stroll up to “The Shack” and I told her an abbreviated story of my life. She did the same. We didn’t lie to each other. We didn’t want to.

When we arrived at “The Shack”, Mike, one of the owners was on the door with a couple of his large, ripped bouncers. Mike was pretty buff himself. They all worked out across the street at Wareing’s Gym. Kate had insisted on bringing her I.D. and some money, which she had in a pocket in her dress. I told her that wouldn’t be necessary. She wouldn’t need her I.D. because she was with me. Mike and his bouncers never ID’ed locals or their dates. Also, I had had a good night tip wise, of which she had been a generous part, so she wouldn’t need any money. She said nonsense. She would pay her fair share. I learned a long time ago to not argue with a determined woman.

As we walked in you could tell this was a Beach Bar. I loved this place. It was named “The Shack” so there were rough hewed wood panels on the walls and wood beams on the ceiling. On the left as you entered were two Rene Pierre Foosball tables. I had spent a lot of time and money learning the art of Foosball during the last 2 years. After the tables, a worn wooden bar extended all the way down the left hand side. It was always crowded with glasses and pitchers of beer. The main rule being your glass was the fullest and coldest, if by chance you lost track of your glass.

On the right was a row of church pew booths with tables that had Tiffany lamp shaded lights over them. Even with that the whole place was kind of dark. When Mike and his partner Alfred were putting things together, they didn’t have a lot of money. They got the idea to get their patrons to gather some “attic finds” and hang them on the walls. They were mostly old pictures and things related to the Virginia Beach of the past. There was a large ( 2’ x 3’) black and white picture of the north end of the beach circa 1950 something. I liked it the best. Then there was a pool table, jukebox and a small area where Kate and I managed to dance the Carolina Bop. She was good.

After the jukebox was the restrooms and a small kitchen. To sell beer, you had to sell food. The menu at The Shack was very limited. It consisted of a hamburger, a cheeseburger and a marinated skirt steak, all served with fries. Yes, meat ruled. You could get a salad. It consisted of iceberg lettuce, sliced tomatoes and sliced onion, all the vegetables they served on their burgers. Vinegar and oil was the only dressing. They had a Monday night special every week which was the marinated skirt steak with fries for $5. Rat and I were usually off on Mondays, so we were regulars for this deal.  

It was always crowded with beach locals. There were lifeguards, off-duty waiters, bartenders, cooks, surfers, shop owners and clerks, rich people, poor people, and all in between. They all had bronze skin, insatiable thirsts for ice cold beer at 25 cents a glass, and an appreciation for Beach Music. Mike’s girlfriend Judy was there too. She and another girl, both with golden tans, were paid to hand out free cigarettes on the beach during the day. They walked up and down the beach giving away cigarettes. We were in Virginia (Cigarette Country) and this was back in the day when smoking was an acceptable habit without any restrictions. As with all the beach bars, there was a constant haze of smoke lingering in the air of The Shack. I was never a big smoker, but Rat took full advantage of Judy’s summer job.

Kate and I sat in the back booth and talked. She was a thinker. I like women who think. At closing time, which I think was 1 or 2, Mike’s crew brought out the ammonia. They wiped down everything, tables, bar, walls and floor with strongly infuse ammonia water. A cloud of fumes started in the back of the bar and made its way toward the front door. It was a not too subtle way to tell you, “You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here”. We left.

As we walked east back to the boardwalk, we passed “Eden Alley” and I pointed to a second story window. “When I first moved here I lived up there in an apartment for a year.”

“I see why you became a Shack regular. It was next door.”

“Yes, that helped.”

When we got to the boardwalk, we leaned against the railing and looked out at a perfect scene, clear sky, soft rippling waves and that distinct sound. We took off our shoes and walked down to the water’s edge. It felt great. We started walking on the hard pack toward the Hilton.

“Most people fall in love with the beach on sunny days or clear nights like this. I didn’t. When I first moved here, to that apartment, it was the end of winter. I came out here one cold rainy night. It was pouring and freezing cold…”

“Like your landlord’s heart.”

“Yes. I had on a sweater, a hooded jacket and a pair of boots but I was soaked and cold to the bone. I headed south towards Rudee Inlet walking close to the water. I passed under all the piers and ended up at the inlet. I got up on the rocks. The ocean was raging, the wind was howling and the rain was coming down by the bucketful.

I started walking back. I got about halfway and I realized I was no longer cold and miserable. I was warm and content. It was at that moment I realized I was in love with the beach and I was pretty sure the beach was in love with me. I know I will spend the rest of my life close to the water.”

“It’s nice to find something that makes you happy”, she said.

“Yes, it is.”

We walked the rest of the way to the Hilton in silence. She had her hand in mine. It didn’t feel uncomfortable. It felt natural, the hand and the silence. When we reached the hotel, she turned to me and kissed me on the mouth. It was a soft yet warm kiss. Not saying a word, she took my hand and led me up to her room. That night we were kind to each other.

She came down 3 or 4 other times that summer. I made her stay with me. There was no sense paying those big bucks for a hotel when my apartment was 2 blocks from the beach and I had all the beach equipment you could possible need, chairs, floats, towels, the works. When she came down in August, she asked if she could bring Sophia, her daughter. I thought that was a big step for her. I said of course. Sophia was great and we had a good time. I was up in D.C. in September, and I spent the night with her.

Rat and I left for Vermont in mid-November. We had a lot of adventures up there. Kate and I lost touch. They say timing is everything. The timing was never right for us. I didn’t come back to Virginia Beach that summer. I worked at a small inn outside New Hope, Pennsylvania. The owners had an apartment in New York, so I got to explore the city. I returned to Vermont that winter and worked at a small inn there. It was a year before I got close to D.C. again. I called Kate’s number, but it had been disconnected. She and Sophia had moved on. I hope Kate found what she was looking for. Like the song says, she and Sophia were “two drifters off to see the world. There is such a lot of world to see”. I was one too.

That time I was at her apartment in D.C., after Sophia had gone to sleep, we were dancing the Carolina Bop in the kitchen. The song was “Far Away Places” by the Embers. I looked at Kate and there were tears flowing down her cheeks. I stopped dancing and asked, “Why are you crying?”

She grabbed my hand and said, “Don’t be silly. I’m just happy”.

She was happy and she was crying? I don’t think I will ever understand women. That’s probably why I enjoy their company so much.

"Where's the cat?"

"I don't know."