Blackfoot Affair Part 12

"Good idea."

He signaled the waiter, told the astonished man that they were going, and left a ten dollar bill for their drinks. When they were back outside in the neon moonlight, their eyes met and they chuckled conspiratorially.

"There's a sandwich place down the street with sawdust on the floor," Jack said.

"That sounds about right."

"Do you want to walk?"

"Sure. But can the boat stay where it is?"

"It's a shared marina, the dock serves all these businesses. Unless the maitre d' runs out and sinks it for spite, it will be okay."

"We're a tad overdressed for sandwiches."

"Let 'em stare." Jack offered his hand and Marisa took it. They walked out into the street.

"You've managed to get around since you've been in Florida," Marisa commented.

"I always get around," he replied.

"I guess your work takes you everywhere."

"Pretty much."

"Do you like that, traveling all the time?"

He looked over at her. "It has its advantages."

"Meeting lots of people?"

"Meeting people like you."

"Women, you mean?"

His gaze narrowed. "Is this a trap, counselor?"

"I just wanted to know, that's all."

"Why?"

"Something tells me that the experience you're having with me is not uncommon for you."

He stopped walking. "The experience I'm having with you?" he said coolly.

"Well, you know..." Marisa began, backpedaling.

"I haven't had this 'experience' before, Marisa," he said flatly.

"I put it badly."

"I would say so."

"I'm not very good at this," she admitted.

"What?"

"Talking to men."

"Tell that to Ben Brady. He still bears the scars."

"You know what I mean. Talking to men in a social situation."

"You're all business, eh?" he said.

"Usually."

"Well, Ms. Hanc.o.c.k, that is about to change." They arrived at the luncheonette and he put his arm above her head to push the door open for them.

The room was filled with locals, who turned and stared at them blankly. Everyone was dressed casually and a haze of cigarette smoke hung in the air, which was heavily permeated with the yeasty smell of beer. Dead silence prevailed as they became the focus of all eyes. Marisa felt as if she were wearing a bridal gown at a funeral.

"So, I guess everybody knows we're here," Jack said in a low tone in Marisa's ear.

"That's my guess, too."

A waitress approached, removing a pencil from behind her ear and examining them with interest. "Y'all comin' from a party?" she asked.

"You might say that," Jack replied.

"Dint they feed you theyah?"

"Not much."

"Then ya come to the raght place. Fallah me." They trailed in her wake to a back table which looked out over the water. A dilapidated dock sported a raft of fishing poles propped in place and a much abused rubber dinghy bobbing at anchor.

"Wonderful ambience," Jack said to Marisa.

"Whut's thayat?" the waitress inquired.

"Good food here," Jack said.

"Ya got that raght," she said. "Somethin' ta drink?"

"Iced tea," Marisa replied.

"Make that two," Jack said.

"Gotcha," the waitress said and ambled away.

"Menus?" Jack called after her.

"On the board," she sang and jerked her thumb in the direction of a chalkboard to their left.

"The caviar starting to look a little better?" Jack said to Marisa, grinning.

"What's a 'toad in the hole'?" Marisa asked, craning her neck to read.

"G.o.d knows. What's 'redeye gravy'? I'm afraid to ask."

"I like your idea. Let's get hamburgers. Everybody knows what a hamburger is."

"I wouldn't count on it."

The waitress returned with their tea.

"Well?" she said, her hands on her hips, surveying Jack with undisguised l.u.s.t.

"Two burgers please, rare for me and..." he looked at Marisa.

"Medium well," Marisa said.

"Pickle?" the waitress said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Ya'll want a pickle with thayat?"

"No, thank you," Marisa said.

"Slaw relish?" the waitress said.

"No."

"Grits?" she went on, shifting her feet.

Marisa looked at Jack, who was trying hard not to laugh.

"Chips?" the waitress said. "No estra chahge."

"Just the burgers," Jack said in a strangled voice.

"Gotcha." She drifted off, humming.

Jack collapsed in soundless laughter.

"Is this what the tourist guides mean by 'local color'?" Marisa asked, giggling.

"I think this is it. Should we go?"

"Let's stick it out," Marisa said. "If I walk out of two places in one night it will make me think I'm difficult to please."

"We could always go back to the hotel if you want."

"Oh, no," Marisa said, looking past him.

"What?"

"She sings, too."

Jack followed the direction of Marisa's gaze. Their waitress was ascending a small platform at the front of the room with a guitar around her neck.

"I hope she put our order in first," Jack said.

The waitress launched into a rendition of "The Midnight Special" that was evidently a favorite with the audience. She was actually quite a good singer, and when the food came it was even better. The waitress' set was followed by a three-piece band playing ballads.

"Do you want to dance?" Jack said.

Marisa abandoned her half eaten hamburger and joined him on the dance floor. When she stepped into his arms it felt as if she were coming home. He smelled of soap and starch and salt water from his dip. As the music went on they drew closer and moved less, until they were almost standing still in a fixed embrace.

They listened to "Unchained Melody" and "Mona Lisa" and "Moon River," Marisa's head resting on Jack's shoulder, before the waitress marched up to them and tapped Jack imperiously.

"Will y'all be wantin' anythin' else?" she said.

"No, thank you," Jack said, as Marisa stood silently within the circle of his arms.

The waitress ripped a sheet off her pink check pad and handed it to him, then stalked away.

"Was that a hint, do you think?" Jack asked Marisa, grinning down at her.

"I think she wants us to pay up and leave," Marisa said.

He glanced at his watch. "It's eleven o'clock."

"They must be closing."

The band launched into "Good Night Ladies."

"That's definitely a hint," Jack said dryly.

Jack paid the check and they wandered out into the crystalline, chilly air.

"What a glorious night," Marisa said.

"Are you cold?" Jack asked.

"A little."

"Want my jacket?"