CHAPTER 26
"Great article," Sara said, turning to Kate. "Anyone pilloried you for it yet?"
"I just got here."
"That explains it. Well, keep me informed. We both know, it's gonna rattle a few cages. Oops, speak of the Devil!" She nodded toward a small group of people a few feet away. "Clive Barrows and company. Or should I say, Defenders of Paradise?" Chuckling gleefully, she whispered, "Uh, oh. Lock and load." Sara might thrive on conflict, but Kate was not amused as Clive peeled away from his cronies and headed towards them. But, it seemed he had no desire for a dogfight.
He wore his usual costume, black, with the addition of a cumberband in a tropical pattern, and held a fat Cuban stogie in his hand. He used it for emphasis as he spoke. "Wonderful party," he told Sara. "The food is terrific, the museum looks wonderful. And the guests, well, seems to me everyone is here. The real A-list. Miss Deebs, you've certainly outdone yourself."
Then he greeted Kate, just as polite as though she'd never written the article or he hadn't read it— when she knew he must have. "And how is everything going with you, Miss Anderson? I enjoyed our little chat the other day," he added, without a trace of irony. "You look marvelous, like you're having a real swell time."
Kate smiled and assured him she was, clinging to small talk and artifice. "It's a wonderful party. I don't know how you manage it, Sara."
Sara put her hands on her hips and looked prissy. "Don't know how I manage? Excuse me, have we met?"
Clive and Kate both laughed, then settled down for some more small talk, about the party and food and people. A few minutes later, Clive saw someone signaling to him and excused himself.
"There, that wasn't so bad, now, was it?" Sara teased when Clive was well out of ear shot. "I'd say he was pretty politic. The man's a charmer, a consummate politician. Didn't let you feel the slightest rancor, though I bet he's burning up. We both know he couldn't have missed your article. I have to hand it to the Rev, he's veddy veddy suave. Wouldn't you agree?"
"It's not as though I said anything detrimental about the League," Kate began, defensively. "All I did was . . ."
Sara interrupted. "Yeah. Right. Nothing at all that would get his back up . . ."
Before she could elaborate, Diane and Everett ambled by. Thinking they hadn't seen her, Kate called out to them. Diane just kept on walking, but Everett hesitated. "You guys," Kate called, raising her voice. "Diane, Everett." This time Everett turned slightly and glanced in her direction, but Diane grabbed him and propelled him forward. Kate stood there non-plussed and stared after them.
"Your first snub and I was there to witness it." Sara laughed. "This is getting better and better."
"Hey, it isn't funny. They're my friends."
"WERE your friends, from what I just witnessed. I told you that piece'd make you persona non grata in certain circles. Don't act so surprised. Aren't Diane and her hubby what I'd call orthodox earthies? They're pretty active in Last Gasp? They probably support everything you're finding fault with."
"I guess," Kate said. She had been expecting some reactions. But, Kate and Everett. That stung.
A stentorian voice broke into her thoughts. "Loved your article. It was really first rate." Gideon Emerson strutted up in a white linen suit, white-on-white shirt, Panama hat and a bright turquoise tie. He was even wearing brown-and-white oxfords.
"Gideon Emerson, you are a hoot! Love the Tom Wolfe look. Where'd you get those shoes? Yeah, wasn't the article ballsy?" Sara said, presenting a cheek for a kiss.
Gideon turned to Kate and hugged her. "It certainly was. There's definitely a buzz."
"Oh, yeah. We know that. People are already giving her the cold shoulder, I told her . . ."
". . . that just shows you're on the right track. You struck a nerve. My dear, the piece was stunning. Just keep up the good work, you'll flush these cads from the trees."
"On that note, I really must excuse myself and play the hostess," Sara said, spotting two board members headed her way. "Take care of Brenda Starr here, Gideon. You can start by refreshing her drink."
When Kate got home, it was well after midnight. She was exhausted, but elated. The evening had really been great. She opened the door for Bruiser, then stood on the porch enjoying the silence while he did his business. Back inside, she was surprised to see there were three messages on her answering machine. Curiosity got the better of her, so instead of waiting for the morning, as she'd usually do, she sat down at her desk and listened to them. That turned out to be a mistake.
They were all from people who wanted to criticize her `Defenders of the Environment' piece. The first was from Marie St. Claire, a Key West dowager who was president of the Women's Club. "Don't you know all the work it took to protect the environment here? How could you jeopardize all that we've done?" The message ended with the sound of a receiver being slammed down. The next was from a woman Kate knew who said she was "disappointed" at what she'd written, would she please call so she could open Kate's eyes. Kate didn't think so. She erased each of them in turn and played the third. It was just as bad.
The negativity in the messages dispelled all the good feeling from the party and left Kate feeling anxious. Before she went up to bed, she went around checking all the doors and windows to make sure they were locked, something she never bothered to do.
Although she was certainly tired, it took some time for her to fall asleep and she slept fitfully. Every little creak or stir woke her. By five, when it was beginning to get light and she could make out pink patches in the pale blue sky out her window, she found herself wide awake but tired. She dragged out of bed and went downstairs to fix coffee, mainly to put an end to the racing thoughts that had kept her awake most of the night. She'd certainly opened a Pandora's box with her story; she couldn't help wondering where it was going to lead.
Sam felt relief when he'd turned off U.S. 1 onto the meandering Card Sound Road, a rugged little byway that cut through the swamp at the edge of the Atlantic, right at the top of the Keys. He slowed down and drew a deep breath, opening his windows wide and cranking up the country/western station he'd been listening to.
Still two hours and some ninety miles away from his destination, he'd spotted three hand-scrawled signs in quick succession. Tacked on trees, they seemed to him the quintessential essence of the Keys. `Fishing Guide 4-hire' `Yum Yum Yum, LIVE blue crabs.' `When you get to the Kingdom, will God remember You?'
He stopped for a quick jolt of Keys' culture a little further down, at Alabama Jack's where he bolted some clams and downed a cold one.
Sam made it down to Big Pine before it was fully dark. On the last half hour of the drive, he was racing the sun as it made its descent over the ocean. When he took the turn onto Key Deer Boulevard, he found himself driving straight into one of those spectacular Keys sunsets the tourists applaud down on Mallory Square. It seemed a harbinger of better times.
He experienced relief big time pulling into the driveway of his uncle's little concrete black with its overgrown grass and palm trees. Sam got out of the car, stretched, then made his way out back where he found the key just where it was supposed to be— in an old Cuban coffee can tucked away in the shed. Another harbinger, he decided. Getting better all the time.
The next morning, he got up the second he regained consciousness, too excited at the moist heat and the birdsongs to linger in bed. He thought it was the crack of dawn, but a glance at his watch on the bedside table told him different: it was already after ten. He threw on some jeans and a tee-shirt and walked outside to the edge of the property, a thin stretch of sand that fell into the ocean. Little birds were running back and forth in the surf, some gulls were wheeling around overhead, mewing, there was a gentle slap of waves and the musical sound of wind in the grasses— all of it a balm to his admittedly messed up existence.
Hearing a sound of something coming rustling through the mangroves, Sam turned and found himself face to face with a tiny silvery deer. The creature wasn't the least bit perturbed encountering a human, it just turned its soft eyes and gazed at him. This place was just too damned idyllic to be true.
Sam took a deep breath of salty sea air and realized he was famished. He'd hardly eaten at all yesterday, what he wanted now was a real down home Southern breakfast. He remembered a greasy spoon Cuban diner in a little strip mall right off Key Deer Boulevard. A big Cuban breakfast would do just fine. Afterwards he could get some groceries at the Winn Dixie next door.
Ten minutes later, he parked in the lot and went inside. The place was exactly as he remembered, hot and unventilated and noisy, packed with regulars. Comforted by the atmosphere and the good smells, Sam sat down at the bar and ordered the works, grits and eggs and bacon and Cuban toast. The waitress sloshed some industrial strength coffee into a mug and pushed it toward him.
Waiting for his meal, Sam sipped the con leche and scanned a day old copy of the Miami News he found sitting on the counter. A story about some excesses in the land conservation movement caught his eye. He tore it out and stuck it in his pocket, thinking it might lead him to something fresh, something that could buy him a little more time. He already could tell it was going to be hard for him to leave.
To be continued next week.
Willing Seller is a work of fiction. The events and characters portrayed are imaginary. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is coincidental.
Ellen Sugarman's writing has appeared in publications such as Newsday, Time, Vogue, Ms., Penthouse, New York Times Magazine, the San Francisco Chronicle, the Chicago Sun Times, and the Miami Herald's Tropic Magazine.
As a freelance television producer, she has worked with ABC, Fox News, A&E and the BBC.
Several years ago, she produced a segment on environmental terrorism in the Florida Keys for ABC's 20/20. Although scheduled to run several times, the show was ultimately killed, reportedly because of pressure from the Nature Conservancy.
The program did air in the Keys, however, after activist Peter Anderson was able to obtain a videotape of the show and paid for time to run it on local cable television.
Among a number of shocking revelations, the program documents that State Attorney Kirk Zuelch, while a member of the local Nature Conservancy board, offered to drop charges against property owners accused of environmental crimes if they would sell or give their land to the Nature Conservancy. Zuelch quickly resigned from the Nature Conservancy board after he was interviewed by 20/20.
Anderson encouraged viewers to tape the show when it ran on local TV. If you want to see this show, KWTN has a couple of loaner copies. Info: 292-2108.