"You okay back there?" I check my rear view mirror.
Max is contentedly snacking on the bag of parrot seed Khost gave me. He lets out an affirmative squawk.
"So how come you don't live in a cage like all the other parrots?" I ask. Max spits a sunflower seed shell in my direction.
"Hey!" I say, laughing. I decide to create a new mix on the fly (no pun intended). Parrot Mix #1:
(1) Julieta Venegas, "Primer Dia,"
(2) Iron & Wine, "Bird Stealing Bread,"
(3) The Killers, "When You Were Young."
For some reason, I start to really miss my family. I haven't seen my parents in a long time, even though we live in the same city. They must think I'm busy slaving away for the Queen Conch.
I dial my mom's cell and get a cheerful "Hi, I'm not here right now..." That's right, mom left me a message a few days ago saying she and dad would be in Maine for a couple of weeks. I hang up before leaving a voicemail.
"Go," says Max, interrupting my thoughts.
"Go? That's a nice way to talk to your new friend."
"Go," says Max, more urgently. "Go!"
I turn around to yell at Max and my eyes focus on the rear view. Behind us is a silver Bentley with dark tinted windows. The driver hits the gas so he's right on our tail. I speed up a little and he follows. The front passenger rolls down his (or her?) window and leans out, pointing a shotgun in our direction.
"Right." I step on the gas. My Camry's not so excited to pretend it's a sports car, but it grumpily complies.
We spin around Cocoplum Circle, dodging honking drivers. Because this is Miami, no one notices the Bentley's gun or my backseat parrot fluttering around. We're just another couple of bad Miami drivers.
"Max, could ya settle down?" I'm trying to zip around a Hummer. I can hear Bottle #3 rolling around the front seat. I try to grab the bottle, but it rolls away.
I can see another obstacle: traffic. I honk, but the woman in front of me is eating an ice cream cone. Every driver in Miami is either on her cell or eating ice cream. It's amazing.
The Bentley catches up, close enough to take a good shot. In fact, I think I can hear Puccini blasting from the car's speakers. The bullet shatters my right side view mirror. I instinctively duck.
"Hold on." I turn my steering wheel sharply to the right, towards a side street.
Behind me, I hear the crunch of metal and glass as the Bentley rear-ends the ice cream lady. She stumbles out of her car cursing in Spanish.
Heart pounding, I turn onto the side street and head the back way to my building.
I check behind me as we pull into my garage. Coast is clear.
Ralph, the doorman, doesn't bat an eye as Max and I head to the elevators. Like it's perfectly normal to be walking around with a parrot on one's shoulder.
I'm about to open my door when I notice a heart-shaped envelope taped under the peep hole. My hands are still shaking, so it takes me a couple of minutes to open it.
It's an invitation. To a book signing: Men, Mojitos, & Song. There's a hand-written note attached.
"She's over it. The dress, that is. Be there: Tomorrow. 7 p.m. sharp. There's work to be done. Eva."
The Queen's book signing. I'd completely forgotten.
I throw my keys in a ceramic frog bowl and collapse on the couch, staring at the invitation. I look at Max, making himself at home on my loveseat.
"I can't go. I made a deal. I'm Khost's assistant now." Max looks at me. "Of course, this was before people started shooting at me."
I reach under my couch and pull out a rusty metal box with a drawing of a falcon taped to its cover.
I take out a broken compass, an old journal, and a map of the Everglades. Beneath the map is a picture of Rafe and me, taken a long time ago. I'm looking up at him, as if I'm afraid if I look directly at the camera, he'll disappear.
There's a smaller box inside the falcon box. I open the smaller inlaid box and take out a shiny red box of matches, turn it over in my hands, then quickly return it to its box.
I hold Bottle #3 up to the artificial light, so that the light reflects off the facets of the heart-shaped shell insignia.
Ponce de Leon's first point. Hidden for centuries. If Juan's right -- and this is the first of three keys to unlocking the Fountain...how many people have been willing to kill for this?
I place Bottle #3 gently in the falcon box, then the odds and ends.
I've made up my mind. I start to toss the invitation, but before it hits the trash, Max flies over and catches it in mid-air. He drops it back on my lap.
"Okay," I say. "I'm Khost's assistant. But maybe Eva doesn't have to know."
"So how come you don't live in a cage like all the other parrots?" I ask. Max spits a sunflower seed shell in my direction.
"Hey!" I say, laughing. I decide to create a new mix on the fly (no pun intended). Parrot Mix #1:
(1) Julieta Venegas, "Primer Dia,"
(2) Iron & Wine, "Bird Stealing Bread,"
(3) The Killers, "When You Were Young."
For some reason, I start to really miss my family. I haven't seen my parents in a long time, even though we live in the same city. They must think I'm busy slaving away for the Queen Conch.
I dial my mom's cell and get a cheerful "Hi, I'm not here right now..." That's right, mom left me a message a few days ago saying she and dad would be in Maine for a couple of weeks. I hang up before leaving a voicemail.
"Go," says Max, interrupting my thoughts.
"Go? That's a nice way to talk to your new friend."
"Go," says Max, more urgently. "Go!"
I turn around to yell at Max and my eyes focus on the rear view. Behind us is a silver Bentley with dark tinted windows. The driver hits the gas so he's right on our tail. I speed up a little and he follows. The front passenger rolls down his (or her?) window and leans out, pointing a shotgun in our direction.
"Right." I step on the gas. My Camry's not so excited to pretend it's a sports car, but it grumpily complies.
We spin around Cocoplum Circle, dodging honking drivers. Because this is Miami, no one notices the Bentley's gun or my backseat parrot fluttering around. We're just another couple of bad Miami drivers.
"Max, could ya settle down?" I'm trying to zip around a Hummer. I can hear Bottle #3 rolling around the front seat. I try to grab the bottle, but it rolls away.
I can see another obstacle: traffic. I honk, but the woman in front of me is eating an ice cream cone. Every driver in Miami is either on her cell or eating ice cream. It's amazing.
The Bentley catches up, close enough to take a good shot. In fact, I think I can hear Puccini blasting from the car's speakers. The bullet shatters my right side view mirror. I instinctively duck.
"Hold on." I turn my steering wheel sharply to the right, towards a side street.
Behind me, I hear the crunch of metal and glass as the Bentley rear-ends the ice cream lady. She stumbles out of her car cursing in Spanish.
Heart pounding, I turn onto the side street and head the back way to my building.
I check behind me as we pull into my garage. Coast is clear.
Ralph, the doorman, doesn't bat an eye as Max and I head to the elevators. Like it's perfectly normal to be walking around with a parrot on one's shoulder.
I'm about to open my door when I notice a heart-shaped envelope taped under the peep hole. My hands are still shaking, so it takes me a couple of minutes to open it.
It's an invitation. To a book signing: Men, Mojitos, & Song. There's a hand-written note attached.
"She's over it. The dress, that is. Be there: Tomorrow. 7 p.m. sharp. There's work to be done. Eva."
The Queen's book signing. I'd completely forgotten.
I throw my keys in a ceramic frog bowl and collapse on the couch, staring at the invitation. I look at Max, making himself at home on my loveseat.
"I can't go. I made a deal. I'm Khost's assistant now." Max looks at me. "Of course, this was before people started shooting at me."
I reach under my couch and pull out a rusty metal box with a drawing of a falcon taped to its cover.
I take out a broken compass, an old journal, and a map of the Everglades. Beneath the map is a picture of Rafe and me, taken a long time ago. I'm looking up at him, as if I'm afraid if I look directly at the camera, he'll disappear.
There's a smaller box inside the falcon box. I open the smaller inlaid box and take out a shiny red box of matches, turn it over in my hands, then quickly return it to its box.
I hold Bottle #3 up to the artificial light, so that the light reflects off the facets of the heart-shaped shell insignia.
Ponce de Leon's first point. Hidden for centuries. If Juan's right -- and this is the first of three keys to unlocking the Fountain...how many people have been willing to kill for this?
I place Bottle #3 gently in the falcon box, then the odds and ends.
I've made up my mind. I start to toss the invitation, but before it hits the trash, Max flies over and catches it in mid-air. He drops it back on my lap.
"Okay," I say. "I'm Khost's assistant. But maybe Eva doesn't have to know."
4 comments:
icecream and cell phones.... yes, amazing!
We met at the Starbucks on Sunset Strip! Lovely, lovely work. I'll be checking back for more, but keep it up!
Hey Nikki- Great work, how's florida?
Hi anonymous,
I'm not sure who this Nikki person is -- but more importantly, who are you? Florida's been pretty strange, as you can tell from my latest entries...and I suspect it's going to keep getting stranger...
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