Randal Kramer zigzagged past street walkers, vendors and the occasional busker as the afternoon sun burned his neck. At a crosswalk as he waited for the light he saw the sign hanging over a door. It read, “The Pink Seahorse.” The paint was chipping and the lettering was begging to fad from the unforgiving sun. The chain supporting the sign was pitted and rusting from the salt air. The door beneath the sign had been painted to look like a bulkhead door on a big ship. There was an actual wheel fixed to the center of the door. To the right of the wheel was a conventional doorknob. Randal turned the knob an walked inside. He stood in the darkened bar for a moment letting his eyes adjust. Out of the darkness emerged the image of a long bar with a couple guys drinking beer at the far end. There was a row of empty tables against the wall. Not much business this time of day, he thought. The juke box sat unused. The only sounds were the humming of the beer coolers and some muffled conversation. Randal took a seat at one end of the bar as far as he could get from the other two patrons. He lit a cigarette.
The place had a nautical theme. Behind the cash register was a busty woman carved in wood and painted with red lips and golden yellow hair. She had once been on the bow of a ship, Randal thought. There were nautical artifacts everywhere. Someone had painted pink seahorses around the border of the mirrors. The place had a salty smell. But everything smells salty in Miami.
Randal ordered a draft beer. The bartender seemed friendly but didn't try to make conversation. “I'll remember this place,” Randal thought. “Nice and quiet.” He sipped his beer and thought about moving to Atlanta. He once had a wife in Atlanta. Her name was Rose. Rose from Atlanta. So... Randal was thinking about Rose from Atlanta when he smelled a most delicious perfume. She was sitting to his right, going through her purse. She seemed to have come out of nowhere. A cigarette hung from her mouth. Randal assumed she was searching for a lighter. He snapped his to life and held it to her cigarette.
“Thanks,” she said in a voice hardened by too much of everything, “I haven't seen you around here before.” Randal was thankful for the subdued lighting. It makes everyone look better. She looked good, but he tried not to look too close. “My first time here,” he said. “Can I buy you a drink?” The bartender came over with her drink already made.
“This gentleman just bought me a drink Andy,” she said. He looked at Randal for conformation. Randal nodded and ordered another beer. They sat there drinking and not talking for a few moments, then she said, “I've got a prehensile tail.”
Randal looked at her.
“A what?”
She lifted her blouse in the back and lowered the waistband of her skirt. A tiny bulb of flesh protruded from the end of her tailbone. It looked like a Vienna sausage. She could make it wag like a happy little doggie tail. Randal was horrified at the sight of this.
“My God! Why don't you get that thing cut off?” he said. “
“Why don't you get your pecker cut off?” She picked up her drink took a long sip.
“At least my pecker has a purpose.”
She took a drag off her cigarette and blew smoke high into the air. “Yeah. What purpose is that? Can you pick a lock with it, or use it to roll out pie dough?”
Randal turned on his stool until he was facing her. She was holding her cigarette between her thumb and index finger the way he had seen Germans do. "What kind of cigarettes are you smoking?" Randal asked. "I don't recognize that brand."
"They're from China." she said. "And they taste like shit. You want one." Randal picked up the pack and looked at the green lettering on a red background. "Can you read Chinese?"
"I think it says, Not For Human Consumption." She laughed at her own joke and turned slightly on her stool so her leg pressed against Randal's. He lit one of her Chinese cigarettes and made a face like he had just inhaled burnt cat hair.
"You were right. These things taste like shit. Why do you smoke them? "
He took another drag. "Christ! The second drag tastes worse that the first. He took a sip of beer and swished it around in his mouth to try and wash away the taste.He crushed out the Chinese cigarette and lit one of his own.
"Here. You want one of mine?" he said.
"I thought you'd never ask." She took one of Randal's and he held his lighter to it. She inhaled deeply.
"Much better."
"Ive got a bottle of scotch at my place," he said.
"Do you have glasses?"
"Do I have glasses? What kind of question is that. I have glasses and ice and chairs and a picture of a bull fighter and an indoor toilet."
"I knew when I first saw you you were a man of means."
Randal signaled the bartender for the tab and they were out of the bar, walking in the noonday heat to Randal's place.
"What kind of chairs do you have?" she said.
"The kind with four legs."
She laughed a sandpaper laugh followed by a cough.
"You've gotta quite those Chinese cigarettes." Randal said.
A car screeched to a halt in the street. Randal turned to see what was going on. When he turned back she was walking ahead of him. He could see her tiny prehensile tail bulging under her skirt. It was wagging back and forth as she walked. “I guess she's happy,” Randal thought, and he followed her up the street.