The Two-Bear Mambo

'That's hard to believe, being the fine specimen of gay man­hood that I am.'

'I know, but it's true. I also know we get sideways with one another, tomorrow, next day, everything's gonna be okay. You'll be there if I need you.'

'You know, Hap, you've never sent me a valentine.'

'Fuck you.'

There was really very little to do with the rest of the day, and I was tired from the night before, so I went to the bedroom and got the remaining two blankets and lay down on the bed, but the odor of dog piss was too overwhelming. I flipped the mat­tress and there was the smell of Chanel No. 5.

Florida.

My head filled with her. Soft and dark and smart and sexy. I almost coveted the dog pee side. I lay there with the blankets over me, a thin pillow beneath my head, looked at the ceiling, picked out water spots, and listened to Leonard hum Country's Greatest Hits. He did that sometimes when he couldn't sleep, hummed tunes. Maybe that's why Raul left him. That and no re­spect for Gilligan's Island.

Eventually the water spots darkened into one large shadow as the gloomy afternoon became early evening. Leonard's humming became spaced, starting to drift off.

My eyes began to fill with tears then, and I can't honestly say if the tears were for Florida or for me. I had lost her and I wanted her back, and I knew that wasn't going to happen, no matter what. I knew I should think of her and what might have happened to her, harness some new game plan for finding her, but I lay there instead and felt sorry for myself, and was angry, because some part of me was enjoying the sorrow, and maybe, just maybe, there was a bad part of me that barked and howled and said, 'See what happens you leave me, baby? You die.'

Oh, God, Florida.

Don't be dead.

And then somewhere between all that and the sweet and over­whelming smell of Chanel No. 5, and Leonard slow-humming 'Walkin’ the Floor Over You,' I dropped off.

The rain and wind beat and lashed the trailer and I could feel Florida beside me, and she was sweet with the scent of Chanel No. 5, and I reached to hold her, but couldn't. She was as insub­stantial as the shadows, and then I opened my eyes from the dream, and there she stood at the end of the bed, looking down at me. It was dark in there, but somehow I could see. I could see she was naked. She stood like some kind of harpy, her legs bent, her body leaning forward, her fine breasts swaying down, the nipples taut with the cold. Her hair glistened red with East Texas clay, and her lithe body was slick with it. Chunks of clay clung to her pubic thatch like dirt dauber nests.

Then I realized not all the red was clay. Her head had a split in it, and some of the red that ran from her mound and down the inside of her thigh wasn't slick clay at all.

I tried to get up but couldn't. She leaned farther forward and reached for me. I didn't like the way her eyes looked. They looked cold and lifeless, like those of a fish in an ice chest.

She opened her mouth, and clay fell out. She said, 'Hap, you got to help me.'

'I will, Florida. I will. God, we thought you were dead.'

She laughed and clay sprayed from her mouth as if from a nozzle.

Then I came awake, sat bolt upright, and there was Leonard

sitting on the edge of the sagging bed. He reached out and touched my shoulder.

'It's okay, man,' he said. 'It's all right. Get your shit to­gether.'

I sat up in bed and pushed my back to the wall. 'Damn,' I said. 'I thought I saw Florida.'

'I know. You called her name about a half-dozen times. Woke me up. You all right, buddy?'

'Yeah. What time is it?'

'I don't know. Not too late.'

'God almighty, I swear, that was as real a dream as I've ever had . . . Leonard, she's dead, man. She was all covered in clay, like she'd been buried.'

'She's dead because you saw her dead in a dream? That don't mean nothing.'

'She's dead because she is. Way dreams work is they put to­gether what you know. She's somewhere dead and buried, and you know it.'

'You don't know nothing.'

'Yeah. Well tell me, what do you think?'

'All right. I think she's dead. I don't think she drove up here and just dropped off the face of the earth. No one has seen her in a while. Last stop was here. Not like there's lots of places to stay in Grovetown, so I don't think she's around. It don't look good, Hap.'

'Yeah.'

'Thing is, this is all just how I feel. It isn't worth anything.'

'So what now?'

'We came up here to find her, and we will. Dead or alive. First thing to do though, is tomorrow morning, call Hanson or Charlie. See they've heard anything from her. She may be back in LaBorde, and if so, Hanson probably hasn't even told her we're looking for her. He's too busy making up with her, layin' pipe.'

'No, Leonard. He wouldn't do that. She's like a daughter to him. Remember.'

'Yeah, right. I forgot.'