Exile
Harry’s Hangout
Hours: Opens about an hour after sunrise.
Closes about half an hour before sunset.
What the fuck shit is this? Where am I supposed to get a cup of coffee on this god forsaken island?
I kick a small drift of sand. I look up at the sky. It’s gray and overcast, but the sun is definitely up. I try to think about how long it’s been light. I look at my watch. I woke up 42 minutes ago. It was already light enough to see my room then. It has to be pretty close to an hour by now.
I sit on the steps and think about how I got stuck here.
I’m a quant in the city. I’m very good at it, make a lot of money for my firm, and they pay me well for it. Apparently, some of my co-workers think I’ve been getting agitated more easily with them. Fuck them. They always annoy me. I don’t suffer fools.
But the partners of the firm came and talked to me and insisted that I take two weeks off. Apparently, they were afraid I was facing burnout or something.My assistant planned this trip, asking me only “Beach or mountains?” before handing me plane tickets and telling me it’s a lovely little beach community where I could relax. She didn’t tell me it was an island with only one ferry a day off. The same one that brought me here last night.
And that there’s only one restaurant. And they are only open when Harry isn’t fishing or jerking off or whatever he’s doing when I want my fucking coffee. And no stores to even buy any groceries. Or coffee. And no god damned cell service.
This isn’t relaxation; it’s exile to a gulag somewhere that no one’s ever heard of.
I kick another pile of sand. I don’t know how I’m going to survive two weeks here.
A woman with wind blown hair appears, carrying an easel, paint supplies, and a canvas. She steps past me and opens the door. I assume she came from the beach.
“Were you hoping for breakfast?” she asks.
“And coffee if that’s available on this god forsaken island!”
“Well, I won’t have the kitchen up and running for fifteen minutes, but I can start the coffee as soon as I set this stuff down. You can come in and sit if you want.”
“Do I look comfortable out here?”
She rolls her eyes but I follow her in. She sets her stuff in the corner then goes through a door into the kitchen.
A few minutes later, she comes out with a pot of coffee and fills the cup sitting in front of me. And leaves me in peace to sulk over my coffee.
It’s maybe another ten minutes before she comes back out. Momentarily, she looks at me with a delighted smile. She has swapped out of her paint covered smock for an apron and pulled her hair back, maybe even brushed it. Her face is windblown, but I’m guessing she’s about thirty, my age. She’s not an unattractive woman.
“What would you like for breakfast?”
“What do you have?”
“Pretty much all the diner usuals for breakfast. It’s probably just you today, so eggs are easiest on me, but I can make pancakes or french toast.”
“Do you think you can handle two eggs, over easy, whole wheat toast, lightly buttered, and three slices of crispy bacon?”
“I’ve always managed to do so before,” she snaps back at me. To be honest, I can’t blame her for getting snippy with me.
When she brings out my food, I ask her, “Where do I get groceries around here?”
“Around here? You can’t. Take the ferry across at noon. There’s a general store next to the dock. You have an hour and a half to shop before the ferry departs again at 3:30. Don’t miss the boat or you’re stuck there until tomorrow.”
I guess I’m spending all afternoon on a boat. The eggs are perfectly cooked at least.
After I’ve finished, she comes back to grab my dishes.
“Thanks, that was actually good.”
“Don’t sound so surprised!”
“Well you don’t have any competition, you could have the worst food in the state and it wouldn’t make much difference in your business around here.”
“People do things for reasons other than money.”
“In my world, in the real world, not really.”
She rolls her eyes again and carries my dishes away.
I sit there for about fifteen minutes, waiting for my bill. I finally go up to the kitchen door and knock.
“Whatcha need?”
“The check?”
“I assume you’re paying by credit card?”
I nod.
“How long are you here for?”
“Two long weeks.”
“Then I’ll run a tab. It saves me on credit card fees.”
“What if I stiff you?”
“Are you going to?”
“No, but -”
“Then, I don’t need to worry about it.”
I shake my head in disbelief as I walk away.
Back into the sand, I walk the few hundred yards to my cabin. Every step in this stuff is annoying. I wonder briefly if I should have told Ally ‘mountains’. I laugh to myself. I probably would be caring for a yeti or something right now.
I put on my swim trunks and head straight towards the beach. I walk a little ways on the sand down here. It’s easier going. I look at the water. It’s gray and ominous, not the alluring blue of the Caribbean or the Cote d’Azur. I stick a toe in, but that water is cold. I jerk the toe back out.
Maybe I just need to get used to it.
I stick my whole foot in this time. Fuck, that’s cold. I don’t think that it’s just that I’m not used to it. I think it might be dangerously cold.
Harry, or whatever her name is, sticks her head out the window and yells to me, “Mighty cold for swimming. And there’s a nasty current.”
I take my foot back out of the water and go for a walk on the beach. An hour and a half later, I’m back where I started. I have an hour and a half to kill before the ferry.
I go back to my cabin. I look around, then settle on the porch and sit in the rocking chair. I watch the water for a few minutes. There is no way I’m going to spend two weeks sitting in a fucking rocking chair watching the fucking waves.
How do people live like this? Why would they?
I decide I’m not going to get any food if I don’t eat now, so I head for an early lunch.
“Back so soon?”
“I figured I better get some lunch now because I won’t have a chance later.”
“I’ll be closed by the time you get back, you know.”
“But I will have food I can cook by then.”
“Can you?”
“Can I what?”
“Cook. You said you can cook.”
“Of course I can cook.”
“Lots of rich guys like you can’t. New York, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I grew up there. Hate New Yorkers. Especially rich ones. But how often do you cook?”
“Maybe once or twice a week. I eat out the rest of the time.”
“Wouldn’t change much if you ate out one or two more times a week, would it?”
“No, not really.”
“It’s why I wondered if you could actually cook. You’re in the Potter cabin, right?”
“What’s the Potter cabin?”
“The red one up the beach you came out of. You had to talk to one of the Potters to reserve it.”
“I didn’t talk to anyone. My secretary made all the arrangements. I’m not sure what I did to piss her off like this.”
“If you hate this place so much, what are you doing here? And for two whole weeks?”
“My partners told me I had to take a vacation. They were worried I was burning out. My secretary made all the arrangements to exile me.”
“So, Mister Caruso, what would you like for lunch?”
“What’s the best thing you make?”
“Probably my meatloaf.”
“I’ll have the meatloaf, then. And a cup of coffee.”
“I don’t have any meatloaf.”
“But you said -”
“You asked what was the best thing I make. That’s meatloaf. But I only make it on Wednesdays. There’s usually leftovers on Thursday, sometimes all the way through to Saturday, offseason like now. But not today as it turns out.”
“Okay, if you want to play that game, what’s the best thing you can make me for lunch today?”
“How about a bacon cheeseburger and fries?”
“Fine, I’ll have that.”
“Lettuce, tomato, onions and pickles?”
“Just lettuce and tomato. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
When she brings out my lunch, I ask, “Are you Harry?”
“That’s a rather personal question to ask isn’t it? I don’t shave all the time and I’m not telling you where.”
It’s my turn to roll my eyes. I point to the sign that says Harry’s Hangout.
“No, that Harry was my grandfather.”
“What should I call you?”
“You can call me Katherine.”
“Is that your name or is this another meatloaf joke?”
“That’s my name.”
She turns and walks back into the kitchen to do whatever she does in there. On the six days a week she does not cook meatloaf.
Just as I finish my burger, an elderly couple walk in. Katherine calls out, “Hi Sally. Hi Tom. Usuals?”
“Of course.”
A minute later she’s setting down two glasses. I guess an iced tea and a diet cola. She asks if I’m done with my dishes. I nod and she clears them.
Sally turns to me and says, “Staying long?”
“I’m here for two weeks in the Potter cabin,” I reply.
Tom says, “That’s probably the nicest cabin here.”
I hear a boat horn and look at my watch. Time to hurry to the boat dock.
As I leave, I hear Tom asking Katherine, “Didn’t know he needed to bring groceries, did he?”
On the boat ride over, I try to think carefully about what I need at the store. I sure as hell don’t want to make this trip an extra time. And then I think about what I’m going to do with myself. I guess I will look for a couple of books at the store.
At least I don’t get seasick.
As I consider my menu, I realize I can only realistically buy two bags worth of groceries. So I need to plan more carefully. I decide I will need to make one more trip late this week to get me through the two weeks. I will probably eat lunch from Katherine every day and some breakfasts. But I need to be able to feed myself dinner every night.
I can’t get anything frozen and have it make it back for the two hour ride. One of the other two passengers has a cooler. I’d originally assumed it was for a picnic or something, but now I bet he’s going shopping.
The general store itself is pretty small, but I manage to find enough to cover my needs. It does not take anywhere near ninety minutes to shop, so I sit on the bench near the dock and get my phone out. I have bars! I check on my texts and my mail.
My assistant Ally had sent me a text checking that I’d made it. I reply:
Safe and going off my rocker Back on mainland briefly for groceries Why did you do this to me?
The ferry horn sounds and I get back on. Sure enough, the passenger with the cooler is back on, with four bags in a cart as well.
Our third passenger from the trip to the mainland doesn’t return, but there is a young couple carrying some small suitcases. Honeymooners, I’m guessing. They can’t keep their hands off each other.
