“Katie, I do not sing-”
“It will be fine,” Katie assured her. As she walked back to check on the state of her customers, Katie turned to Bartholomew. “Hush until I’m done here tonight, do you hear me? What fun will you have if they lock me up for insanity?”
“Here? In modern-day Key West? Oh, posh. I’ve yet to see an even semisane person living in or visiting the place,” Bartholomew protested.
“Shut up now, and I mean it!” Katie warned.
Of course, what she could possibly do to him-how to really threaten a ghost-she didn’t know herself. She’d been plagued for years and years by…whatever it was that allowed her to see those who had “crossed the veil into the light,” as many seemed to term it.
Bartholomew sniffed indignantly and went to lean against the bar, his sense of humor returning as he crossed his arms over his chest and indulged in eavesdropping on everyone around him.
Soon after, Marty went up to do his new song, the crowd, a mix of locals and tourists, went wild and he invited everyone down for Fantasy Fest. Someone asked him about Fantasy Fest and Marty explained that it was kind of like Mardi Gras-a king and queen were elected-and kind of like Halloween, and kind of like the biggest, wildest party anyone could think of. Costumes, parties and special events all around the city. There was a parade with dressed up pets-and undressed people in body paint. It was fabulous, a feast and pure fantasy for the heart and the imagination.
He was proud of himself for his explanation. The next person asked about Pirates in Paradise, and Marty looked troubled. After thinking he said that it was kind of like Fantasy Fest but not-there were pirate parties, pirate encampments, historical demonstrations-and heck, a lot of swaggering and grog drinking, but people were welcome to wear costumes. They could see a mock trial of Anne Bonny, they could learn so much-and run around, saying arrgh, avast and ahoy all day if they liked.
When the crowd finally began to thin around 3:00 a.m., Katie and Clarinda did a song together from Jekyll and Hyde, despite Clarinda’s objections. Her friend had a lovely, strong voice but didn’t believe it; she would only go up late at night and when it was fairly quiet, and only with Katie.
The bar didn’t close up until 4:00 a.m., but Katie ended her karaoke at three, giving folks time to finish up and pay their bar tabs. After she had secured her equipment for the night-she only had to see that the karaoke computer and all her amps were covered and that her good microphones were locked away-she was ready to head home and to sleep. Clarinda stopped her at the door. “Hey, Jonas is coming by for me in an hour or so. We’ll walk you home. Hang around.”
Katie shook her head. “I’m fine, honestly. I grew up here, remember? I know how to avoid drunks and-”
“We actually get gangs down here now, you know,” Clarinda said firmly.
“I’m going straight home. I’ll take Simonton, I won’t walk on Duval. I’ll be fine.”
Clarinda remained unhappy, but Katie had no intention of being swayed. Her uncle was up in St. Augustine, and Jon Merrillo was managing the bar, so she intended to slip out without being stopped by anyone. On Saturday, she would officially take ownership of the Beckett family’s myth-and-legends museum, and she was tense and wanted to be anywhere but at work. “You watch yourself with those drunks!” she warned.
“Oh, honey, if there’s one thing I learned while you were away at school, it’s how to handle drunks. Oh, wait! We both knew how to manage that before you left. Go. I’ll be fine. And Jonas will be here soon.”
Waving and clutching her carryall, Katie left the bar.
At 3:00 a.m., Duval Street was far from closed down. She wondered with a quirk of humor what DuVal-the first governor of territorial Florida-would have thought of the street named in his honor.
Certainly, it kept the name from being forgotten.
Key West was filled with history that shouldn’t be forgotten. The name itself was a bastardization of Cayo Hueso, Island of Bones, and came from the fact that hueso had sounded like west to the English-speaking British who had claimed the state from the Spaniards. The name fit because it was the most western of the Islands of the Martyrs, which was what the chain of Florida “keys” had been known as to the Spanish. Actually, the Islands of the Dry Tortugas were farther west, but the name had been given, and it had stuck. Street names came from the early Americans-Simonton and his friends, colleagues and their families. Simonton had purchased Key West from a Spaniard named Salas when Florida had become an American territory. Salas had received the island as a gift-or back payment for a debt-from the Spanish governor who had ruled before the American governor. The island had seen British rule as well, and often, no matter who ruled, it wasn’t ruled much at all.
The place was colorful, throughout history, and now.