Pineapple Grove & Other Short Stories is a book of ecclectic stories from the philosophical and nostalgic to the satiric and whimsical. For the science-fiction fan there are several of those included in this collection, as well as a take off or two on the pulp type horror tales of the fifties with some surprising twists. The collection of stories in Pineapple Grove contains short stories in both the classical tradition of cozy yarn spinning and the kind of tales rarely stumbled on today. Reading this book is like sitting down with an old friend by the fire.

Pineapple Grove and Other Short Stories

By Gary Alexander Azerier

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2009 Gary Alexander Azerier
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4389-7637-2

Contents

Chapter 1 Pineapple Grove..................................5Pineapple Grove............................................7Chapter 2 Early Days.......................................15P.S. 173...................................................17Richard Feare..............................................23Enrique....................................................27Chapter 3 Yesterdays.......................................31Sportsman's................................................33Sugar Daddy................................................41Chapter 4 Friends..........................................49Barry......................................................51Mort of Magic..............................................59Embraceable You............................................65Santiago...................................................71Chapter 5 Reflections......................................77Kirby Felton's Final Note..................................79The Gift...................................................83The Man....................................................87Promise....................................................89Iwo........................................................91Chapter 6 Light Reflections................................93The Party..................................................95Visit to Valhalla..........................................105Equal Opportunity Employer.................................110Closet Hero................................................113A Silly Tale...............................................115This Stinks................................................117Neighborhood Stroll........................................121Chapter 7 Science Fiction Off the Wall.....................127Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall................................129A Little Unfinished Monkey Business........................137Dj Vu, Dj Vu...........................................145Shipwreck..................................................149Constellation Station......................................162Chapter 8 Sweet Fantasy....................................180Stentor....................................................182About the Author

Chapter One

Pineapple Grove

"UPON THOSE SILENT WALLS WE LEFT THE SHADE" William Wordsworth - The Excursion

Pineapple Grove

There is a place in Delray Beach, Florida, called Pineapple Grove. It is situated off Atlantic Avenue, the little city's main drag, so to speak. Of course, there is nothing "draggy" about Atlantic Avenue. In fact, if anything can be construed as draggy, it would be Atlantic Avenue's counterpart in Palm Beach, the posh, somewhat ostentatious Worth Avenue. Come to think of it, however, sterile might better describe Worth.

Before I go on to Pineapple Grove, I should like you to indulge me a few more observations about "downtown" Palm Beach and its rather antiseptic streets. On the days I recall strolling along the avenue, there were few others on the streets, little traffic, and most of the shops were, oddly, closed. My chief recollection is an overabundance of Rolls Royce and Bentley automobiles in a variety of colors, to the extent that they faded into the horizon and became, not only unnoticeable, but bordering on the vulgar. The ones I do remember were mocha, tan, deep chocolate, green, and convertible. The local police patrol cars were inordinate in number. Toward the bottom of the avenue, was the only shop I ever seemed compulsively to visit. It was a citrus shop specializing in lemons, oranges, and limes. Occasionally a shelf sported a red pepper jelly that was, instead of the promised "hot," sickeningly sweet. South of all this on AIA was Atlantic. And you made a right.

The beautiful ride down on AIA was made interesting by the ocean on the left, the lovely, although well hidden, mansions and estates on both the left and the right, and scent of old money and history embracing all of it. There are Palm Beach postcards you can buy at flea markets, antique shops, and postcard shows that picture this community, its hotels, and tree-lined roads as it was back in the forties, thirties, twenties, and before. Much of it is still very recognizable. In a way, little has changed. One woman wrote on a Saturday morning in February 1914, "We are surely having summer weather, although a little cool here. Trusting you are well." The card, signed N. W. D., is addressed to Mrs. R. Davis in what looks to be Assonet, Massachusetts.

Another, my favorite, read: "My Dear Blanche, We are having a glorious time, but I wish I were back in Havana. It is so unique there. Do not sail til the 17th in N.Y. Love to you, Mabelle." It was sent to 1752 Beacon Street, Brookline, Massachusetts, February 14, 1920. The two cards show "Lake Front Avenue, Palm Beach, Florida," and "The Australian Walk, Palm Beach, Florida," respectively. The women pictured on one of the cards are wearing large floppy hats and ankle-length dresses. One of the women carries a parasol. The other woman wears a jacket. A man in the picture wears a suit and a derby. I wonder what became of N. W. D. and Mabelle and if she got to Havana.

So, today, as you drive slowly and carefully down AIA, you seem to sense the same trees in the deep green canopy, similar mild warmth, the possibility of the man in the derby, and a certain quiet that punctuated the simple conversation of the two strolling women on the Australian Walk. It is all very recognizable. And then there is Atlantic Avenue. At the corner, a noisy, Italian eatery, Boston's overcrowded restaurant and bar, and a clothing store selling unlimited numbers of T-shirts, the last two or three years' issue of current, oversized postcards and beach accessories.

Atlantic Avenue is divided into sections. It is quiet at the top, before the bridge and alongside the new, somewhat reserved Marriot. (It's orange and looks like old Florida.) Also before the Intracoastal Waterway is an ice cream store where you can get a small cone of chocolate or peanut-butter vanilla for just a little over four dollars ... not including what you put in the tip cup. If you have anything left, you can buy a seashell or a souvenir next door.

The Blue Anchor Pub rests on the corner, just over the bridge. It would be a welcoming establishment for the thirsty or the hungry but for the enigmatic fact that the chef, supposedly Irish or English, still insists on infusing his shepherd's pie potatoes with garlic. In the evenings, an acid-rock band puts forth the loudest, most intolerable noise, making conversation, ordering, hearing, and swallowing daunting and near-impossible feats of will and effort.

What follows is another somewhat quiet stretch of street with a gallery here and a sidewalk caf there, like a piedmont, stretching gradually before the vast range of mountain to come. It was livelier before development changes in the landscape, and activity seemed to gravitate farther west.

The old Colony Hotel pretty much marks the center of the avenue and sits, beige and off-red, in the center of the city's history. The hotel recalls another day and boasts a porch, facing the avenue, furnished in Florida rattan and revelers who appear to be from somewhere else. Many grasp drinks and some sing.

Past the Colony, on either...