by Steve Shadow
“Come on in,” I said. “This was a big clean up night on the schedule so we were stuck here until now.” I turned to Kenny, very much the disciple of the Bagwan Rajneesh, in his orange dyed clothing. “This is Kenny, kitchen chief. Kenny this is Martie, she gave a show tonight.”
Kenny stuck out his hand. “Cool to meet ya. You guys want to head down to the baths? Toke up and chill out?”
I turned to Martie but she was shaking her head. “Yeah, I know all about the baths. No thanks. I want the tour you promised me, Mondo.”
“Ok, we can stroll the property by moonlight and commune with the spirits. See ya later, Kenny.”
We headed out the front door of the lodge and walked down the grassy knoll to the swimming pool. We stood by the wrought iron fence overlooking the ocean. The air was cool and the full moon was shimmering on the waves crashing below. I turned to Martie to ask her how her show went but before I could even ask what kind of show she did, she grabbed me and kissed me hard. She held me so tight I had trouble breathing. I was as tall as her but I am very thin and she probably outweighed me by at least 20 pounds. I kissed her back while she ground her ample hips against mine.
I broke our embrace. “Wow, you are one hungry girl. What say we go to my cabin and get out of the chill? You ain’t going to see much in the dark, anyway.”
We headed up the hill to my rustic cabin above the main lodge. It had a porch and a bedroom and bath. As we reached the door she said she had to get something from her car and she would be right back. I went inside and lit a candle and made sure all my dirty laundry was put away. I broke out some wine and was rolling a joint when she came in. She had a large purse and a guitar case with her.
“Cool,” I said. “So you’re a folk singer or a flamenco guitarist?”
She sat down on the bed and opened her guitar case. “I am a troubadour and write my own songs. Sit back and I’ll sing you a few.”
I held up the joint I had just rolled. “Want to get high first? I got some primo local weed.”
“Later,” she said. “Just listen and tell me what you think.”
She tuned the guitar briefly and began to play. She was very good and had a beautiful deep voice. She sang songs about lost love with a depth of feeling and sincerity that was really touching. I was truly enchanted and felt honored that she would share her music with me. Despite my vows to myself, I was falling in love again. After the fourth or fifth song ended I told her how wonderful I thought they were. She laughed and said it was all in the selling.
“This hippie-dippie crowd eats up all this Joan Baez shit.”
“What, you mean this is all an act? Shit, you had me fooled “
“That’s why it’s called show business. Glad you enjoyed the tunes but how about we get wasted and fuck?”
“Hey, whatever you say, doll. Mondo is at your service. Let me light this doobie up.”
She waved at me and reached for her oversized purse. “Let’s save that shit for coming down. I got something much better. Ever snort any crack cocaine?”
I had heard about this stuff but being down in Big Sur all we had was weed and some acid. “That sounds pretty heavy. Don’t that shit fuck you up bad?’
She broke out a mirror and a gold razor blade and began to chop up a small rock and lay out four lines. I gazed at her expertise with some leeriness. I began to realize that I did not know anything about this phony folk-singer or what she was pushing. But her beauty, forwardness and size, along with my beating heart, overcame any doubts I had. I was in love once again; guess I will never learn. We hoovered the lines and they hit like a freight train. I was smiling to beat the band. Every inch of my body tingled. She stood and turned out the lights so that only the single candle burned.
She got on the bed and fell back on the pillows. “Listen to me,” she said. “I won’t go to no baths because I got body issues. I’m too big and I know it. Here is what you have to do. I want you to fuck me hard but when I say so you have to bite me on the left side of my neck. When I’m about to come you got to bite me hard. Not enough to make me bleed but hard enough to hurt. I ain’t getting undressed and I ain’t into snuggling. If you don’t get off when I do I’ll finish you up after. Get undressed, I love skinny guys.”
She pulled up her caftan as I shed my clothes. She raised her huge legs and spread them apart. As I knelt in front of her I could feel the heat rising from her sex. She took me in hand and guided me into her. She pulled me tight and began to heave me up and down. It was like being enveloped in a warm fog. We fucked for awhile and then she gasped. “Bite me, now; hurry, hurry.”
I sank my teeth into her neck. She shuddered violently and nearly threw me off her. I hung on for dear life and got so excited I came when she did. I lay atop her exhausted. Suddenly she pushed me off of her and sat up. She pulled down her caftan and swung her legs off the bed.
She smiled. “That was pretty groovy. What a rush. You got something to drink?”
I was still all twitchy from the coke. We had some wine and smoked a joint. I was still naked and hoping for more. She was some chunk of womanhood. She, however had other ideas, and wanted to leave.
“Where are you going?” I asked. “I thought we had something going. Come on, Martie, sleep here, it’s too late to do anything else.”
She said she wanted to start back to Los Angeles and needed to leave now. I tried to tell her that Highway 1 was not the kind of road to drive at night but she said she had done it before and knew the way. I asked her if she would come back soon or if I could see her in LA? She wrote down a phone number and said to call and leave a message if I was coming. I went to the john to take a leak and got distracted by the mirror and probably was too stoned to realize how long I had been in there. When I came out of the bathroom she was gone. I fell into bed, heartbroken again, while imagining that huge woman nude. I finally fell asleep and did not wake up until 11 in the morning.
It was my day off so I was free until 4 when I had to prepare for dinner. I took a shower, got dressed and drove down to Nepenthe, a local restaurant and bar, for a burger and beer. I ran into some friends and we sat overlooking the ocean from 1200 feet up. The mountains, dotted with mule deer, rose up behind us. I told them all about Martie and the whole crack deal. I was obsessed with her as I always am any time I got involved with a woman. My pal at Esalen was always advising me to give these relationships some air and space. This was hardly a relationship, more of a one night stand but I could not help myself. I wanted to see her again. I was like that old Chet Baker tune, “I fall in love too easily.”
I checked my watch. It was time to leave and get back to Esalen. I pulled out my wallet and saw that it was empty. I had over a hundred bucks in there last night. Shit, had Martie robbed me? I borrowed some money to cover my tab. I got in my old Chevy and sped back to my cabin. I searched around but found nothing. I went to the lodge to tell Keefe, the office manager, only to find that I wasn’t the only one that had been ripped off. A lot of people had money missing. I told Keefe about Martie and my suspicions. It turned out that she had just shown up yesterday and said she would perform for food and a room. We always had people come through doing the same thing so it was no big deal.
What a bummer, I said to myself. I still had the hots for her and kidded myself into believing that maybe it was all untrue. Maybe it wasn’t her or maybe she had a sick mother in desperate need of a life saving operation. What a fool I am when it comes to women. I figured the least I could do was give her the benefit of the doubt. That and the memory of her beautiful voice and warm body made me desperate to see her again. Fuck the money. I was in love again. I did not tell Keefe that I had a phone number to reach her at.
I spent the afternoon baking bread and muffins. After dinner I stayed to help Kenny clean up. The whole time all I could think of was Martie. We finally finished and closed up the kitchen. After begging off joining Kenny for a joint and a beer, I went to the pay phone outside the office and called the number in Los
Angeles that she had left me.
The phone rang for a long time and then a sleepy woman’s voice whispered a hesitant hello.
“Hi, I’m calling for Martie. She was here in Big Sur last night and gave me this number to call. Is she there?”
“Are you fucking kidding? You call here this late for that rotten bitch and wake me up. Who the hell is this? Some other chump she fucked over?”
“Whoa there, lady, my name is Mondo, I’m here in Big Sur, at Esalen. I just want to talk with her.”
“Well if I knew where she was I would call the cops.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because she’s a fucking thief, that’s why. I don’t know why I’m telling you this but we were in a band together and she ripped us all off; me, my husband and my kids. We let her stay at our house and when we came home from a gig that she said she was to sick to play, we found the place emptied out and her gone. I wondered where she went. I don’t know why she gave you my number except as some sort of cruel joke. What happened, did she fuck you then steal all your cash or shit?”
I felt sick: Burned again by a woman. What was it about me and women? I always ended up with these evil broads? The breakup with Cindy in San Francisco was bad enough but this was the last straw. I was taking a vow of celibacy and going with Kenny to give all my energy in celebration of the Baghwan. Oh shit, who was I kidding? I knew that Indian fake was full of crap and that it was all a scam. I just needed to bake and meditate and tend the garden.
“I’m sorry to have made you get out of bed. I guess I fell hard for Martie and thought that maybe the missing money was all a mistake.”
“Yeah, well she is a pretty good con artist. I mean she has talent and can sing and play even if it’s all phony with her. Anyway, after she split my old man did the same. We were not doing too well and now I got a job tending bar and my Ma is helping out with the kids. I get an occasional singing gig but I can’t go on the road no more so it’s all local stuff. Fuck, I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I don’t even know you. Christ, I’m pathetic.”
Her tone had softened and she had such a nice voice that it was getting to me. “Hey, at least we got something in common. What’s your name?”
“Shandie. You said your name is Mondo? What kind of name is that?”
“Aw, it’s a long story. Where in LA are you?”
“I live off the Sunset by the 10 freeway. You know LA?”
“Sure, I spent a lot of time there. I got an acting buddy that lives right near there. I was going to come down to LA when I’m done here. How about we get together now that we have shared our mutual embarrassments? Or you could come up to Esalen. I’m here for 3 months and I got a big cabin.”
“Hey, you don’t even know me or what I look like. I got two little girls.”
I knew I was doing it again but I could not stop myself. “I don’t care; you sound nice and I like kids. Bring them along; kids love this place.”
“Yeah, I heard all about Esalen. Let me think about it. Shit, I must be nuts. Give me a number I can reach you at and maybe I’ll call.”
I felt the old excitement return. I gave her the office number and after talking awhile longer we said good-bye. I saw my grinning reflection in the office window. I started to stroll down to the baths. I began humming one of the tunes Martie had sung for me last night. The moon lit my way and the wind whipped my long hair about my smiling face. I thought to myself, now happy as a lark, “Mondo, what a fool for love you are.”
JACKIE, JOJO AND CHULA
Twilight rolls in on a hot desert night. I sit at my window watching a piece of sky fade to pink above the cinder block walls that surround my little tract home. It is funny how nature can often mirror my own feelings. Here I am, fading into night myself. I am now an old man lost in the reveries of a long faded youth.
The radio and its never ending loop of rock anthems envelope me in a circle of memories. Those times that haunt me still and bring back the scents and sounds from another existence. How fast the arcing flash of a life lived hot; now just an ember.
We burned so bright in those heady days. For some the 60’s may be a cliché, but for me, looking back, they shimmered with an intensity that consumed my days and fueled my nights.
All the energy we radiated then; driven by music, drugs and sex. All the causes, the marches, the fervent forward charge to change the world left us wired and breathless.
The music; it meant so much then. Just the rumor of a new Stones album set the air around us vibrating. All the firsts; the first time we saw Zeppelin, Lee Michaels, Mitch Ryder, Dylan going electric. So many illuminations, so many magic dramas filled our days.
It was Chicago. The air pulsated with change; Hippies against Mayor Daley and the wild days of the ‘68 convention. The gatherings in the parks that spread like wildfire until our ranks swelled by the thousands. The anti-war marches and the all-night planning sessions in the dank, roach-infested low rent apartments and coffee houses.
The bright lights that glowed then faded. Fred Hampton, Abbie Hoffmann, Bill Kuntsler; our heroes, our stars.
And through it all the three of us had so much fun. Our strange trio, that ran the streets like lost urchins. We glowed, we laughed; pranksters on the prowl. We were always looking for the hot scene, a few bucks, girls, guys and rock and roll.
We crashed in a one-room furnished place next to the El train. Every few minutes the apartment would shake and roar with the trains running by. We had three chairs, a table, a record player, a little TV, and one big bed. We worked when we could and dealt when we had the shit to sell.
Chula was a half Mexican, half Puerto Rican dark skinned little girl. She had a big afro, a pug nose and a smile that could melt the devil’s heart. She had cute little tits and a prodigious furry bush of pubic hair that tickled my nose whenever I stopped by for a visit. She was always laughing and kept me from going too deep into my frequent depressions.
Jo-Jo was a beautiful blond boy who lived to party, dance, and screw. He had no brakes and got enthusiastic about 40 different things a week. He could sleep all day and night and never hear a thing. He loved to go on speed runs and stay up for 3 days and fuck himself into a coma. He kissed like an angel.
Me, I was a self-styled street-punk intellectual. I had pretensions; I went to grad school and worked part-time at the university. I thought I was tough; wore a leather biker jacket and carried a switch blade. I had a Colt .45 Peacemaker that I waved around at parties.
We loved the gay bars. They all had cheap drinks and usually put out a food spread at happy hour that often kept us from starving. But Sunday was the best. On that day they would lay out a whole dinner. We loved to dance and the drag shows were a hoot. Chula knew a lot of the queens because her brother dressed up as Carmen Miranda and sang at all the clubs. A lot of times we hung out at Huey’s. It was a crummy bar on the north side but the beer was cold and they usually had a hot band. We could always pull pretty good there. One night I hooked up with a female midget and fell instantly in love. She came back to the apartment and did us all. It was a real mind blower. She was so tiny but could fuck like crazy. We laughed over that night for a long time.
Those were the days of, “Don’t trust anyone over thirty”, “tune in, turn on, etc”, and we thought things would never change and we would never age. But, of course, they did change and we did age.
I had been having an on again, off again affair with a nasty little piece of work named Roxie. She was a local girl with a thing for bad boys. She was needy and clingy and full of self loathing. We were no good for each other and we both knew it. That said, we somehow could not keep apart. It was bad and always led to mean words and sometimes physical violence. I was falling into a bad place. My depressions started getting worse and I was not sleeping. I dropped the few classes I was taking and quit work. I knew things had to change. I had avoided Roxie for a few months but then ran into her at Huey’s one night. We circled each other warily but in
the end we found ourselves back at her place at 4 in the morning. We knew it was wrong but she blew me, I ate her out and we fucked. It was sad and we felt it deeply. Afterwards she asked me not to say anything about us screwing to anyone at the club. I felt dirty and used and so did she. I was at my lowest and could barely crawl home. When I got there JoJo and Chula were sitting on the bed crying.
“Jesus,” I said as I came in. “What the hell is going on?”
Chula looked up at me with her big brown eyes all red rimmed from crying. “Fuck, Jackie, I’m preggers.”
I collapsed on the floor. “Oh, shit, baby. What are you going to do?”
“Well, I ain’t having no baby. I know it ain’t from you guys. My friend Stella knows a doctor who will take care of it but I need 700 dollars.”
JoJo and I looked at each other. “Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll get you the money. Anybody else know about this?”
“Yeah, my moms does. She said I could come home to recover and she will take care of me.”
“Well that’s good. I don’t think me and JoJo would be very good nurses.” We climbed on the bed and hugged. I noticed JoJo looked awfully pale.
“You OK, JoJo? You ain’t sick are you? Shit, have you been shooting up again with that fuck Sparkie?”
JoJo sat there wiping away tears. I knew he had a weakness for the hard stuff and always ended up with those blood sucking junkies that hung at Sparkie’s place. He nodded and rolled over to sleep. I got up and saw our little TV was missing. We liked to watch it in the early morning when we were coming down from an all-nighter.
“Hey, where’s the TV? JoJo, what the fuck happened?”
With his head turned to the wall he answered me in a barely audible voice. “Sparkie took it. He said I owed him for some dope.”
