Los Angeles Stories

by Ry Cooder

  “And what becomes of the workers?” Andrena asked.

  “Out of a job and not earning a dime,” said Lonnie with a shrug.

  “Well, and all the people who sell them things. In Santa Monica, todo el mundo.”

  “When is this supposed to happen?” Herb asked.

  “In about two years, tops.”

  “Who’s Ned’s partner?” Herb asked.

  “I never saw him, but Ned calls him Bill.”

  Herb and Scrubby walked through the hedge to Andrena’s the next morning. Scrubby was tired from their big morning walk through the cemetery. She drank some water and lay down by the side door to keep an eye on things. Andrena was at her sewing machine, listening to The Guiding Light, followed by The Romance of Helen Trent. She never missed a morning with her soap operas.

  “Where’s Lonnie?” Herb asked.

  “I’m worried,” Andrena said, looking worried.

  “Why, what’d she do?”

  “It’s Helen’s novio, the doctor. He’s not a good man, I knew he wasn’t.”

  “I thought you meant Lonnie.”

  “She went out before I got up.”

  “It’s two weeks, today. I got a bad feeling about Ned. I don’t think he’s going to hold up his end of the deal.”

  “I’m afraid Helen finds out the doctor is bad.”

  “I’m afraid Ned is worse!”

  The radio announcer was speaking in an emotional tone: “I’m Truman Bradley, and this is the program that asks the question, can a woman find romance after thirty-five? But first, this message. You know, constipation is something people don’t talk about much. If you are experiencing problems with your normal regularity, take Ex-­Lax, the tiny, chocolated laxative that won’t disturb your sleep or your money back! Be sure to ask your druggist for chocolated Ex­-Lax today, and don’t get the laxative habit!”

  Andrena’s sewing machine hummed and whined. She moved the cloth around and around without stopping, almost in a trance. “Lonnie is two people. The colors are still drying,” she said.

  Herb shook his head. “I don’t know. Something is ticking like a stuck valve. I don’t like it. Think I’ll go out and look around.”

  On the radio, a jazzy female trio sang: “If your whites aren’t white and your colors aren’t bright, switch to White King D! White Kinnngggg!”

  Herb drove south past Washington into the canal district. The canals smelled like oil and garbage mixed with the cleaner scent of saltwater blowing in from the beach two blocks away. In the afternoon sun, Dudley Court looked just as abandoned as before. Herb knocked at the house closest to the street. A woman came to the screen door. “Yeah?” she asked.

  “Sorry to bother you,” Herb said. “I’m supposed to meet someone in the court here, but I don’t know which place. It’s a woman, short, blond, about thirty.”

  “Nobody like that!” the woman laughed. “I’m the only one left. My toilet is broken again. What should I do, go in the dirt?”

  “Landlords are all the same,” Herb said. “That’s how I got to be a mechanic. You want something done, better do it yourself.”

  “I can’t,” said the woman.

  “I could take a look at it for you.”

  “I would be grateful. Please come in.”

  Herb followed the woman into the tiny house. There were photographs everywhere, smiling faces from another life, another time, another world.

  “In here.” She stood aside for Herb to enter the tiny bathroom.

  Herb lifted the tank top. The stopper chain was broken, as usual.

  “Got any wire?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “I could use the wire from the photographs.”

  “Take what you need.”

  Herb removed the wire from the back of one of the large pictures, a portrait of a young woman with soft eyes and a look of amusement. “That’s me, in Berlin, before the war,” she said.

  Herb adjusted the wire and tried the handle. The ancient toilet flushed with a groan. “It’ll be all right for a while,” he said.

  “Thank you. Please come and sit down. I’m wondering about something,” she said.

  “Shoot,” Herb said.

  “There aren’t any blond girls in this neighborhood. I’m curious why you came to this court, if you don’t mind. I’m worried about what they are going to do. It’s been empty for a year now, except for the man in the back, and now he’s gone, I think.”

  “Sure, I understand what you mean. I’m not from any real estate outfit, and I’m not a bill collector or a cop, believe me. I’m a renter, like you. But, now, here’s the thing. You say you saw the man in the back house. I’m interested in how he got here and who brought him.”

  “That I can tell you. The landlord brought him at night. Since the war, I can’t sleep at night. This is a poor place to live, but it’s quiet, so I can sleep in the day. If I have to move, where can I go?”

  “What’s the landlord’s name?”

  “That’s Mr. Hillael. He comes for the rent every first Monday, but he’s late. He missed yesterday and I thought you might be him. I don’t have visitors. What’s your name, please?”

  “Herb Saunders.”

  “Sadie is my name. Very nice to meet you, such a nice man.”

  “Yeah, I’m a real dinger,” said Herb.

  “Dinger?”

  “That’s someone who can’t put two and two together.”

  “I’m sure you will, Herb,” Sadie said.

  Herb told Sadie he’d let her know if he heard anything. She thanked him again and disappeared behind the screen door. Dudley Court went back to sleep.

  Lonnie waited in the front office of Airport Equity for the recep­tionist to finish her call. “Can I help you?” the girl asked.

  “I’m answering the ad for an office assistant.” Lonnie showed the girl the ad.

  “Mr. O’Leary needs someone to help him with his seminars. Why don’t you sit down and wait for him, he’ll be back soon.” Ten minutes later Bill O’Leary came hustling in, waving his fat briefcase around.

  “Who’s this?” he said.

  “She’s here about the ad.”

  Lonnie followed Bill into his office. “This is going to be a big event around here, and I’m going to be very, very busy,” he said. There was another wall map in Bill’s office covered with clusters of little red pins.

  “What hours?” Lonnie asked.

  “If I need something, I need it when I need it. I have to promote, promote, promote. You have to take care of the applicants. Spreadsheets! Sales figures! I want everything front and center!”

  “What are you paying?”

  “The real estate business is a fabulous business, and people who aren’t making money at it, it’s their own fault.”

  “Okay,” said Lonnie.

  “Mary will fix you up, get you started. What’s your name?”

  “Judy Smith.”

  “Good. Airport Equity is a Christian organization.” He stuffed some papers into his briefcase and marched out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

  Mary showed Lonnie where everything was and what the filing system was all about. “Mr. O’Leary has his real estate work and his new seminar work. It’s too much for one person. I hope you like it here.” Mary drank Nehi orange soda continuously. “I don’t like Coca­-Cola,” she said. She was short like Lonnie, but fat and pear shaped.

  “What’s he like to work for?”

  “He’s all right. Always rushing around.”

  “Married?”

  “No. He goes out at night on business. He’s part owner of a bar down in Venice, the Los Amigos. I think he does a lot of business at night.”

  “What are all those pins for?”

  “The pins show his rental properties. That’s another thing he does,” Mary said. Lonnie stood and looked at the map. Most of the pins were concentrated in the area around Pico Boulevard. She followed the trail of pins around the cemetery and
found Sixteenth Street. Herb’s block was all red.

  “He owns all these houses?”

  “Owns them or manages them for other people.”

  “That’s a lot of houses.”

  “Oh, yes. Mr. O’Leary says one day soon it will all be brand-new apartments. He’s getting ready for that. He’s got plans all drawn up.”

  “Then what happens to the people living there?”

  “They’re out. The houses come down, the apartments go up. Mr. O’Leary says one day soon, Santa Monica will be all apartments. He’s got friends in city hall. He’s very connected.”

  “How can aircraft workers afford to live in fancy new apartments?”

  “Mr. O’Leary says there’s going to be some big changes. Progress is coming soon, he always says.”

  “Where is the Los Amigos?”

  “Way down on Mildred, in Venice. I don’t like it there — I generally go to the Skywatcher’s. They have a television and you can watch Super­maket Sweepstakes. I try to watch every night. The way it works is the contestants line up with their shopping carts and when the whistle blows, they run around and put as much as they can in the carts. Then the whistle blows again and they add up everything in the carts. The one with the highest total amount wins.”

  “Wins what?”

  “Whatever they put in their cart. It’s very exciting. There’s so much you could do, if you’re smart. I would start in the meat depart­ment. Whole chickens, steaks, oh­ my­ God. I don’t like liver. Then fruits and vegetables. I don’t like grapefruit or lima beans. The trick is to memorize where the most expensive things are ahead of time. Mr. O’Leary always says, if you fail to prepare, you’re prepared to fail.”

  “I’m going to keep that in mind,” said Lonnie.

  It was five o’clock at the Skywatcher’s. Mary sat at the bar in front of the TV set. Lonnie and Bill sat in a booth. Bill had had a few drinks, and he was starting to loosen up. “You have to understand the territory. The territory means knowing your man on the street. Talk to them, get interested. ‘What’s your job? Where do you live? What church do you go to? What do you want?’ That sort of thing. We don’t want colored, Mexican, or hillbilly. No use wasting time if they haven’t got ambition. Women, that’s where you come in. Talk to them about self­-betterment, the family, money. Nobody wants to be an aircraft worker, they want to get up in the world, they want things. What do you want?”

  “But everyone around here is an aircraft worker,” Lonnie said.

  “That’s going to change.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I know a thing or two, why do you think I’m successful? Once the plant closes down, the property value around here will take off. You stick with me, you just watch.”

  Lonnie’s eyes got big. “I just don’t believe it, Mr. O’Leary, the plant closing down. Where did you hear that?”

  “Never mind where Bill O’Leary heard it.” Bill realized he was getting careless and he tried to change the subject. “What do you want,” he asked her again.

  “Nothing.”

  “Everyone wants something. What makes you any different? Don’t try and kid Bill O’Leary.”

  “Oh ­my ­God, the fat girl won!” Mary screamed and clapped her hands. The television announcer had his arm around the winning contestant:

  “And the grand prize winner is Daylene Batters! She totals out at seventy-­four dollars and eighty-­seven cents! How did it feel out there, Daylene?”

  “In the beginning, I was nervous. I’m a little heavy on my feet, but I had a plan, and I stuck with it.”

  “And it paid off! Can you tell the folks just what was your plan, Daylene?”

  “Prime rib. It’s the most expensive thing in the market, so I just filled up my basket with that.”

  “Now, folks, in addition to her groceries, Daylene takes home a brand new ‘Kold King’ home freezer! How does it feel to be the proud owner of all that prime rib?”

  “Prayer changes things.”

  “If that was me, I wouldn’t be crying,” said Mary.

  “She knows what she wants,” said Bill. “They like it when you cry on TV. Then they know they got a winter. Winner.”

  Summer had arrived. It was warm at night and there was no fog. Herb and Andrena and Scrubby drove down to the pier for a seafood dinner. There was a regular population on the pier, people you might see all year regardless of the weather: Japanese fishermen, winos, body builders, and the rollerskate addicts who hung around the skating rink. Herb and Andrena bought fried squid on paper plates and sat at one of the little tables just outside the guardrail that ran around the big wooden floor. The building was open across the front and the salt­water-­and-­cooking-­oil bouquet blended nicely with the dance-­hall tang of floor wax and sweat. Herb thought for sheer entertainment, you couldn’t beat spending an evening watching the skaters. There was one in particular, a lanky, Western-­dressed cowboy dude who came every night of the week and had an eccentric skating style that Herb enjoyed. Herb called him Tex. “There he is,” Herb said to Andrena. “Keep your eye on him.”

  The skaters went round and round, counter­clockwise, while an organ played a perpetual waltz. Herb didn’t see the instrument anywhere, and he couldn’t tell if it was live or recorded. The music was meant to have a calming effect, but there was always a lot of interesting drama on the floor. Loudspeakers were mounted in the vaulted ceiling rafters, and if a skater got too far out of line, a voice would cut in: “Skater in the red shirt, change direction. Speed skater, slow down, last warning. Skater in the cowboy hat, keep moving.”

  “See,” said Herb, “Tex stopped again. Look at his face, he’s somewhere else.”

  “Now he goes,” said Andrena. “He heard the voice.” There was a scuffle on the floor. Two men collided and went crashing into the guard­rail. They shouted at each other. A short, stocky man on skates appeared and hustled the pair off the floor with surprising speed and power. “If they take you off the floor three times, you can’t come back,” Herb explained.

  Tex drifted by with a shuffling step, his long arms swinging loose like Buddy Ebsen. The organ began to play “I’m An Old Cowhand” right in time with him. Tex finished the song with a backwards flourish and a tip of the hat. Andrena and Herb applauded. The aimless waltz resumed. “So the man is playing somewhere, and he can see the floor,” said Herb. “That’s a great job to have.”

  “It’s a woman,” said an old timer with a broom.

  “Where is she?” Herb asked.

  “Up there, behind the glass.” The man pointed to an opaque glass panel at the far end of the rink. “She’s in a little room, just high enough to see the floor. Name’s Mary Dee, ten years on the job. I’m the janitor. My name’s Ray Diker. You’re ‘Atomic Bomb’ Saunders.”

  “Well, that’s right, I was. This is my friend Andrena Ruelas. I’ve been coming around here for a long time, but I never understood the set­up.”

  “I seen you around before, knew it was you. I was a drummer in country­ western before I got lung trouble. Don’t you folks want to skate? It’s not that crowded. I’ll watch your dog.”

  “I will if you will,” Andrena said to Herb. The janitor told the floor man they were friends of his. Herb and Andrena got skates and skate shoes. The floor man had them wait until a space opened up. “Skate to the left. Stay on the inside. Don’t try any­thing fancy.” They took tiny steps and began to move, hanging on to each other. The crowd went flying by. Tex came up alongside and took Andrena by her outside arm and skated off, towing her. Andrena hung on to Tex, and Herb hung on to Andrena. They managed to stay on their feet. Falling was the thing to avoid, you could cause a pile­up and get run over. Herb felt like he was going sixty miles an hour, and it was shocking and exhilarating. Once they got in step with the pack, Tex let go of Andrena and they were on their own. They made it through the turns and stayed on their feet. After a while, the voice called out, “Clear the floor.” The skaters pulled up to the gate and wait
ed while the floor man skated around, mopping up sweat. When he was finished, he picked up his microphone and said, “Skate!” the crowd went back to work and the pace picked up instantly. Herb and Andrena took off their skates and put their street shoes back on. “Dios mio, it’s hard.” said Andrena, out of breath.

  “You did all right,” Ray Diker said. “Some folks just can’t ever get the hang of it. Can’t afford to let ’em get hurt. Some of the regulars are pretty tough.”

  “The floor man is good,” Herb said.

  “Ex-­professional, like me,” said Ray.

  “Like us,” Herb said. “Music was a hard old road.”

  “I traded my left lung for it. What kind of work do you do now?”

  “I’m sort of a part­-time car mechanic.”

  “I had a car, but I left it somewheres. Most of the folks you meet on the pier, we live right here. I got a room around back, goes with the job. Sea air is good for my lungs, or lung, I should say. Got a little hot plate and icebox in there. Radio. I haven’t been off the pier in years, no need to.” Ray laughed, showing what teeth he still had. Herb and Andrena thanked him and walked to the end of the pier.