16 – Unexpected visitors
Dim and smoky as always, we appreciated Flip’s barn as a gathering place especially during bouts of bad weather. On this particular evening a violent tempest raged outside. It was one of the quick seasonal storms which usually lasted less than an hour. Inside the four of us shared a bottle of whisky and Flip’s bong. Along with the Birdman, Bear and I was Whitey who drank liquor because he had consumed all his beer. Taking a break from playing pool, we did bong hits and engaged in small talk. Located behind Flip’s home the first floor of the barn served as a cabinet shop for his father’s side business, while the huge attic accessible by fabricated wooded ladder, this was where we often hung out. Along with storage boxes were several chairs, a folding roll away motel bed, a pool table, old television, stereo and refrigerator. The plywood ceiling was covered with graffiti and many strange drawings mostly done in magic marker. Up here the Birdman ruled the roost or so he thought. “Not going up to Williamsburg this evening?” he asked Bear and I. For over the last two months we had been spending a lot of our free time up at Bridget and Teri’s pad. This late August weekend they were guiding groups and interpreting 18th century colonial history on evening lantern tours. “We’re here in Lynnhaven until something better sweeps us off our feet.” Bear chuckled. Whitey exhaled a cloud of smoke, coughed and requested: “Shit Flip, open those swinging doors and let some of this smoke out. It’s enough I’ll be going home smelling like a distillery, but I don’t want smell like a fucking smokestack too.”
Dubbed the doorway to nowhere, it led to a ten foot drop. Once opened along with the other small window on the other side, we would have some ventilation. A couple of old floor fans also kept everyone somewhat cool during the warm season. As the big bay doors swung wind driven rain flew in so Flip closed them again. “Deal with the smoke, Whitey.” He hissed.
A lean but well formed boy slightly above medium height with a mop of dirty blond hair, Whitey returned: “Oh what the fuck is a little rain going to hurt? Your ass ain’t made out of sugar. You ain’t going melt from a couple of raindrops, Flippy.” Paying Whitey little mind, Flip looked at me. “You still fucking those two rich Williamsburg chicks?”
“None of your damned business, Flippy.” Bear replied in no friendly tone as it wasn’t wise to give Flip information about one’s lady friends. He fancied himself as a cock blocker and would attempt to weasel in on women by applying such underhanded tactics. A few years ago on a chilly Halloween morning which happened to be Flip’s birthday, Bear had tossed him into Lynnhaven Lake for such a transgression. Two days earlier Flip made the mistake of attempting to pull Bear’s then love interest in such a manner.
The rain had tapered off to a light sprinkle and Flip’s bay doors swung open. Both he and Whitey poked their heads out as if getting some fresh air, but were probably hoping to catch a good peek at Ms. Humphrey through her often open curtained, windows. Flip even had an old telescope up in the barn for such occasions. Of course he would say it was for star gazing. What a way to spend Friday night. Soon Bear and I would be splitting for the Greenwood Bar. A local watering hole, the Greenwood was in short walking distance and probably a more happening scene than Flip’s barn. I had a little business to take care of there and after that we’d shoot pool for awhile before calling it a night. Just as I gave Bear a hand signal for us to leave, Flip issued a cry of pain and back away from the bay door. With a bony hand covering his narrow forehead he cursed: “You mother fucker, I’ll kick your ass!”
“Kick whose ass, Flippy?” Bear inquired.
“Open up and let me in!” A familiar voice came from the outer darkness. Removing his hand from his head, I saw a reddening and rising knot right above Flip’s beady crow-like eyes. “Fuck man, why did he do that for?” the Birdman whimpered. Bear looked at Flip and asked: “Aren’t you going to let him in?”
“I’ll let him in.” Whitey volunteered. Walking over to the hatch, he opened it and climbed down. Having a closer look at Flip’s head, I said: “It’s not that bad, just a little knot. He probably didn’t mean to bean you.”
The first thing we saw coming up through the opened hatch was a shaggy mop of sandy hair then the rest of Joe followed. A few inches shy of Bear’s height, Joe the Skid was tall, somewhat lanky good looking young man who happen to be dating my cousin, Charlie’s older sister Cathleen. Dressed for the humid rainy weather, he wore a Jimi Hendrix T-shirt and cutoff jean shorts. Here in Lynnhaven, Joe was more or less the head Skid, not because of being the toughest, but by being the coolest though he could hold his own during a fight. A little over a year out of the army, Joe was sent to Germany instead of Vietnam where the Skid turned on to hashish, heroin and German party girls, but now back in the states, he made do with what there was to be had. It was him who I was supposed to meet in the Greenwood with a bag of some particularly good Columbian gold. Issuing a - “Yeoooow” he looked at Flip and asked: “I didn’t get anyone with that crabapple, did I?” To which Flip replied: “Yeah me, Skid.”
“Damn boy, that bump is bigger than the fucking crabapple I threw. Sorry about that my man, I was trying to properly signal my arrival. Try putting a little ice on that.”
“That’s only a signal when the doors are closed. You could of just whistled or called in.”
“I’ll remember that next time, Flippy Dippy.” He chuckled then looked at me. Giving an unnoticeable hand signal, Bear stood up and stepped over to the open doorway. “Well there she is prancing in front of the window as naked as day.” He stated which had Flip and Whitey rushing to have a look. With them so occupied, Joe and I performed a swift business transaction. “Damn! She cut off her light!” Bear feigned disappointment. Although the Skid was hip to my sideline, I didn’t want Flip and a few others to know or else they would be constantly hounding me for freebies. I’m glad Joe took it off my hands as it was a bit too much for me to carry around in my pocket on a Friday night. Packing the Skid a bowel from my own stash, I passed Flip’s bong to him. Taking a big hit, Joe held the smoke in for a half minute and exhaled. “Yeoooow.”
That bong bowl finished, Joe pulled out the weed he got from me and said: “I got this from a soul brother down in Phoebus. Let’s try it out.” The Skid was always one of a sharing nature. Often times when sitting in with a group of us he would roll up joint after joint and keep them going around. Last year he took notice of Flip snuffing a few out and sticking them in his shirt pocket. It was Bear, Bob, Brew and I who persuaded Flip to pull the purloined joints out to be relit. Joe could of jumped time on the Birdman, but instead laughed it off. A few years older than me, the Skid ran with the more wild and crazy fellows of north Lynnhaven, but for the last six months had been traveling around Virginia with a construction company. In fact he was getting ready to leave for Lynchburg. Loading the bong’s bowl then passing it to Flip, he looked at Bear and I. “That crazy ass Mitch told me that you Skids are poking some rich Williamsburg chicks. He told me Billysburg if full of honey.”
“We did our best to well represent Lynnhaven, Skid.” Bear chuckled as he took the bong from Flip’s bony hand.
“Nothing like Lynnhaven gals, eh?” Joe asked.
“Everything like them, but only more imaginative and in a different location.” I replied, adding: “They smoke whoodee, drink booze, dance and try to play the fellows who are trying to play them. They ain’t above some of the weird antics these wild women around here are known for. Yet there’s something about them that can make a motel party rather interesting, but it’s not gentlemanly to kiss and tell, especially with Flip and Whitey setting here having to peek at Ms. Humphrey from across a yard instead of simply visiting her after she’s popped a Valium and had several slugs of scotch.”
“Who’s to say I ain’t already?” Whitey said with a twisted grin.
“You mean she puts out?” Flip asked rather surprised.
“She’s your fucking neighbor, Flip.” Bear growled with a snarling smile as he handed the bong to me. Whitey went on to inform us: “She smokes weed too.”
“Didn’t know that.” I said. Joe issued a long howl of laughter and added: “I did.”
“You too?” Flip asked appearing quite taken aback.
“You say anything to Cathleen or even Charlie and I’ll turn you inside out and hang what’s left of your ass on a bramble.”
“I ain’t going to say anything, Skid.” Flip nervously assured him.
“That’s good Flippy. Now all you need to do is go over there and tag.” Reaching into his bag, Joe pulled out a bud and gave it to Flip. “Match her a bowl or two for a few slugs of scotch or vodka and let the magic begin. Eh Skids?” Now I was somewhat surprised that these other fellows were visiting with Ms. Humphrey. “You too?” I asked Bear. He regarded me with bloodshot grey eyes and a savage smile. “I helped her bring in groceries once and she asked me to sit for a cold drink, but I didn’t know she smoked weed if that brings you any comfort.”
“Fucking horn dogs is there nothing here in Lynnhaven you haven’t hunched on?” Flip loped over towards the bay doorway to nowhere and with whining sigh stated: “But she’s way older than me.” At that Whitey shot up out of his chair, grabbed a pool cue chalk and beaned Flip’s narrow head.
“Hey mother fucker! What the hell wrong with you?” The Birdman hissed as he rubbed another small knot rising on his forehead. He then snatched up a pool cue and brandished it.
“She’s way older than me!” Whitey mocked and with a demented look in his brown eyes asked: “What the fuck is wrong with you, running around here blue balled trying to snake on everyone else’s squeezes? Lighting up a cigarette and shaking my head, I said: “Now you know why I spend time up in Williamsburg.” But what I didn’t know was Williamsburg was coming to visit me.
“Let us in!” Charlie’s voice came booming up through the upper doorway. Flip grabbed a flashlight and shined it down below. “Who are us?” he hissed, but then smiled and said: “Well hello there.” Of course this grabbed our attention and we looked down at Charlie and two others. Bear shot me a surprised wide eyed glance while I went for the whisky. “It’s your girlfriends. Aren’t you going down there to let them in?”
Flip asked with a sinister grin to which I replied: “It’s your place. You let them in.” By now it was obvious to Flip that neither Bear nor I were all that keen on seeing these two young women, especially here. His dark beady eyes darted from Bear to me. “I’ll let them in.” In a weird loping gate, he walked over to the hatch and climbed down. Sensing something wasn’t quite right, Joe inquired: “What’s happening, Skid?”
“Bear and I must have struck their fancy and they’ve come all the way down here a looking for us.”
“Williamsburg gals?”
“Princesses.” I replied. At that Whitey chuckled and stated: “You know buzzard boy is probably down there right now talking shit about y’all?” Over both floor fans and radio we could not here them nor they us. Finally I heard someone coming up the rungs and Mary’s face appeared above the hatch. Whitey assisted her off the ladder and onto the attic floor. She thanked Whitey then took a good look at him. “My, my, the other hands on man. Remember me? Your friend did.”
While ogling her, Whitey replied: “Should I?”
Next he helped Sally onto the floor. Behind her came Flip then Charlie. Sashaying over to me, Mary plopped down right in my lap, turned, gave me a peck on the cheek and said: “I’ve already met Charlie, from our party at the Lord Pagent and again just a little while ago and of course those two young men some time back.”She waved at Flip and Whitey then asked me: “And who is this. I don’t believe we’ve met yet.” As she regarded Joe while batting her blue eyes. Sally sat down on Bear’s knees. “It’s so good to see you again. Where have you been lately?” Before Bear could reply, Joe stood up and bowed. “They call me Skid.”
“Isn’t that what they call everyone down here?” Mary laughed and then added: “I’m Mary and this is Sally. So pleased to meet you, Skid.” Joe cut his eyes at me, smirked and issued a grunt then said: “Pleased to be met. I’d really love to sit and chat for awhile, but I’ve a three hour drive ahead of me, so Mary, Sally, fellows, I’ve got to make like a bakery truck and haul buns.” He bowed again. “I’ll be back in about a month.” Then he shot a glance at Flip. “Remember what I told you. Just go over there and tag, Skid.” With that, Joe climbed down the hatch. “Ahhh yeoooow!” Sliding or should I say wiggling her way out of my lap, Mary stated: “Another nice looking and well mannered Lynnhaven man. This is not at all the wild place you described to me a few months ago while in the mountains.” Picking up the whisky bottle, she asked: “May I?”
“By all means.” Were my first words to Mary since her and Sally’s unexpected arrival. I was picking up some weird vibes and from the look on Bear’s face, he appeared a little freaked out as well. Having herself a big swig of whisky, she sputtered a bit and said: “Sally and I were talking about Bear and you earlier today. We decided to pay you guys a visit. What has it been, three months or longer?” Rising from my chair, I snatched up the bottle, had a good slug and replied: “Has it been that long? My how the time flies in summer.” Stepping back, with bottle still in hand, I had a good gander at her. Attired the way she was, Mary could have almost passed for a Lynnhaven girl in her short denim cutoffs and skimpy black cotton halter top. Like Sally who was clad much the same only with a blue top, Mary had acquired a nice tan. Seeing that my eyes were upon her, Mary asked: “You like? We wanted to blend in and not cause a big stir.” Rather gently, Bear lifted Sally off his knee, stood up and rubbed his chin. It looked to me as if he was formulating a plan. With an all but unnoticeable wink at me, he told Sally: “Turn around for me, darling.” which she complied. “From the back you look like a Lynnhaven gal, but after midnight we go by sense of smell. The question is, can y’all hang down here with us Skids? It’s a bit different down in these parts.”
“Do tell what you have in store for us?” Mary laughed as she advanced towards me and gently pried the bottle from my fingers. Bear rather wolfish, leaned down and sniffed Sally’s neck then inquired how they found us. Unyielding to Bear’s caressing paws she replied: “We thought you guys might be hanging out over at James River Hunt Club, but ran into Charlie instead. He got in the car and directed us here.”
“And here we are.” Mary added after another big swig of whisky which she passed to Sally.
“Well we had some plans, but I guess y’all can come along.” Bear said as he rubbed Sally’s well rounded shoulder.
“What kind of plans?” Mary inquired.
“Well we were going to burn another bowl or two and take us a walk over to the pit. We’ll give y’all a tour of Skidsville.” I replied. Mary looked at Sally then cut her eyes in my direction.
“The pit, what’s that?”
“Down in the woods.” Flip said with a weird twisted smile upon his narrow face. I had no objection with him coming along as it began to dawn on me what plan Bear was putting into place.
Requesting that Flip clean the spent ash from his bong bowl, I began preparing some weed to load into it. Attempting to keep my eyes upon this task while they kept running off all over Mary’s body proved somewhat difficult. Already temptation fanned still glowing embers which should have turned to cold grey ash by now. Kindling added they would burst into flame. Although having made no commitments to Bridget, we had been seeing each other for over two months and aside from her more or less gluing herself to me when in each other’s company, she was not only a decent human, but quite attractive as well. In fact she along with Teri wanted us to stay at their place and wait for them to get off work tonight, but we decided upon partying here in Lynnhaven this weekend instead. For the last two weeks my interests were being pulled in other directions. There was a chance meeting with Susan, a girl from my high school art class and Ruthie, a lovely half Japanese coworker at the Blue Hawaii. Now rather than being pulled, they were weighed against each other as I was once again spun around too fast. Flip passed me the bong and after loading its bowl, I handed it to Mary.
After Mary and Sally were escorted by Flip into his house to use the bathroom, the seven of us began walking northwards on Lynnhaven Drive. After a half block we turned east on Concord until coming to a dead end. Stepping over a small stream and ascending its four foot bank we all stood upon a path which led into some rather thick woods. The almost full moon was all but blotted out by beech, pine, poplar and oak boughs, however we Skids knew these woods like the back of our hands. As we passed between thick tangled bayberry underbrush, Mary and Sally’s footfalls put to flight roosting birds. Their loud flitting through the brush frightened our visitors. “It’s creepy here.” Sally whispered to which Flip hissed: “A place of strange spirits, but a nice swath of woods to visit during the day.”
“Strange spirits?” Mary whispered.
“Some not long released from deep in the ground.” I replied.
“Do what?” but instead of answering her, I along with the other Skids continued onward.
Emerging from the forest, we stood upon a dirt road and just beyond that the pit. Some fifty feet deep, two thirds of a mile long and a third of a mile across it was one of the many borrow pits that provided dirt for the building of roads. Its layers of rich black topsoil, sand and blue clay were used to build overpasses all along Interstate 64. As children we played down in the pit where there were patches of quicksand as well as an abundance of marine fossils dating back to a time when everything west of the fall line was beneath ocean waters. Here and there sticking out of blue clay were huge fossilized Basilosaurus bones. Some of the vertebrae of this long extinct species of whale were so big; we could sit on them like stools. The only thing that kept this pit from filling with water from artesian wells were a couple of big pumps piping it away into a nearby creek. Beyond the pit and through a thin strip of woods we saw the distant lights of cars traveling on Interstate 64. Mary and Sally seemed ill at ease here. “So is this the hot spot down here?” the latter asked. After being in the forest’s inky darkness, I could clearly see her sneer. “It’s a big hole in the ground.” Mary stated rather dryly. Just as I was getting ready to speak Whitey whispered: “People coming this way.”
A good distance away, I could make out three of them walking slowly towards us…
Madness in the Colonial Capitol
Re: Madness in the Colonial Capitol
17 – The Pit Witch
Motioning my companions back into the shadowy woods, we waited for whoever was approaching. I was almost certain they were not law enforcement. Of course one could never be sure in this gloom. As they drew nearer I could hear their murmuring voices. Getting even closer, I knew who they were. Halting parallel to our position in the woods, one of them spoke in a surly tone. It was a female’s voice. “Why hide in the woods? Now don’t you think that’s kind of rude as now I’m sure you see out as well as I can see in? Come out little mice. Don’t be frightened yet.” As we stepped off the path back onto the dirt road, I greeted. “Howdy there. Never can be sure of who’s roaming around here at night. No rudeness intended on our part.” There were two males and a female who in the moonlight favored the entertainer Cher. Rather lean, but somewhat shapely, the young woman had long dark hair and was wearing naught but a tight black tube top and a pair of ultra short denim cutoffs. Barefooted, she stood with her arms folded regarding us in a haughty manner. With her were two of the neighborhood paint huffers and glue sniffers. One I knew rather well and felt bad every time every time he came around. Tall, gangly with shoulder length light blonde hair Wag was once a star athlete playing both baseball and basketball, but had dropped out of high school in his junior year to become a hard core substance abuser. Whether Wag drank, huffed, shot, smoked, sniffed, snorted or popped it didn’t matter as long as he was getting fucked up all the time. Behind gold framed glasses was a pair of rather feral looking eyes. By looking at them I could tell he was only a weird fuck up or two away from being hauled off to the mental hospital. Even in the moonlight I could see the shiny spray finish residue around his mouth. He also reeked of it. Issuing a strange gurgling sound he finally managed to greet Bear, Charlie, Flip, Whitey and I by asking us if we had anything for the head. Of course we said no because if we told Wag otherwise or turned him on, he’d be over one’s house every day begging for a high. Bear and I put ourselves in front of the Williamsburg girls as any one of these characters were unpredictable, even little Al, who had clear spray finish all on his lips and around his mouth. It glimmered in the moonlight. No more than 5’2” with kinky rust colored hair, Allen when not thieving, would spend his waking hours either sniffing glue or huffing spray paint and on occasion would inhale gas fumes all for a cheap but dangerously intense high. His eyes, more dark and beady than Flip’s, ogled our guests as he mumbled unintelligibly. If our guests weren’t freaked out enough, Pamela or as we called her, the Pit Witch stepped in between Bear and I to get a closer look at them. Tossing her hair about, she turned and looked at Bear. “Who are these chicks you’re bringing around here?” Bear who on a few occasions had intimate relations with Pamela, replied: “It’s alright. They’re cool. They’re friends of ours. We’re showing them the pit.” Not responding to what Bear said, she turned and leered at me. “Two girls between the five of you?” Never being one to take all that much of Pamela’s intimidation, I replied: “Well if you join in that’ll make three, Pam.”
“Be careful of what you asked for.” the pit witch returned then ran her fingers down my cheek. Several times before Pamela had came on to me, but I wanted no part with this young woman and her crazy family which consisted of a pill popping mother, a hard drinking long distance trucker father, four brothers which included two psychopaths, a junkie and one who was brain damaged from falling off a bicycle and hitting his head on a fire hydrant. Pamela also had two schizophrenic sisters, the older one was now in a mental hospital. It was her older brother Psycho Johnny who caused me concern. He was the only guy I knew who could beat up Lowell once deemed the toughest fellow in Lynnhaven. Even Bear did not fuck around with either of them. Pamela was known to be just as unpredictably violent, especially when it came to other females. She was the main reason we kept ourselves in front of Mary and Sally. Always friendly to Flip and my cousin Charlie, she gave them big hugs but turned to Whitey. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Before Whitey could get a word out she hissed: “I told you not to come around here without any beer to drink. Remember that fucking six pack of mine you drank and promised to pay me back?”
“No, but I’ll pay you back.”
“When? Oh never mind just give me some money we’re walking up to the store.” Having only a fifty dollar bill, he gave it to her and said: “Get a case of cold Budweiser and bring me back the change.” He offered to set things right.
“I want a snack too.” Pamela informed him.
“Alright, get a bag of potato chips or something.”
“Potato chips make me crabby.” She said while making eye contact with Mary. By now both of our guests were somewhat frightened and were sticking close together. Pamela saw this as well and it brought a smirk to her face. “Are you going to wait for us here or at my place?”
“We’ll wait here for you, Pam.” I said.
As they walked off into the night out of earshot, I scolded Whitey for giving Pamela such a large bill which had us waiting with him for his beer and change. “We should just leave you to her abrasive mercies.” Excusing myself, I walked back into the forest to urinate. “Fucking dumb ass.” I muttered under my breath. Some twenty feet down the wooded path, I stopped and relieved myself on a fallen pine. Now we had to wait an hour or so for them to walk to and return from the store and that was if they weren’t picked up by the fuzz or else high tailed it for another location with all of Whitey’s money, but something told me that Pamela would indeed return. These fellows currently on her party list were not the type of people I cared to revel with. I had no intention of going to her place which was a shack in the middle of a large laurel slick. Of plywood, saplings and plastic tarps, Flip had assisted her in the construction of this shelter last winter and that is where she stayed most of the time. Another high school dropout, Pamela spent her waking hours drinking beer and being entertained by various young men. It was said she could cast spells and put curses on people. Flip having spent more time with her than anyone else present once told me that she was in cahoots with an extremely ancient water spirit which dwelt in a small pond at the bottom of the pit. From what Flip had explained it was freed from an artesian well by all the digging. It wasn’t from disbelieving in the spirit world or magic, I knew she came from a highly dysfunctional and mentally ill family. Although Pamela was wildly beautiful, I cared not for her company. Just as I was finishing up there came the sound of foot falls approaching me. Then a shape came into my limited viewing range. Even in the dark there was no mistaking that lumbering stride. “Have to drain me lizard.” He whispered. Urinating behind a large poplar, Bear asked: “Pretty interesting situation developing, eh?”
“What do you mean?”
“Running into Pam.”
“I don’t see it developing into anything other than us splitting after she returns with beer and Whitey’s change.” I returned.
“Oh I think we should all have a couple of beers with Pam in her shack.” Bear insisted as he finished up and popped back out from behind the tree. “Fuck that swill; we got two unopened bottles of whisky and vodka hidden in Flip’s barn.” Grabbing my arm and putting me at a halt as I started back to the road he whispered: “Remember how those two were crank calling our hotel room on Afton Mountain, called the lounge and showed up the next day causing us to leave?”
“Yeah we got our money back for two nights, stayed for one night free and found that cool hideaway on the Tye River.”
“Yeah but that’s not the issue.”
“What is?” I chuckled.
“They’re fucking party girls who ditched us for Jeff and that flunky he brought along. That was bullshit Mary told you about getting the weekends mixed up for our Nags Head date and now those two are just down here looking to get high and fuck. Did you see how they bogarted the bong up in Flip’s barn?”
“What’s wrong with them wanting to get high and fuck us?”
“Because we’ve been seeing Teri and Bridget. Williamsburg is a small town and I’m sure they heard we’ve been seeing other women. I say we let those two a full dose of what it takes to blend in around these here parts. That should send them away for good after an hour or so at Pam’s shack.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“We’ll cross through that bramble when the time comes.”
“Hornes Coliseum Interstate Inn?”
“Probably. There we can begin phase two.”
“Phase two?”
Stepping out onto the dirt road again I was perplexed over Bear’s reasoning regarding our two guests and a couple of beers with Pamela the pit witch. It all sounded rather vindictive on his part. Whatever these young ladies did, it warranted no violent acts carried out by an even more insane person. Having witnessed Pamela beating up another girl who did absolutely nothing to deserve what she got, I wouldn’t allow that to happen again. Crazy brothers or not, I would jerk a knot in the pit witch’s head if necessary. Stepping forward to meet us were Mary and Sally. “We’re leaving after they come back with the beer, right?” Mary wanted to know. Reaching in for a quick fondle of Sally’s breast, Bear chuckled and said: “Oh no. Not yet. We’re going to have a beer or two in the woods first. I’ve a powerful thirst for a cold brew.”
“Me too!” Charlie and Whitey chimed in at the same time, but Flip was up to something. “Let’s go back to the barn and party.”
“Sounds like a good idea.” Sally agreed. He could see the Williamsburg girls were uncomfortable with these surroundings and he would use that to his advantage. “We can go up there and party down.” He probably also sensed that I was somewhat uncomfortable with Mary and the way she showed up rather unexpectedly. An opportunist especially when it came to another fellow’s female friends, half drunk on Bear’s whisky and smoked up on my weed, Flip was embolden enough to put a guileful plan into action. What he didn’t know, I was on to his weaseling. I had experienced a bit of his conniving before and seen him in action snagging one of Charlie’s dates one night in the barn. A few of the Skids had sworn to do him the same way if and when he ever got a girlfriend. Just to kick a bit of sand into eyes, I slipped my arm around Mary, turned, kissed her neck and said: “It’ll be alright, baby. We’ll have a beer here and split. There’s a nice motor lodge with a lounge not far from here. Did you bring a party dress? If not, it’s casual attire in there.” At that Flip glared at me with his beady eyes; however Mary and Sally both were beaming at the thought of holing up with us again in motel rooms. “We’ll even pay for the lodging this time.” Mary said as drew closer to me.
Having foolishly initiating it, I felt myself being pulled in different directions again. There extremely close beside me a rather attractive young woman whom I found rather alluring for the most part in a sexual sense while knowing full well that in spite of her family’s social status and wealth she was little different from any other party girl. Being in no commented relationship at the time I could revel this late summer night in taking Mary for what she was. Standing a few yards away, Bear shot me a glaring glance. Here on his own turf, half snockered and smoked up, I could only imagine what he was thinking. I was getting mixed messages from him. Earlier back at Flip’s barn Bear was caressing Sally and only minutes ago copped a feel of her breast, but had not long confided in me that he wanted to scare these women off. It was evident he held Teri in higher esteem than I did Bridget or Mary. At this point in my life I wasn’t in need of or ready to contend with a one and only steady girlfriend. One thing was for certain, here on my turf while attempting to enjoy a Friday night, I would not put up with anyone’s crazy, scheming or mean actions. As far as these two young women were concerned, I would not see them subjugated to experience the pit witch along with her current court of brain damaged paint huffing glue sniffers. Now was the time to speak up. “Fuck hanging with those freaks. I’m out of here as soon as she brings Whitey back his beer and change if not sooner. Want to stay and drink here? Be my guest.” To my surprise Sally said: “I’ll stay and have a beer with everybody.”
“Me too.” Mary added. This struck me as odd because only minutes ago both seemed like they were ready to depart from the pit. “Y’all wanted to book a little while back.”
“It’s only fair.” Sally replied.
“Do what?”
“We dragged you guys all through Colonial Williamsburg where there were garden ghosts and killer swans.” She replied.
“Leaving while you are trying to show us around would be rude.” Mary added as she reattached herself to me.
“Oh believe me this ain’t going to be a stroll through some royal governor’s garden. Over there in the middle of a laurel slick is a place that should be shunned, but if you insist, we’ll visit it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. “
While we waited and looked to the south for Pamela’s return, Allen came up behind us from the north. “I’d thought you’d be heading from the other way. Where’s Pam and Wag?” Bear inquired. Gazing at the night sky with glazed eyes, Al the huffer mumbled: “Brew Earl gave us a ride from the store and dropped us off at the end of Concord. Follow me, Pamela is waiting for y’all.” In a weird shambling gate he started off with us following behind. Reentering into the shadowy forest, I unsnapped the sheath of my little Schrade Old Timer Sharp Finger skinning knife. After we forked off the small path onto an even smaller one I started to see litter in what limited moonlight there was filtering through leafy boughs and branches. Empty cigarette packs, beer cans, wine bottles as well as crumpled paper bags. Whatever else lay scattered was hidden by darkness and dead leaves. Halting outside of a large thicket of laurel, bayberry and cat brier, Allen moved aside some leafy branches which revealed an opening. Now we were traveling through a tunnel that had been hacked out with machetes. Right behind Allen, Charlie turned his head and looked at us with bugged eyes and whispered: “A journey into a different dimension. Welcome into the twilight zone.”
“More like the outer fucking limits.” I returned. Now I caught the scent of wood smoke in this narrow passageway. Some twenty or so more feet we entered an opening that had also been hacked out of this tangled thicket.
The man made glade was eerily illuminated by a small fire and around it were three people. Two sat on old milk crates and as if upon a throne, Pamela was seated in her folding outdoor chair. Behind the pit witch stood her shack. Framed in saplings with plywood walls, flooring and a roof which was covered with plastic tarps, they had applied splotches of spray paint to camouflage the structure. Although well hidden, the local fuzz would eventually find this place. Behind Wag who grabbed at the empty air or perhaps things he could only see, was a large midden of refuse. Spilling out from the thicket were bottles along with beer, food, soda and spray paint cans. There were also a lot of crumpled paper bags and empty flattened model glue tubes. Sitting across the fire from Wag was a fellow that caused me some concerned. Clad in a tank top, jeans and sneakers, he was stocky with a shock of blonde hair. At his feet were an empty plastic bread bag and a can of Perma Clear spray finish. It was Coop and where ever he partied, trouble soon would follow. From North Hampton, a neighborhood across the woods from Lynnhaven, he already was at risk of getting his ass kicked. Extremely fucked up from huffing, he didn’t notice our arrival until Pamela greeted us. In the firelight her tanned skin appeared to be a golden hue. She bade us to find somewhere to sit, but looking around I saw only two upside down empty ten gallon plastic drywall mud buckets and another milk crate. The ladies seated themselves on buckets and Bear sat upon the milk crate. This left Charlie, Flip, Whitey and I the option of standing or sitting upon damp pieces of cardboard on the wet ground. Whitey and I chose to stand. Apparently the pit witch deemed this as unacceptable. Leaning forward in her chair she glared and asked: “What too good to sit and drink with us?” At that Whitey squatted down, but I remained standing. “Oh the proud chieftain, who will not sit on the ground. Here let me offer you my chair.” Pamela gracefully rose and with a hand gesture bade me to sit. “That won’t be necessary, Pam. I’ve a knee injury and hit pains me to bend it, but thank you anyway.” Hearing that, the pit witch approached me. Although around the same age as I, it seemed there was countless ages of malefic wisdom in those strangely beautiful almond shaped eyes. “Maybe there’s something I can do to relieve that pain.” She said leaning close to me with hands on her shapely hips. Determined not to be intimidated by this crazy woman, I reached in, brushed a strand of dark hair from her eyes and said: “You can. I’ll have a cold beer if you don’t mind.” Pamela eyes blinked rapidly for several seconds and her upper lip twitched a bit, but then she smiled, sashayed over to an old styrofoam cooler, pulled out a can of Budweiser, popped the top and handed it to me. Thanking her, I lifted the can in cheer and poured a good bit of its contents down my gullet. “So you finally decided to visit this place.”
“Oh I’ve been here before. Flip and I burned a joint here late last winter, but I guess it was too cold out for you then.” No sooner than the words left my mouth, Coop rose with a wobbly motion. “Beau! What’s happening, beau?” He called everyone beau for some odd reason. Extending his hand, at first I was reluctant to shake, but did it anyway thus not prompting any substance induced idiocy on his part. It would be better to hold off on any physical violence until absolutely necessary. A rather slimy character, Coop was not welcomed in Skid territory and had been run out before by Joe the Skid. Alcohol, cocaine, downers, glue, paint, smack and speed, it didn’t matter as Coop would do to excess any substance that would keep him fucked up. Coop funded all of this by stealing whatever he could get his hands on. Once a friend of Bear’s in junior high school, Coop was suspected of breaking into his house and stealing a coin collection among other things. Although it wasn’t proved, Bear and I found some of the clear plastic coin cases at one of the places where Coop huffed. Fearing bodily harm, he neither said anything to or even made eye contact with Bear, but that didn’t keep him from ogling the two Williamsburg girls just as Allen, Wag and Flip were. For right now, Charlie and Whitey’s eyes were feasting upon a good portion of Pamela’s butt cheeks as there wasn’t enough denim shorts to cover them as she bent over to get another beer from the cooler. Aside from me, every male present tonight had probably slept with her. The pit witch was known to have a voracious sexual appetite, but at this particular time I didn’t care to find out for myself. The ill thought of rolling around with Pamela in her shed upon a scuzzy mattresses, was just that, especially if she had taken to screwing these disreputable critters. As somewhat of a scoundrel, I usually didn’t set myself above other people, but when it came to such as those who frequented this place; they were the shit that starving bottom feeders wouldn’t consume. Both Mary and Sally’s eyes were upon me as Pamela brought me another beer, but then something bizarre occurred.
Coop who had just downed a beer and had a few more huffs of clear spray finish rose to his feet. Wobbling a bit, he approached Mary while mumbling: “Come on Vanessa.” then attempted to pull the young Williamsburg woman up off her milk crate seat. Handing Pamela my beer, I got a firm grasp of Coop’s shirt and yanked him away with such force he went tumbling into the thick underbrush. Rising to his feet, Coop was scratched up and now advanced towards me with insane rage burning in his eyes. “You shouldn’t have did that, beau.” He muttered while slowly approaching. Balling up my fist, I growled: “You better get the fuck out of here before I knock that ugly face through the back of your sloped skull!” Still he slowly advanced. “Try me you fucking brain dead maggot!” Some of Coop’s surviving brain cells must have kicked in as he halted, smiled and mumbled: “Oh no, we’re tight, beau.” Then he extended his hand for another shake. Knowing that he use to be on the junior high wrestling team, I did not offer my hand, but did tell him: “Get the fuck back to North Hampton while you can.” This seemed to enrage him again, but Pamela weighed in. “Crawl back to North Hampton like a maggot!”
“Huh?”
“You heard me. Crawl.” By the fiery look in Pamela’s eyes I knew there was some kind of strange power at play. Coop was trembling and drooling. “But I don’t want to.”
“Crawl like a maggot.” The pit witch demanded. What happened next was extremely weird. Coop fell upon the ground and started wiggling like a worm with a glazed blank look in his eyes. “Crawl back to from where you came, maggot.” And crawl he did with some difficulty into the underbrush. However, while Flip, Charlie, Whitey and Allen cackled, Wag who was more fucked up than Coop, stood up and muttered: “He was my friend, you shouldn’t have been mean to him. I could tell by Wag’s posturing, he was ready to scrap. That’s when Bear rose to his feet and calmly said: “Wag, I’ve always looked at you as a friend, but if you don’t sit the fuck down I’ll break every bone in your body one by one.” Pamela stepped over and put her arm around him. “Come on baby; let’s have a good time tonight.” That seemed to settle him right down, but Mary and Sally appeared rather freaked out.
Finishing his third beer, Bear said: “Nice to see you again Pam, but we have places to go.” Mary, Sally and Charlie stood up as well while Flip along with Whitey bade us goodbye. “Oh no you don’t, Flippy!” Bear growled. “We’ve got some belongings locked up in your barn so you’re coming along too.”
“You’re just going to have to wait until I’m finished visiting.”
“I’ll drag your ass out of here like a dead branch.” Bear returned in no friendly tone. Hearing that, the Birdman stood up and said: “Alright, but I’m coming back here afterwards and the barn is going to be closed.” Knowing Flip was thinking that by closing his barn would spoil our party plans, Bear chuckled: “We just want our belongings, not hang out in there.”
Safely back up in Flip’s barn, Bear persuaded him to stay long enough for us to have a stiff drink and several hits off the bong. Looking at the Birdman I said: “You should take Joe’s advice and visit Ms. Humphrey before she passes out for the night. It’s already almost 11:00. Honestly man, with Wag, Allen and now Whitey contending for Pam’s favor, what chance do you stand without some kind of altercation occurring.” What I said next caused me some guilt as it was my original plan to spend some time with him. “Charlie, I want you to go back and make sure nothing bad happens to Whitey.” Reaching into my stash, I gave my cousin about two joints worth of weed. “Smoke this with Wag and maybe he won’t huff any more tonight. That shit is eating up what brains he has left.” Sally, who like Mary had been rather quiet up until now said: “Please tell me that what we saw out there was a bit of backwoods theater for the entertainment of out of town visitors.”
“Whatever do you mean, Sally?” I laughed.
“What she did to that crazy fucker.”
“That disturbed young lady has courted some particularly ancient spirits and now wields power, but all the while her soul is infected with an ailment there is no cure for. These guys can tell you as they know her better than me.” Bear and Flip looked down at the floor while Charlie took a swig of whisky and said: “She is a witch. Last June when a cop car came barreling down the pit road towards us, Pam knelt down and whispered something to the ground and a few seconds later the police cruiser came to a sudden stop.”
“I read about people being able to kill car engines or electronics with their minds.” Mary stated, but Charlie laughed and shook his head. “No engines were killed, but a huge crack opened up in the dirt road which caught and stopped that cop car cold. Now that was some decent backwoods theater.” Bear not too mindful of the mixed company laughed and said: “And she got Flip to build her hideaway with just the power of her pussy.”
“You’re one to talk having spent the night in there with her right after I built it.” The Birdman hissed. As humorous as this little get together was becoming, I said: “Well Bear, let’s accompany these two lovely young ladies to somewhere we can cut the rug and reside in comfort.”
“Going to Hornes?” Flip inquired.
“Where’d you hear that?” Bear replied with a savage smile.
Retrieving our booze, we rode off in Mary’s car to Hornes Coliseum Inn…
Motioning my companions back into the shadowy woods, we waited for whoever was approaching. I was almost certain they were not law enforcement. Of course one could never be sure in this gloom. As they drew nearer I could hear their murmuring voices. Getting even closer, I knew who they were. Halting parallel to our position in the woods, one of them spoke in a surly tone. It was a female’s voice. “Why hide in the woods? Now don’t you think that’s kind of rude as now I’m sure you see out as well as I can see in? Come out little mice. Don’t be frightened yet.” As we stepped off the path back onto the dirt road, I greeted. “Howdy there. Never can be sure of who’s roaming around here at night. No rudeness intended on our part.” There were two males and a female who in the moonlight favored the entertainer Cher. Rather lean, but somewhat shapely, the young woman had long dark hair and was wearing naught but a tight black tube top and a pair of ultra short denim cutoffs. Barefooted, she stood with her arms folded regarding us in a haughty manner. With her were two of the neighborhood paint huffers and glue sniffers. One I knew rather well and felt bad every time every time he came around. Tall, gangly with shoulder length light blonde hair Wag was once a star athlete playing both baseball and basketball, but had dropped out of high school in his junior year to become a hard core substance abuser. Whether Wag drank, huffed, shot, smoked, sniffed, snorted or popped it didn’t matter as long as he was getting fucked up all the time. Behind gold framed glasses was a pair of rather feral looking eyes. By looking at them I could tell he was only a weird fuck up or two away from being hauled off to the mental hospital. Even in the moonlight I could see the shiny spray finish residue around his mouth. He also reeked of it. Issuing a strange gurgling sound he finally managed to greet Bear, Charlie, Flip, Whitey and I by asking us if we had anything for the head. Of course we said no because if we told Wag otherwise or turned him on, he’d be over one’s house every day begging for a high. Bear and I put ourselves in front of the Williamsburg girls as any one of these characters were unpredictable, even little Al, who had clear spray finish all on his lips and around his mouth. It glimmered in the moonlight. No more than 5’2” with kinky rust colored hair, Allen when not thieving, would spend his waking hours either sniffing glue or huffing spray paint and on occasion would inhale gas fumes all for a cheap but dangerously intense high. His eyes, more dark and beady than Flip’s, ogled our guests as he mumbled unintelligibly. If our guests weren’t freaked out enough, Pamela or as we called her, the Pit Witch stepped in between Bear and I to get a closer look at them. Tossing her hair about, she turned and looked at Bear. “Who are these chicks you’re bringing around here?” Bear who on a few occasions had intimate relations with Pamela, replied: “It’s alright. They’re cool. They’re friends of ours. We’re showing them the pit.” Not responding to what Bear said, she turned and leered at me. “Two girls between the five of you?” Never being one to take all that much of Pamela’s intimidation, I replied: “Well if you join in that’ll make three, Pam.”
“Be careful of what you asked for.” the pit witch returned then ran her fingers down my cheek. Several times before Pamela had came on to me, but I wanted no part with this young woman and her crazy family which consisted of a pill popping mother, a hard drinking long distance trucker father, four brothers which included two psychopaths, a junkie and one who was brain damaged from falling off a bicycle and hitting his head on a fire hydrant. Pamela also had two schizophrenic sisters, the older one was now in a mental hospital. It was her older brother Psycho Johnny who caused me concern. He was the only guy I knew who could beat up Lowell once deemed the toughest fellow in Lynnhaven. Even Bear did not fuck around with either of them. Pamela was known to be just as unpredictably violent, especially when it came to other females. She was the main reason we kept ourselves in front of Mary and Sally. Always friendly to Flip and my cousin Charlie, she gave them big hugs but turned to Whitey. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Before Whitey could get a word out she hissed: “I told you not to come around here without any beer to drink. Remember that fucking six pack of mine you drank and promised to pay me back?”
“No, but I’ll pay you back.”
“When? Oh never mind just give me some money we’re walking up to the store.” Having only a fifty dollar bill, he gave it to her and said: “Get a case of cold Budweiser and bring me back the change.” He offered to set things right.
“I want a snack too.” Pamela informed him.
“Alright, get a bag of potato chips or something.”
“Potato chips make me crabby.” She said while making eye contact with Mary. By now both of our guests were somewhat frightened and were sticking close together. Pamela saw this as well and it brought a smirk to her face. “Are you going to wait for us here or at my place?”
“We’ll wait here for you, Pam.” I said.
As they walked off into the night out of earshot, I scolded Whitey for giving Pamela such a large bill which had us waiting with him for his beer and change. “We should just leave you to her abrasive mercies.” Excusing myself, I walked back into the forest to urinate. “Fucking dumb ass.” I muttered under my breath. Some twenty feet down the wooded path, I stopped and relieved myself on a fallen pine. Now we had to wait an hour or so for them to walk to and return from the store and that was if they weren’t picked up by the fuzz or else high tailed it for another location with all of Whitey’s money, but something told me that Pamela would indeed return. These fellows currently on her party list were not the type of people I cared to revel with. I had no intention of going to her place which was a shack in the middle of a large laurel slick. Of plywood, saplings and plastic tarps, Flip had assisted her in the construction of this shelter last winter and that is where she stayed most of the time. Another high school dropout, Pamela spent her waking hours drinking beer and being entertained by various young men. It was said she could cast spells and put curses on people. Flip having spent more time with her than anyone else present once told me that she was in cahoots with an extremely ancient water spirit which dwelt in a small pond at the bottom of the pit. From what Flip had explained it was freed from an artesian well by all the digging. It wasn’t from disbelieving in the spirit world or magic, I knew she came from a highly dysfunctional and mentally ill family. Although Pamela was wildly beautiful, I cared not for her company. Just as I was finishing up there came the sound of foot falls approaching me. Then a shape came into my limited viewing range. Even in the dark there was no mistaking that lumbering stride. “Have to drain me lizard.” He whispered. Urinating behind a large poplar, Bear asked: “Pretty interesting situation developing, eh?”
“What do you mean?”
“Running into Pam.”
“I don’t see it developing into anything other than us splitting after she returns with beer and Whitey’s change.” I returned.
“Oh I think we should all have a couple of beers with Pam in her shack.” Bear insisted as he finished up and popped back out from behind the tree. “Fuck that swill; we got two unopened bottles of whisky and vodka hidden in Flip’s barn.” Grabbing my arm and putting me at a halt as I started back to the road he whispered: “Remember how those two were crank calling our hotel room on Afton Mountain, called the lounge and showed up the next day causing us to leave?”
“Yeah we got our money back for two nights, stayed for one night free and found that cool hideaway on the Tye River.”
“Yeah but that’s not the issue.”
“What is?” I chuckled.
“They’re fucking party girls who ditched us for Jeff and that flunky he brought along. That was bullshit Mary told you about getting the weekends mixed up for our Nags Head date and now those two are just down here looking to get high and fuck. Did you see how they bogarted the bong up in Flip’s barn?”
“What’s wrong with them wanting to get high and fuck us?”
“Because we’ve been seeing Teri and Bridget. Williamsburg is a small town and I’m sure they heard we’ve been seeing other women. I say we let those two a full dose of what it takes to blend in around these here parts. That should send them away for good after an hour or so at Pam’s shack.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“We’ll cross through that bramble when the time comes.”
“Hornes Coliseum Interstate Inn?”
“Probably. There we can begin phase two.”
“Phase two?”
Stepping out onto the dirt road again I was perplexed over Bear’s reasoning regarding our two guests and a couple of beers with Pamela the pit witch. It all sounded rather vindictive on his part. Whatever these young ladies did, it warranted no violent acts carried out by an even more insane person. Having witnessed Pamela beating up another girl who did absolutely nothing to deserve what she got, I wouldn’t allow that to happen again. Crazy brothers or not, I would jerk a knot in the pit witch’s head if necessary. Stepping forward to meet us were Mary and Sally. “We’re leaving after they come back with the beer, right?” Mary wanted to know. Reaching in for a quick fondle of Sally’s breast, Bear chuckled and said: “Oh no. Not yet. We’re going to have a beer or two in the woods first. I’ve a powerful thirst for a cold brew.”
“Me too!” Charlie and Whitey chimed in at the same time, but Flip was up to something. “Let’s go back to the barn and party.”
“Sounds like a good idea.” Sally agreed. He could see the Williamsburg girls were uncomfortable with these surroundings and he would use that to his advantage. “We can go up there and party down.” He probably also sensed that I was somewhat uncomfortable with Mary and the way she showed up rather unexpectedly. An opportunist especially when it came to another fellow’s female friends, half drunk on Bear’s whisky and smoked up on my weed, Flip was embolden enough to put a guileful plan into action. What he didn’t know, I was on to his weaseling. I had experienced a bit of his conniving before and seen him in action snagging one of Charlie’s dates one night in the barn. A few of the Skids had sworn to do him the same way if and when he ever got a girlfriend. Just to kick a bit of sand into eyes, I slipped my arm around Mary, turned, kissed her neck and said: “It’ll be alright, baby. We’ll have a beer here and split. There’s a nice motor lodge with a lounge not far from here. Did you bring a party dress? If not, it’s casual attire in there.” At that Flip glared at me with his beady eyes; however Mary and Sally both were beaming at the thought of holing up with us again in motel rooms. “We’ll even pay for the lodging this time.” Mary said as drew closer to me.
Having foolishly initiating it, I felt myself being pulled in different directions again. There extremely close beside me a rather attractive young woman whom I found rather alluring for the most part in a sexual sense while knowing full well that in spite of her family’s social status and wealth she was little different from any other party girl. Being in no commented relationship at the time I could revel this late summer night in taking Mary for what she was. Standing a few yards away, Bear shot me a glaring glance. Here on his own turf, half snockered and smoked up, I could only imagine what he was thinking. I was getting mixed messages from him. Earlier back at Flip’s barn Bear was caressing Sally and only minutes ago copped a feel of her breast, but had not long confided in me that he wanted to scare these women off. It was evident he held Teri in higher esteem than I did Bridget or Mary. At this point in my life I wasn’t in need of or ready to contend with a one and only steady girlfriend. One thing was for certain, here on my turf while attempting to enjoy a Friday night, I would not put up with anyone’s crazy, scheming or mean actions. As far as these two young women were concerned, I would not see them subjugated to experience the pit witch along with her current court of brain damaged paint huffing glue sniffers. Now was the time to speak up. “Fuck hanging with those freaks. I’m out of here as soon as she brings Whitey back his beer and change if not sooner. Want to stay and drink here? Be my guest.” To my surprise Sally said: “I’ll stay and have a beer with everybody.”
“Me too.” Mary added. This struck me as odd because only minutes ago both seemed like they were ready to depart from the pit. “Y’all wanted to book a little while back.”
“It’s only fair.” Sally replied.
“Do what?”
“We dragged you guys all through Colonial Williamsburg where there were garden ghosts and killer swans.” She replied.
“Leaving while you are trying to show us around would be rude.” Mary added as she reattached herself to me.
“Oh believe me this ain’t going to be a stroll through some royal governor’s garden. Over there in the middle of a laurel slick is a place that should be shunned, but if you insist, we’ll visit it. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. “
While we waited and looked to the south for Pamela’s return, Allen came up behind us from the north. “I’d thought you’d be heading from the other way. Where’s Pam and Wag?” Bear inquired. Gazing at the night sky with glazed eyes, Al the huffer mumbled: “Brew Earl gave us a ride from the store and dropped us off at the end of Concord. Follow me, Pamela is waiting for y’all.” In a weird shambling gate he started off with us following behind. Reentering into the shadowy forest, I unsnapped the sheath of my little Schrade Old Timer Sharp Finger skinning knife. After we forked off the small path onto an even smaller one I started to see litter in what limited moonlight there was filtering through leafy boughs and branches. Empty cigarette packs, beer cans, wine bottles as well as crumpled paper bags. Whatever else lay scattered was hidden by darkness and dead leaves. Halting outside of a large thicket of laurel, bayberry and cat brier, Allen moved aside some leafy branches which revealed an opening. Now we were traveling through a tunnel that had been hacked out with machetes. Right behind Allen, Charlie turned his head and looked at us with bugged eyes and whispered: “A journey into a different dimension. Welcome into the twilight zone.”
“More like the outer fucking limits.” I returned. Now I caught the scent of wood smoke in this narrow passageway. Some twenty or so more feet we entered an opening that had also been hacked out of this tangled thicket.
The man made glade was eerily illuminated by a small fire and around it were three people. Two sat on old milk crates and as if upon a throne, Pamela was seated in her folding outdoor chair. Behind the pit witch stood her shack. Framed in saplings with plywood walls, flooring and a roof which was covered with plastic tarps, they had applied splotches of spray paint to camouflage the structure. Although well hidden, the local fuzz would eventually find this place. Behind Wag who grabbed at the empty air or perhaps things he could only see, was a large midden of refuse. Spilling out from the thicket were bottles along with beer, food, soda and spray paint cans. There were also a lot of crumpled paper bags and empty flattened model glue tubes. Sitting across the fire from Wag was a fellow that caused me some concerned. Clad in a tank top, jeans and sneakers, he was stocky with a shock of blonde hair. At his feet were an empty plastic bread bag and a can of Perma Clear spray finish. It was Coop and where ever he partied, trouble soon would follow. From North Hampton, a neighborhood across the woods from Lynnhaven, he already was at risk of getting his ass kicked. Extremely fucked up from huffing, he didn’t notice our arrival until Pamela greeted us. In the firelight her tanned skin appeared to be a golden hue. She bade us to find somewhere to sit, but looking around I saw only two upside down empty ten gallon plastic drywall mud buckets and another milk crate. The ladies seated themselves on buckets and Bear sat upon the milk crate. This left Charlie, Flip, Whitey and I the option of standing or sitting upon damp pieces of cardboard on the wet ground. Whitey and I chose to stand. Apparently the pit witch deemed this as unacceptable. Leaning forward in her chair she glared and asked: “What too good to sit and drink with us?” At that Whitey squatted down, but I remained standing. “Oh the proud chieftain, who will not sit on the ground. Here let me offer you my chair.” Pamela gracefully rose and with a hand gesture bade me to sit. “That won’t be necessary, Pam. I’ve a knee injury and hit pains me to bend it, but thank you anyway.” Hearing that, the pit witch approached me. Although around the same age as I, it seemed there was countless ages of malefic wisdom in those strangely beautiful almond shaped eyes. “Maybe there’s something I can do to relieve that pain.” She said leaning close to me with hands on her shapely hips. Determined not to be intimidated by this crazy woman, I reached in, brushed a strand of dark hair from her eyes and said: “You can. I’ll have a cold beer if you don’t mind.” Pamela eyes blinked rapidly for several seconds and her upper lip twitched a bit, but then she smiled, sashayed over to an old styrofoam cooler, pulled out a can of Budweiser, popped the top and handed it to me. Thanking her, I lifted the can in cheer and poured a good bit of its contents down my gullet. “So you finally decided to visit this place.”
“Oh I’ve been here before. Flip and I burned a joint here late last winter, but I guess it was too cold out for you then.” No sooner than the words left my mouth, Coop rose with a wobbly motion. “Beau! What’s happening, beau?” He called everyone beau for some odd reason. Extending his hand, at first I was reluctant to shake, but did it anyway thus not prompting any substance induced idiocy on his part. It would be better to hold off on any physical violence until absolutely necessary. A rather slimy character, Coop was not welcomed in Skid territory and had been run out before by Joe the Skid. Alcohol, cocaine, downers, glue, paint, smack and speed, it didn’t matter as Coop would do to excess any substance that would keep him fucked up. Coop funded all of this by stealing whatever he could get his hands on. Once a friend of Bear’s in junior high school, Coop was suspected of breaking into his house and stealing a coin collection among other things. Although it wasn’t proved, Bear and I found some of the clear plastic coin cases at one of the places where Coop huffed. Fearing bodily harm, he neither said anything to or even made eye contact with Bear, but that didn’t keep him from ogling the two Williamsburg girls just as Allen, Wag and Flip were. For right now, Charlie and Whitey’s eyes were feasting upon a good portion of Pamela’s butt cheeks as there wasn’t enough denim shorts to cover them as she bent over to get another beer from the cooler. Aside from me, every male present tonight had probably slept with her. The pit witch was known to have a voracious sexual appetite, but at this particular time I didn’t care to find out for myself. The ill thought of rolling around with Pamela in her shed upon a scuzzy mattresses, was just that, especially if she had taken to screwing these disreputable critters. As somewhat of a scoundrel, I usually didn’t set myself above other people, but when it came to such as those who frequented this place; they were the shit that starving bottom feeders wouldn’t consume. Both Mary and Sally’s eyes were upon me as Pamela brought me another beer, but then something bizarre occurred.
Coop who had just downed a beer and had a few more huffs of clear spray finish rose to his feet. Wobbling a bit, he approached Mary while mumbling: “Come on Vanessa.” then attempted to pull the young Williamsburg woman up off her milk crate seat. Handing Pamela my beer, I got a firm grasp of Coop’s shirt and yanked him away with such force he went tumbling into the thick underbrush. Rising to his feet, Coop was scratched up and now advanced towards me with insane rage burning in his eyes. “You shouldn’t have did that, beau.” He muttered while slowly approaching. Balling up my fist, I growled: “You better get the fuck out of here before I knock that ugly face through the back of your sloped skull!” Still he slowly advanced. “Try me you fucking brain dead maggot!” Some of Coop’s surviving brain cells must have kicked in as he halted, smiled and mumbled: “Oh no, we’re tight, beau.” Then he extended his hand for another shake. Knowing that he use to be on the junior high wrestling team, I did not offer my hand, but did tell him: “Get the fuck back to North Hampton while you can.” This seemed to enrage him again, but Pamela weighed in. “Crawl back to North Hampton like a maggot!”
“Huh?”
“You heard me. Crawl.” By the fiery look in Pamela’s eyes I knew there was some kind of strange power at play. Coop was trembling and drooling. “But I don’t want to.”
“Crawl like a maggot.” The pit witch demanded. What happened next was extremely weird. Coop fell upon the ground and started wiggling like a worm with a glazed blank look in his eyes. “Crawl back to from where you came, maggot.” And crawl he did with some difficulty into the underbrush. However, while Flip, Charlie, Whitey and Allen cackled, Wag who was more fucked up than Coop, stood up and muttered: “He was my friend, you shouldn’t have been mean to him. I could tell by Wag’s posturing, he was ready to scrap. That’s when Bear rose to his feet and calmly said: “Wag, I’ve always looked at you as a friend, but if you don’t sit the fuck down I’ll break every bone in your body one by one.” Pamela stepped over and put her arm around him. “Come on baby; let’s have a good time tonight.” That seemed to settle him right down, but Mary and Sally appeared rather freaked out.
Finishing his third beer, Bear said: “Nice to see you again Pam, but we have places to go.” Mary, Sally and Charlie stood up as well while Flip along with Whitey bade us goodbye. “Oh no you don’t, Flippy!” Bear growled. “We’ve got some belongings locked up in your barn so you’re coming along too.”
“You’re just going to have to wait until I’m finished visiting.”
“I’ll drag your ass out of here like a dead branch.” Bear returned in no friendly tone. Hearing that, the Birdman stood up and said: “Alright, but I’m coming back here afterwards and the barn is going to be closed.” Knowing Flip was thinking that by closing his barn would spoil our party plans, Bear chuckled: “We just want our belongings, not hang out in there.”
Safely back up in Flip’s barn, Bear persuaded him to stay long enough for us to have a stiff drink and several hits off the bong. Looking at the Birdman I said: “You should take Joe’s advice and visit Ms. Humphrey before she passes out for the night. It’s already almost 11:00. Honestly man, with Wag, Allen and now Whitey contending for Pam’s favor, what chance do you stand without some kind of altercation occurring.” What I said next caused me some guilt as it was my original plan to spend some time with him. “Charlie, I want you to go back and make sure nothing bad happens to Whitey.” Reaching into my stash, I gave my cousin about two joints worth of weed. “Smoke this with Wag and maybe he won’t huff any more tonight. That shit is eating up what brains he has left.” Sally, who like Mary had been rather quiet up until now said: “Please tell me that what we saw out there was a bit of backwoods theater for the entertainment of out of town visitors.”
“Whatever do you mean, Sally?” I laughed.
“What she did to that crazy fucker.”
“That disturbed young lady has courted some particularly ancient spirits and now wields power, but all the while her soul is infected with an ailment there is no cure for. These guys can tell you as they know her better than me.” Bear and Flip looked down at the floor while Charlie took a swig of whisky and said: “She is a witch. Last June when a cop car came barreling down the pit road towards us, Pam knelt down and whispered something to the ground and a few seconds later the police cruiser came to a sudden stop.”
“I read about people being able to kill car engines or electronics with their minds.” Mary stated, but Charlie laughed and shook his head. “No engines were killed, but a huge crack opened up in the dirt road which caught and stopped that cop car cold. Now that was some decent backwoods theater.” Bear not too mindful of the mixed company laughed and said: “And she got Flip to build her hideaway with just the power of her pussy.”
“You’re one to talk having spent the night in there with her right after I built it.” The Birdman hissed. As humorous as this little get together was becoming, I said: “Well Bear, let’s accompany these two lovely young ladies to somewhere we can cut the rug and reside in comfort.”
“Going to Hornes?” Flip inquired.
“Where’d you hear that?” Bear replied with a savage smile.
Retrieving our booze, we rode off in Mary’s car to Hornes Coliseum Inn…
Re: Madness in the Colonial Capitol
18 - Departures into the darkness
As Bear and I sipped whisky we were entertained by our guests changing into their going out to party attire right in front of us. By his ogling bloodshot grey eyes, it appeared my large friend had a change of mind and no longer seemed as if he wanted to run our two visitors off. Now visibly drunk, he slurred: “Y’all just don’t know how much I’ve missed this.”
“Missed what?” Sally inquired as she slipped on a little electric blue dress. In reply he issued a weird low rumbling growl. Mary in a long black slit up the side, halter topped gown like affair, sashayed towards me and asked if I missed their company as well. Saying nothing, I chuckled instead as my eyes slowly wandered up and down upon the woman standing in front of me while thinking about having to shoo other fellows away from her once we hit the lounge. I pretty much knew what to expect in that watering hole this time of night.
Mary and Sally had shelled out the bucks to get two rooms all the while telling us from here on out everything would be their treat. Our accommodations although considerably better than the Econo-Lodge further up Mercury, lacked the ambiance of where we stayed atop Afton Mountain. With no big events going on over at the Coliseum, Hornes was half vacant, but those lodging here tonight were partiers like us. Occasionally we could hear their loud voices passing our room out on the walkway as they went about getting ice or heading to and from the lounge. It was late Friday night at Hornes and anything could happen. Earlier while peering out the door of this second floor room, I saw a cop cruiser buzz the parking lot below. The fuzz would be out for game tonight and what I carried could be flushed down a motel toilet if necessary. Hopefully they would not be barging into either of our rooms tonight. Most of the trouble occurred in Hornes lounge as it was a place where different sorts gathered, drank and did what drugs they could do either in their rooms or out in the parking lot. The fuzz would be through here again attempting to keep unruly substance addled lounge patrons in check. Hornes management appreciated these local cops checking up on the place from time to time. They were always thick around the more popular nightclubs and that’s why I rarely visited them. Having to be troubled or get into a fight was not originally in my plans for this Friday night. It would be better if we didn’t close the bar early Saturday morning.
Slowly turning all the way around, Mary asked me how she looked then wanted to know if I was ready to burn a joint.
“You look absolutely ravishing and yeah we should smoke a quick one before going into that fucking zoo.”
“Zoo? Why do you call it that?”
“Oh you’ll see soon enough, darling.” I replied.
“Hopefully I won’t have to break anyone’s head.” Bear added with a snarl. Whisky always affected him differently than mescal, rum or vodka, but this was the Bear I needed with me if a barroom scene became too troublesome. Sally sat beside him and rubbed his shoulder. “Make love not war.” She softly said as her hand moved inside his shirt and caressed his chest. Gently pulling away, Bear stood up and unbuckled his belt. Slipping it out of the loops he also removed his big folding Buck Knife sheath. Unsheathing the knife, he stuck it in his pocket. He turned and looked down at Sally. “The war may be over in Nam, but if someone pulls a blade out on me and I ain’t near a cue stick there will be no suffering on my part.”
“Why all this aggression?” Sally asked. Downing a good measure of whisky, I patted the sheathed Sharp Finger skinning knife in my inner vest pocket and replied to Sally. “I thought you gals had a thing for us wild boys.”
“Oh we do.” Mary broke in and with a rather sultry look in her eyes added: “But we like you to be wild in other ways instead of breaking heads and knife fighting.”
“Usually I’d carry a pistol into a joint like that, but this is supposed to be a nice unexpected date.” I returned while pulling out my stash to twist up a bone. In a rare frame of mind, I changed the subject. “So it’s been awhile ladies, may I ask why y’all decided to come down here looking for us?” to which Mary replied: “Because we really dig the both of you. You’re unique.” However the way she looked at the gold reefer I was breaking off a bud had me doubting her sincerity. Her next words added to my doubts. “You guys always have the best pot. We were wondering if you get us a big bag of that.” Before I even glanced at Bear, his eyes were upon me. Although I had been out with these young ladies for a couple of weekends and slept with Mary several times, she or Sally were not well known enough for me to do any trading with. What if they got popped? Would they be honorable and keep their mouths shut or would an hour of good cop - bad cop interrogation have them singing like birds? Then there was the matter of Mary’s father being a judge which also played into my apprehension. At the risk of diminishing affections, I put the finishing touches on the number and lied. “I got this awhile back from some soul brother down in Phoebus. I don’t even know the kat’s name. Sometimes he’s at the bar and sometimes he’s not. It’s touch and go with him. I wouldn’t count on him as being a reliable source.” Passing the joint to Mary there was no mistaking the look of disappointment upon her face. At this point I was ready to leave out of here if need be. It seemed this wasn’t about romance. It was more of an attempt to cultivate a comfortable arrangement, but then Bear and I had already arrived at that conclusion some time back. With a bit of jiggling, Mary adjusted her dress and said: “Well if you run into him again in the near future, keep me in mind. Cop one for us, we’ll come and pay you and make another weekend out of it. You do still have my number, don’t you?” This more or less let me know if I didn’t come through, this would probably be the last time us four would be partying together in a motor lodge room. It was vindictiveness on my part which had me telling Mary that I may be going to Phoebus sometime next week. A smile lit up her face while dark lust played upon mine. This weekend would the last time we would spend with them. By the wolfish grin upon Bear’s face, it was evident he anticipated this as well. The last night or perhaps, last weekend with these two voluptuous young women. Why not make it as pleasant as possible? I involuntarily bared my teeth and growled while ogling Mary in that tight black gown.
Here at 12:15AM the restaurant/lounge was less than half filled as people had already retired to their rooms or departed. Still the live band played on. Seemingly it was a place of merriment, but with the mixed crowd anything could flare up. There were several North Hampton Captains as they called themselves reveling happily with just as many Big Bethel boys. Some half dozen Lakeshore gals sat among them. Knowing some of them rather well, neither Bear nor I had any feud with these folks. Attempting to pick up two older Buckroe women were out good friends from Tidemill, the Grazzo brothers. Upon seeing us they laughed and shouted: “Skids!” There were a couple of Greenwood Farms fellows with their girlfriends, but they paid us no mind. Sitting at one of the corner tables were four Fox Hill Road ‘Big Daddies’ as they were known with some red haired chick who looked a little like Ann Margret. As we passed them one shouted: “Call the city pound!” Halting I took a gander at their, platform shoes white bell bottom pants, loud big collared shirts and beauty parlor hairdos. Nodding my head I said: “Any of you ladies care to dance?” Bear looming over their table puckered his lips and made several kissing sounds. Scattered about the lounge were a few men and women we did not recognize. I noticed two who appeared to be military fellows were scoping out our dates. If there was to be any trouble tonight those two would probably initiated it. Even as we seated ourselves, they were still staring. A very prompt waitress arrived to take our orders.
Although our drinks were somewhat weak, they were at least wet. Mary and Sally sipped their margaritas while Bear and I had vodka greyhounds. While gazing out at this sodden scene I would have been much happier drinking in the Greenwood Bar, Flip’s barn or Mary’s motor lodge room. The band, covering various recording artists’ music, was not all that good either. During one such song, Grand Funk’s cover of Locomotion, Mary grabbed my hand and pulled me out on the dance floor. Not usually one for fast dancing while full of whisky, I bopped around while Mary really cut the rug. Failing to get Bear on his feet, Sally joined Mary and I which had a military man, probably some grunt from Langley approaching the dance floor. Brawny, swarthy, his dark hair was cropped short into a flattop. Wearing a flowered Hawaiian shirt and jeans he appeared to be either Italian or Latino. With a smirk upon his face he glanced at me and proceeded to dance with Sally. Taking a look at Bear I saw that he was talking with none other than Mitch and Lowell. With those two in the mix things were bound to become weird. As that song ended the singer/front man looked at me and greeted with a “How.” While contemplating jumping time on this idiot he stepped back with the band and announced the next song. “A little Paul Revere and the Raiders, Indian Reservation.” I would not be dancing to that. As they began to play Lowell approached Mary and I. “What’s happening, Skid!”
“Nothing much, Skid!” I returned while prodding Mary back to the table. Although standing only 5’6”, Lowell was a force to be reckoned with. Rather brawny with a mane of long golden hair he had painfully put many a man on the floor or ground. Clad in a black T-shirt, straight leg jeans and Converse basketball shoes he looked up for just about anything. When he wasn’t playing his guitar, a night out for Lowell meant either fighting or fucking and sometimes both. He would always offer his assistance to a fellow Skid especially if it involved beating someone into a bloody pulp if necessary, but usually could knock a man out in just one or two punches. Turning his head he yelled over the music. “Mitchy, drag some more chairs over to the table.” Stepping between the military fellow and whom he was dancing with, Lowell spoke to the two Williamsburg women in a rather loud tone: “According to Mitch, you must be Mary and Sally.” Whipping his hair back, he not only shook hands with both young ladies, but hugged them as well. “I’m Lowell, welcome to Hampton. You gals couldn’t done any better than hooking up with my two good friends here.”
“Excuse me! We’re trying to dance.” The military fellow informed Lowell who instead of addressing him asked Mary and Sally: “Is this gentleman with either of you two?”
“Not me.” Mary replied.
“He just came up and started dancing with me.” Sally added. Hearing that, Lowell turned to the fellow and told him: “I’m cutting in Roscoe.” Then Lowell glanced at the guitar player and said to me: “Look Skid, he plays a left hand Fender Stratocaster just like mine, but not as well as me.” Loping towards the band, Lowell placed his hand over the lead singer’s microphone and motioned for the band to cease. Which they did as the drummer and bass player knew him. Telling the singer to take a break, Lowell asked the guitar player to hand over his instrument and take a break as well. Turning around, he told the drummer, bass and keyboard player: “Purple Haze, now keep up with me boys!” Grabbing both Mary and Sally’s hand I said: “Let’s sit down and enjoy this.”
As Lowell both played and sang, the other band members did their best to keep in time as they stretched this Jimi Hendrix classic as long as possible. The crowd aside from the band’s singer loved it and when the song was over he announced that would be the last number. Receiving back his instrument with a great deal of admiration, the guitar played asked Lowell to show him a few licks. “232 Merrick Road, right off the fourth block of Lynnhaven. We jam out back in the garage usually on Wednesday and Thursday evenings. We need a rhythm guitar player. Bring beer, whisky or anything else you have in mind.”
“Damn, I can’t believe you just play in a garage band.” He complemented Lowell who smiled and said: “We’re getting good and when we hit the scene; it’s going to be big, baby.” As the guitar player ambled off to assist his band mates pack everything away, Lowell plopped down in a chair beside Mitch. Sally laughed and said: “This is great, the King of Williamsburg and his minstrel.” Mary joined in by inquiring: “how come you’re not wearing your resplendent regal attire, King Mitch and where is General Woo?”
“What in the hell are they going on about, Mitchy?”
“Woo’s and my visit to Williamsburg last April. It was absolutely fucking splendid. A great place to visit, Skid. I highly recommend it.” Throwing back his long golden blond hair, Lowell smiled at both of the young women and asked: “Are all the Williamsburg gals as pretty as you?”
“We’re a little above average.” Sally slurred and then told him how much she enjoyed his performance.
Having not seen Lowell and Mitch in some time I inquired how they were getting along, but before either of them could reply, the dancing military fellow and a friend approached. Halting at the empty table beside ours, they scooted it and two chairs closer to us. The swarthy one with a flattop smiled and introduced himself as Angel while the other one, a fellow around Bear’s size with short cropped sandy hair and moustache said: “What’s kicking? I’m Bret.” Lowell with an almost comical puzzled expression on his face asked: “Oh my goodness gracious, what’s going on?”
“We just wanted to tell you great job on the guitar.” Bret said while ogling Mary as he friend did the same to Sally. It was quite apparent these two were either too drunk or stupid to know they had put themselves into a precarious situation. Mitch saluted them and asked: “What the fuck are you, squids?” A flash of anger played in Bret’s eyes as he replied: “Fuck no. We’re air force.” Then him and his friend attempted to engage the two young Williamsburg ladies in a bit of small talk until Lowell informed them: “We don’t need any air support over here so goodnight and move on.”
“Hey man, why you got be like that?” Bret returned.
“Because we’re some old friends getting together and catching up on lost time.” After throwing down his triple shot of Jack Daniels, Lowell added: “There’s another reason too.” Bret however laughed and said: “Hey this isn’t your private club.” Lowell nodded at Bear and I then stood up. Stepping over to Bret, he repeated: “There’s another reason too.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? What other reason?”
At that Lowell knocked over Bret’s mug of beer on the table and replied: “Because you’re a sloppy drinker.” Bret’s eyes blazed with murderous rage, but perhaps it was his military discipline along with a fear of being arrested for fighting inside this establishment that prompted him to say: “I suggest we carry this outside, Shorty.”
“Why outside, you overgrown turd hopper?”
“Because that’s the way it’s handled.” Bret replied as he started to rise. In doing this he braced one huge hand upon the table causing it to not only tilt, but bring spilt beer pouring into his lap. In the very instant that Bret looked down at his wet pants, Lowell went into action. In a blur of speed which would have shamed any striking copperhead or cottonmouth, Lowell delivered two tremendous blows, a left then right to Bret’s head. Still the brute rose to his feet which brought a nervous look to Lowell’s eyes as he quickly stepped back. With one visible knot rising over his left eye, Bret took a step forward, halted while both eyes rolled back in his head. Teetering for several seconds, he pitched face first onto the floor. Taking a look at Angel, I asked: “You don’t want to start off early Saturday morning like that, do you?” He sat absolutely still and said nothing. Lowell however chuckled and told us: “I thought he was going to need two more. Well Mitchy, we got to be skedaddling on out of here before the fuzz arrives. Mary, Sally, it was a pleasure to meet y’all. Skids, I’d get these here women out of here and soon as the manager is calling the cops now.” With that our two fellow Skids fast stepped out through the door. Doing the same, Bear and I escorted our dates back to their accommodations.
“What a rough and ready bunch you all are!” Mary laughed, then quaffed a good amount of vodka and chased it down with Sprite soda. Somewhat unprepared for proper motor inn lodging, we lacked an ice chest, beer, a good supply of liquor and decent mixers. What we did have was almost a half bottle of whisky as well as an almost full bottle of vodka for these wee hours and enough weed to see us through a few days. In spite of not having the opportunity to break anyone’s head, Bear was in good spirits as he and Sally slow danced to America’s A Horse With No Name playing on the radio alarm clock. Both had not long returned from the vending machines with sodas, ice and news of two cop cars in the lounge’s parking lot. “More like rough and tumble.” I returned while pouring a good swallow of whisky into my clear plastic motel courtesy cup. “It gets old and certainly stupid at times. It sends young kats away looking for more laid back scenes.”
“Works for me.” Bear said then added: “Maybe one day we’ll make that scene.” As the song ended, he kissed Sally’s cheek and said: “I’d love to live in Williamsburg or Yorktown just like you Skid, but there’s a foreboding feeling I have that we’re going to be stuck here for several more years.” His statement had me asking what he based those feelings upon. Having a drink right out of the whisky bottle, Bear growled: “I hate drinking out of motel cups!” then he said: “Even though you and I think we’ve had enough of this place, this place has not had enough of us yet. Maybe ten more years at the most.”
“I was thinking no more than five.” I returned.
“Not quite ready for Williamsburg culture, are we? Sally laughed. “Aside from roughing up a few football players, having your way with us and probably a couple of other Williamsburg women, I think you two got along quite well in the colonial capitol.”
Having drained most of the vodka and smoked another joint along with everything else these young ladies had consumed in the last several hours, our visitors were slammed. They wobbled while standing, staggered on their way to the bathroom and slurred heavily through our substance addled conversations. Mary had already stumbled and took a tumble while attempting to dance. Soon the both of them were laying in the same bed passed out cold. Bear looked down at them then at me, chuckled and said: “We’ve choices here.”
“Choices?”
“That’s right. We can either walk home tomorrow in the heat with a hangover or book on out from here in the cool of night. Either way it’s time to let these pretty birds fly off.” Bear replied while lighting up a cigarette.
Somewhere around 3:00AM we left our visitors at Hornes Coliseum Inn and entered an adjacent patch of woods on a path which led to Lynnhaven. The stillness of the dark woods was refreshing. Before parting company Bear inquired if we were still on the weekend after next to visit Bridget and Teri in Williamsburg. “Sure, why not?” I replied…
As Bear and I sipped whisky we were entertained by our guests changing into their going out to party attire right in front of us. By his ogling bloodshot grey eyes, it appeared my large friend had a change of mind and no longer seemed as if he wanted to run our two visitors off. Now visibly drunk, he slurred: “Y’all just don’t know how much I’ve missed this.”
“Missed what?” Sally inquired as she slipped on a little electric blue dress. In reply he issued a weird low rumbling growl. Mary in a long black slit up the side, halter topped gown like affair, sashayed towards me and asked if I missed their company as well. Saying nothing, I chuckled instead as my eyes slowly wandered up and down upon the woman standing in front of me while thinking about having to shoo other fellows away from her once we hit the lounge. I pretty much knew what to expect in that watering hole this time of night.
Mary and Sally had shelled out the bucks to get two rooms all the while telling us from here on out everything would be their treat. Our accommodations although considerably better than the Econo-Lodge further up Mercury, lacked the ambiance of where we stayed atop Afton Mountain. With no big events going on over at the Coliseum, Hornes was half vacant, but those lodging here tonight were partiers like us. Occasionally we could hear their loud voices passing our room out on the walkway as they went about getting ice or heading to and from the lounge. It was late Friday night at Hornes and anything could happen. Earlier while peering out the door of this second floor room, I saw a cop cruiser buzz the parking lot below. The fuzz would be out for game tonight and what I carried could be flushed down a motel toilet if necessary. Hopefully they would not be barging into either of our rooms tonight. Most of the trouble occurred in Hornes lounge as it was a place where different sorts gathered, drank and did what drugs they could do either in their rooms or out in the parking lot. The fuzz would be through here again attempting to keep unruly substance addled lounge patrons in check. Hornes management appreciated these local cops checking up on the place from time to time. They were always thick around the more popular nightclubs and that’s why I rarely visited them. Having to be troubled or get into a fight was not originally in my plans for this Friday night. It would be better if we didn’t close the bar early Saturday morning.
Slowly turning all the way around, Mary asked me how she looked then wanted to know if I was ready to burn a joint.
“You look absolutely ravishing and yeah we should smoke a quick one before going into that fucking zoo.”
“Zoo? Why do you call it that?”
“Oh you’ll see soon enough, darling.” I replied.
“Hopefully I won’t have to break anyone’s head.” Bear added with a snarl. Whisky always affected him differently than mescal, rum or vodka, but this was the Bear I needed with me if a barroom scene became too troublesome. Sally sat beside him and rubbed his shoulder. “Make love not war.” She softly said as her hand moved inside his shirt and caressed his chest. Gently pulling away, Bear stood up and unbuckled his belt. Slipping it out of the loops he also removed his big folding Buck Knife sheath. Unsheathing the knife, he stuck it in his pocket. He turned and looked down at Sally. “The war may be over in Nam, but if someone pulls a blade out on me and I ain’t near a cue stick there will be no suffering on my part.”
“Why all this aggression?” Sally asked. Downing a good measure of whisky, I patted the sheathed Sharp Finger skinning knife in my inner vest pocket and replied to Sally. “I thought you gals had a thing for us wild boys.”
“Oh we do.” Mary broke in and with a rather sultry look in her eyes added: “But we like you to be wild in other ways instead of breaking heads and knife fighting.”
“Usually I’d carry a pistol into a joint like that, but this is supposed to be a nice unexpected date.” I returned while pulling out my stash to twist up a bone. In a rare frame of mind, I changed the subject. “So it’s been awhile ladies, may I ask why y’all decided to come down here looking for us?” to which Mary replied: “Because we really dig the both of you. You’re unique.” However the way she looked at the gold reefer I was breaking off a bud had me doubting her sincerity. Her next words added to my doubts. “You guys always have the best pot. We were wondering if you get us a big bag of that.” Before I even glanced at Bear, his eyes were upon me. Although I had been out with these young ladies for a couple of weekends and slept with Mary several times, she or Sally were not well known enough for me to do any trading with. What if they got popped? Would they be honorable and keep their mouths shut or would an hour of good cop - bad cop interrogation have them singing like birds? Then there was the matter of Mary’s father being a judge which also played into my apprehension. At the risk of diminishing affections, I put the finishing touches on the number and lied. “I got this awhile back from some soul brother down in Phoebus. I don’t even know the kat’s name. Sometimes he’s at the bar and sometimes he’s not. It’s touch and go with him. I wouldn’t count on him as being a reliable source.” Passing the joint to Mary there was no mistaking the look of disappointment upon her face. At this point I was ready to leave out of here if need be. It seemed this wasn’t about romance. It was more of an attempt to cultivate a comfortable arrangement, but then Bear and I had already arrived at that conclusion some time back. With a bit of jiggling, Mary adjusted her dress and said: “Well if you run into him again in the near future, keep me in mind. Cop one for us, we’ll come and pay you and make another weekend out of it. You do still have my number, don’t you?” This more or less let me know if I didn’t come through, this would probably be the last time us four would be partying together in a motor lodge room. It was vindictiveness on my part which had me telling Mary that I may be going to Phoebus sometime next week. A smile lit up her face while dark lust played upon mine. This weekend would the last time we would spend with them. By the wolfish grin upon Bear’s face, it was evident he anticipated this as well. The last night or perhaps, last weekend with these two voluptuous young women. Why not make it as pleasant as possible? I involuntarily bared my teeth and growled while ogling Mary in that tight black gown.
Here at 12:15AM the restaurant/lounge was less than half filled as people had already retired to their rooms or departed. Still the live band played on. Seemingly it was a place of merriment, but with the mixed crowd anything could flare up. There were several North Hampton Captains as they called themselves reveling happily with just as many Big Bethel boys. Some half dozen Lakeshore gals sat among them. Knowing some of them rather well, neither Bear nor I had any feud with these folks. Attempting to pick up two older Buckroe women were out good friends from Tidemill, the Grazzo brothers. Upon seeing us they laughed and shouted: “Skids!” There were a couple of Greenwood Farms fellows with their girlfriends, but they paid us no mind. Sitting at one of the corner tables were four Fox Hill Road ‘Big Daddies’ as they were known with some red haired chick who looked a little like Ann Margret. As we passed them one shouted: “Call the city pound!” Halting I took a gander at their, platform shoes white bell bottom pants, loud big collared shirts and beauty parlor hairdos. Nodding my head I said: “Any of you ladies care to dance?” Bear looming over their table puckered his lips and made several kissing sounds. Scattered about the lounge were a few men and women we did not recognize. I noticed two who appeared to be military fellows were scoping out our dates. If there was to be any trouble tonight those two would probably initiated it. Even as we seated ourselves, they were still staring. A very prompt waitress arrived to take our orders.
Although our drinks were somewhat weak, they were at least wet. Mary and Sally sipped their margaritas while Bear and I had vodka greyhounds. While gazing out at this sodden scene I would have been much happier drinking in the Greenwood Bar, Flip’s barn or Mary’s motor lodge room. The band, covering various recording artists’ music, was not all that good either. During one such song, Grand Funk’s cover of Locomotion, Mary grabbed my hand and pulled me out on the dance floor. Not usually one for fast dancing while full of whisky, I bopped around while Mary really cut the rug. Failing to get Bear on his feet, Sally joined Mary and I which had a military man, probably some grunt from Langley approaching the dance floor. Brawny, swarthy, his dark hair was cropped short into a flattop. Wearing a flowered Hawaiian shirt and jeans he appeared to be either Italian or Latino. With a smirk upon his face he glanced at me and proceeded to dance with Sally. Taking a look at Bear I saw that he was talking with none other than Mitch and Lowell. With those two in the mix things were bound to become weird. As that song ended the singer/front man looked at me and greeted with a “How.” While contemplating jumping time on this idiot he stepped back with the band and announced the next song. “A little Paul Revere and the Raiders, Indian Reservation.” I would not be dancing to that. As they began to play Lowell approached Mary and I. “What’s happening, Skid!”
“Nothing much, Skid!” I returned while prodding Mary back to the table. Although standing only 5’6”, Lowell was a force to be reckoned with. Rather brawny with a mane of long golden hair he had painfully put many a man on the floor or ground. Clad in a black T-shirt, straight leg jeans and Converse basketball shoes he looked up for just about anything. When he wasn’t playing his guitar, a night out for Lowell meant either fighting or fucking and sometimes both. He would always offer his assistance to a fellow Skid especially if it involved beating someone into a bloody pulp if necessary, but usually could knock a man out in just one or two punches. Turning his head he yelled over the music. “Mitchy, drag some more chairs over to the table.” Stepping between the military fellow and whom he was dancing with, Lowell spoke to the two Williamsburg women in a rather loud tone: “According to Mitch, you must be Mary and Sally.” Whipping his hair back, he not only shook hands with both young ladies, but hugged them as well. “I’m Lowell, welcome to Hampton. You gals couldn’t done any better than hooking up with my two good friends here.”
“Excuse me! We’re trying to dance.” The military fellow informed Lowell who instead of addressing him asked Mary and Sally: “Is this gentleman with either of you two?”
“Not me.” Mary replied.
“He just came up and started dancing with me.” Sally added. Hearing that, Lowell turned to the fellow and told him: “I’m cutting in Roscoe.” Then Lowell glanced at the guitar player and said to me: “Look Skid, he plays a left hand Fender Stratocaster just like mine, but not as well as me.” Loping towards the band, Lowell placed his hand over the lead singer’s microphone and motioned for the band to cease. Which they did as the drummer and bass player knew him. Telling the singer to take a break, Lowell asked the guitar player to hand over his instrument and take a break as well. Turning around, he told the drummer, bass and keyboard player: “Purple Haze, now keep up with me boys!” Grabbing both Mary and Sally’s hand I said: “Let’s sit down and enjoy this.”
As Lowell both played and sang, the other band members did their best to keep in time as they stretched this Jimi Hendrix classic as long as possible. The crowd aside from the band’s singer loved it and when the song was over he announced that would be the last number. Receiving back his instrument with a great deal of admiration, the guitar played asked Lowell to show him a few licks. “232 Merrick Road, right off the fourth block of Lynnhaven. We jam out back in the garage usually on Wednesday and Thursday evenings. We need a rhythm guitar player. Bring beer, whisky or anything else you have in mind.”
“Damn, I can’t believe you just play in a garage band.” He complemented Lowell who smiled and said: “We’re getting good and when we hit the scene; it’s going to be big, baby.” As the guitar player ambled off to assist his band mates pack everything away, Lowell plopped down in a chair beside Mitch. Sally laughed and said: “This is great, the King of Williamsburg and his minstrel.” Mary joined in by inquiring: “how come you’re not wearing your resplendent regal attire, King Mitch and where is General Woo?”
“What in the hell are they going on about, Mitchy?”
“Woo’s and my visit to Williamsburg last April. It was absolutely fucking splendid. A great place to visit, Skid. I highly recommend it.” Throwing back his long golden blond hair, Lowell smiled at both of the young women and asked: “Are all the Williamsburg gals as pretty as you?”
“We’re a little above average.” Sally slurred and then told him how much she enjoyed his performance.
Having not seen Lowell and Mitch in some time I inquired how they were getting along, but before either of them could reply, the dancing military fellow and a friend approached. Halting at the empty table beside ours, they scooted it and two chairs closer to us. The swarthy one with a flattop smiled and introduced himself as Angel while the other one, a fellow around Bear’s size with short cropped sandy hair and moustache said: “What’s kicking? I’m Bret.” Lowell with an almost comical puzzled expression on his face asked: “Oh my goodness gracious, what’s going on?”
“We just wanted to tell you great job on the guitar.” Bret said while ogling Mary as he friend did the same to Sally. It was quite apparent these two were either too drunk or stupid to know they had put themselves into a precarious situation. Mitch saluted them and asked: “What the fuck are you, squids?” A flash of anger played in Bret’s eyes as he replied: “Fuck no. We’re air force.” Then him and his friend attempted to engage the two young Williamsburg ladies in a bit of small talk until Lowell informed them: “We don’t need any air support over here so goodnight and move on.”
“Hey man, why you got be like that?” Bret returned.
“Because we’re some old friends getting together and catching up on lost time.” After throwing down his triple shot of Jack Daniels, Lowell added: “There’s another reason too.” Bret however laughed and said: “Hey this isn’t your private club.” Lowell nodded at Bear and I then stood up. Stepping over to Bret, he repeated: “There’s another reason too.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? What other reason?”
At that Lowell knocked over Bret’s mug of beer on the table and replied: “Because you’re a sloppy drinker.” Bret’s eyes blazed with murderous rage, but perhaps it was his military discipline along with a fear of being arrested for fighting inside this establishment that prompted him to say: “I suggest we carry this outside, Shorty.”
“Why outside, you overgrown turd hopper?”
“Because that’s the way it’s handled.” Bret replied as he started to rise. In doing this he braced one huge hand upon the table causing it to not only tilt, but bring spilt beer pouring into his lap. In the very instant that Bret looked down at his wet pants, Lowell went into action. In a blur of speed which would have shamed any striking copperhead or cottonmouth, Lowell delivered two tremendous blows, a left then right to Bret’s head. Still the brute rose to his feet which brought a nervous look to Lowell’s eyes as he quickly stepped back. With one visible knot rising over his left eye, Bret took a step forward, halted while both eyes rolled back in his head. Teetering for several seconds, he pitched face first onto the floor. Taking a look at Angel, I asked: “You don’t want to start off early Saturday morning like that, do you?” He sat absolutely still and said nothing. Lowell however chuckled and told us: “I thought he was going to need two more. Well Mitchy, we got to be skedaddling on out of here before the fuzz arrives. Mary, Sally, it was a pleasure to meet y’all. Skids, I’d get these here women out of here and soon as the manager is calling the cops now.” With that our two fellow Skids fast stepped out through the door. Doing the same, Bear and I escorted our dates back to their accommodations.
“What a rough and ready bunch you all are!” Mary laughed, then quaffed a good amount of vodka and chased it down with Sprite soda. Somewhat unprepared for proper motor inn lodging, we lacked an ice chest, beer, a good supply of liquor and decent mixers. What we did have was almost a half bottle of whisky as well as an almost full bottle of vodka for these wee hours and enough weed to see us through a few days. In spite of not having the opportunity to break anyone’s head, Bear was in good spirits as he and Sally slow danced to America’s A Horse With No Name playing on the radio alarm clock. Both had not long returned from the vending machines with sodas, ice and news of two cop cars in the lounge’s parking lot. “More like rough and tumble.” I returned while pouring a good swallow of whisky into my clear plastic motel courtesy cup. “It gets old and certainly stupid at times. It sends young kats away looking for more laid back scenes.”
“Works for me.” Bear said then added: “Maybe one day we’ll make that scene.” As the song ended, he kissed Sally’s cheek and said: “I’d love to live in Williamsburg or Yorktown just like you Skid, but there’s a foreboding feeling I have that we’re going to be stuck here for several more years.” His statement had me asking what he based those feelings upon. Having a drink right out of the whisky bottle, Bear growled: “I hate drinking out of motel cups!” then he said: “Even though you and I think we’ve had enough of this place, this place has not had enough of us yet. Maybe ten more years at the most.”
“I was thinking no more than five.” I returned.
“Not quite ready for Williamsburg culture, are we? Sally laughed. “Aside from roughing up a few football players, having your way with us and probably a couple of other Williamsburg women, I think you two got along quite well in the colonial capitol.”
Having drained most of the vodka and smoked another joint along with everything else these young ladies had consumed in the last several hours, our visitors were slammed. They wobbled while standing, staggered on their way to the bathroom and slurred heavily through our substance addled conversations. Mary had already stumbled and took a tumble while attempting to dance. Soon the both of them were laying in the same bed passed out cold. Bear looked down at them then at me, chuckled and said: “We’ve choices here.”
“Choices?”
“That’s right. We can either walk home tomorrow in the heat with a hangover or book on out from here in the cool of night. Either way it’s time to let these pretty birds fly off.” Bear replied while lighting up a cigarette.
Somewhere around 3:00AM we left our visitors at Hornes Coliseum Inn and entered an adjacent patch of woods on a path which led to Lynnhaven. The stillness of the dark woods was refreshing. Before parting company Bear inquired if we were still on the weekend after next to visit Bridget and Teri in Williamsburg. “Sure, why not?” I replied…
Re: Madness in the Colonial Capitol
19 – Williamsburg residence
Surrounded by a tall thick bramble of blackberry, cat briers, thistles and other tangled foliage I sat next to fifteen reefer plants all around five foot high. Planted over three months ago in early April like the two other secret patches I had growing along the power lines, this powerful Afghani strain would keep me in weed for a good while after harvest. Like the other two patches, this one was planted in a clearing I had hacked out of the tall bramble with an entrance which was not visible to any rare passerby. There had been no signs of any here. Stretched across two counties as well as the city of Williamsburg, these power lines held taut in place by steel girdled towers ran through a long swath that had been cut from the dense woods. It was a rolling landscape cut by streams which eventually fed into Queens Creek. One such stream no more than five feet away from where I sat, kept the fertile ground moist for my fifteen beauties. Here in this tangled thorny stream bottom bramble, I had really connected with nature and at times an otter would take a break from her travels and look up at me from the stream. Upon this early Friday evening in late July not long after sprinkling cool spring water on the plants, I heard a buzzing right beside my right ear. It was a hummingbird one of many attracted by the thistle flowers and other blossoms.
Quite satisfied that no one else was moving around outside of this bramble, I stood up, stepped over to an old sock on the ground about two feet away from the plants, pulled out my crank and pissed on it. This marking of territory had so far kept deer, rabbits and groundhogs from munching on my crop. Finished with that, I bade my beauties good evening and exited the clearing. Stooped over in this machete hacked passageway, I came to a thick clump of shadowy shrub-like willow and squeezed through them. Looking east then west and scanning the forest’s edge on both sides, I stepped out into the open. Rather quickly I ascended a grassy rise and stealthily entered the forest. Coming to a halt, I sat down upon a fallen oak and took in my surroundings. Although having fond memories of the various flat patches of wild growth in and around Lynnhaven, these rolling woodlands around Williamsburg had won me over and since moving here not even a year ago, I knew them rather well. When not at work, at home or with Bridget, I ranged through the woods and along the numerous streams. The locations for my secret gardens I had scouted and then hacked out of the brambles back in February. They were something I kept to myself for more than just trust issues. Having connected with this bit of woodland as well as the local spirits, I did not want to jeopardize both endeavor and personal safety by showing disrespect. Knowing that these spirits of wild places appreciative giving more so than the gift, I left small deerskin wrapped bundles of objects tied to tree branches. Not sure of my new Williamsburg social life among the townspeople, I had settled into these woods rather nicely. Neither Bridget nor my roommates, fellow Skids the Dibble brothers knew what I was doing out here in the sticks. Now sitting upon a toppled dead oak bole there was a sense of well being within me, but I took it a bit further. Pulling out my stash and steatite pipe from their doeskin pouch, I filled the bowl with some northern California sensemilia copped from down in Newport News. The high price of such strains of Marijuana was one reason I quit peddling. Five years earlier a pound of decent Mexican or Guatemalan weed was going for around a hundred bucks and could be sold for twenty an ounce. Selling two or three pounds a week by the ounce could fetch an enterprising individual a handsome profit. Now averaging around a hundred and fifty dollars an ounce, there wasn’t a lot of money to be made by us small time peddlers so a good many retired while some went to dealing cocaine or even heroin. Most of those didn’t last all that long. Of late aside from my regular gig, I was doing side jobs like building and hanging kitchen cabinets with Flip just to make party money. Upon this Friday evening July 25th 1980 enjoying the first summer of a new decade, I was less wealthy than five years ago, but wasn’t hurting, in jail or dead like several other Skids. Sad thoughts of Lowell came to mind, Early last year while I was out of state, Lowell was shot and killed by a fellow he had beat up in a bar some six months earlier putting him in the hospital. The fellow feigned both forgiveness along with friendship and often footed the bill for Lowell’s drinks at the bars. On a cold winter afternoon while out in the woods target practicing as the story goes, Lowell was drunk and stumbled in front of this fellow an instant before he had squeezed off to hit an empty Jack Daniels bottle. His killer, a fellow named Brad got off with involuntary manslaughter and light probation, but we Skids believed this was done in revenge. It was common knowledge that the courts and local law enforcement were not all that fond of Lowell. Brad in turn was duped by one of Lowell’s crazier girlfriends who feigned thankfulness for killing an abusive boyfriend. Right after their first and only intimate date, she punched herself in the face a few times then went to the police with accusations of Brad raping her. His father’s lawyer managed to get him off with only eighteen months in prison and parole, but shortly after being released Brad moved to Charlottesville. Another tragedy that came from this was Lowell’s band mates Brew, Mike, Ricky and Ronny. They had been playing some pretty big nightclubs as well as events from Virginia to Georgia and were about to sign a record deal. Lowell was their driving force and even with a replacement they fizzled out. Brew was now married to a Farmington girl, Ronny had turned into a Buddhist while Mike and Ricky were coke heads.
My old partner Lee and a few others had gotten busted over the last five years and were doing time so after traveling around the country for several months, I moved from Lynnhaven to Williamsburg.
Finishing my pipe, I put it back into its pouch while my eyes scanned the wooded bottom land below me. A doe and two spotted fawns drank from the stream while wrens contested territory with their songs. Somewhere above the leafy canopy, a soaring red tail hawk’s shrill cries announced another day’s ending. Soon it would be the owls with their excellent nocturnal vision, silent velvety wings and sharp talons preying upon small furry quarry. Hearing the hawk’s cries fade away somewhere north of me, I slid off my perch and set off through the woods in an easterly direction towards home. As I neared them, the doe and her two fawns with upraised white tails, swiftly pranced away ahead of me. I marveled at their stealth and agility. After leaping over the stream, I noticed a rather large black king snake coiled around a hornbeam tree, but it paid me no mind at all. Asleep, it’s lidless black eyes could of very well been looking inward at some extremely ancient reptilian dreamscape dating back to a time when human ancestors were little shrew-like creatures hiding in tangles of thick thorny foliage. There was over a hundred million years of wisdom in those small round black onyx-like eyes. I nodded my head at it and continued on.
Emerging from the woods, I crossed Capitol Landing Road, entered the 7 Eleven store and bought a six pack of Tuborg Gold beer which was advertised as the beer of the Royal Danish Court. I had never been to Denmark, but enjoyed its imported beer. Just as I was leaving R.W. pulled up driving my 1977 Pinto Cruising Wagon. I had loaned him the car as there was a chance of thunderstorms later when he got off work, but suspected my roommate had a late night date. He had stopped at the store for cigarettes and condoms. Although our apartment was only an eighth of a mile away, I had R.W. drive me home in my Pinto. “Look man; don’t fuck up with my car tonight. I don’t want you getting too snockered and crash it into something or cause it to get towed away while the fuzz is hauling your drunk ass off to jail. You got that?”
“Come on Skid, I wouldn’t do you like that, man.” He assured me. As we pulled into the parking area I took a good look at him. His somewhat curly light brown hair had been recently styled into what people called a mullet. Close on the sides, slightly longer than collar length in the back and fluffed up on top. In his Williamsburg Inn wine steward uniform R.W. appeared rather foppish and that cologne he wore made my car smell like a French pimp mobile.
R.W.’s brother Denny, just getting off work, greeted me at the door of our pad at the Village of Woodshire Apartment community. After J.R.R.Tolkien’s Hobbit community, we dubbed this place ‘The Shire’. Clad in a T-shirt and jeans, Denny, a couple of years older than me was a rather handsome fellow with long dark brown wavy hair. Although around the same height and lean build, Denny differed much in appearance from his brother. Denny’s complexion was darker than R.W.’s and his eyes were dark brown instead of blue. I had heard once the brothers were sired by different men, but did not know if it was true. While his brother was adapting to the new wave fashion which the college kids introduced to Williamsburg, Denny appeared like the Skids back in Lynnhaven, but more well groomed than most. Even though we called him a roommate, Denny was more of a long term visitor and slept on one of our two couches. He couldn’t seem to hold steady employment and went from job to job, but worked most of the time. A good several years earlier he had put the move on my high school sweetheart one evening while I was at work. It seemed she had a thing for guys with motorcycles. Getting off work early that winter night, I was informed by her sister that she had went off with Denny on his motorcycle. Hidden across the street in Whitey’s bushes, I waited for him to bring her back and when he did, they made out for some twenty minutes in front of her home. Instead of charging out and making a big scene in front of my now former girlfriend, with a primitive hunter’s patience, I awaited crouched down in the boxwoods. Coming out of each other’s arms, she smiled and all but skipped up her walkway. After she went inside, Denny secured the spare helmet to his seat and right when he climbed back on his bike I charged out like an attacking wildcat, leaped into the air and knocked him off. We both landed in the grass and within seconds I was on top of Denny holding him down with one hand while the other was balled up into a fist ready to make a bloody mess of his face. Fortunate for Denny for some odd reason, I got off of him and went on my way. The next day Stephanie came up with a sob story of how it started out as an innocent motorcycle ride, but Denny had managed to get her into a bar and she got drunk then he seduced her. Thinking that by coming clean and begging for forgiveness was going to smooth this matter over, she confessed to having sex with him in a gas station bathroom all the while crying me a river. I feigned a bit of forgiveness and continued seeing Stephanie, but was no longer true to her. As for Denny, I didn’t speak to him for a whole year and he mostly avoided me. During this time he was still in the army, working at Fort Eustis, but living at home with his parents. That was around seven years ago and although forgiven, it was not forgotten nor did I completely trust him around the women currently in my life. These days he and his brother chased after as well as competed over college girls. I found him to be somewhat intelligent, rather articulate at times and a good conversationalist when not overly intoxicated. Both he and his brother had the gift of gab, especially when it came to picking up women. At times there were various women ranging from William and Mary college girls to the occasional upscale, well kept cheating middle aged homemaker from upscale Williamsburg area communities such as Queens Lake or Kingsmill visiting our humble abode. Bridget lived right across Merrimac Trail from me in another apartment complex and we were seeing a lot of each other lately, but she rarely entered our second floor pad. She never said much about all the female traffic in and out of our place, but once called it a drunken den of iniquity. A couple of times in the last few months Bridget had suggested I take up residence with her and Teri who had recently moved back in after a divorce from a Colonial Williamsburg shoemaker. Bear who fell out of favor with Teri back in 1976 had caught wind of this and the two of them were seeing each other again. She wanted Bear to move in as well, but neither of us was ready for that much domestic bliss. He did however mention that in a year or so we should get an apartment together here in Williamsburg. For now Bear was content to reside down in Lynnhaven rent free with his parents. He still looked upon his visits to the colonial capitol as a treat and showed great civility and restraint when it came to annoying bar patrons while out on our double dates with the girls. Only once did he become violently aggressive by slamming some new wave nitwit up against the wall in Scotland Street’s Green Leafe Cafe, but since this fellow had been causing a bit of an uncomfortable stir, the head bartender commended Bear and offered us a free round if he would finish up by booting the trouble maker out. Having bounced at a few bars down in Hampton for free drinks, Bear promptly showed the spiky haired, makeup wearing drunken dandy to the door. Usually after such an act of violence, Bear would gleefully gloat somewhat, but after manhandling that lad he said it was regrettable, but a necessary public service. I had to wonder if Bear was becoming civilized by Williamsburg standards, or could this be just an act for Teri’s benefit. Later the big man would be arriving for drinks, steaks grilled out on the balcony, more drinks and a bit of smoking not necessarily in that order. Bridget and Teri were working tonight assisting Colonial Williamsburg lantern tours and this would probably be one of those rare occasions Bear bivouacked in our pad.
A rather spacious wall to wall carpeted apartment, it had a large living room, decent sized kitchen/dining area, two big bedrooms, bath and a half along with our wonderful railed balcony overlooking a narrow swath of grass and dense forest just beyond. We had decorated our pad to suit individual tastes. One great aspect was having cool neighbors. Both working students, Winnie the waitress from the Ramada Inn and her roommate Sarah lived above us and a guy who was hardly ever at home lived below. Occasionally when they were feeling overly frisky, our upstairs neighbors would invite Woo and Mitch up for a night. Those evenings we could get together with Skids up from Lynnhaven somewhat relieved what homesickness we had. Whitey had yet to visit as he was not on good terms with the Dibble brothers, but Charlie and Flip dropped by one night on a evening when there was absolutely nothing to do down in Lynnhaven, but which really meant they lacked smoking weed. Still it was good to see them. Bridget adored my cousin Charlie and thought he was quite humorous. However she wasn’t too fond of Flip in those days as he on more than one occasion brought up that party at the Lord Paget some six years ago. As for Mary and Sally, they were finished with college and both married had married well. Both now Kingsmill gentry, neither would give me the time of day on the rare occasions I encountered them in town. Even if Bear and I had decided to stay with them down at Hornes Inn that weekend several years ago, this is still how it would be as we were just a passing fancy in their lives. Since meeting Bridget some six years ago I had a few passing fancies of my own. There was Susan, a young lady from high school art class. In the beginning it seemed a wonderful relationship, I worked, had my own place in Newport News and she was going to community college studying psychology. Beautiful, blonde, blue eyed and rather passionate, in three months of our cohabiting, Susan quit smoking weed then went about attempting getting me off drugs as well all the while drinking like a fish when she wasn’t in school, studying or at work. Occasionally she came home extremely late after work and drunkenly berated me for being who I was. It got to the point where I was sneaking tokes in the bathroom of my own pad. Then for reasons I could only assume, we stopped sleeping together. There had been an argument regarding my friends coming over and me getting a haircut. I was giving an option of cleaning up my act to get me back into her good graces. Susan told me she would take the couch, but I offered her my bed instead. Then came the day my cousin Susie told me she had just seen Susan and her jewelry store boss drinking at the Sword and Kilt lounge in the mall where they worked. Susie informed me that the jewelry store was closed due to renovation. To my knowledge she was suppose to be at work. Knowing that I didn’t care for Coliseum Mall after being fired from the Blue Hawaii, Susan did not anticipate me going there, but forgot about the Skids who did. I could have gone up to that lounge and made a crazy scene, but thought better of it, instead there would be a party at my pad. After a good several phone calls, Bear, Charlie, Flip, his girlfriend Donna, Rosie, Susie and Whitey had arrived. We reveled well into the night. When Susan finally got home two hours after her shift was supposed to end, she immediately got rather irate about my party and demanded I end it. With a smile on my face I called Susan out onto the lawn. As she glared at me in the moonlight, I inquired about her date with David. After our brief conversation outside where she drunkenly attempted to psychologically brow beat me into admitting this was entirely my fault, Susan went inside and began gathering some clothes as well as other belongings. Letting me know she would be returning the next day for the rest of her belongings while I was working with Flip installing kitchen cabinets, Susan drove off into the night. We were two different people who went their separate ways. Within that month we dated and the following three of living together, I hardly knew her and really didn’t want to. Aside from our shared love of art, the rest of the relationship was sexual. Susan had very little spare time on her hands for hardly anything else. When that ceased we were like roommates sharing my one bedroom cottage. A few years later one of Susan’s friends said that she wanted to get in touch with me and even provided a phone number, but I never called. There was Sarah, my upstairs neighbor. Both of us snockered on cognac, it was only a one night intimate get together, but could happen again under similar conditions. I had also spent a few nights with an older woman who picked me up in the Ramada Inn lounge. Now she carried on with R.W. when he couldn’t bag his usual quarry, William and Mary girls. Married to a wealthy doctor, Denise was a lush whom R.W. got several expensive dinners out of as well as an intimate weekend down in Virginia Beach. Both brothers had a knack for getting up with wealthy women be they college girls or older women such as Denise who recently helped R.W. with his share of the rent when a child support payment interfered with other obligations. Having married a high school sweetheart before going into the army, he fathered two children, but was divorced shortly after leaving the military. He moved to Williamsburg and two months later after his old roommate departed, I arrived. Having been part of the enlisted staff at a general’s residence, R.W. learned a great deal about fine food and wine which gained him employment at the Colonial Williamsburg Inn. When it came to the ladies, even more so than his brother who now quaffed one of my Danish beers, R.W. was a bullshit artist and prided himself for being one. There had been occasions when the brothers drunkenly contested or should I say battled over women. The last time this occurred I dealt both of them hard blows upon their intoxicated heads before they could wreck our pad again. With a knot raised on his noggin R.W. kept threatening to evict me until I informed him that would be extremely difficult undertaking for a corpse.
Now on his second beer Denny inquired about this evening’s activities. Pulling out my stash to load a bowl, I chuckled. “Haven’t you heard? There’s going to be an outdoor ball thrown on the palace green.”
“No shit?”
“No shitting on the green without a poop scoop while enjoying an evening of chasing and retrieving that ball, you dog.” As he sneered I informed him that Bear would be dropping by for dinner and drinks. “What about Bridget and Teri?” he asked with a gleam in his eyes. “They’re working late and won’t be coming over. Are you without a date tonight, Denny?”
“Strangely enough yes, that’s why I’m thinking about inviting Winnie and Sarah down when they get off work later tonight. There are a few extra steaks we could throw on the grill for them. We just might score, Skid. Neither Woo nor has Mitch been over in a few weeks. That Winnie is a sweet treat and Sarah ain’t so bad either if only she would shave those armpits.”
“I guess she’s going for that European look.”
“She’s Jewish you know.”
“Yeah I know, but Sarah told me she was leaning towards another kind of spirituality and maybe even atheism if that didn’t suit her. Sarah is a very intelligent, fun and passionate person to be with otherwise.”
“And how do you know that?” Denny asked with head tilted.
“One of this building’s cockroaches told me.” I replied.
“You dog! All without our knowledge!”
“There you go assuming things, you mongrel.”
“Assuming shit!” He barked. Now it was evident that Denny as well as R.W. had their eyes upon our neighbors, especially Sarah who already told me she wanted no overly friendly relations with either of these sometimes quarrelsome brothers twice having witnessed their meltdowns in our pad while down for drinks. The last time they dueled with fists over Denise who missed her favor being contested over having passed out drunk an hour before. These drunken jealous squabbles were putting a damper on my party life and if one of them flared up again tonight, I would knock both brothers into next week if Bear didn’t. “Sure invite them down when they get home, but do try not to make a spectacle of yourself tonight. These are our neighbors, not some wayward North Hampton tarts who would revel in brothers fighting each other. We’re transplanted Skids sure enough, but as you well know this ain’t Lynnhaven.”
“It damn sure ain’t, but it’s a sight better. Plenty of chicks. It’s like a candy store. Have you seen those three who moved in the next building over? Man oh man.” Before I could reply someone was banging on our door.
Bear lumbered in carrying a cardboard box which he sat on our dining room table. Pulling out a half gallon of rum and a quart mason jar almost full of what appeared to be moonshine. “Well howdy there Bear, what’s in the jar, shine?” I greeted.
“Oh it ain’t just regular corn squeezing. This here was distilled from bananas, mangos and secret ingredients. It’s some kind of good.”
“Let’s have a taste.” Denny said already going for our double shot glasses. Bear put the jar back into his box and growled: “This is supposed to be after dinner sipping sauce!”
“Come on Bear.” I said. “Let’s sample it.”
“I already have.” He returned pulling it back out of the box as well as a small paper sack. “Alright just one. This sauce is for later on. You want to burn one?” he asked while unscrewing the jar’s lid. There was a sweet fragrant almost narcotic scent as he poured us all drinks. “Actually Bear, we were getting ready to light up a bowl.” I informed him.
“Put that shit away. I’ve got something that will put our asses in the next galaxy.” He said while pulling out a plastic sandwich bag from the brown paper sack.
“Thai stick, boys.”
Lashed onto two 8” bamboo slivers with hemp fiber were little dark brownish green cannabis buds. Some years ago a few Asian coworkers from the Blue Hawaii had turned me onto this kind of weed which was often laced with opium. A Laotian dishwasher there even sold me a half ounce of some opium laced Southeast Asian pot for ten bucks. What a bargain as Bear, Charlie, Flip and I stayed wasted on that smoke for six days. Craving more, I asked the dishwasher to sell me another half ounce, but made the mistake of telling him how excellent it was. Having heard that, he raised the price to fifty bucks for a half ounce which I declined. This was probably a wise decision on my part as one could very well become addicted to that opium laced weed by prolonged use. Bear pinched off enough for a small joint and put the rest away. “What the fuck are y’all waiting for?” He growled while pointing at the filled glasses in front of us. “Waiting for you to raise a toast, Bear.” Denny replied. Raising his glass aloft, Bear said: “Here’s to old friends and may all of them keep safe while enjoying Friday night.” We all issued a grunt or two and poured the homemade liquor down our gullets. At first these hard spirits burned, but swiftly numbed my throat. I could tell this was some quality hooch. It was rather tasty as well. It felt like a warm invigorating liquid fire spreading through my body. “Wow! Let’s have another round of that.” Denny requested. “Let’s.” I added. Bear snarled and said: “Alright, but just one more for now. I don’t want to see any of you lightweights paralyzed this early in the evening.
If the second double shot wasn’t enough to prime us for this rapidly approaching Friday night, Bear’s Thai stick was. After we finished that joint, the four of us, completely blown away, sat silent for awhile. It was Denny who broke the silence by suggesting we get dinner started, but Bear objected. “Curb that ravenous appetite of yours for a bit and let’s enjoy this high.” Glancing at the two antlered buck skulls hanging upon our wall he said: “I see you’ve done some more interior decorating. I thought you didn’t do any hunting last season.”
“They’re from a few years back; my dad had been storing them for me in his tool shed.”
“Man I could go for some venison right now.” Denny stated.
“I’m afraid you’re have to settle for beef tonight.” I returned. As lean as they were either brother, especially Denny could consume more food than Bear. It was hard keeping any food at all in the house with those two around. Getting their two thirds of the bills was another problem until I slammed both of them against the wall last March for blowing bill money on adornment, gambling and women. I absolutely loathed applying brutality when it came to other Skids, but wouldn’t have them take advantage of me. I had to bail their asses out last February, but come March established an understanding regarding household responsibilities. Since then so far, they had been prompt in getting their share to me. As far as my drinking and smoking supplies were concerned, I didn’t mind sharing. Having only two bedrooms, a Saturday drawing of cards decided who would get one the following week. Out of the six months of my living here, Denny had only twice drawn higher than either R.W. and I. Here of late he spoke of a bedroom rotation instead of the cards. Oddly enough R.W. and I were willing to rotate originally, but it was Denny who wanted this matter of bedrooms decided by a card draw. As sporting individuals we all agreed, but although Denny excelled in billiards and shooting craps, his luck with the cards was seriously lacking. In a town which had no barroom pool tables or any known worthwhile crap games, we played a lot of poker. I was thinking this was going to be a card night, but Bear asked if we still had Risk, one of those conquer the world board game. The last time that game got pulled out we played it all night and through part of the morning so I lied. “It got thrown away after Denny puked on it last month. Right Denny?” Wanting no part of Risk tonight, my roommate replied: “That’s right it got thrown out, but I have backgammon.”
“I ain’t playing that shit.” Bear grumbled. “Why the fuck ain’t there any pool tables in this town?”
“They say shooting pool breeds trouble.” Denny replied then added: “Well at least there are plenty of women in town.”
“Which in your case breeds trouble.” Bear chuckled.
Then came the secret Lynnhaven knock upon our door…
Surrounded by a tall thick bramble of blackberry, cat briers, thistles and other tangled foliage I sat next to fifteen reefer plants all around five foot high. Planted over three months ago in early April like the two other secret patches I had growing along the power lines, this powerful Afghani strain would keep me in weed for a good while after harvest. Like the other two patches, this one was planted in a clearing I had hacked out of the tall bramble with an entrance which was not visible to any rare passerby. There had been no signs of any here. Stretched across two counties as well as the city of Williamsburg, these power lines held taut in place by steel girdled towers ran through a long swath that had been cut from the dense woods. It was a rolling landscape cut by streams which eventually fed into Queens Creek. One such stream no more than five feet away from where I sat, kept the fertile ground moist for my fifteen beauties. Here in this tangled thorny stream bottom bramble, I had really connected with nature and at times an otter would take a break from her travels and look up at me from the stream. Upon this early Friday evening in late July not long after sprinkling cool spring water on the plants, I heard a buzzing right beside my right ear. It was a hummingbird one of many attracted by the thistle flowers and other blossoms.
Quite satisfied that no one else was moving around outside of this bramble, I stood up, stepped over to an old sock on the ground about two feet away from the plants, pulled out my crank and pissed on it. This marking of territory had so far kept deer, rabbits and groundhogs from munching on my crop. Finished with that, I bade my beauties good evening and exited the clearing. Stooped over in this machete hacked passageway, I came to a thick clump of shadowy shrub-like willow and squeezed through them. Looking east then west and scanning the forest’s edge on both sides, I stepped out into the open. Rather quickly I ascended a grassy rise and stealthily entered the forest. Coming to a halt, I sat down upon a fallen oak and took in my surroundings. Although having fond memories of the various flat patches of wild growth in and around Lynnhaven, these rolling woodlands around Williamsburg had won me over and since moving here not even a year ago, I knew them rather well. When not at work, at home or with Bridget, I ranged through the woods and along the numerous streams. The locations for my secret gardens I had scouted and then hacked out of the brambles back in February. They were something I kept to myself for more than just trust issues. Having connected with this bit of woodland as well as the local spirits, I did not want to jeopardize both endeavor and personal safety by showing disrespect. Knowing that these spirits of wild places appreciative giving more so than the gift, I left small deerskin wrapped bundles of objects tied to tree branches. Not sure of my new Williamsburg social life among the townspeople, I had settled into these woods rather nicely. Neither Bridget nor my roommates, fellow Skids the Dibble brothers knew what I was doing out here in the sticks. Now sitting upon a toppled dead oak bole there was a sense of well being within me, but I took it a bit further. Pulling out my stash and steatite pipe from their doeskin pouch, I filled the bowl with some northern California sensemilia copped from down in Newport News. The high price of such strains of Marijuana was one reason I quit peddling. Five years earlier a pound of decent Mexican or Guatemalan weed was going for around a hundred bucks and could be sold for twenty an ounce. Selling two or three pounds a week by the ounce could fetch an enterprising individual a handsome profit. Now averaging around a hundred and fifty dollars an ounce, there wasn’t a lot of money to be made by us small time peddlers so a good many retired while some went to dealing cocaine or even heroin. Most of those didn’t last all that long. Of late aside from my regular gig, I was doing side jobs like building and hanging kitchen cabinets with Flip just to make party money. Upon this Friday evening July 25th 1980 enjoying the first summer of a new decade, I was less wealthy than five years ago, but wasn’t hurting, in jail or dead like several other Skids. Sad thoughts of Lowell came to mind, Early last year while I was out of state, Lowell was shot and killed by a fellow he had beat up in a bar some six months earlier putting him in the hospital. The fellow feigned both forgiveness along with friendship and often footed the bill for Lowell’s drinks at the bars. On a cold winter afternoon while out in the woods target practicing as the story goes, Lowell was drunk and stumbled in front of this fellow an instant before he had squeezed off to hit an empty Jack Daniels bottle. His killer, a fellow named Brad got off with involuntary manslaughter and light probation, but we Skids believed this was done in revenge. It was common knowledge that the courts and local law enforcement were not all that fond of Lowell. Brad in turn was duped by one of Lowell’s crazier girlfriends who feigned thankfulness for killing an abusive boyfriend. Right after their first and only intimate date, she punched herself in the face a few times then went to the police with accusations of Brad raping her. His father’s lawyer managed to get him off with only eighteen months in prison and parole, but shortly after being released Brad moved to Charlottesville. Another tragedy that came from this was Lowell’s band mates Brew, Mike, Ricky and Ronny. They had been playing some pretty big nightclubs as well as events from Virginia to Georgia and were about to sign a record deal. Lowell was their driving force and even with a replacement they fizzled out. Brew was now married to a Farmington girl, Ronny had turned into a Buddhist while Mike and Ricky were coke heads.
My old partner Lee and a few others had gotten busted over the last five years and were doing time so after traveling around the country for several months, I moved from Lynnhaven to Williamsburg.
Finishing my pipe, I put it back into its pouch while my eyes scanned the wooded bottom land below me. A doe and two spotted fawns drank from the stream while wrens contested territory with their songs. Somewhere above the leafy canopy, a soaring red tail hawk’s shrill cries announced another day’s ending. Soon it would be the owls with their excellent nocturnal vision, silent velvety wings and sharp talons preying upon small furry quarry. Hearing the hawk’s cries fade away somewhere north of me, I slid off my perch and set off through the woods in an easterly direction towards home. As I neared them, the doe and her two fawns with upraised white tails, swiftly pranced away ahead of me. I marveled at their stealth and agility. After leaping over the stream, I noticed a rather large black king snake coiled around a hornbeam tree, but it paid me no mind at all. Asleep, it’s lidless black eyes could of very well been looking inward at some extremely ancient reptilian dreamscape dating back to a time when human ancestors were little shrew-like creatures hiding in tangles of thick thorny foliage. There was over a hundred million years of wisdom in those small round black onyx-like eyes. I nodded my head at it and continued on.
Emerging from the woods, I crossed Capitol Landing Road, entered the 7 Eleven store and bought a six pack of Tuborg Gold beer which was advertised as the beer of the Royal Danish Court. I had never been to Denmark, but enjoyed its imported beer. Just as I was leaving R.W. pulled up driving my 1977 Pinto Cruising Wagon. I had loaned him the car as there was a chance of thunderstorms later when he got off work, but suspected my roommate had a late night date. He had stopped at the store for cigarettes and condoms. Although our apartment was only an eighth of a mile away, I had R.W. drive me home in my Pinto. “Look man; don’t fuck up with my car tonight. I don’t want you getting too snockered and crash it into something or cause it to get towed away while the fuzz is hauling your drunk ass off to jail. You got that?”
“Come on Skid, I wouldn’t do you like that, man.” He assured me. As we pulled into the parking area I took a good look at him. His somewhat curly light brown hair had been recently styled into what people called a mullet. Close on the sides, slightly longer than collar length in the back and fluffed up on top. In his Williamsburg Inn wine steward uniform R.W. appeared rather foppish and that cologne he wore made my car smell like a French pimp mobile.
R.W.’s brother Denny, just getting off work, greeted me at the door of our pad at the Village of Woodshire Apartment community. After J.R.R.Tolkien’s Hobbit community, we dubbed this place ‘The Shire’. Clad in a T-shirt and jeans, Denny, a couple of years older than me was a rather handsome fellow with long dark brown wavy hair. Although around the same height and lean build, Denny differed much in appearance from his brother. Denny’s complexion was darker than R.W.’s and his eyes were dark brown instead of blue. I had heard once the brothers were sired by different men, but did not know if it was true. While his brother was adapting to the new wave fashion which the college kids introduced to Williamsburg, Denny appeared like the Skids back in Lynnhaven, but more well groomed than most. Even though we called him a roommate, Denny was more of a long term visitor and slept on one of our two couches. He couldn’t seem to hold steady employment and went from job to job, but worked most of the time. A good several years earlier he had put the move on my high school sweetheart one evening while I was at work. It seemed she had a thing for guys with motorcycles. Getting off work early that winter night, I was informed by her sister that she had went off with Denny on his motorcycle. Hidden across the street in Whitey’s bushes, I waited for him to bring her back and when he did, they made out for some twenty minutes in front of her home. Instead of charging out and making a big scene in front of my now former girlfriend, with a primitive hunter’s patience, I awaited crouched down in the boxwoods. Coming out of each other’s arms, she smiled and all but skipped up her walkway. After she went inside, Denny secured the spare helmet to his seat and right when he climbed back on his bike I charged out like an attacking wildcat, leaped into the air and knocked him off. We both landed in the grass and within seconds I was on top of Denny holding him down with one hand while the other was balled up into a fist ready to make a bloody mess of his face. Fortunate for Denny for some odd reason, I got off of him and went on my way. The next day Stephanie came up with a sob story of how it started out as an innocent motorcycle ride, but Denny had managed to get her into a bar and she got drunk then he seduced her. Thinking that by coming clean and begging for forgiveness was going to smooth this matter over, she confessed to having sex with him in a gas station bathroom all the while crying me a river. I feigned a bit of forgiveness and continued seeing Stephanie, but was no longer true to her. As for Denny, I didn’t speak to him for a whole year and he mostly avoided me. During this time he was still in the army, working at Fort Eustis, but living at home with his parents. That was around seven years ago and although forgiven, it was not forgotten nor did I completely trust him around the women currently in my life. These days he and his brother chased after as well as competed over college girls. I found him to be somewhat intelligent, rather articulate at times and a good conversationalist when not overly intoxicated. Both he and his brother had the gift of gab, especially when it came to picking up women. At times there were various women ranging from William and Mary college girls to the occasional upscale, well kept cheating middle aged homemaker from upscale Williamsburg area communities such as Queens Lake or Kingsmill visiting our humble abode. Bridget lived right across Merrimac Trail from me in another apartment complex and we were seeing a lot of each other lately, but she rarely entered our second floor pad. She never said much about all the female traffic in and out of our place, but once called it a drunken den of iniquity. A couple of times in the last few months Bridget had suggested I take up residence with her and Teri who had recently moved back in after a divorce from a Colonial Williamsburg shoemaker. Bear who fell out of favor with Teri back in 1976 had caught wind of this and the two of them were seeing each other again. She wanted Bear to move in as well, but neither of us was ready for that much domestic bliss. He did however mention that in a year or so we should get an apartment together here in Williamsburg. For now Bear was content to reside down in Lynnhaven rent free with his parents. He still looked upon his visits to the colonial capitol as a treat and showed great civility and restraint when it came to annoying bar patrons while out on our double dates with the girls. Only once did he become violently aggressive by slamming some new wave nitwit up against the wall in Scotland Street’s Green Leafe Cafe, but since this fellow had been causing a bit of an uncomfortable stir, the head bartender commended Bear and offered us a free round if he would finish up by booting the trouble maker out. Having bounced at a few bars down in Hampton for free drinks, Bear promptly showed the spiky haired, makeup wearing drunken dandy to the door. Usually after such an act of violence, Bear would gleefully gloat somewhat, but after manhandling that lad he said it was regrettable, but a necessary public service. I had to wonder if Bear was becoming civilized by Williamsburg standards, or could this be just an act for Teri’s benefit. Later the big man would be arriving for drinks, steaks grilled out on the balcony, more drinks and a bit of smoking not necessarily in that order. Bridget and Teri were working tonight assisting Colonial Williamsburg lantern tours and this would probably be one of those rare occasions Bear bivouacked in our pad.
A rather spacious wall to wall carpeted apartment, it had a large living room, decent sized kitchen/dining area, two big bedrooms, bath and a half along with our wonderful railed balcony overlooking a narrow swath of grass and dense forest just beyond. We had decorated our pad to suit individual tastes. One great aspect was having cool neighbors. Both working students, Winnie the waitress from the Ramada Inn and her roommate Sarah lived above us and a guy who was hardly ever at home lived below. Occasionally when they were feeling overly frisky, our upstairs neighbors would invite Woo and Mitch up for a night. Those evenings we could get together with Skids up from Lynnhaven somewhat relieved what homesickness we had. Whitey had yet to visit as he was not on good terms with the Dibble brothers, but Charlie and Flip dropped by one night on a evening when there was absolutely nothing to do down in Lynnhaven, but which really meant they lacked smoking weed. Still it was good to see them. Bridget adored my cousin Charlie and thought he was quite humorous. However she wasn’t too fond of Flip in those days as he on more than one occasion brought up that party at the Lord Paget some six years ago. As for Mary and Sally, they were finished with college and both married had married well. Both now Kingsmill gentry, neither would give me the time of day on the rare occasions I encountered them in town. Even if Bear and I had decided to stay with them down at Hornes Inn that weekend several years ago, this is still how it would be as we were just a passing fancy in their lives. Since meeting Bridget some six years ago I had a few passing fancies of my own. There was Susan, a young lady from high school art class. In the beginning it seemed a wonderful relationship, I worked, had my own place in Newport News and she was going to community college studying psychology. Beautiful, blonde, blue eyed and rather passionate, in three months of our cohabiting, Susan quit smoking weed then went about attempting getting me off drugs as well all the while drinking like a fish when she wasn’t in school, studying or at work. Occasionally she came home extremely late after work and drunkenly berated me for being who I was. It got to the point where I was sneaking tokes in the bathroom of my own pad. Then for reasons I could only assume, we stopped sleeping together. There had been an argument regarding my friends coming over and me getting a haircut. I was giving an option of cleaning up my act to get me back into her good graces. Susan told me she would take the couch, but I offered her my bed instead. Then came the day my cousin Susie told me she had just seen Susan and her jewelry store boss drinking at the Sword and Kilt lounge in the mall where they worked. Susie informed me that the jewelry store was closed due to renovation. To my knowledge she was suppose to be at work. Knowing that I didn’t care for Coliseum Mall after being fired from the Blue Hawaii, Susan did not anticipate me going there, but forgot about the Skids who did. I could have gone up to that lounge and made a crazy scene, but thought better of it, instead there would be a party at my pad. After a good several phone calls, Bear, Charlie, Flip, his girlfriend Donna, Rosie, Susie and Whitey had arrived. We reveled well into the night. When Susan finally got home two hours after her shift was supposed to end, she immediately got rather irate about my party and demanded I end it. With a smile on my face I called Susan out onto the lawn. As she glared at me in the moonlight, I inquired about her date with David. After our brief conversation outside where she drunkenly attempted to psychologically brow beat me into admitting this was entirely my fault, Susan went inside and began gathering some clothes as well as other belongings. Letting me know she would be returning the next day for the rest of her belongings while I was working with Flip installing kitchen cabinets, Susan drove off into the night. We were two different people who went their separate ways. Within that month we dated and the following three of living together, I hardly knew her and really didn’t want to. Aside from our shared love of art, the rest of the relationship was sexual. Susan had very little spare time on her hands for hardly anything else. When that ceased we were like roommates sharing my one bedroom cottage. A few years later one of Susan’s friends said that she wanted to get in touch with me and even provided a phone number, but I never called. There was Sarah, my upstairs neighbor. Both of us snockered on cognac, it was only a one night intimate get together, but could happen again under similar conditions. I had also spent a few nights with an older woman who picked me up in the Ramada Inn lounge. Now she carried on with R.W. when he couldn’t bag his usual quarry, William and Mary girls. Married to a wealthy doctor, Denise was a lush whom R.W. got several expensive dinners out of as well as an intimate weekend down in Virginia Beach. Both brothers had a knack for getting up with wealthy women be they college girls or older women such as Denise who recently helped R.W. with his share of the rent when a child support payment interfered with other obligations. Having married a high school sweetheart before going into the army, he fathered two children, but was divorced shortly after leaving the military. He moved to Williamsburg and two months later after his old roommate departed, I arrived. Having been part of the enlisted staff at a general’s residence, R.W. learned a great deal about fine food and wine which gained him employment at the Colonial Williamsburg Inn. When it came to the ladies, even more so than his brother who now quaffed one of my Danish beers, R.W. was a bullshit artist and prided himself for being one. There had been occasions when the brothers drunkenly contested or should I say battled over women. The last time this occurred I dealt both of them hard blows upon their intoxicated heads before they could wreck our pad again. With a knot raised on his noggin R.W. kept threatening to evict me until I informed him that would be extremely difficult undertaking for a corpse.
Now on his second beer Denny inquired about this evening’s activities. Pulling out my stash to load a bowl, I chuckled. “Haven’t you heard? There’s going to be an outdoor ball thrown on the palace green.”
“No shit?”
“No shitting on the green without a poop scoop while enjoying an evening of chasing and retrieving that ball, you dog.” As he sneered I informed him that Bear would be dropping by for dinner and drinks. “What about Bridget and Teri?” he asked with a gleam in his eyes. “They’re working late and won’t be coming over. Are you without a date tonight, Denny?”
“Strangely enough yes, that’s why I’m thinking about inviting Winnie and Sarah down when they get off work later tonight. There are a few extra steaks we could throw on the grill for them. We just might score, Skid. Neither Woo nor has Mitch been over in a few weeks. That Winnie is a sweet treat and Sarah ain’t so bad either if only she would shave those armpits.”
“I guess she’s going for that European look.”
“She’s Jewish you know.”
“Yeah I know, but Sarah told me she was leaning towards another kind of spirituality and maybe even atheism if that didn’t suit her. Sarah is a very intelligent, fun and passionate person to be with otherwise.”
“And how do you know that?” Denny asked with head tilted.
“One of this building’s cockroaches told me.” I replied.
“You dog! All without our knowledge!”
“There you go assuming things, you mongrel.”
“Assuming shit!” He barked. Now it was evident that Denny as well as R.W. had their eyes upon our neighbors, especially Sarah who already told me she wanted no overly friendly relations with either of these sometimes quarrelsome brothers twice having witnessed their meltdowns in our pad while down for drinks. The last time they dueled with fists over Denise who missed her favor being contested over having passed out drunk an hour before. These drunken jealous squabbles were putting a damper on my party life and if one of them flared up again tonight, I would knock both brothers into next week if Bear didn’t. “Sure invite them down when they get home, but do try not to make a spectacle of yourself tonight. These are our neighbors, not some wayward North Hampton tarts who would revel in brothers fighting each other. We’re transplanted Skids sure enough, but as you well know this ain’t Lynnhaven.”
“It damn sure ain’t, but it’s a sight better. Plenty of chicks. It’s like a candy store. Have you seen those three who moved in the next building over? Man oh man.” Before I could reply someone was banging on our door.
Bear lumbered in carrying a cardboard box which he sat on our dining room table. Pulling out a half gallon of rum and a quart mason jar almost full of what appeared to be moonshine. “Well howdy there Bear, what’s in the jar, shine?” I greeted.
“Oh it ain’t just regular corn squeezing. This here was distilled from bananas, mangos and secret ingredients. It’s some kind of good.”
“Let’s have a taste.” Denny said already going for our double shot glasses. Bear put the jar back into his box and growled: “This is supposed to be after dinner sipping sauce!”
“Come on Bear.” I said. “Let’s sample it.”
“I already have.” He returned pulling it back out of the box as well as a small paper sack. “Alright just one. This sauce is for later on. You want to burn one?” he asked while unscrewing the jar’s lid. There was a sweet fragrant almost narcotic scent as he poured us all drinks. “Actually Bear, we were getting ready to light up a bowl.” I informed him.
“Put that shit away. I’ve got something that will put our asses in the next galaxy.” He said while pulling out a plastic sandwich bag from the brown paper sack.
“Thai stick, boys.”
Lashed onto two 8” bamboo slivers with hemp fiber were little dark brownish green cannabis buds. Some years ago a few Asian coworkers from the Blue Hawaii had turned me onto this kind of weed which was often laced with opium. A Laotian dishwasher there even sold me a half ounce of some opium laced Southeast Asian pot for ten bucks. What a bargain as Bear, Charlie, Flip and I stayed wasted on that smoke for six days. Craving more, I asked the dishwasher to sell me another half ounce, but made the mistake of telling him how excellent it was. Having heard that, he raised the price to fifty bucks for a half ounce which I declined. This was probably a wise decision on my part as one could very well become addicted to that opium laced weed by prolonged use. Bear pinched off enough for a small joint and put the rest away. “What the fuck are y’all waiting for?” He growled while pointing at the filled glasses in front of us. “Waiting for you to raise a toast, Bear.” Denny replied. Raising his glass aloft, Bear said: “Here’s to old friends and may all of them keep safe while enjoying Friday night.” We all issued a grunt or two and poured the homemade liquor down our gullets. At first these hard spirits burned, but swiftly numbed my throat. I could tell this was some quality hooch. It was rather tasty as well. It felt like a warm invigorating liquid fire spreading through my body. “Wow! Let’s have another round of that.” Denny requested. “Let’s.” I added. Bear snarled and said: “Alright, but just one more for now. I don’t want to see any of you lightweights paralyzed this early in the evening.
If the second double shot wasn’t enough to prime us for this rapidly approaching Friday night, Bear’s Thai stick was. After we finished that joint, the four of us, completely blown away, sat silent for awhile. It was Denny who broke the silence by suggesting we get dinner started, but Bear objected. “Curb that ravenous appetite of yours for a bit and let’s enjoy this high.” Glancing at the two antlered buck skulls hanging upon our wall he said: “I see you’ve done some more interior decorating. I thought you didn’t do any hunting last season.”
“They’re from a few years back; my dad had been storing them for me in his tool shed.”
“Man I could go for some venison right now.” Denny stated.
“I’m afraid you’re have to settle for beef tonight.” I returned. As lean as they were either brother, especially Denny could consume more food than Bear. It was hard keeping any food at all in the house with those two around. Getting their two thirds of the bills was another problem until I slammed both of them against the wall last March for blowing bill money on adornment, gambling and women. I absolutely loathed applying brutality when it came to other Skids, but wouldn’t have them take advantage of me. I had to bail their asses out last February, but come March established an understanding regarding household responsibilities. Since then so far, they had been prompt in getting their share to me. As far as my drinking and smoking supplies were concerned, I didn’t mind sharing. Having only two bedrooms, a Saturday drawing of cards decided who would get one the following week. Out of the six months of my living here, Denny had only twice drawn higher than either R.W. and I. Here of late he spoke of a bedroom rotation instead of the cards. Oddly enough R.W. and I were willing to rotate originally, but it was Denny who wanted this matter of bedrooms decided by a card draw. As sporting individuals we all agreed, but although Denny excelled in billiards and shooting craps, his luck with the cards was seriously lacking. In a town which had no barroom pool tables or any known worthwhile crap games, we played a lot of poker. I was thinking this was going to be a card night, but Bear asked if we still had Risk, one of those conquer the world board game. The last time that game got pulled out we played it all night and through part of the morning so I lied. “It got thrown away after Denny puked on it last month. Right Denny?” Wanting no part of Risk tonight, my roommate replied: “That’s right it got thrown out, but I have backgammon.”
“I ain’t playing that shit.” Bear grumbled. “Why the fuck ain’t there any pool tables in this town?”
“They say shooting pool breeds trouble.” Denny replied then added: “Well at least there are plenty of women in town.”
“Which in your case breeds trouble.” Bear chuckled.
Then came the secret Lynnhaven knock upon our door…
Re: Madness in the Colonial Capitol
20 – Flip and friend
Rising from my chair, I opened the door and was surprised to see Flip as well as his girlfriend Donna. Some five and a half foot tall with long brown hair, Donna was cute, somewhat shapely and rather bubbly, but I didn’t care for her all that much. Having had a brief fling with this North Hampton girl before getting with Susan, after our third date I began noticing traits which were not all that appealing to me, but she soon left my side and took up with another. During a party in the Big Trail Woods, Donna met Flip and learned of his souped up Mercury Cougar. Donna didn’t even formally break up with me, she just started dating Flip one night after meeting him. He fell madly in love, but Donna was also secretly having intimate liaisons with both Whitey and my roommate Denny. Of late there had been a rumor going around that she was also seeing an air force fellow out of Langley. She and Flip hadn’t been seeing as much of each other over the last few months. In the past Bear, I and a few others attempted to hip Flip about Donna, but he would believe none of it. He perceived what was said as being the lies of jealous men. By this time she had manipulated Flip into feeling he had to get back into her good graces by his near total obedience. It was an uncomfortable if not disgusting experience being around these two during their five year relationship and here of late most of the Skids tried to avoid them. I had to wonder what in the world they were doing up here? Wearing a pair of tight designer jeans and tight white tank top, Donna had well caught Denny’s attention, but when she hugged me I felt somewhat icky. This was the first time he had ever brought her here to our pad. “It’s always good to see you.” She said. Then Flip shook my hand. Clad in light blue pair of corduroy bell bottoms from the mid 70s and a short sleeved, wide collared blue pinstriped button up shirt a decade older than the pants, he was topped off with a dark blue bandanna confining long dark greasy looking hair. With his narrow head, beak-like nose and dark beady eyes, Flip was sometimes known as the Birdman. Being of mostly Lumbee heritage, he did not share many of his kin’s better qualities. “What brings you two up here?” I asked while inviting them to sit with us. While his crow-like eyes darted around the living room, Flip replied: “Every since Donna became manager at Taco Bell last month she hasn’t had a day off. I figured getting out of town would do the both of us some good.” This prompted me to assume that her military beau was unavailable. In spite of her bad qualities, Donna was an extremely social person, but still lived with her mother who allowed no partying or fellows sleeping over. Donna liked going to nightclubs such as Hornes lounge as well as the bars near Langley; places Flip had never set foot in. She also enjoyed parties and by having the Birdman bring her up here had me thinking there was nothing going on down in my old stomping grounds down in Hampton. What amazed was her lack of shame when it came to partying with Flip around other fellows she had screwed.
“So Flip, no partying in the barn tonight?” I inquired.
“Most everyone went down to Nags Head this weekend.”
“Must be nice.” Donna added with a slight sneer. To that Bear reminded both of them that Nags Head was not all that far away. “Or you two could stay and party with us.” By the glint in his grey eyes it was evident he was suggesting they could leave. I remembered Bear telling me a few years ago how Flip shooed him out of the barn on a bitter cold January night. Evidently the Birdman who had Donna with him deemed his visit as intrusive to their private intimacy, but only after Bear burned a couple of joints with them. Bear told me he understood they wanted a little privacy and planned on booking in about an hour, but saw it as extremely rude to send him away immediately after the second joint was finished. ‘Bad marijuana etiquette’ as Bear put it. Around his fellow Skids, Flip tended to be stingy and even more so since he began dating Donna. Bear had stopped going to the barn all together as did several others. Doing cabinet work with Flip,I saw him more often. However, the distance between Williamsburg and Hampton had a lot to do with me staying out of touch with Lynnhaven’s party scene or rather what was left of it. Here lately, Flip had been up here a good several times, but this was the first time he brought Donna along. There existed the possibility of ensuing weirdness.
“Got anything for the head?”
Bear, Denny and I knew he’d ask that question sooner or later, but was surprised when he pulled his own stash pouch out. “If y’all don’t, I do.” That was a rarity as Flip would usually smoke someone else’s weed up instead of his unless someone got down on him for being parsimonious. “What do you have there, Flip?” Bear asked while leaning in to have a better look. The Birdman handed Bear a plastic film canister full reddish colored weed that had been milled down for pipe smoking. “Smells wonderful, but hold off for now as I’ve got something for you and Donna to try out.” Reaching into his cardboard box, Bear pulled out both jar and brown paper sack. “Denny pour our guests a couple of slugs.” Then he asked: “Anyone got a bowl?”
Flip had his ready before I could pull out mine. Like my pipe, his was made of steatite we had found near Schuyler Virginia while on our way to camp up in the Blue Ridge over three years ago. A soft grayish stone, once carved, smoothed and oiled, it turned black. For thousands of years, indigenous tribes quarried this steatite for the crafting of bowls, effigies, body adornments, fishing net/line weights and of course smoking pipes. Bear pulled out his Thai stick and began preparing some of it for Flip’s pipe. “Wow, man! Is that what I think it is?” The Birdman asked as he stared at Bear’s stash.
“And just what is that?” Donna wanted to know.
“Thai stick.” Flip replied. “You’ve never had any of this.”
“It’s just weed, right?” At that Bear flashed a rather savage smile and said: “Yeah it’s just weed, only a tad bit more potent than what’s going around. No big deal though.”
“Not really.” Denny said as he handed Donna a double shot of home distilled liquor with a ogling leer and roll of his tongue before passing another to Flip. Bear threw up a large paw-like hand and growled: “Where’s ours, Denny?”
“But you said,,”
“Nonsense! How can we cheer on the night with our friends here without our own glasses? Pour us a round as well!”
I had to laugh and say: “Look at him Denny, comes in as a guest and then takes to ordering us around as if he was the fucking king of Williamsburg.”
“Please.” Bear chuckled while feigning a sorrowful facial expression.
Double shot glasses full; I suggested we go out on the balcony to cheer on the evening. Donna commented about how nice our apartment was, but added: “It needs a woman’s touch.” To which Denny smiled and said: “A many a woman have been touched here.” Filing out a sliding glass door onto the balcony, Denny offered our guests the three outdoor chairs while he and I leaned against the rail. Denny, R.W and I along with our guests spent a great deal of our time at home out on the balcony. There was sufficient room for a half dozen people, a grill, small table, a few chairs and my four foot high cedar carving of an Easter Island Moai whom we called Spot because of the dark swirly cedar knot upon his forehead. Before taking his seat, Bear saluted Spot then raised his glass. “To Mother Nature, human nature, freaks of nature, the naturally high and we Skids, living or dead.” That said, we turned up our glasses and poured the strong spirits down our gullets. Donna and Flip gasped for air, but we who were already use to this home distilled liquor smacked our lips. Noticing the watery eyes of both of our most recent arrivals, I laughed while Bear handed the Birdman’s pipe back to him fully loaded and ready to be lit. Ceremoniously, Flip offered the pipe to both earth and sky then blessed it with butane flame. Taking a big toke, a tight twisted grin appeared on his face and he passed the pipe to Donna. “Hold it in.” Bear grunted as she passed it back to him.
“Oh hell yeah!” Flip exclaimed upon an exhaled stream of smoke. Donna sputtered “That doesn’t taste like anything I’ve ever,,” then she fell silent with a slack jawed smile upon her face. “Get’s on you pretty damned quick, eh?” Bear chuckled then relit the pipe.
For now Donna could only manage two big tokes, but the rest of us finished it up. “Damn man, where did you get that shit from?” Flip inquired. Bear laughed, handed the Birdman back his pipe and replied: “From some soul brother I met down in Phoebus.” Flip well understood what that meant in Skid jargon and said: “Alright, be that way.” A good many of us wouldn’t sell or cop weed for Flip as he would often complain about amount or want it fronted to him on a promise of being paid later. Usually we would have to hunt him down for what was owed. Then he would attempt to underpay with claims of the weed not being as good as expected. In fact Flip still owed money to Bear from a transaction from over six years ago. Although the Birdman thought he had forgotten, Bear possessed an elephant’s memory and would patiently await the right time to remind him of this welshed debt. “Enjoy this while it’s here.” Bear said then Denny inquired if Flip and Donna were staying for were staying for dinner. “What are we having?” the Birdman asked. Rising from his seat, Bear stepped over to our charcoal grill and as he began inspecting it, replied: “Whatever you want to pick up at the grocery store, I’ll grill it.”
“What?”
“What hell, jingle bell.” Bear returned. “We’re surprised and happy you’ve come up here unexpected to party with us, but our meat supplies are limited.”
“We’ve got plenty of taters, squash, beans, liquor, herb and if need be extra blankets, pillows and a place for you to sleep it all off, but you’ve got to pick up some meat for yourselves. We’re going to need a few mixers and a case of that Tuborg Gold. I’ll give some bucks for that. Oh yeah our upstairs neighbors are probably dropping in later for dinner, drinks and dancing.” Hearing that a twisted grin played upon Flip’s face as he had met our neighbors and on more than one occasion mentioned to me how hot he thought Winnie was.
Claiming she was too high for a grocery store experience, Donna opted to stay, but Bear volunteered and even said he would drive. The supermarket was only a half mile away and Bear said he wanted some imported German beer. “Two half fucked up Skids should be able to function as one.” I stated.
“One fully sober or one fully fucked up?” Denny chuckled.
“Tough call, especially since we ain’t got under way yet.” Bear replied as he walked through the sliding door. Flip got up, looked at Donna and Denny, then me and asked: “Are you going to be alright?” to which I replied: “I’m going to be just fine, Flip. You and Bear run along now.”
“I wasn’t asking you.” The Birdman hissed.
“Don’t worry about me Flippy, I’ll be alright.” Denny said. Donna who was laughing so hard to speak, waved goodbye. Flip informed her he would be right back then stepped through the sliding glass door. Getting a tad bit too warm we followed Flip inside our air conditioned apartment. “I’ll be fine sweetie.” Donna assured Flip as he followed Bear out the front door. As it closed she chuckled: “Men are so insecure.” Pulling a bottle of vodka from the freezer, Denny poured us three double shots and provided a bottle of grapefruit juice as a chaser. Sitting beside Donna on the couch, he kissed her cheek, issued a bark of laughter and said: “That heel hound you have may be insecure for good reason. Why don’t you cut that poor critter loose and move on to whoever else you’re seeing?”
“Oh come now Denny, you’re one to preach.” Donna replied seemingly taking no strong offense to his question. Gulping down her vodka, she got up and sat on the other couch beside me. “You were kind of scary to me when we were seeing each other, but now I’d enjoy a night out with you.”
“Yeah keep on drinking and dreaming Donna. Remember you left me for Flip because he had a cooler car? Just be on the up and up with Flip.”
“How do you know I haven’t done just that?” She returned, adding: “We’ve never had a normal relationship to begin with. It’s more of a close friendship than an intimate one. We’ve had sex only a few times. Something about him turns me off. Not long ago I told him about my going out with Steve, a guy I met at Hornes, but he insists we can still be close friends. Flip is like a calm safe harbor when I need a quiet evening or a relaxing scenic weekend camping in the mountains, or maybe just visiting old friends.
“Did you also tell him about Denny?” I asked.
“No, but he suspected Whitey.” She replied without a bit of shame while holding out her empty glass for a refill. “Really though, you guys are ones to harp on good morals. Flip told me the three of you have all kinds of women in and out of here.”
“Yeah, but we don’t have anything on our stringers. It’s mostly catch, tag and release.” Denny returned as he poured her another double shot. Holding out my glass as well I said: “As a matter of fact, Bear and I have girlfriends in town, but these Dibble brothers are footloose and fancy free.”
“That’s right.” Denny added. “I’ll try to restrain myself while Flip is at the grocery store with Bear.” As he filled my glass I stated: “After four or five years of dragging blue balls over the lawn, Flip may just take the initiative to go out and poke someone else instead of taking matters in his own hands. He must hold you in the highest regards.”
“I was his first true love.” Donna informed us, but we both laughed and I said: “Not true, after we finally talked him into having a meaningful visit with his neighbor Ms. Humphrey he fell madly in love and even proposed marriage.”
“You mean he fucked that lady next door to him?”
“You North Hamptoners don’t know everything that goes on in Lynnhaven when the sun goes down.” Denny laughed. Donna laughed as well then said: “Having fucked a few of you, I know more than the other North Hampton girls. It wouldn’t bother me in the least if Flip got with someone else.” It was then that a weird plan began to form in my substance addled mind. Slipping my arm around Donna, I gave her shoulder a squeeze and said: “Let’s just have a good time tonight. I for one am glad that you and Flip are here. I dearly miss not seeing many people from the old neighborhood and cherish these times when we can visit with one another.” Denny, who must have caught on to some of this weirdness, added: “After those two get back with extra provisions we’ll have everything we could possibly need for an exceptional night here in the colonial capitol. You don’t have any other plans for tonight, do you?”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t, but I do have to call my mom, because Flip isn’t going to be doing any driving after too many drinks. Hopefully before lays down beside me on the carpet, I’ll be passed out drunk and all but dead to the world.”
“Oh you should be nice to the Birdman tonight.” I told her.
After Bear and Flip returned, Denny busied himself with getting the side dishes ready. Doing my part to get this party going, I put on a Spanish guitar record and quaffed Danish beer. Bear got the charcoal burning while Flip enjoyed vodka lemonade with his date. Seeing him looking at Donna with adoring eyes one minute and leering at her the next, it was difficult for me to imagine just how warped his perception of how a long term loving relationship should be had become. Then again who were Bear, Denny or I to judge anyone? All present in our twenties, having come to age in a time when ‘sex, drugs and rock-n-roll’ was a motto, such debauchery often played into our revelry. There were prudes, those who had resisted the counter culture and their cultural revolution which began in the mid 60s and faded away by the mid 70s, but we didn’t associate with them. Of course down in Lynnhaven and surrounding communities, people knew the implications regarding the risks of cheating or attempting to do so. As far as Flip was concerned, some Skids figured in Donna, he got what he deserved for all his cock blocking, attempts at picking up dates or girlfriends of fellow Skids and overall stinginess. I wondered how such a relationship had lasted the last five years. I also pondered upon my off and on relationship with Bridget since the summer of 1974. After Stephanie and Susan, there wasn’t enough willingness on my part to make a strong commitment, but felt Bridget was someone good to settle down with. Whatever happened tonight, I would strive to keep her in mind.
Attempting to engage us in small talk, Donna inquired about Williamsburg life. “It’s certainly different than our part of Hampton. More refined and laid back that’s for sure.” Denny informed her then went on to mention the many fine restaurants, taverns, sights and activities. Donna had been to Busch Gardens and Colonial Williamsburg, but seemed interested in the nightlife. Flip had yet to take into any of Williamsburg’s bars. He hardly took her to drinking establishments down in Hampton or Newport News. She loved to dance, but the Birdman did not, nor did he fancy her dancing with other men in the clubs. Donna and her other friends went to the clubs instead. What Flip needed was a somewhat submissive homebody hippy chick. Someone who would show him more attention, but he didn’t have that in Donna. In spite of his faults, Flip had several good qualities. He was a fine woodworker and excellent woodsman. The epitome of a good camper, Flip was an asset during those times we as a group tented and fished in the mountains, something I hadn’t done for over two years. It was only last week that Bear, Denny and I had started laying plans for a late summer or early autumn camping/fishing trip in the southern Alleghenies at Douthat State Park. Running this plan by Flip, he seemed rather interested. I invited Donna as well, but she said: “We’ll see.”
Of course Bridget, Teri and whoever Denny invited would be coming along as well, but with this excursion being over a month away we had plenty of time to plan.
Dinner was quite a success and while the last grey shreds of dusk gave way to night, we sat quaffing beverages. The food had sobered us up somewhat, but we began to remedy that. Bear’s fruit moonshine was over half consumed and by the next round would be empty. Flip pulled out his stash and packed a bowl. Lighting the pipe, he passed it on. Without Skids like Charlie, Mitch, Whitey or Woo being present this was a somewhat sane bit of reveling so far. Between tokes Bear recounted some of his barroom experiences, most we had already heard while Denny occasionally scoped out Donna. After putting on a Moody Blues album, I measured out what was left of Bear’s shine and raised a toast for this fine sipping liquor, but it sounded more like a eulogy. “Here’s to some exceptional sipping sauce which was good while it lasted.”
“Why would you say that?” Bear chuckled.
“Because it’s all gone.”
“Is it?” he returned then rose to his feet. Stepping over to his cardboard box, he pulled out another big jar of home distilled liquor. “How many more of those jars do you have, Bear?” Denny inquired as he extended his empty glass for a refill.
“One more after this, but I’m saving it so, make do with this while it lasts. In fact after another round or so I suggest we give it a break for awhile. It ain’t good to drink too much of this at one time.” That said, he filled our double shot glasses and then put his jar of joy juice in the freezer. With Flip’s weed it made a wonderful elixir but it had Donna slightly slurring following that next round and now she was rather gabby. “It’s so nice here. Hardly the swinging playboy pad others would have me believe. Coming up here I was imagining your place to be like something out of an Elvis movie or a backstage party. Where’s all these women you were talking about, Flip?” As his beady eyes darted about, Denny issued a grunt and said: “Oh they’re just being fashionably late. You know how women are.”
“That was sexist remark.” Donna slurred.
“Oh my apologies.” Denny returned and revised. “You know how some women are.”
“Never late on payday.” I laughed.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded to know.
“Don’t ask me.” I replied. Hearing that, she gave me a weird look and opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by the loud rumbling crash of lightning from outside. Denny bolted out to the balcony where he swiftly covered our grill and brought our chairs in right seconds before the downpour. I had caught scent of this coming storm earlier, but hoped it went around us as they sometimes do. As Denny busied himself getting candles and flashlights ready, I thought about my beauties growing under the power lines and how they needed an occasional good soaking.
“Are you expecting the power to go out?” Flip asked as Denny sat candleholders in various places.
“It happens sometimes.” Denny loudly replied as it sounded like an artillery battle was being fought outside. These summer storms always coming down the James and York Rivers often played havoc upon this area it being the narrowest part of the peninsula. Although never lasting all that long, they were rather savage in their passing and sometimes spawned tornadoes. The Dibble brothers and I had endured several power outages since mid spring. With the many large trees came broken boughs and fallen boles which sometimes snapped lines or brought down utility poles. Quaffing from beer from a mug, Bear wiped his bearded face with a sleeve and said: “There goes lantern tours for tonight. The girls should be getting off here soon.”
“Are you heading over to their pad?” I asked.
“Well a bed with Teri seems more preferable than the floor here. Are you heading over there too?”
“Not tonight, but if Bridget asks about me, tell her I said to pack her overnight bag and come over here. Better yet I’ll call over there in about a half hour and invite them both over for drinks. Remember we’re supposed to be having a party here tonight.”
“Great idea.” Bear agreed. “I can crash over there later.”
“Oh good, I get to meet your girlfriends.” Donna said, then inquired about what else we had to drink. Already somewhat snockered, I’m sure she was ready to meet anyone. Flip, much in the party spirit himself asked about another drink. “Name your poison.” Denny said as the lights flickered a bit.
“What do y’all have?” asked Donna.
“Vodka, whisky, rum, mescal, beer, R.W.’s cognac and of course Bear’s shine, that is if he’ll share any more of it.”
“I want to save some of it for the other guests.” Bear growled.
“Shit man, you got almost two jars of that hooch.”
“Yes I do Denny, but if we start swilling it all of us will be passed out within an hour or so.”
Having called Bridget and Teri’s apartment, the ladies wanted us to go over there, but I insisted they come here instead. Bridget told me to give them about a half hour. I was surprised she agreed so quickly. Of course those two not having any power may have been a deciding factor. The rain had stopped which allowed Denny to get the grill going again. Along with the beer Bear had bought earlier, he also picked up a few more steaks so now there was food for more guests. In another hour or so when they got home, Denny would be inviting Sarah and Winnie over. He was anticipating that a free steak dinner along with our party favors would lure them in. Expecting R.W. to arrive later with his own date, Denny would not have to foolishly compete for Sarah or Winnie’s favor with his brother. This would greatly reduce if not eliminate these brothers engaging in the usual brawling buffoonery I’ve experienced at almost every party where both were in attendance.
Then we heard footfalls on the stairs outside. Assuming it was one of our other upstairs neighbors, we were unconcerned and went about serving ourselves drinks. Donna and Flip made more vodka lemonades while the rest of us filled our mugs with beer. Denny started to say something then fell silent while looking at the ceiling. Putting a finger to his lips he issued a: “Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
“What is it Denny?” Bear whispered.
“Sounds like someone’s up in Winnie and Sarah’s place.”
“That’s odd. They’re not supposed to be getting home for another hour or two, depending upon business.” Flip, having the best hearing here said: “Someone just opened their sliding door and stepped out on their balcony.” At that Denny and I stepped out on our balcony. “Who’s up there?” Denny shouted.
“Who’s down there?”came a reply. It was Winnie’s voice. “Hey can you guys help Sarah and I bring in a few groceries?”
“What are you guys doing home so early?” I asked.
“The Ramada and pretty much everything on the other side of Merrimac Trail lost power. Trees fell on some lines.”
Denny and I met our neighbors outside and helped them bring up their groceries. Able to get everything up there in one trip, Denny and I were rewarded with hugs, frosted oatmeal cookies and ale. “So what do you guys have going on down there?” Sarah inquired as she nibbled on a cookie. “Oh a dinner party, which you two are invited to attend.”
“Dinner party?” Winnie asked. “What are we having?”
“Well we’ve already eaten, but got more coals burning for later arrivals. Come on down and have a drink while I slap a couple of ribeyes on the grill.”
“So who’s down there, R.W.?” Sarah asked.
“No he’s at work still, but Bear, Flip and a girl from around our old stomping grounds is sitting down there.”
“Rosie? I thought she was pretty cool.”
“No, a chick named Donna.” Denny replied.
“Flip brought her up here.” I added.
“Flip, that native guy with glasses? Sarah inquired with a smile.
“The Birdman of Lynnhaven.” Denny chuckled.
“Yeah I met him downstairs about a month ago when we were smoking that Hawaiian weed, remember?”
“Don’t remember too much about that day.” I laughed.
“He seemed to be a kind peaceful soul and very intelligent. We hit it off pretty good. He’s not quite as crazy as some of the other guys from your neighborhood and unusually handsome.”
Denny asked what I had been thinking – “How much have you had to drink already, girl?”
“Just a half bottle of ale so far. Why?”
“Yeah Flip is an alright fellow. He spoke rather highly of you.” I stretched the truth a bit. Things were following into place, especially after the lead she allowed me with her next question. “So is this Donna Flip’s girlfriend?”
“Actually it’s kind of sad. They use to be very close, Flip’s first love, but now she’s beginning to move on. Now they just hang out with each other occasionally. I think they’re still friends.”
I couldn’t help but notice Sarah raise her left eye brow. Winnie however puckered her nose.” You mean that creepy guy I first met over at the Lord Paget several years ago?” to which I laughed and said: “Flip is not creepy. He’s a kind and peaceful soul. You just got to get to know him a little better. Right Denny?” He quaffed down the rest of his ale and said: “Oh yeah, Flip is one swell fellow. Get to know him a little better.”
At that, Sarah shooed us out the door while saying: “Well if we’re going to a dinner party, give us some time to get ready.”
“No fighting this time, okay?” Winnie added before the door shut leaving us with naught but empty ale bottles in our hands and cookie crumbs on our shirts.
“So what’s going on? Are they coming down?” Bear inquired no sooner than Denny and I walked in the door.
“Here in a little while.” I replied, adding: “Here in a bit Donna, you’ll have some female company.”
“And so shall we all.” Bear chuckled. He seemed particularly happy about getting up with Teri this weekend. Bear in love scowled, growled and snarled a lot less. Somewhat liquored and smoked up, I anticipated Bridget’s arrival as well, but was also wondering what sort of wonderful weirdness would ensue once Sarah and Flip’s eyes beheld each other. Hopefully it would be good medicine which is sweet to some, but bitter to others. The best part of it all, Sarah was already somewhat taken by Flip which seemed wonderfully weird in its self. It wasn’t as if I meddled in anyone’s affairs. Perhaps these two could get together and some of Sarah’s good qualities would rub off on Flip. A little excited about how our party was going to turn out, I requested some of Bear’s shine.
“Fuck man, y’all ain’t going to let up until it’s all gone.”
“But I’m a little edgy, Bear. I need something that will settle me down. Shit man, I’ll buy it from you.”
“No need for that.” Bear said with a snarling smile. “I’ll have to admit, I could use a good slug too. Anyone else?” Everyone but Flip picked up shot glasses and extended them for a pour. Although cold from the freezer, Bear’s shine this time spread through my body like liquid hell fire, but soon simmered down to a comforting warmth. I hardly acknowledged the knocking upon our door nor did anyone else as our souls were bathed in a substance fueled glow. “Someone’s at the door.” Flip loudly informed me. Somewhat lightheaded, but feeling rather well, I got off the couch and opened our door. Upon opening it, my jaw dropped as I gazed at our most recent arrivals. For two women who got ready for a party without electricity in their apartment, they looked absolutely ravishing.
Bridget and Teri both embraced me as they entered. Now all eyes were upon them. With an overnight bag slung over a well rounded shoulder, Bridget was gorgeous in her low cut black halter dress. Teri who already had Bear on his feet was clad in a rather revealing dark blue spaghetti strap romper. Both were barefooted. I had to wonder why both were so dolled up, perhaps Bridget and Teri were dressing for the other women they assumed frequented our abode. Still, I was entranced seeing Bridget in that dress. Man, what a knock out. Possessed by primitive passion, I took Bridget’s bag, sat it on the floor, and then pulled her into our kitchen…
Rising from my chair, I opened the door and was surprised to see Flip as well as his girlfriend Donna. Some five and a half foot tall with long brown hair, Donna was cute, somewhat shapely and rather bubbly, but I didn’t care for her all that much. Having had a brief fling with this North Hampton girl before getting with Susan, after our third date I began noticing traits which were not all that appealing to me, but she soon left my side and took up with another. During a party in the Big Trail Woods, Donna met Flip and learned of his souped up Mercury Cougar. Donna didn’t even formally break up with me, she just started dating Flip one night after meeting him. He fell madly in love, but Donna was also secretly having intimate liaisons with both Whitey and my roommate Denny. Of late there had been a rumor going around that she was also seeing an air force fellow out of Langley. She and Flip hadn’t been seeing as much of each other over the last few months. In the past Bear, I and a few others attempted to hip Flip about Donna, but he would believe none of it. He perceived what was said as being the lies of jealous men. By this time she had manipulated Flip into feeling he had to get back into her good graces by his near total obedience. It was an uncomfortable if not disgusting experience being around these two during their five year relationship and here of late most of the Skids tried to avoid them. I had to wonder what in the world they were doing up here? Wearing a pair of tight designer jeans and tight white tank top, Donna had well caught Denny’s attention, but when she hugged me I felt somewhat icky. This was the first time he had ever brought her here to our pad. “It’s always good to see you.” She said. Then Flip shook my hand. Clad in light blue pair of corduroy bell bottoms from the mid 70s and a short sleeved, wide collared blue pinstriped button up shirt a decade older than the pants, he was topped off with a dark blue bandanna confining long dark greasy looking hair. With his narrow head, beak-like nose and dark beady eyes, Flip was sometimes known as the Birdman. Being of mostly Lumbee heritage, he did not share many of his kin’s better qualities. “What brings you two up here?” I asked while inviting them to sit with us. While his crow-like eyes darted around the living room, Flip replied: “Every since Donna became manager at Taco Bell last month she hasn’t had a day off. I figured getting out of town would do the both of us some good.” This prompted me to assume that her military beau was unavailable. In spite of her bad qualities, Donna was an extremely social person, but still lived with her mother who allowed no partying or fellows sleeping over. Donna liked going to nightclubs such as Hornes lounge as well as the bars near Langley; places Flip had never set foot in. She also enjoyed parties and by having the Birdman bring her up here had me thinking there was nothing going on down in my old stomping grounds down in Hampton. What amazed was her lack of shame when it came to partying with Flip around other fellows she had screwed.
“So Flip, no partying in the barn tonight?” I inquired.
“Most everyone went down to Nags Head this weekend.”
“Must be nice.” Donna added with a slight sneer. To that Bear reminded both of them that Nags Head was not all that far away. “Or you two could stay and party with us.” By the glint in his grey eyes it was evident he was suggesting they could leave. I remembered Bear telling me a few years ago how Flip shooed him out of the barn on a bitter cold January night. Evidently the Birdman who had Donna with him deemed his visit as intrusive to their private intimacy, but only after Bear burned a couple of joints with them. Bear told me he understood they wanted a little privacy and planned on booking in about an hour, but saw it as extremely rude to send him away immediately after the second joint was finished. ‘Bad marijuana etiquette’ as Bear put it. Around his fellow Skids, Flip tended to be stingy and even more so since he began dating Donna. Bear had stopped going to the barn all together as did several others. Doing cabinet work with Flip,I saw him more often. However, the distance between Williamsburg and Hampton had a lot to do with me staying out of touch with Lynnhaven’s party scene or rather what was left of it. Here lately, Flip had been up here a good several times, but this was the first time he brought Donna along. There existed the possibility of ensuing weirdness.
“Got anything for the head?”
Bear, Denny and I knew he’d ask that question sooner or later, but was surprised when he pulled his own stash pouch out. “If y’all don’t, I do.” That was a rarity as Flip would usually smoke someone else’s weed up instead of his unless someone got down on him for being parsimonious. “What do you have there, Flip?” Bear asked while leaning in to have a better look. The Birdman handed Bear a plastic film canister full reddish colored weed that had been milled down for pipe smoking. “Smells wonderful, but hold off for now as I’ve got something for you and Donna to try out.” Reaching into his cardboard box, Bear pulled out both jar and brown paper sack. “Denny pour our guests a couple of slugs.” Then he asked: “Anyone got a bowl?”
Flip had his ready before I could pull out mine. Like my pipe, his was made of steatite we had found near Schuyler Virginia while on our way to camp up in the Blue Ridge over three years ago. A soft grayish stone, once carved, smoothed and oiled, it turned black. For thousands of years, indigenous tribes quarried this steatite for the crafting of bowls, effigies, body adornments, fishing net/line weights and of course smoking pipes. Bear pulled out his Thai stick and began preparing some of it for Flip’s pipe. “Wow, man! Is that what I think it is?” The Birdman asked as he stared at Bear’s stash.
“And just what is that?” Donna wanted to know.
“Thai stick.” Flip replied. “You’ve never had any of this.”
“It’s just weed, right?” At that Bear flashed a rather savage smile and said: “Yeah it’s just weed, only a tad bit more potent than what’s going around. No big deal though.”
“Not really.” Denny said as he handed Donna a double shot of home distilled liquor with a ogling leer and roll of his tongue before passing another to Flip. Bear threw up a large paw-like hand and growled: “Where’s ours, Denny?”
“But you said,,”
“Nonsense! How can we cheer on the night with our friends here without our own glasses? Pour us a round as well!”
I had to laugh and say: “Look at him Denny, comes in as a guest and then takes to ordering us around as if he was the fucking king of Williamsburg.”
“Please.” Bear chuckled while feigning a sorrowful facial expression.
Double shot glasses full; I suggested we go out on the balcony to cheer on the evening. Donna commented about how nice our apartment was, but added: “It needs a woman’s touch.” To which Denny smiled and said: “A many a woman have been touched here.” Filing out a sliding glass door onto the balcony, Denny offered our guests the three outdoor chairs while he and I leaned against the rail. Denny, R.W and I along with our guests spent a great deal of our time at home out on the balcony. There was sufficient room for a half dozen people, a grill, small table, a few chairs and my four foot high cedar carving of an Easter Island Moai whom we called Spot because of the dark swirly cedar knot upon his forehead. Before taking his seat, Bear saluted Spot then raised his glass. “To Mother Nature, human nature, freaks of nature, the naturally high and we Skids, living or dead.” That said, we turned up our glasses and poured the strong spirits down our gullets. Donna and Flip gasped for air, but we who were already use to this home distilled liquor smacked our lips. Noticing the watery eyes of both of our most recent arrivals, I laughed while Bear handed the Birdman’s pipe back to him fully loaded and ready to be lit. Ceremoniously, Flip offered the pipe to both earth and sky then blessed it with butane flame. Taking a big toke, a tight twisted grin appeared on his face and he passed the pipe to Donna. “Hold it in.” Bear grunted as she passed it back to him.
“Oh hell yeah!” Flip exclaimed upon an exhaled stream of smoke. Donna sputtered “That doesn’t taste like anything I’ve ever,,” then she fell silent with a slack jawed smile upon her face. “Get’s on you pretty damned quick, eh?” Bear chuckled then relit the pipe.
For now Donna could only manage two big tokes, but the rest of us finished it up. “Damn man, where did you get that shit from?” Flip inquired. Bear laughed, handed the Birdman back his pipe and replied: “From some soul brother I met down in Phoebus.” Flip well understood what that meant in Skid jargon and said: “Alright, be that way.” A good many of us wouldn’t sell or cop weed for Flip as he would often complain about amount or want it fronted to him on a promise of being paid later. Usually we would have to hunt him down for what was owed. Then he would attempt to underpay with claims of the weed not being as good as expected. In fact Flip still owed money to Bear from a transaction from over six years ago. Although the Birdman thought he had forgotten, Bear possessed an elephant’s memory and would patiently await the right time to remind him of this welshed debt. “Enjoy this while it’s here.” Bear said then Denny inquired if Flip and Donna were staying for were staying for dinner. “What are we having?” the Birdman asked. Rising from his seat, Bear stepped over to our charcoal grill and as he began inspecting it, replied: “Whatever you want to pick up at the grocery store, I’ll grill it.”
“What?”
“What hell, jingle bell.” Bear returned. “We’re surprised and happy you’ve come up here unexpected to party with us, but our meat supplies are limited.”
“We’ve got plenty of taters, squash, beans, liquor, herb and if need be extra blankets, pillows and a place for you to sleep it all off, but you’ve got to pick up some meat for yourselves. We’re going to need a few mixers and a case of that Tuborg Gold. I’ll give some bucks for that. Oh yeah our upstairs neighbors are probably dropping in later for dinner, drinks and dancing.” Hearing that a twisted grin played upon Flip’s face as he had met our neighbors and on more than one occasion mentioned to me how hot he thought Winnie was.
Claiming she was too high for a grocery store experience, Donna opted to stay, but Bear volunteered and even said he would drive. The supermarket was only a half mile away and Bear said he wanted some imported German beer. “Two half fucked up Skids should be able to function as one.” I stated.
“One fully sober or one fully fucked up?” Denny chuckled.
“Tough call, especially since we ain’t got under way yet.” Bear replied as he walked through the sliding door. Flip got up, looked at Donna and Denny, then me and asked: “Are you going to be alright?” to which I replied: “I’m going to be just fine, Flip. You and Bear run along now.”
“I wasn’t asking you.” The Birdman hissed.
“Don’t worry about me Flippy, I’ll be alright.” Denny said. Donna who was laughing so hard to speak, waved goodbye. Flip informed her he would be right back then stepped through the sliding glass door. Getting a tad bit too warm we followed Flip inside our air conditioned apartment. “I’ll be fine sweetie.” Donna assured Flip as he followed Bear out the front door. As it closed she chuckled: “Men are so insecure.” Pulling a bottle of vodka from the freezer, Denny poured us three double shots and provided a bottle of grapefruit juice as a chaser. Sitting beside Donna on the couch, he kissed her cheek, issued a bark of laughter and said: “That heel hound you have may be insecure for good reason. Why don’t you cut that poor critter loose and move on to whoever else you’re seeing?”
“Oh come now Denny, you’re one to preach.” Donna replied seemingly taking no strong offense to his question. Gulping down her vodka, she got up and sat on the other couch beside me. “You were kind of scary to me when we were seeing each other, but now I’d enjoy a night out with you.”
“Yeah keep on drinking and dreaming Donna. Remember you left me for Flip because he had a cooler car? Just be on the up and up with Flip.”
“How do you know I haven’t done just that?” She returned, adding: “We’ve never had a normal relationship to begin with. It’s more of a close friendship than an intimate one. We’ve had sex only a few times. Something about him turns me off. Not long ago I told him about my going out with Steve, a guy I met at Hornes, but he insists we can still be close friends. Flip is like a calm safe harbor when I need a quiet evening or a relaxing scenic weekend camping in the mountains, or maybe just visiting old friends.
“Did you also tell him about Denny?” I asked.
“No, but he suspected Whitey.” She replied without a bit of shame while holding out her empty glass for a refill. “Really though, you guys are ones to harp on good morals. Flip told me the three of you have all kinds of women in and out of here.”
“Yeah, but we don’t have anything on our stringers. It’s mostly catch, tag and release.” Denny returned as he poured her another double shot. Holding out my glass as well I said: “As a matter of fact, Bear and I have girlfriends in town, but these Dibble brothers are footloose and fancy free.”
“That’s right.” Denny added. “I’ll try to restrain myself while Flip is at the grocery store with Bear.” As he filled my glass I stated: “After four or five years of dragging blue balls over the lawn, Flip may just take the initiative to go out and poke someone else instead of taking matters in his own hands. He must hold you in the highest regards.”
“I was his first true love.” Donna informed us, but we both laughed and I said: “Not true, after we finally talked him into having a meaningful visit with his neighbor Ms. Humphrey he fell madly in love and even proposed marriage.”
“You mean he fucked that lady next door to him?”
“You North Hamptoners don’t know everything that goes on in Lynnhaven when the sun goes down.” Denny laughed. Donna laughed as well then said: “Having fucked a few of you, I know more than the other North Hampton girls. It wouldn’t bother me in the least if Flip got with someone else.” It was then that a weird plan began to form in my substance addled mind. Slipping my arm around Donna, I gave her shoulder a squeeze and said: “Let’s just have a good time tonight. I for one am glad that you and Flip are here. I dearly miss not seeing many people from the old neighborhood and cherish these times when we can visit with one another.” Denny, who must have caught on to some of this weirdness, added: “After those two get back with extra provisions we’ll have everything we could possibly need for an exceptional night here in the colonial capitol. You don’t have any other plans for tonight, do you?”
“As a matter of fact, I don’t, but I do have to call my mom, because Flip isn’t going to be doing any driving after too many drinks. Hopefully before lays down beside me on the carpet, I’ll be passed out drunk and all but dead to the world.”
“Oh you should be nice to the Birdman tonight.” I told her.
After Bear and Flip returned, Denny busied himself with getting the side dishes ready. Doing my part to get this party going, I put on a Spanish guitar record and quaffed Danish beer. Bear got the charcoal burning while Flip enjoyed vodka lemonade with his date. Seeing him looking at Donna with adoring eyes one minute and leering at her the next, it was difficult for me to imagine just how warped his perception of how a long term loving relationship should be had become. Then again who were Bear, Denny or I to judge anyone? All present in our twenties, having come to age in a time when ‘sex, drugs and rock-n-roll’ was a motto, such debauchery often played into our revelry. There were prudes, those who had resisted the counter culture and their cultural revolution which began in the mid 60s and faded away by the mid 70s, but we didn’t associate with them. Of course down in Lynnhaven and surrounding communities, people knew the implications regarding the risks of cheating or attempting to do so. As far as Flip was concerned, some Skids figured in Donna, he got what he deserved for all his cock blocking, attempts at picking up dates or girlfriends of fellow Skids and overall stinginess. I wondered how such a relationship had lasted the last five years. I also pondered upon my off and on relationship with Bridget since the summer of 1974. After Stephanie and Susan, there wasn’t enough willingness on my part to make a strong commitment, but felt Bridget was someone good to settle down with. Whatever happened tonight, I would strive to keep her in mind.
Attempting to engage us in small talk, Donna inquired about Williamsburg life. “It’s certainly different than our part of Hampton. More refined and laid back that’s for sure.” Denny informed her then went on to mention the many fine restaurants, taverns, sights and activities. Donna had been to Busch Gardens and Colonial Williamsburg, but seemed interested in the nightlife. Flip had yet to take into any of Williamsburg’s bars. He hardly took her to drinking establishments down in Hampton or Newport News. She loved to dance, but the Birdman did not, nor did he fancy her dancing with other men in the clubs. Donna and her other friends went to the clubs instead. What Flip needed was a somewhat submissive homebody hippy chick. Someone who would show him more attention, but he didn’t have that in Donna. In spite of his faults, Flip had several good qualities. He was a fine woodworker and excellent woodsman. The epitome of a good camper, Flip was an asset during those times we as a group tented and fished in the mountains, something I hadn’t done for over two years. It was only last week that Bear, Denny and I had started laying plans for a late summer or early autumn camping/fishing trip in the southern Alleghenies at Douthat State Park. Running this plan by Flip, he seemed rather interested. I invited Donna as well, but she said: “We’ll see.”
Of course Bridget, Teri and whoever Denny invited would be coming along as well, but with this excursion being over a month away we had plenty of time to plan.
Dinner was quite a success and while the last grey shreds of dusk gave way to night, we sat quaffing beverages. The food had sobered us up somewhat, but we began to remedy that. Bear’s fruit moonshine was over half consumed and by the next round would be empty. Flip pulled out his stash and packed a bowl. Lighting the pipe, he passed it on. Without Skids like Charlie, Mitch, Whitey or Woo being present this was a somewhat sane bit of reveling so far. Between tokes Bear recounted some of his barroom experiences, most we had already heard while Denny occasionally scoped out Donna. After putting on a Moody Blues album, I measured out what was left of Bear’s shine and raised a toast for this fine sipping liquor, but it sounded more like a eulogy. “Here’s to some exceptional sipping sauce which was good while it lasted.”
“Why would you say that?” Bear chuckled.
“Because it’s all gone.”
“Is it?” he returned then rose to his feet. Stepping over to his cardboard box, he pulled out another big jar of home distilled liquor. “How many more of those jars do you have, Bear?” Denny inquired as he extended his empty glass for a refill.
“One more after this, but I’m saving it so, make do with this while it lasts. In fact after another round or so I suggest we give it a break for awhile. It ain’t good to drink too much of this at one time.” That said, he filled our double shot glasses and then put his jar of joy juice in the freezer. With Flip’s weed it made a wonderful elixir but it had Donna slightly slurring following that next round and now she was rather gabby. “It’s so nice here. Hardly the swinging playboy pad others would have me believe. Coming up here I was imagining your place to be like something out of an Elvis movie or a backstage party. Where’s all these women you were talking about, Flip?” As his beady eyes darted about, Denny issued a grunt and said: “Oh they’re just being fashionably late. You know how women are.”
“That was sexist remark.” Donna slurred.
“Oh my apologies.” Denny returned and revised. “You know how some women are.”
“Never late on payday.” I laughed.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded to know.
“Don’t ask me.” I replied. Hearing that, she gave me a weird look and opened her mouth to say something, but was cut off by the loud rumbling crash of lightning from outside. Denny bolted out to the balcony where he swiftly covered our grill and brought our chairs in right seconds before the downpour. I had caught scent of this coming storm earlier, but hoped it went around us as they sometimes do. As Denny busied himself getting candles and flashlights ready, I thought about my beauties growing under the power lines and how they needed an occasional good soaking.
“Are you expecting the power to go out?” Flip asked as Denny sat candleholders in various places.
“It happens sometimes.” Denny loudly replied as it sounded like an artillery battle was being fought outside. These summer storms always coming down the James and York Rivers often played havoc upon this area it being the narrowest part of the peninsula. Although never lasting all that long, they were rather savage in their passing and sometimes spawned tornadoes. The Dibble brothers and I had endured several power outages since mid spring. With the many large trees came broken boughs and fallen boles which sometimes snapped lines or brought down utility poles. Quaffing from beer from a mug, Bear wiped his bearded face with a sleeve and said: “There goes lantern tours for tonight. The girls should be getting off here soon.”
“Are you heading over to their pad?” I asked.
“Well a bed with Teri seems more preferable than the floor here. Are you heading over there too?”
“Not tonight, but if Bridget asks about me, tell her I said to pack her overnight bag and come over here. Better yet I’ll call over there in about a half hour and invite them both over for drinks. Remember we’re supposed to be having a party here tonight.”
“Great idea.” Bear agreed. “I can crash over there later.”
“Oh good, I get to meet your girlfriends.” Donna said, then inquired about what else we had to drink. Already somewhat snockered, I’m sure she was ready to meet anyone. Flip, much in the party spirit himself asked about another drink. “Name your poison.” Denny said as the lights flickered a bit.
“What do y’all have?” asked Donna.
“Vodka, whisky, rum, mescal, beer, R.W.’s cognac and of course Bear’s shine, that is if he’ll share any more of it.”
“I want to save some of it for the other guests.” Bear growled.
“Shit man, you got almost two jars of that hooch.”
“Yes I do Denny, but if we start swilling it all of us will be passed out within an hour or so.”
Having called Bridget and Teri’s apartment, the ladies wanted us to go over there, but I insisted they come here instead. Bridget told me to give them about a half hour. I was surprised she agreed so quickly. Of course those two not having any power may have been a deciding factor. The rain had stopped which allowed Denny to get the grill going again. Along with the beer Bear had bought earlier, he also picked up a few more steaks so now there was food for more guests. In another hour or so when they got home, Denny would be inviting Sarah and Winnie over. He was anticipating that a free steak dinner along with our party favors would lure them in. Expecting R.W. to arrive later with his own date, Denny would not have to foolishly compete for Sarah or Winnie’s favor with his brother. This would greatly reduce if not eliminate these brothers engaging in the usual brawling buffoonery I’ve experienced at almost every party where both were in attendance.
Then we heard footfalls on the stairs outside. Assuming it was one of our other upstairs neighbors, we were unconcerned and went about serving ourselves drinks. Donna and Flip made more vodka lemonades while the rest of us filled our mugs with beer. Denny started to say something then fell silent while looking at the ceiling. Putting a finger to his lips he issued a: “Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
“What is it Denny?” Bear whispered.
“Sounds like someone’s up in Winnie and Sarah’s place.”
“That’s odd. They’re not supposed to be getting home for another hour or two, depending upon business.” Flip, having the best hearing here said: “Someone just opened their sliding door and stepped out on their balcony.” At that Denny and I stepped out on our balcony. “Who’s up there?” Denny shouted.
“Who’s down there?”came a reply. It was Winnie’s voice. “Hey can you guys help Sarah and I bring in a few groceries?”
“What are you guys doing home so early?” I asked.
“The Ramada and pretty much everything on the other side of Merrimac Trail lost power. Trees fell on some lines.”
Denny and I met our neighbors outside and helped them bring up their groceries. Able to get everything up there in one trip, Denny and I were rewarded with hugs, frosted oatmeal cookies and ale. “So what do you guys have going on down there?” Sarah inquired as she nibbled on a cookie. “Oh a dinner party, which you two are invited to attend.”
“Dinner party?” Winnie asked. “What are we having?”
“Well we’ve already eaten, but got more coals burning for later arrivals. Come on down and have a drink while I slap a couple of ribeyes on the grill.”
“So who’s down there, R.W.?” Sarah asked.
“No he’s at work still, but Bear, Flip and a girl from around our old stomping grounds is sitting down there.”
“Rosie? I thought she was pretty cool.”
“No, a chick named Donna.” Denny replied.
“Flip brought her up here.” I added.
“Flip, that native guy with glasses? Sarah inquired with a smile.
“The Birdman of Lynnhaven.” Denny chuckled.
“Yeah I met him downstairs about a month ago when we were smoking that Hawaiian weed, remember?”
“Don’t remember too much about that day.” I laughed.
“He seemed to be a kind peaceful soul and very intelligent. We hit it off pretty good. He’s not quite as crazy as some of the other guys from your neighborhood and unusually handsome.”
Denny asked what I had been thinking – “How much have you had to drink already, girl?”
“Just a half bottle of ale so far. Why?”
“Yeah Flip is an alright fellow. He spoke rather highly of you.” I stretched the truth a bit. Things were following into place, especially after the lead she allowed me with her next question. “So is this Donna Flip’s girlfriend?”
“Actually it’s kind of sad. They use to be very close, Flip’s first love, but now she’s beginning to move on. Now they just hang out with each other occasionally. I think they’re still friends.”
I couldn’t help but notice Sarah raise her left eye brow. Winnie however puckered her nose.” You mean that creepy guy I first met over at the Lord Paget several years ago?” to which I laughed and said: “Flip is not creepy. He’s a kind and peaceful soul. You just got to get to know him a little better. Right Denny?” He quaffed down the rest of his ale and said: “Oh yeah, Flip is one swell fellow. Get to know him a little better.”
At that, Sarah shooed us out the door while saying: “Well if we’re going to a dinner party, give us some time to get ready.”
“No fighting this time, okay?” Winnie added before the door shut leaving us with naught but empty ale bottles in our hands and cookie crumbs on our shirts.
“So what’s going on? Are they coming down?” Bear inquired no sooner than Denny and I walked in the door.
“Here in a little while.” I replied, adding: “Here in a bit Donna, you’ll have some female company.”
“And so shall we all.” Bear chuckled. He seemed particularly happy about getting up with Teri this weekend. Bear in love scowled, growled and snarled a lot less. Somewhat liquored and smoked up, I anticipated Bridget’s arrival as well, but was also wondering what sort of wonderful weirdness would ensue once Sarah and Flip’s eyes beheld each other. Hopefully it would be good medicine which is sweet to some, but bitter to others. The best part of it all, Sarah was already somewhat taken by Flip which seemed wonderfully weird in its self. It wasn’t as if I meddled in anyone’s affairs. Perhaps these two could get together and some of Sarah’s good qualities would rub off on Flip. A little excited about how our party was going to turn out, I requested some of Bear’s shine.
“Fuck man, y’all ain’t going to let up until it’s all gone.”
“But I’m a little edgy, Bear. I need something that will settle me down. Shit man, I’ll buy it from you.”
“No need for that.” Bear said with a snarling smile. “I’ll have to admit, I could use a good slug too. Anyone else?” Everyone but Flip picked up shot glasses and extended them for a pour. Although cold from the freezer, Bear’s shine this time spread through my body like liquid hell fire, but soon simmered down to a comforting warmth. I hardly acknowledged the knocking upon our door nor did anyone else as our souls were bathed in a substance fueled glow. “Someone’s at the door.” Flip loudly informed me. Somewhat lightheaded, but feeling rather well, I got off the couch and opened our door. Upon opening it, my jaw dropped as I gazed at our most recent arrivals. For two women who got ready for a party without electricity in their apartment, they looked absolutely ravishing.
Bridget and Teri both embraced me as they entered. Now all eyes were upon them. With an overnight bag slung over a well rounded shoulder, Bridget was gorgeous in her low cut black halter dress. Teri who already had Bear on his feet was clad in a rather revealing dark blue spaghetti strap romper. Both were barefooted. I had to wonder why both were so dolled up, perhaps Bridget and Teri were dressing for the other women they assumed frequented our abode. Still, I was entranced seeing Bridget in that dress. Man, what a knock out. Possessed by primitive passion, I took Bridget’s bag, sat it on the floor, and then pulled her into our kitchen…
Re: Madness in the Colonial Capitol
21 – Night into early morning
“What was that all about?” Bridget whispered between breaths while gently breaking our embrace. In the heat of passion I had backed her up against the sink. While ogling this shapely beauty, I replied: “An extreme case of me being inspired and compelled. I couldn’t help myself.”
“Oh I’d say you helped yourself.” She returned with a seductive smile and asked: “So who’s that girl out there?”
“She came up with Flip. Come on I’ll introduce you.”
Stepping back out into the living room, I saw that Bear and Teri sitting with each other and talking to Donna. Loudly clearing my voice, I announced: “Donna, this is Bridget and Teri. You already know everyone else here.”
“We were introduced while you two were busy in the kitchen.” Teri informed Bridget and me. Donna gave my date a wide eyed once over and then glanced at me. As her eyes returned to Bridget she said: “Hi. That’s a gorgeous dress.”
“Well thanks. I got it at Peebles last year.” Bridget said as she sat down beside her on the couch. Dragging a chair from our dining room table, I seated myself close to Bridget and inquired if anyone needed a drink. Denny, aglow from the moonshine and the presence of three pretty women forgot his manners and said: “Another shot of that joy juice and a beer chaser.”
“Joy juice?” Teri chuckled. Not standing for anyone to pour his liquor but him, Bear stood up, fetched two more shot glasses from the cabinet and poured us all a round while I got everyone a beer. “Wow, I haven’t had moonshine for awhile.” Teri said while closely inspecting the clear liquor in her double shot glass. “It’s perfectly good.” Bear assured her.
“It’s got a sweet scent.” Bridget said as Denny lifted his glass and proposed a toast. “Here’s to everyone here and those who have yet to arrive. Comfort and harmony.” Donna, Teri, Bear, Denny, and I got ours down in one gulp, but it took Bridget two while Flip daintily sipped his. “Come on! Bottoms up, Birdman!” Bear growled. “Don’t go lightweight on us yet.” From behind thick slightly tinted gold framed glasses, Flip’s beady eyes darted about. “Didn’t you say not to drink too much of this at once? I’m trying to pace myself.”
“Come on Flip. It isn’t like we have to go anywhere.” Donna said as she put her arm around the Birdman which seemed to surprise him and put a smile upon his face. “Why not?” He exclaimed before turning up his glass and gulping down its fiery contents. Although in truth Flip was a lightweight when it came to drinking and would usually pace himself while doing so, Donna’s display of affection had his glass extended for a refill. Quite obviously pleased by the homemade liquor’s effects, Bridget and Teri requested refills as well as so did the rest of us. Sipping on her second glass, Bridget asked Denny what he meant by ‘those who have yet to arrive’.
“I invited our neighbors down.” No sooner than the words left his mouth we heard someone knocking upon our door. “And that’s probably them now.” He said while getting up. Looking out the peephole and then opening our door, Denny greeted them with a “Hi.” Accepting the bottle of white wine from Sarah, he put it in the refrigerator and dragged two more dining area chairs into the living room. Brushed out and made up, both our neighbors were a bit more casually if not seductively attired in short denim cutoffs and skimpy little tops. Just like down in Lynnhaven, the young women here wore as little as possible during the coastal plain’s hot and humid summers.
As Denny introduced these newest arrivals Flip was already gawking at Sarah who regarded him with a smile that Donna couldn’t help but notice. Our neighbors requested to have whatever we were drinking and Bear and I promptly set them up with shots as well as beer chasers.
The five women warmed up to each other and engaged in a bit of awkward alcohol fueled small talk. Bridget and Teri had seen our neighbors waiting tables at the Ramada, but knew not their names or that they lived above us until tonight. Sarah was transplanted from her family home in Connecticut while Winnie went to a different high school than Bridget and Teri. Breaking away from the women’s fractured initial conversation regarding work, Sarah turned to Flip and asked: “You do remember meeting me awhile back?” As if Donna wasn’t even there, he replied: “How could I forget?” Flip no doubt recognized the look in Sarah’s eyes and could tell she was interested in him
“Oh you two have met?” Donna inquired. Not taking his eyes off Sarah, the Birdman replied: “Awhile back.” Donna’s straight face could not hide the emotion in her eyes. It was if a dose of reality unexpectedly flew in like a wasp and stung her on the ass. Could it be because her always obedient, forever awaiting friend had shown a bit of independence on his part, or that he still stared crow-like at Sarah as if she was a morsel of food left upon a picnic table? I couldn’t tell, but wondered if she now thought of her own transgressions like screwing Whitey on Flip’s pool table in the barn while he ate dinner with his family. Whitey had told me a few years ago that Flip almost caught them as they just gotten dressed when he returned. The Birdman had confided in me that he suspected Whitey and Donna did something that evening. Flip did know that currently she was seeing someone else and now with his dark crow-like eyes so, did he. Aside from Sarah who was still making eyes at Flip, the rest of us could not help but notice the lost look upon Donna’s face. Occasionally she opened her mouth as if to say something, but snapped it shut each time. Then her eyes started to well up and before she cried, I said: “Hey Donna, come back here to my room, I got something for you.”
“What?” she softly asked.
“Something you asked about several years ago. Come on.” I replied while standing up. The moonshine had me wobbling slightly. As she followed me into the hall, I saw Bridget’s narrowed eyes upon us. Who could blame her?
Once inside my bedroom I closed the door and went to my dresser. Pulling open the top drawer, I removed the brown, green and grey finger woven Mohawk sash; I bought years ago at a Chickahominy powwow. Originally it was for Susan, but for some reason she didn’t like it. Donna once said how much she liked it, so I handed it to her. “Here you can have this.”
“Thank you.” Donna said with tears running down her face. She had held back that flood until she was in my room.
“There, there, Donna. It’s going to be alright. It’s all part of the mysterious circle of life and even such events makes us uncomfortable, they restore balance. What did you expect? Flip for one reason or another has long been starving for passionate attention while you have long had your fill. I don’t know about the others out there, but Bear and I do not hold it against you. When sauced up, fellows like Whitey and even Denny would screw a knothole in pinewood if nothing else was available. Now those other ladies out there don’t know you at all and since this has been a pretty good party thus far, I’ll make sure you’re treated with respect under our roof here. Tell me, do you really like the fellow from Langley you’re sometimes seeing much more than Flip?”
“Well Steve wants a productive future and is very career minded while Flip lives with his parents, just builds cabinets and wants to stay high all the time. They are two different people, but I feel a need for both of them.”
“Where’s Steve now?”
“He’s down at Seymour Johnson Air Force base down in North Carolina for two weeks of training classes.”
“Has he deep feelings for you?”
“He gave me a friendship ring exactly like the one Flip slipped on my finger back in 1975.” Bringing her hand up to my face, she showed it to me. “The crazy thing is, I got them mixed up and can’t tell one from the other.”
“Unlike men’s hearts.” I returned. “Let Flip go. I don’t want to seem like a relationship counselor, but I see nothing productive coming from such a steep sided relationship. It is not within my power to tell people how to live their lives, but what I would suggest is that after tomorrow you let Flip go and stay shy of Lynnhaven. Since it is obvious Flip won’t be doing any driving tonight I also suggest you pay him little mind, but all the while have yourself a somewhat good time out there.”
Donna took my advice to heart and soon as we reentered the living room she began drinking heavily. Stepping out onto the balcony for a bit with Bridget, I explained to her what was going on between Donna and Flip. Changing the subject, I complemented Bridget’s dress and asked when she got it.
“Last year when you disappeared for several months.” She replied. My sudden departure and extended absence from Virginia was a troubled Bridget immensely and it took me a lot of effort to get back into her good graces. Following Lee’s arrest along with a few others, I heard a rumor that the authorities were coming after Bear and I next. Promptly retiring from peddling, we went to Ohio and stayed with some of Bear’s relatives, but after two months I departed again. My money belt filled with big bills, I traveled through Kentucky, Tennessee, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, California, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama and Florida where I stayed for a month. Taking a chance, I called several of the Skids who informed me that the cops were not after me. They also told me that Bear had already returned from Ohio. Tired of the hot humid Floridian flat lands, I made my way back to Virginia and soon afterwards moved to Williamsburg. Prior to dating Bridget again, I came clean with her regarding my past as a pot peddler. She in turn told me I should have been truthful all along. Although Bridget was dating a couple of fellows upon my relocation to Williamsburg late last year, lately we had been spending much of our free time together. In that dress out on the balcony tonight, Bridget appeared as a vision of beauty and just when I thought about kissing her again our private moment was intruded upon by Bear followed by Denny come to check the coals. Although they both ogled Bridget, neither her nor I were offended. Bear was the most trusted of my friends and hopefully Denny had learned a lesson from the last time he slithered into one of my relationships. With towel in hand he wiped rain water from the little outdoor table and set up chairs. He also lit two small lanterns. Placing the metal grill over burning coals to burn off the grease from our earlier dinner, Bear chuckled and asked me: “What the hell did you say to Donna? She’s in there drinking like a fish.”
“She’s just getting sedated rather than deal that it’s time for her to steer for the bank and let Flip get off the boat before she continues either up or downriver.”
“Well by the way Flippy and Sarah are getting along; I would say he’s beyond the riverbank and going deep in the bush.” Bear returned, adding: “Meanwhile Donna is getting goofy drunk, but then again so is everyone else.”
“Then we’ll leave it all to fate from here on out.” I said. Bridget turned and glanced through the sliding glass door at Donna. “Poor thing.” She whispered. “And that Flip, he supposed to be out with her, not your neighbor.” Hearing that, Bear snarled and said: “Oh Donna is dating some Langley fly boy and considers Flip as only a friend.”
“Yeah I’ve already heard.” Bridget said.
Leaving us alone again on the balcony, Bear and Denny went back inside. Staring fixedly at me, Bridget asked: “So are we only friends like Donna and Flip?”
“Gee I hope not. Not like them. Not yet and hopefully never.”
Tilting her head, she fired off another question. “Then what kind of friends are we?” Stepping back, I lit a cigarette and asked: “What kind of friendship do you want, Bridget?”
“Surely not like your two friends in there.”
“Well what then? We go steady?”
“Are you asking me?” she replied.
“I don’t see any reason we shouldn’t, so far.” We were both surprised by my words. It was an excellent example of the booze not only talking, but listening as well. We had a similar conversation two weeks ago over at her pad. Smoked up on some good grass and somewhat snockered by the bottle of Wild Turkey we drank, Bridget imparted her perception of what being a couple meant. Unlike Susan, Bridget didn’t want me to cease my weed smoking, get a haircut or wear squirrely clothes, but there were conditions which she reminded me of again tonight out on the balcony. Like Susan, Bridget had a love for art and was greatly impressed by some of my works which she wanted me to sale at the various art shows in the Williamsburg area. The way Bridget put it; she said it would get my name around. Not all that interested in selling paintings like she suggested, I did however make buckskin shot pouches and the occasional fringed doeskin hunting shirts to trade with Colonial Williamsburg craftspeople, historical interpreters as well as the occasional gatherings of 18th century reenactors. A grandaunt had not only taught my siblings and me to sew deerskin, but the basics of beadwork. My father along with my older brother taught me how to hunt and tan deer hides. I also made them steatite pipes which lasted longer than their white clay counterparts. At times I made a decent amount of money as well as the crafts of others in trade. Only a month ago I made a pair of buckskin leggings for a reenactor in exchange for a finely forged camp tomahawk. Bridget and Teri, both CW employees introduced me to these people. Some I found rather strange as they tried their best to remain in the 18th century twenty four hours a day. Here of late, Bridget had been bugging me about getting a job at Colonial Williamsburg as the foundation would pay better which would eliminate a lot of my side work with Flip thus allowing more time for us to spend together as a couple. She wasn’t that fond of Flip and less for my trips down to Hampton, especially when I would spend the night at a Skid party. The Birdman had put bug in her ear regarding a wild blowout we had at Hornes when I returned from my cross country odyssey. The McFall brothers showed up with three exotic dancers from Buck’s Brand Restaurant and Gentleman’s Club. I had thought about cutting Flip’s tongue out after he blabbed that in front of Bridget a few months ago. Another one of Bridget’s conditions was sometime in the not so far future we would be cohabiting and for me to start attending some of her family’s functions. My last getting to know the parents phase of a relationship when I was seeing Susan proved rather difficult as her mother and father upon our first meeting did not want me in their home or dating their daughter. A staunch conservative air force major, Susan’s dad had issues not only regarding my heritage, but with my appearance as well. Even though Nixon was impeached and resigned over the Watergate scandal, his portrait hung over their fireplace next to that of George Washington. I still remember him telling her to get me out of his house. Of course all of this played heavily upon our failed relationship. Even as a young man it seemed to me there were some who fell in love with others not for who they are, but what and where they can be prodded into. Having grown up in an area which was fraught with churches and military bases, these days I would not subject myself to those of that Christian militaristic mindset. I had to conform to it as a child, but not as a young adult out on my own. Suggestions I would consider, but had no mind to be prodded anywhere.
Upon hearing me agreeing to have a try at being her steady boyfriend, Bridget lit up. It might have been Bear’s moonshine affecting me, but out on the dimly lit balcony, Bridget’s lovely face was aglow. She backed me up against the rail and returned my earlier display of physical passion. At first, I should have been more caught up in that passion, but felt a deal or transaction was just brokered. As our time on the balcony continued, I became more lustfully receptive after a bit of heavy petting which ended when Denny stepped out again.
“Hey Skid, Donna passed out.”
“Oh my goodness, is she alright?” Bridget asked.
“Unconscious and may have a slight bruise on her head tomorrow whenever she awakes.”
“Bruise?”
“Yeah she reached for her drink and pitched face first into the coffee table. I guess everything she drank, smoked and ate caught up with her all of a sudden.”
“It happens to the best of us.” I stated as we walked back inside while Bear was lifting Donna up into his arms. “What do we do with her?” He grunted as her limbs dangled as if they were lifeless. Looking down at the Birdman who was heavily engaged in conversation with Sarah, Bear growled: “Did you hear me Flip?” Before the drunken Birdman could reply, I told Bear to put her in R.W.’s bed. Following him into the bedroom, I covered Donna up after Bear gently placed her upon the bed. “Sleep tight my little North Hampton tart.” He said as we left the room. Surprisingly enough, Flip who was most always attentive to Donna’s needs, appeared as if he couldn’t have cared less about her current condition. Instead the Birdman carried on like one smitten. Watching Flip’s seemingly uncontrollable beady eyes running wild all over Sarah’s ample bosom and the twisted smile on his face, I felt empathy for Donna lying in a sodden state of self exile from the waking world. At least R.W. had someone to share his bed with if he couldn’t find an after work date and in angler’s jargon, that would be another fly to present a little later. Right now there was enough substance induced emotion charging this pad. The wooed and those who were wooing. Denny had really turned on the charm while slithering closer to Winnie who seemed a little receptive. Glancing at Bear I had to chuckle. Perhaps it was his huge size that compelled women to sit in his lap as Teri did now as he twirled a lock of her hair. Over the years I had seen a good several of his different dates seated in such a way. Most men found this young giant terrifying, but the women he knew found him as comforting as a big easy chair. Then I caught Bridget’s pale grey eyes upon me and there was a familiar glimmer in them. “So what are we smoking tonight?” she inquired which caught Sarah’s attention. “Yeah what are we smoking?” she asked without taking her eyes off Flip. At that, Bear’s knee gently prodded Teri out of his lap. “Let’s all put in and roll up a jumbo.”
Some eight inches long and about an inch in diameter containing Bear’s Thai weed, Flip’s red bud and my California sensemilia, this large well twisted bone would probably send us up into the stratosphere. We waited until Bridget, Teri, Sarah and Winnie had their steak dinners along with a little time for them to digest before sparking it up. Flip having rolled up this number, passed it to Sarah and gave her a light as well. Around this big doobie went until it was a large brown roach in the ashtray. The combination of excellent liquor and weed had quite a satisfying affect upon me. Seeing the glassy half opened eyes and smiles of everyone else, I knew they were blown away as well. Attempting listening to the three different substance addled conversations going on at once, I could only catch bits and pieces of what people were saying, but my main focus was upon Bridget as she, Teri and Bear talked about our upcoming camping trip. Long thick dark hair fell about Bridget’s well tanned shoulders and even though somewhat bloodshot, her pale grey eyes were unusually lovely. That long, low cut well fitting halter dress left little for the imagination. In the six years of my knowing Bridget, she had become an even more beautiful woman. For a little while there I weighed out concerns and benefits regarding my earlier agreement to form a closer bond with Bridget, but after that big joint, the sight of her, as well as warm fanciful thoughts kept me well entertained. Turning away from Teri and Bear, she gently tapped my knee and stated: “You’re awfully quiet.”
“Just quietly enjoying myself.” I returned while continuing to look her over. “Would you like to go back out on the balcony?” She asked me with a rather seductive smile. Just as I was about to say yes, our front door opened and in strolled R.W with who first appeared to Denise. She had the same fluffed out, over styled , over sprayed bleached blonde hair as did Denise and was attired in similar fashion, but it wasn’t her.
“So this is where the party is.” R.W. said as he looked upon the eight of us. Stepping from behind him, his new companion regarded us with sky blue eyes. Clad in a tight blue T-shirt bearing the logo of a Jamaican resort and rather high cut white silk shorts, she was shod in some high end leather sandals which appeared to be adorned with silver. From her ears and neck hung turquoise, red coral and silver Navajo jewelry. Tanned almost as dark as Flip, she cut a rather impressive figure here at our little get together. Probably in her early forties, she was a bit more well kept than Denise. “Friends, neighbors, this is Gloria.” Sniffing the air and smiling she said: “Something smells delightful, Reggie.” She said then proceeded to nod and smile at all of us. In return we introduced ourselves to this older blonde bombshell. Aside from this woman’s name and appearance we knew nothing else about her. Then came that first telltale sign of impending trouble as Denny was heavily eyeing his brother’s date. Managing to get his attention, I gave him a menacing glare as another one of their brotherly tomcat fights was the last thing this party needed. Seemingly, he caught my drift. Addressing his brother he asked: “Skid, could you get Gloria something to drink while I change out of this monkey suit?” Perhaps Denny wasn’t thinking or maybe he was upon saying: “Skid, there’s a woman in your bed.”
“A what?” R.W. returned with a puzzled look.
“I can leave if this is a bad time for you, Reggie.”
“No, no, no.” He pleaded then asked: “Why is there a woman in my bed?” Smirking, it was obvious that Denny enjoyed this awkward moment. That’s when Bear spoke up. “A friend of Flip’s. She drank a little too much to quick and passed clean out. We were going to move her onto one of the couches at bedtime, whenever that is around here.”
“Well if this woman is out, she won’t mind me changing out of my work duds.” That said, he moved another chair from the dining area for Gloria and strolled into his bedroom.
In being a good host, Denny busied himself making two vodka lemonades for Gloria and R.W. I had thought about asking this new arrival if she wanted to get high, but would wait until R.W. got through changing clothes. I could not help but notice Gloria’s eyes darting back and forth from Flip to me. Reggie told me he had Native American friends. I’ve visited your people out in Arizona and New Mexico last year.
“Our people?” I asked.
“Yes, Native Americans.” She replied while tingeing ignorance with a seemingly lovely smile. Now Flip had shifted his attention away from Sarah and stared at Gloria with his crow-like eyes. As with Lee, Flip, my cousin Susie and many other indigenous people, I too detested the term ‘Native American’. To us that term betokened complete submissive assimilation. If we had to be referred to in a generic term, American Indian was preferred over the more recently glossed over ‘Native American’. We thought of ourselves as native to the land, not a foreign invader’s imposed concept of what land and life should be. Ending up here by fathers and mothers who joined the military or came seeking work to escape depression era poverty which hit some federal Indian agency communities extremely hard, we their children lived in white working class neighborhoods, went to public schools, carried on as the other kids and had many non-Indian friends, but were still extremely proud of our tribal origins. Looking around at the women here at our party, I was reminded of the only indigenous female who shared a bed with me. She was a young recently divorced Cherokee woman from Qualla who worked at the 7 Eleven store near Lynnhaven. Having stood up my date for the prom, I instead spent the weekend down in Nags Head with Vicki who aside from a few extra pounds and mole on her cheek looked a lot like Hyapatia Lee. Vicki was quite lovely, but only interested in a fling. With the exception of Vicki and a Black girl named Vanessa, I had dated only white women and among them only Bridget showed a real interest in my people. I guess that had a lot to do with her love of 18th history and our interactions with colonial Virginia. Not long ago during a conversation with some of Bridget’s coworkers, George Washington’s name was brought up by a young lady claiming him to be one of her ancestors. She was somewhat taken aback when I told her some of my ancestors had not only help defeat young Washington at Fort Necessity and by the Monongahela River in the mid 18th century, but tried to kill him as well. Quite learned in the history of that bygone era, but a little ticked off at my bringing those incidents up in a gloating over them, Bridget confirmed my statement to her friends. Here tonight however, Gloria who thought of all of us as one people should not be admonished for such ignorance, but that didn’t stop Flip’s sarcasm. Drunk, in the company of a rather comely young lady and full of himself he issued a bit of hissing laughter before asking: “My people you say?”
“Yes, your people.” Gloria replied.
“Did you see my uncle Billy out there?”
“Your uncle Billy? What does he look like?”
“Like us.”
“Huh?” Gloria appeared quite perplexed. I knew full well he was pulling the woman’s chain and by the looks of everyone else they seemed to know as well. After having a sip of his drink and lighting up a cigarette, Flip said: “The next time you’re out there among my people look Uncle Billy up and tell him to return my garden hose. I really don’t want to make the drive.” More considerate, the other women held back their mirth with tight lips, but Bear, Denny and I roared with laughter while Flip kept a straight face. Reaching over and patting Gloria’s shoulder, I said: “Darling by being here with us, you are our people. We’re all Skids here, but there’s no need to be skidding on thin ice. Soon as R.W., I mean Reggie gets out here we’ll pass the pipe in friendship.” No sooner than I formally welcomed Gloria did her date emerge into the living room. Upon laying eyes on him Bear issued a howl of laughter.
“You didn’t have to get all gussied up on my account!”
In spite of all our laughter, catcalls and mirthful rhetoric, R.W. held his head high like the patrician he envisioned himself to be. His evening lounge wear which consisted of white silk pajamas and a dark maroon silk smoking jacket, I had seen before, but it was the new addition to that ensemble which sent me into a fit of laughter. He wore around his neck a blue ascot mottled with little flower prints. A gold pin set with a small ruby held it in place. Having a good look at R.W.’s mousse styled curly hair as well as the rest of his brother’s party attire, Denny shook his head and loudly sighed then burst out in laughter. “Envy.” R.W. sneered then added: “You Cro-Magnons need to get with the times. This is 1980, not 1970.”
“You look like Shirley Temple had a baby with Liberace and Charles Nelson Reilly.” Denny jeered. As humorous as it all appeared Bear, Denny, Flip and I knew if this continued it could very well ignite a brotherly brawl. Bridget took the initiative to complement R.W. on his evening wear as so did Gloria, Sarah, Terri and Winnie. Still shaking his head, Denny went for a beer. Seeing a perfect opportunity to get in on the fun, I cleared my throat and feigned a British accent. “I couldn’t help but notice you’re wearing your smoking jacket, old boy. This clearly indicates to me that you have some smoking in mind. No?”
“Why yes I do. What have you for the head, old boy?” he replied in even more of a cheesy British accent. It was then Bear smile and winked at me. Getting up, he asked to borrow my pipe and then took it over to his cardboard box. With his hands in the box we couldn’t see what they were doing, but after a few minutes, he produced a full bowl of reefer and handed it to R.W. “It’s only some mid-grade shit, but before you light that up, let’s all have a good slug of this particularly excellent homemade liquor.” In pouring that round Bear emptied his second jar, but happily announced he would bring in the third jar a little later.
By the time 2:30 rolled around Denny and Flip had accompanied Sarah and Winnie to their apartment while Bear left with Teri to her pad with hopes of the power being restored, but not before he put Donna on the couch. Gloria and R.W. staggered off to his bedroom at the same time Bridget and I retired to mine. As I pulled off my duds she said: “A successful party, but that was a mean trick Bear played on R.W. and his lady friend, telling them that Thai weed was mid-grade. They didn’t know what hit them.”
“After they sat and drooled for awhile, both seemed rather happy.” I returned as Bridget came out of her dress with nothing on beneath but a pair of dark blue panties. Looking down at them she informed me: “They looked black with only a dim flashlight on them at home earlier.” Crawling into bed she said: “Come on, but keep in mind I need at least a couple of hours sleep to get me through work tomorrow.” Hearing that, I carried on like one with no time to waste…
“What was that all about?” Bridget whispered between breaths while gently breaking our embrace. In the heat of passion I had backed her up against the sink. While ogling this shapely beauty, I replied: “An extreme case of me being inspired and compelled. I couldn’t help myself.”
“Oh I’d say you helped yourself.” She returned with a seductive smile and asked: “So who’s that girl out there?”
“She came up with Flip. Come on I’ll introduce you.”
Stepping back out into the living room, I saw that Bear and Teri sitting with each other and talking to Donna. Loudly clearing my voice, I announced: “Donna, this is Bridget and Teri. You already know everyone else here.”
“We were introduced while you two were busy in the kitchen.” Teri informed Bridget and me. Donna gave my date a wide eyed once over and then glanced at me. As her eyes returned to Bridget she said: “Hi. That’s a gorgeous dress.”
“Well thanks. I got it at Peebles last year.” Bridget said as she sat down beside her on the couch. Dragging a chair from our dining room table, I seated myself close to Bridget and inquired if anyone needed a drink. Denny, aglow from the moonshine and the presence of three pretty women forgot his manners and said: “Another shot of that joy juice and a beer chaser.”
“Joy juice?” Teri chuckled. Not standing for anyone to pour his liquor but him, Bear stood up, fetched two more shot glasses from the cabinet and poured us all a round while I got everyone a beer. “Wow, I haven’t had moonshine for awhile.” Teri said while closely inspecting the clear liquor in her double shot glass. “It’s perfectly good.” Bear assured her.
“It’s got a sweet scent.” Bridget said as Denny lifted his glass and proposed a toast. “Here’s to everyone here and those who have yet to arrive. Comfort and harmony.” Donna, Teri, Bear, Denny, and I got ours down in one gulp, but it took Bridget two while Flip daintily sipped his. “Come on! Bottoms up, Birdman!” Bear growled. “Don’t go lightweight on us yet.” From behind thick slightly tinted gold framed glasses, Flip’s beady eyes darted about. “Didn’t you say not to drink too much of this at once? I’m trying to pace myself.”
“Come on Flip. It isn’t like we have to go anywhere.” Donna said as she put her arm around the Birdman which seemed to surprise him and put a smile upon his face. “Why not?” He exclaimed before turning up his glass and gulping down its fiery contents. Although in truth Flip was a lightweight when it came to drinking and would usually pace himself while doing so, Donna’s display of affection had his glass extended for a refill. Quite obviously pleased by the homemade liquor’s effects, Bridget and Teri requested refills as well as so did the rest of us. Sipping on her second glass, Bridget asked Denny what he meant by ‘those who have yet to arrive’.
“I invited our neighbors down.” No sooner than the words left his mouth we heard someone knocking upon our door. “And that’s probably them now.” He said while getting up. Looking out the peephole and then opening our door, Denny greeted them with a “Hi.” Accepting the bottle of white wine from Sarah, he put it in the refrigerator and dragged two more dining area chairs into the living room. Brushed out and made up, both our neighbors were a bit more casually if not seductively attired in short denim cutoffs and skimpy little tops. Just like down in Lynnhaven, the young women here wore as little as possible during the coastal plain’s hot and humid summers.
As Denny introduced these newest arrivals Flip was already gawking at Sarah who regarded him with a smile that Donna couldn’t help but notice. Our neighbors requested to have whatever we were drinking and Bear and I promptly set them up with shots as well as beer chasers.
The five women warmed up to each other and engaged in a bit of awkward alcohol fueled small talk. Bridget and Teri had seen our neighbors waiting tables at the Ramada, but knew not their names or that they lived above us until tonight. Sarah was transplanted from her family home in Connecticut while Winnie went to a different high school than Bridget and Teri. Breaking away from the women’s fractured initial conversation regarding work, Sarah turned to Flip and asked: “You do remember meeting me awhile back?” As if Donna wasn’t even there, he replied: “How could I forget?” Flip no doubt recognized the look in Sarah’s eyes and could tell she was interested in him
“Oh you two have met?” Donna inquired. Not taking his eyes off Sarah, the Birdman replied: “Awhile back.” Donna’s straight face could not hide the emotion in her eyes. It was if a dose of reality unexpectedly flew in like a wasp and stung her on the ass. Could it be because her always obedient, forever awaiting friend had shown a bit of independence on his part, or that he still stared crow-like at Sarah as if she was a morsel of food left upon a picnic table? I couldn’t tell, but wondered if she now thought of her own transgressions like screwing Whitey on Flip’s pool table in the barn while he ate dinner with his family. Whitey had told me a few years ago that Flip almost caught them as they just gotten dressed when he returned. The Birdman had confided in me that he suspected Whitey and Donna did something that evening. Flip did know that currently she was seeing someone else and now with his dark crow-like eyes so, did he. Aside from Sarah who was still making eyes at Flip, the rest of us could not help but notice the lost look upon Donna’s face. Occasionally she opened her mouth as if to say something, but snapped it shut each time. Then her eyes started to well up and before she cried, I said: “Hey Donna, come back here to my room, I got something for you.”
“What?” she softly asked.
“Something you asked about several years ago. Come on.” I replied while standing up. The moonshine had me wobbling slightly. As she followed me into the hall, I saw Bridget’s narrowed eyes upon us. Who could blame her?
Once inside my bedroom I closed the door and went to my dresser. Pulling open the top drawer, I removed the brown, green and grey finger woven Mohawk sash; I bought years ago at a Chickahominy powwow. Originally it was for Susan, but for some reason she didn’t like it. Donna once said how much she liked it, so I handed it to her. “Here you can have this.”
“Thank you.” Donna said with tears running down her face. She had held back that flood until she was in my room.
“There, there, Donna. It’s going to be alright. It’s all part of the mysterious circle of life and even such events makes us uncomfortable, they restore balance. What did you expect? Flip for one reason or another has long been starving for passionate attention while you have long had your fill. I don’t know about the others out there, but Bear and I do not hold it against you. When sauced up, fellows like Whitey and even Denny would screw a knothole in pinewood if nothing else was available. Now those other ladies out there don’t know you at all and since this has been a pretty good party thus far, I’ll make sure you’re treated with respect under our roof here. Tell me, do you really like the fellow from Langley you’re sometimes seeing much more than Flip?”
“Well Steve wants a productive future and is very career minded while Flip lives with his parents, just builds cabinets and wants to stay high all the time. They are two different people, but I feel a need for both of them.”
“Where’s Steve now?”
“He’s down at Seymour Johnson Air Force base down in North Carolina for two weeks of training classes.”
“Has he deep feelings for you?”
“He gave me a friendship ring exactly like the one Flip slipped on my finger back in 1975.” Bringing her hand up to my face, she showed it to me. “The crazy thing is, I got them mixed up and can’t tell one from the other.”
“Unlike men’s hearts.” I returned. “Let Flip go. I don’t want to seem like a relationship counselor, but I see nothing productive coming from such a steep sided relationship. It is not within my power to tell people how to live their lives, but what I would suggest is that after tomorrow you let Flip go and stay shy of Lynnhaven. Since it is obvious Flip won’t be doing any driving tonight I also suggest you pay him little mind, but all the while have yourself a somewhat good time out there.”
Donna took my advice to heart and soon as we reentered the living room she began drinking heavily. Stepping out onto the balcony for a bit with Bridget, I explained to her what was going on between Donna and Flip. Changing the subject, I complemented Bridget’s dress and asked when she got it.
“Last year when you disappeared for several months.” She replied. My sudden departure and extended absence from Virginia was a troubled Bridget immensely and it took me a lot of effort to get back into her good graces. Following Lee’s arrest along with a few others, I heard a rumor that the authorities were coming after Bear and I next. Promptly retiring from peddling, we went to Ohio and stayed with some of Bear’s relatives, but after two months I departed again. My money belt filled with big bills, I traveled through Kentucky, Tennessee, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, California, Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama and Florida where I stayed for a month. Taking a chance, I called several of the Skids who informed me that the cops were not after me. They also told me that Bear had already returned from Ohio. Tired of the hot humid Floridian flat lands, I made my way back to Virginia and soon afterwards moved to Williamsburg. Prior to dating Bridget again, I came clean with her regarding my past as a pot peddler. She in turn told me I should have been truthful all along. Although Bridget was dating a couple of fellows upon my relocation to Williamsburg late last year, lately we had been spending much of our free time together. In that dress out on the balcony tonight, Bridget appeared as a vision of beauty and just when I thought about kissing her again our private moment was intruded upon by Bear followed by Denny come to check the coals. Although they both ogled Bridget, neither her nor I were offended. Bear was the most trusted of my friends and hopefully Denny had learned a lesson from the last time he slithered into one of my relationships. With towel in hand he wiped rain water from the little outdoor table and set up chairs. He also lit two small lanterns. Placing the metal grill over burning coals to burn off the grease from our earlier dinner, Bear chuckled and asked me: “What the hell did you say to Donna? She’s in there drinking like a fish.”
“She’s just getting sedated rather than deal that it’s time for her to steer for the bank and let Flip get off the boat before she continues either up or downriver.”
“Well by the way Flippy and Sarah are getting along; I would say he’s beyond the riverbank and going deep in the bush.” Bear returned, adding: “Meanwhile Donna is getting goofy drunk, but then again so is everyone else.”
“Then we’ll leave it all to fate from here on out.” I said. Bridget turned and glanced through the sliding glass door at Donna. “Poor thing.” She whispered. “And that Flip, he supposed to be out with her, not your neighbor.” Hearing that, Bear snarled and said: “Oh Donna is dating some Langley fly boy and considers Flip as only a friend.”
“Yeah I’ve already heard.” Bridget said.
Leaving us alone again on the balcony, Bear and Denny went back inside. Staring fixedly at me, Bridget asked: “So are we only friends like Donna and Flip?”
“Gee I hope not. Not like them. Not yet and hopefully never.”
Tilting her head, she fired off another question. “Then what kind of friends are we?” Stepping back, I lit a cigarette and asked: “What kind of friendship do you want, Bridget?”
“Surely not like your two friends in there.”
“Well what then? We go steady?”
“Are you asking me?” she replied.
“I don’t see any reason we shouldn’t, so far.” We were both surprised by my words. It was an excellent example of the booze not only talking, but listening as well. We had a similar conversation two weeks ago over at her pad. Smoked up on some good grass and somewhat snockered by the bottle of Wild Turkey we drank, Bridget imparted her perception of what being a couple meant. Unlike Susan, Bridget didn’t want me to cease my weed smoking, get a haircut or wear squirrely clothes, but there were conditions which she reminded me of again tonight out on the balcony. Like Susan, Bridget had a love for art and was greatly impressed by some of my works which she wanted me to sale at the various art shows in the Williamsburg area. The way Bridget put it; she said it would get my name around. Not all that interested in selling paintings like she suggested, I did however make buckskin shot pouches and the occasional fringed doeskin hunting shirts to trade with Colonial Williamsburg craftspeople, historical interpreters as well as the occasional gatherings of 18th century reenactors. A grandaunt had not only taught my siblings and me to sew deerskin, but the basics of beadwork. My father along with my older brother taught me how to hunt and tan deer hides. I also made them steatite pipes which lasted longer than their white clay counterparts. At times I made a decent amount of money as well as the crafts of others in trade. Only a month ago I made a pair of buckskin leggings for a reenactor in exchange for a finely forged camp tomahawk. Bridget and Teri, both CW employees introduced me to these people. Some I found rather strange as they tried their best to remain in the 18th century twenty four hours a day. Here of late, Bridget had been bugging me about getting a job at Colonial Williamsburg as the foundation would pay better which would eliminate a lot of my side work with Flip thus allowing more time for us to spend together as a couple. She wasn’t that fond of Flip and less for my trips down to Hampton, especially when I would spend the night at a Skid party. The Birdman had put bug in her ear regarding a wild blowout we had at Hornes when I returned from my cross country odyssey. The McFall brothers showed up with three exotic dancers from Buck’s Brand Restaurant and Gentleman’s Club. I had thought about cutting Flip’s tongue out after he blabbed that in front of Bridget a few months ago. Another one of Bridget’s conditions was sometime in the not so far future we would be cohabiting and for me to start attending some of her family’s functions. My last getting to know the parents phase of a relationship when I was seeing Susan proved rather difficult as her mother and father upon our first meeting did not want me in their home or dating their daughter. A staunch conservative air force major, Susan’s dad had issues not only regarding my heritage, but with my appearance as well. Even though Nixon was impeached and resigned over the Watergate scandal, his portrait hung over their fireplace next to that of George Washington. I still remember him telling her to get me out of his house. Of course all of this played heavily upon our failed relationship. Even as a young man it seemed to me there were some who fell in love with others not for who they are, but what and where they can be prodded into. Having grown up in an area which was fraught with churches and military bases, these days I would not subject myself to those of that Christian militaristic mindset. I had to conform to it as a child, but not as a young adult out on my own. Suggestions I would consider, but had no mind to be prodded anywhere.
Upon hearing me agreeing to have a try at being her steady boyfriend, Bridget lit up. It might have been Bear’s moonshine affecting me, but out on the dimly lit balcony, Bridget’s lovely face was aglow. She backed me up against the rail and returned my earlier display of physical passion. At first, I should have been more caught up in that passion, but felt a deal or transaction was just brokered. As our time on the balcony continued, I became more lustfully receptive after a bit of heavy petting which ended when Denny stepped out again.
“Hey Skid, Donna passed out.”
“Oh my goodness, is she alright?” Bridget asked.
“Unconscious and may have a slight bruise on her head tomorrow whenever she awakes.”
“Bruise?”
“Yeah she reached for her drink and pitched face first into the coffee table. I guess everything she drank, smoked and ate caught up with her all of a sudden.”
“It happens to the best of us.” I stated as we walked back inside while Bear was lifting Donna up into his arms. “What do we do with her?” He grunted as her limbs dangled as if they were lifeless. Looking down at the Birdman who was heavily engaged in conversation with Sarah, Bear growled: “Did you hear me Flip?” Before the drunken Birdman could reply, I told Bear to put her in R.W.’s bed. Following him into the bedroom, I covered Donna up after Bear gently placed her upon the bed. “Sleep tight my little North Hampton tart.” He said as we left the room. Surprisingly enough, Flip who was most always attentive to Donna’s needs, appeared as if he couldn’t have cared less about her current condition. Instead the Birdman carried on like one smitten. Watching Flip’s seemingly uncontrollable beady eyes running wild all over Sarah’s ample bosom and the twisted smile on his face, I felt empathy for Donna lying in a sodden state of self exile from the waking world. At least R.W. had someone to share his bed with if he couldn’t find an after work date and in angler’s jargon, that would be another fly to present a little later. Right now there was enough substance induced emotion charging this pad. The wooed and those who were wooing. Denny had really turned on the charm while slithering closer to Winnie who seemed a little receptive. Glancing at Bear I had to chuckle. Perhaps it was his huge size that compelled women to sit in his lap as Teri did now as he twirled a lock of her hair. Over the years I had seen a good several of his different dates seated in such a way. Most men found this young giant terrifying, but the women he knew found him as comforting as a big easy chair. Then I caught Bridget’s pale grey eyes upon me and there was a familiar glimmer in them. “So what are we smoking tonight?” she inquired which caught Sarah’s attention. “Yeah what are we smoking?” she asked without taking her eyes off Flip. At that, Bear’s knee gently prodded Teri out of his lap. “Let’s all put in and roll up a jumbo.”
Some eight inches long and about an inch in diameter containing Bear’s Thai weed, Flip’s red bud and my California sensemilia, this large well twisted bone would probably send us up into the stratosphere. We waited until Bridget, Teri, Sarah and Winnie had their steak dinners along with a little time for them to digest before sparking it up. Flip having rolled up this number, passed it to Sarah and gave her a light as well. Around this big doobie went until it was a large brown roach in the ashtray. The combination of excellent liquor and weed had quite a satisfying affect upon me. Seeing the glassy half opened eyes and smiles of everyone else, I knew they were blown away as well. Attempting listening to the three different substance addled conversations going on at once, I could only catch bits and pieces of what people were saying, but my main focus was upon Bridget as she, Teri and Bear talked about our upcoming camping trip. Long thick dark hair fell about Bridget’s well tanned shoulders and even though somewhat bloodshot, her pale grey eyes were unusually lovely. That long, low cut well fitting halter dress left little for the imagination. In the six years of my knowing Bridget, she had become an even more beautiful woman. For a little while there I weighed out concerns and benefits regarding my earlier agreement to form a closer bond with Bridget, but after that big joint, the sight of her, as well as warm fanciful thoughts kept me well entertained. Turning away from Teri and Bear, she gently tapped my knee and stated: “You’re awfully quiet.”
“Just quietly enjoying myself.” I returned while continuing to look her over. “Would you like to go back out on the balcony?” She asked me with a rather seductive smile. Just as I was about to say yes, our front door opened and in strolled R.W with who first appeared to Denise. She had the same fluffed out, over styled , over sprayed bleached blonde hair as did Denise and was attired in similar fashion, but it wasn’t her.
“So this is where the party is.” R.W. said as he looked upon the eight of us. Stepping from behind him, his new companion regarded us with sky blue eyes. Clad in a tight blue T-shirt bearing the logo of a Jamaican resort and rather high cut white silk shorts, she was shod in some high end leather sandals which appeared to be adorned with silver. From her ears and neck hung turquoise, red coral and silver Navajo jewelry. Tanned almost as dark as Flip, she cut a rather impressive figure here at our little get together. Probably in her early forties, she was a bit more well kept than Denise. “Friends, neighbors, this is Gloria.” Sniffing the air and smiling she said: “Something smells delightful, Reggie.” She said then proceeded to nod and smile at all of us. In return we introduced ourselves to this older blonde bombshell. Aside from this woman’s name and appearance we knew nothing else about her. Then came that first telltale sign of impending trouble as Denny was heavily eyeing his brother’s date. Managing to get his attention, I gave him a menacing glare as another one of their brotherly tomcat fights was the last thing this party needed. Seemingly, he caught my drift. Addressing his brother he asked: “Skid, could you get Gloria something to drink while I change out of this monkey suit?” Perhaps Denny wasn’t thinking or maybe he was upon saying: “Skid, there’s a woman in your bed.”
“A what?” R.W. returned with a puzzled look.
“I can leave if this is a bad time for you, Reggie.”
“No, no, no.” He pleaded then asked: “Why is there a woman in my bed?” Smirking, it was obvious that Denny enjoyed this awkward moment. That’s when Bear spoke up. “A friend of Flip’s. She drank a little too much to quick and passed clean out. We were going to move her onto one of the couches at bedtime, whenever that is around here.”
“Well if this woman is out, she won’t mind me changing out of my work duds.” That said, he moved another chair from the dining area for Gloria and strolled into his bedroom.
In being a good host, Denny busied himself making two vodka lemonades for Gloria and R.W. I had thought about asking this new arrival if she wanted to get high, but would wait until R.W. got through changing clothes. I could not help but notice Gloria’s eyes darting back and forth from Flip to me. Reggie told me he had Native American friends. I’ve visited your people out in Arizona and New Mexico last year.
“Our people?” I asked.
“Yes, Native Americans.” She replied while tingeing ignorance with a seemingly lovely smile. Now Flip had shifted his attention away from Sarah and stared at Gloria with his crow-like eyes. As with Lee, Flip, my cousin Susie and many other indigenous people, I too detested the term ‘Native American’. To us that term betokened complete submissive assimilation. If we had to be referred to in a generic term, American Indian was preferred over the more recently glossed over ‘Native American’. We thought of ourselves as native to the land, not a foreign invader’s imposed concept of what land and life should be. Ending up here by fathers and mothers who joined the military or came seeking work to escape depression era poverty which hit some federal Indian agency communities extremely hard, we their children lived in white working class neighborhoods, went to public schools, carried on as the other kids and had many non-Indian friends, but were still extremely proud of our tribal origins. Looking around at the women here at our party, I was reminded of the only indigenous female who shared a bed with me. She was a young recently divorced Cherokee woman from Qualla who worked at the 7 Eleven store near Lynnhaven. Having stood up my date for the prom, I instead spent the weekend down in Nags Head with Vicki who aside from a few extra pounds and mole on her cheek looked a lot like Hyapatia Lee. Vicki was quite lovely, but only interested in a fling. With the exception of Vicki and a Black girl named Vanessa, I had dated only white women and among them only Bridget showed a real interest in my people. I guess that had a lot to do with her love of 18th history and our interactions with colonial Virginia. Not long ago during a conversation with some of Bridget’s coworkers, George Washington’s name was brought up by a young lady claiming him to be one of her ancestors. She was somewhat taken aback when I told her some of my ancestors had not only help defeat young Washington at Fort Necessity and by the Monongahela River in the mid 18th century, but tried to kill him as well. Quite learned in the history of that bygone era, but a little ticked off at my bringing those incidents up in a gloating over them, Bridget confirmed my statement to her friends. Here tonight however, Gloria who thought of all of us as one people should not be admonished for such ignorance, but that didn’t stop Flip’s sarcasm. Drunk, in the company of a rather comely young lady and full of himself he issued a bit of hissing laughter before asking: “My people you say?”
“Yes, your people.” Gloria replied.
“Did you see my uncle Billy out there?”
“Your uncle Billy? What does he look like?”
“Like us.”
“Huh?” Gloria appeared quite perplexed. I knew full well he was pulling the woman’s chain and by the looks of everyone else they seemed to know as well. After having a sip of his drink and lighting up a cigarette, Flip said: “The next time you’re out there among my people look Uncle Billy up and tell him to return my garden hose. I really don’t want to make the drive.” More considerate, the other women held back their mirth with tight lips, but Bear, Denny and I roared with laughter while Flip kept a straight face. Reaching over and patting Gloria’s shoulder, I said: “Darling by being here with us, you are our people. We’re all Skids here, but there’s no need to be skidding on thin ice. Soon as R.W., I mean Reggie gets out here we’ll pass the pipe in friendship.” No sooner than I formally welcomed Gloria did her date emerge into the living room. Upon laying eyes on him Bear issued a howl of laughter.
“You didn’t have to get all gussied up on my account!”
In spite of all our laughter, catcalls and mirthful rhetoric, R.W. held his head high like the patrician he envisioned himself to be. His evening lounge wear which consisted of white silk pajamas and a dark maroon silk smoking jacket, I had seen before, but it was the new addition to that ensemble which sent me into a fit of laughter. He wore around his neck a blue ascot mottled with little flower prints. A gold pin set with a small ruby held it in place. Having a good look at R.W.’s mousse styled curly hair as well as the rest of his brother’s party attire, Denny shook his head and loudly sighed then burst out in laughter. “Envy.” R.W. sneered then added: “You Cro-Magnons need to get with the times. This is 1980, not 1970.”
“You look like Shirley Temple had a baby with Liberace and Charles Nelson Reilly.” Denny jeered. As humorous as it all appeared Bear, Denny, Flip and I knew if this continued it could very well ignite a brotherly brawl. Bridget took the initiative to complement R.W. on his evening wear as so did Gloria, Sarah, Terri and Winnie. Still shaking his head, Denny went for a beer. Seeing a perfect opportunity to get in on the fun, I cleared my throat and feigned a British accent. “I couldn’t help but notice you’re wearing your smoking jacket, old boy. This clearly indicates to me that you have some smoking in mind. No?”
“Why yes I do. What have you for the head, old boy?” he replied in even more of a cheesy British accent. It was then Bear smile and winked at me. Getting up, he asked to borrow my pipe and then took it over to his cardboard box. With his hands in the box we couldn’t see what they were doing, but after a few minutes, he produced a full bowl of reefer and handed it to R.W. “It’s only some mid-grade shit, but before you light that up, let’s all have a good slug of this particularly excellent homemade liquor.” In pouring that round Bear emptied his second jar, but happily announced he would bring in the third jar a little later.
By the time 2:30 rolled around Denny and Flip had accompanied Sarah and Winnie to their apartment while Bear left with Teri to her pad with hopes of the power being restored, but not before he put Donna on the couch. Gloria and R.W. staggered off to his bedroom at the same time Bridget and I retired to mine. As I pulled off my duds she said: “A successful party, but that was a mean trick Bear played on R.W. and his lady friend, telling them that Thai weed was mid-grade. They didn’t know what hit them.”
“After they sat and drooled for awhile, both seemed rather happy.” I returned as Bridget came out of her dress with nothing on beneath but a pair of dark blue panties. Looking down at them she informed me: “They looked black with only a dim flashlight on them at home earlier.” Crawling into bed she said: “Come on, but keep in mind I need at least a couple of hours sleep to get me through work tomorrow.” Hearing that, I carried on like one with no time to waste…
Re: Madness in the Colonial Capitol
22 - Lost in a whirlwind
The walls of my Cape Cod bungalow seemed to be closing in. Having been out on sick leave for two weeks under the pretense of an injured back, I was actually coming off a five month long heroin addiction. Rather short lived compared to other junkies I’ve known, it was best to quell my skag use before it got too far along. I was also attempting to give up drinking at the same time, but there on the coffee table in front of me sat an ice cold bottle of vodka. It felt like there was a television wrestling match inside my skull.
My wife who had not a clue about my real condition was out of town on another job related promotional trip and would not be home for almost a week. As far as she knew, I was at home with a back injury and staying out of trouble. Usually during these times of being left alone at home, I’d light out on the weekends, secure myself a cheap motel room down in Ocean View and proceed to get fucked up. In that waterside armpit of eastern Virginia there were a good many bars and twice as many loose women. A suitable place to hide away, down there in Ocean View with a fake ID, I was incognito. Aside from my cousin Charlie who was still a junkie and would sometimes accompany me to Ocean View, I had little or no contact with the other Skids. Bear who broke up with Teri for good in 1984, now lived in Newport News with a divorced Mi'kmaq woman from Canada and her kids. I hadn’t seen him since our strange and ill fated camping trip at Big Meadows nearly two years ago, but occasionally we would talk to each other on the phone. Flip was married with children and I hadn’t seen or heard from him since Big Meadows either. Whitey, in and out of jail work release programs was currently incarcerated in the Newport News City Farm. Here of late he was a sad sodden mess, but still managed to hang onto his shipyard job. On rare occasion I would visit the Best Western motor lodge’s basement lounge which R.W. managed. Ever the fashionable dapper dandy, he now lived with the Best Western hotel manager and her daughter. He had finally given up on trying talking me into being a bouncer there at the Safari Room Lounge. His brother Denny had been dead for some three years. Killed by the driver of a fast moving Ford Mustang who didn’t see Denny or his motorcycle stopped at that intersection, he died instantly. The driver claimed it was a green light and that Denny was stopped there with his lights off on that dark, cloudy moonless night. Another witness confirmed this as well which had some of us thinking it was suicide. It seemed whatever bond that once held us Skids together, was far loosely stretched if not broken. Aside from time at home or work, I got high and drunk with women picked up in bars. Not three years into a marriage, I was a substance addled adulterer. On different shifts and being at work more than together at home, Bridget and I couldn’t keep up with each other. Physically we both had changed in our few years of matrimony. Bridget who lacked time to exercise, but overate, was getting a lot larger like her mother and sister. The current manner in which I lived had me some thirty pounds under my usual weight. I could usually only stomach one meal a day. Lean, gaunt and morally aloof, I was a fucked up mess, but it wasn’t just seedy vices and intoxicating substances prodding me into such behavior. I had been cursed and was being stalked in my dreams just like Charlie and of course Denny before he died. Both as well as I had close intimate relations with what we found out to be an evil witch of some terrible type. Not even a year into my marriage during a week long camp at Big Meadows in the late summer of 1986 which Bridget couldn’t make, our small gathering did something to piss off a being that probably initially approached us with bad intentions. The only people I knew who were skilled in such healing on this side of the Mississippi, were Lee’s Meskwaki mother and sister, but we hadn’t seen each other since shortly after my former partner went to prison. Now free after ten years in the joint, Lee had thwarted any attempt of us getting up with each other. From another friend in common I heard Lee was now some kind of medicine person who traveled back and forth from Tama Iowa which had me suspecting he may have been smuggling something. Often times I thought about calling his family home, but felt that would be rude of me to ask for help after not having seen these people in over a decade. There was one thing for certain I needed to see a traditional healer of either my people or their kin. Glancing at my phone, and then returning my eyes upon the Vodka, my shaky hand reached for the latter. Cracking open the bottle, I told my cat Elmer: “That critter will have a long swim to my dreams tonight.” On the first swig, I must have poured a few jiggers down my gullet. The initial guilt I felt was washed away with another big swig. I had used and beat smack without Bridget’s knowledge and felt that was an accomplishment in itself, but this would hardly justify another one of my insanely intoxicated weekends. However, it would serve for now. Not one for drinking alone, especially in the still of dawn, I inserted a Humble Pie cassette into my stereo and loaded a bowl to smoke. One of Charlie’s favorite bands, the music had me sadly thinking about my cousin, but served to remind that I needed to let him go for awhile. Elmer who preferred classical music over rock-n-roll trotted off to lounge in the bedroom. I called him a party pooper and lit my pipe.
Although having consumed almost a liter of vodka in less than two hours, I felt uplifted rather than dragging drunk. Whether if this had something to do with my recent withdrawal from smack, I couldn’t tell nor cared as the booze and weed certainly loosened me up a bit. In this substance induced elated state, the bars and gals of Ocean View came to mind, but for now I thought better of it. Remembering this was R.W.’s one weekend off a month; I picked up the phone and dialed his number. Although R.W. was still a fop, I’d be better off getting up with a Skid then the dregs of society down in Ocean View.
“Yeah, hello?”
It was R.W.’s sleepy voice answering after what sounded like the receiver being fumbled. “Were you asleep?” I sardonically asked. My ear was blasted by loud coughing from the other end. “Fuck yeah I was asleep.”
“Well get the fuck up man we’ve got a good day ahead of us.” Then I heard the unmistakably sound of a receiver being slammed down and after several seconds of silence, a fresh dial tone. “Slack ass mother fucker.” I growled and lit up a cigarette. Upon exhaling a second streaming cloud of smoke, the phone began ringing. I had a feeling who was calling.
“The abode of the damned. Can I help you?”
Sure enough it was R.W. “Skid, what’s happening?”
“Well good morning Reginald.” I returned then inquired why he was so rude earlier. “Man I was out until about 3:00AM with a wild ass vixen named Mary Anne.”
“The one from Gilligan’s Island?”
“No, this one spells her name with an E and is a lot hotter.”
“A college gal or some neglected house pet?”
“She’s about our age and isn’t married.”
“Local gal?”
“Yeah. She rooms with a gay guy over at our old haunts in Woodshire. It brought back old memories seeing that place.”
Hearing that I inquired where his hotel manager girlfriend was.
“Joy took Heather up to see grandma and grandpa up in Pennsylvania. So what are you doing at home this time on a Friday morning? Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“I’m on doctor excused sick leave.” I replied then told him to get ready to go. “Go where?” he asked.
“Where ever the sweet breeze takes us, so get ready. I’ll be over at your pad to get you in an hour.”
Arriving at Joy’s townhouse near Jamestown, I was a bit disappointed that R.W. wasn’t waiting outside for me. Even more so than my wife who happened to be employed there, Joy was a Colonial Williamsburg fanatic. Her entire townhouse was furnished 18th century colonial Virginia reproduction pieces and adorned with artistic trappings of that era. It would be a buzz kill going inside. Having gone steady with Bridget for six years after we dated on and off for six, along with three years of marriage, I had been exposed to the foundation for some fifteen years. At this point in my life I detested the restored area having watched it transform from a living museum of 18th century colonial living history to a big business patriotic theme park which was transforming the Williamsburg area. Along with Kingsmill other upscale gated resort communities were sprouting up along with timeshares, high end strip malls, chain restaurants and lodgings all built upon razed swaths of ground which use to be beautiful rolling woodlands or fields. The quaint Williamsburg area was steadily becoming an upscale suburban wasteland. I hadn’t seen the worst of it yet. The foundation, it’s fanatical, flaky new crop of historic interpreters who dropped by my house a bit too much and its corporate/political leanings along with Bridget’s periods of stressful emotions due to her taking on more responsibility had me loathing CW. Only last week before Bridget went on this latest promotional trip to Boston, while I was going through bad withdrawals, a few of these coworkers who are in character twenty four hours a day, dropped by. Knowing I was dealing with some kind of pain, she got rid of them, but only after an hour, but that was better than these people hanging around for the entire evening as they often did.
Laying on my truck horn, he finally emerged from the townhouse shouting: “Alright, alright! Enough of that!”
Aside from his close cropped hair, he was attired like a Skid in Levi jacket and jeans along with a black T-shirt. Not yet late April here, the morning was chilly and had me in a brown cotton sports coat, flat crown wide brim Stetson hat, black long sleeve shirt, jeans and boots. My sense of personal fashion had not changed in the last twenty years much to the dismay of my in-laws and their southern Baptist friends. Every Christmas, my mother and sister in law would give me clothes I never wore, like alligator or polo shirts, sweater vests and baggy pleated khaki pants as gifts. Brand new, I donated them to the disabled veterans’ thrift store. Neither Christian nor the kind of person who for one week a year ceases to be an asshole to seemingly transform into a caring, giving and loving human being, I probably would not attend any Christmas gatherings next year. That would go for Independence Day and Thanksgiving as well.
Climbing into my Chevy pickup, R.W. inquired about where we were going. “I haven’t figured that out as of yet.” I replied while backing out of the parking space.
“What about Hampton?”
“What the fuck for?”
“Have you had breakfast yet?”
“Yeah. A bottle of vodka.”
“Then you shouldn’t have a problem with the Surfside.”
“The Surfside Bar in Buckroe?”
“Yeah I heard they had a breakfast buffet.” He replied.
“I’ll drink in the Surfside, but wouldn’t eat the food there even if it was free. Susie and Charlie got sick from eating there. Tell you what R.W., we’ll grab a bite to eat here in town and then light out somewhere.”
By the time we finished breakfast, smoked a bowl at my pad bought a bottle of vodka and arrived in Hampton it was around 11:30. Pulling into a Korean owned bar called Young’s Place at the junction of Big Bethel, Saunders and Simple Farm Roads, I parked on the side and cracked open our bottle. Young’s Place had no liquor license therefore only sold beer, coffee and soft drinks. Ever since the Greenwood closed down, Young’s was a gathering place for what remained of the Skids. Others frequented this bar as well. From the glove compartment I pulled out my reproduction 18th century ceramic drinking cup which held about three jiggers and poured R.W. a drink. “Down the hatch, Skid.” I said while handing it to him.
“Friday come, but not yet gone.” He cheered before putting the clear liquor down in two gulps. Then I poured myself one. Getting out of my truck, we were both primed. “Watch where you’re walking.” I warned R.W. as he was about to step on a used condom next to the brown glass shards of a Budweiser bottle. Looking up I saw that someone has spray painted – ‘YOU’RE FUCKED’ on the side of the building.
Although a dive, Young’s was a popular one and already after an hour since opening this late Friday morning, there were some dozen patrons quaffing beer. At one of the big round corner tables sat four North Hampton bravos who eyed us as we walked by. Playing partners at the pool table were two Bull Islanders from Poquoson and a couple of York County fellows from Seaford. Depending upon season, all four worked on the scallop or commercial fishing boats. They gave us a cheer as we passed and we saluted them in return. At the bar seated on shoddy looking stools sat the bar’s number one patron, a local drunk named Curtis with my cousin Susie and her friend Brenda. Behind the bar, bartender Star. She had worked for Young since Woo’s brother Joe sold this establishment three years ago. A short plump sallow skin women with long raven hair, Star claimed to be half Cherokee, but she didn’t know was that my parents were friends with her Korean mother and Irish American father years ago when they lived in base housing. If I remember correctly her real name was Molly. Star who was several older than me had been mentioned by my parents as a cute little girl who loved to dance and sing. They lost touch with Molly and her parents sometime after my Father bought a house near Lynnhaven. Now she went by Star and even had five stars tattooed on different parts of her body. A lower York County resident, she and her four children lived off alimony, child support and the money she made slinging beer. Curtis, who lived with Star, didn’t have steady employment, instead he did handyman jobs, but spent most days at Young’s drinking draft beer bought with the tips Star made. A bit of a buffoonish redneck, he was smart enough not to trouble any Skids.
“Well now looky here, two Williamsburg gents come to visit.” My cousin Susie said as she slid off her bar stool and hugged both of us. Almost as lanky as Charlie, Susie’s hair was braided back offering a good view at her multiple ear piercings from which dangled a good many small silver rings. Even her septum was pierced in traditional manner. Attired in a brownish red hooded sweatshirt, jeans and western boots, she like her brother Charlie were the wildest of that family. Both still lived at home in Lynnhaven. “What’s the matter fellows, has Billysburg become a tad bit too boring for you? Come down here for a bit of excitement, eh?”
“We thought to see the old stomping grounds.” I replied.
“You mean what’s left of them.” Susie grimly returned. Since I had moved to Williamsburg just about everywhere we use to hang out was gone. Where the James River Hunt Club and the wooded Old Mallory Tract once were, a large subdivision had been built. The Pit, which had filled with water and was now ringed with upscale condominiums. No one had seen the pit witch for years. Old Greenwood Bar had been turned into a car stereo shop. As for the Skids, most no longer lived in the old neighborhood. Prodded by politics, prejudice, peer pressure popular trends, personal problems, matrimony, religion and of course the cold fell touch of death’s hand, many had moved on. Even some of their parents were moving out of Lynnhaven. New arrivals had taken their place; people like Susie’s next door neighbor Brenda, a young navy wife. Her husband out to sea, of late she had been carousing with my alcoholic cousin. Thin as a rail with strawberry blonde hair, a pale comely face and blue eyes, she was from Austin Texas. Clad in a short denim skirt and white blouse, Brenda was also shod in western boots. She and Susie seemed to be somewhat inebriated.
“So hows about you two well to do Williamsburg gents buying us ladies a round of beer?” Susie slightly slurred.
Ordering a round for the four of us, we moved to the other big corner table. Engaging in small talk, Charlie’s name and troubles were brought up. Hooked on the needle instead of a particular drug, whether it was cocaine, heroin or speed, he shot it up in his veins. He had gotten so bad I didn’t want to be around him even during my brief stint as a heroin user. Although he had a somewhat decent paying job, Charlie would spend all of his money paying off dope fronts and what was left he got high upon. By Sunday or Monday he was usually flat broke and bumming off everyone else. A few years younger than me, Charlie appeared much older. Aside from the dope it seemed something else was robbing him of his essence. Not intending to come off as rude, I abruptly changed the subject as it was rather too depressing for those of us still wounded or weary by strife from battles with our own personal demons. “Anything interesting been going on in this dive?” I inquired. Susie spoke of an incident which occurred two weeks ago involving Woo, Young and a game of eight ball. “They were playing for twenty bucks a ball. Young racked and Woo broke knocking the eight ball in on the break. Instead of Young just paying Woo twenty bucks for that game winning break, he felt cheated out of a chance to win more on other shots. Young cited hastily contrived house rules and Woo called him a zipper head welsh. Young called him a greasy wop. Pistols were drawn, but instead of a shootout they had a Mexican standoff. After about five minutes, Woo eventually backed out the door and hasn’t been back since.”
“Woo should of known better than to gamble with Young, the cheat and welsh he is. Lucky no one got killed. People carrying on like its 1889 instead of 1989.” Of course under my truck seat were a shoulder holster which held a long barrel .38 revolver. There were some drinking holes I would not enter without it, but never thought of Young’s as such a place, the shit hole it was.
Into our second round and already R.W. was laying it on thick with Brenda. He had been stationed for awhile in Texas and knew the state enough to carry on a conversation with her. Finishing my beer, I told him: “Alright Reginald, we’re burning daylight, time to get on down the road.”
“But you just got here.” Susie said then inquired about where we were off to. “To places not fit for decent women.” R.W. laughed as we got up. “Give those whores down there in Ocean View my regards and be careful not to catch any diseases.” Susie returned. Saying our goodbyes, we departed Young’s Place for unknown destinations.
Getting off interstate at the 4th Street exit, we were now in the Ocean View area of Norfolk Virginia. Although I hadn’t planned on coming here, Denny talked me into it. Barely into mid spring it was hardly beach weather and so far the sky had been overcast, but we were not here for sand or fun in the sun. Some of the Skids including me had been coming here for well over a decade drinking, drugging and the promiscuous women who frequented the many bars all along Ocean View Boulevard. At one time this had been a waterside resort area, but for a while now it was becoming more and more decadent by the day. Approaching my favorite clump of drinking establishments we were not surprised seeing a few street hookers out so early in the day applying their trade. Mostly crack heads, we Skids deemed them as untouchables as some were diseased. In passing I saw the leering eyes, blistered lips and facial sores of one who appeared to be half black. The other two who were either Filipino or some other Southeast Asian variety grinned at us, but had a predatory gleam in their dark eyes. “You want date?” one of the Asian women squeaked as we were pulling into the parking lot of the Drifters Restaurant and Lounge. R.W. stuck his head out the window and said: “No money baby, how about a freebee?” At that the street whores turned their attention back to the main drag.
On this particular corner there were three different drinking establishments all connected to one another, the Drifters which served liquor and the other two which were small beer joints. Upon parking we each had a good gulp of vodka and decided what aliases we would use. Around here they knew me as Walt and R.W. would go by the name Will. We already knew not to call each other Skid. Having to walk by the three prostitutes again, they paid us no mind as we head towards the Drifters. Laying in a clump of crabgrass by the curb was an old syringe the sight of which had me hankering for some heroin, but with a bit of determination and several small involuntary twitches, I swiftly beat down this urge. I would not however let go of my other vices an example of which was about to enter the Drifters ahead of us. Of medium height and quite shapely with dirty blonde hair cut into a long shag style, she was dressed too nice for any Ocean View watering hole. Attired in a tight black knee length skirt, opened high end leather bomber jacket of the same color and crimson blouse, I watched her go through the door. Recalling this woman from my last visit here a month or so ago, we had exchanged bold stares and flashed smiles. Several seconds later we stepped inside.
Rather roomy, with some two dozen small dining tables, a dance floor, bandstand and two pool tables the Drifters had seen better days. The old tile floor which was cracked, scarred, stained and missing squares had not long been mopped, but still appeared dirty. Above our heads were nicotine stained ceiling tiles. A large slow twirling ceiling fan moved around stale air and any peculiar aromas coming from the kitchen. There were several customers inside including a drunken off duty sailor, his rather plump pig faced drinking date and a few emaciated hollowed eyed local alcoholics sharing a pitcher of draft beer. From their table like hungry turkey buzzards they ogled the woman who had entered ahead of us and just seated herself upon a bar stool. Seeing opportunity, I swiftly stepped over to the empty stool beside her and plopped down. “Well hi there.” I greeted while R.W. seated himself beside me. Instead of returning my greeting she asked: “Haven’t we met before?”
“Not formally, but I saw you from across the bar about a month ago. I believe you saw me as well. I’m Walt.”
“I remember you now. You were on your way out.”
“And you were sitting with two big kats at a table.”
“A couple of coworkers.” She returned with a smile and then introduced herself as Angela. Her nicely styled hair, makeup and expensive perfume betokened not the kind of female who usually frequented this dive. I took her to be either a navy officer’s wife out like us for a little adventure or an undercover police detective. Horny navy wives and plain clothes cops on prostitution or drug stings were not at all uncommon sights in these Ocean View bars. Flashing R.W. the Lynnhaven hand signal for caution, we ordered our drinks from a rather comely half Asian barmaid. As Angela went into her pocketbook for money, I glimpsed a black leather badge holder such as police detectives carry. “Put your money away, I got this one.” I said. It made sense to me now. The two close cropped brutes I saw with her a month ago were plain clothes officers. As the barmaid busied herself making Angela’s white Russian and our two greyhounds, I suggested once our drinks arrive we get a table to which Angela agreed.
No sooner than we sat down with our drinks at a scratched up maple table the soft interrogation began, but all she got out of us were fake first names and false locations. Both R.W. and I, the rounders we were had been through this drill many times before. Our philosophical take on such socializing was, while at a place where no one knew us, was to keep it that way at least until people on an individual basis pass the test of time and trust. What came out of her mouth next, I was completely ready for. “What a bum day it’s been so far, two potential closings fell through and come Monday my boss is going to ream me out, plus my alimony check is late. I could sure use something other than a stiff drink.” Angela then looked at me with sad puppy dog eyes. “You guys wouldn’t happen to have anything we could smoke or snort?”
“Not us, our jobs do drug testing which pretty much sucks.”
“That does suck. What a bummer.” She feigned a sigh, but there was a glimmer of genuine interest in her lovely light brown eyes. “May I ask what kind of work y’all do?”
“You may. We’re civil service at the Naval Weapons Station up in York County.” I lied and then asked Angela what she did. “Real estate. We’ve been trying to sell some properties here in Ocean View. It seems people are reluctant to buy homes or commercial property in this area.”
“I can’t imagine why?” R.W. said while watching the barmaid jiggle as she wiped down the bar. “So what are you guys doing down in this part of the world?” Angela inquired.
“Hoping to meet some gals as pretty as you.” I replied as the liquor and that joint we smoked while going through the bridge tunnel had loosened my tongue a bit. What I said must have had an effect on Angela as she looked me over. I knew police detectives were big on body language and mine spoke as if this suspected cop was any other barroom cutie. “Actually we’re playing hooky from work and wanted to get off the peninsula.”
“So you don’t think I’m pretty?” she teased.
“Like a patch of wildflowers.” I chuckled as she looked down at my left hand again. A year before that hand got caught in some machinery at work pull and was injured. Not only did I have a dislocated thumb, but due to other contusions, my wedding band had to be cut off. Not yet having taken the ring to be repaired at a jeweler, I carried in my wallet. My ring finger bore no telltale signs of a recently removed wedding band. Her next question threw me off a little. “Are you Puerto Rican?” Almost saying yes, but considering the possibility of her being able to speak Spanish, which I knew only a smattering, my reply was: “Oh no, I’m a military brat. I was born in Virginia, but my ma is Hawaiian from Honolulu.” As there were thousands of non-Caucasian military wives and their half American children in southeastern Virginia, Angela happily accepted my hastily contrived heritage as being true. “I’d love to see Hawaii.” She stated and then took of big gulp of her white Russian. Amused in a somewhat deviant manner, I said: “Me too.”
“You’ve never seen your mother’s state?”
“Nope. I’ve been in the lower forty all my life.” Quite unexpectedly Angela changed the subject by asking if we were going to still be in Ocean View after 3:30PM. She then went into her pocketbook for a pen and a little note pad. Jotting down numbers and drawing a little smiley face, she gave me the piece of paper.
A mile down the road R.W. and I sat quaffing vodka greyhounds in the Thirsty Camel, one of the better Ocean View drinking establishments. Although to my knowledge there was at least one somewhat professional prostitute enjoying either a late breakfast or lunch and a few rough looking bar patrons, the proprietors of the Thirsty Camel did not tolerate what went on in or around most of Ocean View’s other watering holes. This place was a lot better kept than most of the others. Here we didn’t have to worry about being served low quality or watered down liquor from top shelf bottles which was the shady practice of some bar owners. Knowing that the Thirsty Camel’s food was safe for human consumption we enjoyed club sandwiches with our libations. Bringing up what occurred in the Drifters again, R.W. shook his head and said: “Damn Skid, caught the fancy of a cop and got her phone number. What are you going to do about it?”
“What the hell do you think?” I growled.
“Get up with her?”
“Fuck no.”
“Shit man, she’s kind of fine. You should at least get up with her for a hump and run. Hell, she doesn’t even know your name.”
“No she doesn’t, but she can jot down my license plate and run it through the DMV. I don’t think toying with a female cop’s affections would be all that smart.”
“Well give me her number then.”
“Fuck no.” I returned and told him we were heading back to the peninsula after this last round of drinks…
The walls of my Cape Cod bungalow seemed to be closing in. Having been out on sick leave for two weeks under the pretense of an injured back, I was actually coming off a five month long heroin addiction. Rather short lived compared to other junkies I’ve known, it was best to quell my skag use before it got too far along. I was also attempting to give up drinking at the same time, but there on the coffee table in front of me sat an ice cold bottle of vodka. It felt like there was a television wrestling match inside my skull.
My wife who had not a clue about my real condition was out of town on another job related promotional trip and would not be home for almost a week. As far as she knew, I was at home with a back injury and staying out of trouble. Usually during these times of being left alone at home, I’d light out on the weekends, secure myself a cheap motel room down in Ocean View and proceed to get fucked up. In that waterside armpit of eastern Virginia there were a good many bars and twice as many loose women. A suitable place to hide away, down there in Ocean View with a fake ID, I was incognito. Aside from my cousin Charlie who was still a junkie and would sometimes accompany me to Ocean View, I had little or no contact with the other Skids. Bear who broke up with Teri for good in 1984, now lived in Newport News with a divorced Mi'kmaq woman from Canada and her kids. I hadn’t seen him since our strange and ill fated camping trip at Big Meadows nearly two years ago, but occasionally we would talk to each other on the phone. Flip was married with children and I hadn’t seen or heard from him since Big Meadows either. Whitey, in and out of jail work release programs was currently incarcerated in the Newport News City Farm. Here of late he was a sad sodden mess, but still managed to hang onto his shipyard job. On rare occasion I would visit the Best Western motor lodge’s basement lounge which R.W. managed. Ever the fashionable dapper dandy, he now lived with the Best Western hotel manager and her daughter. He had finally given up on trying talking me into being a bouncer there at the Safari Room Lounge. His brother Denny had been dead for some three years. Killed by the driver of a fast moving Ford Mustang who didn’t see Denny or his motorcycle stopped at that intersection, he died instantly. The driver claimed it was a green light and that Denny was stopped there with his lights off on that dark, cloudy moonless night. Another witness confirmed this as well which had some of us thinking it was suicide. It seemed whatever bond that once held us Skids together, was far loosely stretched if not broken. Aside from time at home or work, I got high and drunk with women picked up in bars. Not three years into a marriage, I was a substance addled adulterer. On different shifts and being at work more than together at home, Bridget and I couldn’t keep up with each other. Physically we both had changed in our few years of matrimony. Bridget who lacked time to exercise, but overate, was getting a lot larger like her mother and sister. The current manner in which I lived had me some thirty pounds under my usual weight. I could usually only stomach one meal a day. Lean, gaunt and morally aloof, I was a fucked up mess, but it wasn’t just seedy vices and intoxicating substances prodding me into such behavior. I had been cursed and was being stalked in my dreams just like Charlie and of course Denny before he died. Both as well as I had close intimate relations with what we found out to be an evil witch of some terrible type. Not even a year into my marriage during a week long camp at Big Meadows in the late summer of 1986 which Bridget couldn’t make, our small gathering did something to piss off a being that probably initially approached us with bad intentions. The only people I knew who were skilled in such healing on this side of the Mississippi, were Lee’s Meskwaki mother and sister, but we hadn’t seen each other since shortly after my former partner went to prison. Now free after ten years in the joint, Lee had thwarted any attempt of us getting up with each other. From another friend in common I heard Lee was now some kind of medicine person who traveled back and forth from Tama Iowa which had me suspecting he may have been smuggling something. Often times I thought about calling his family home, but felt that would be rude of me to ask for help after not having seen these people in over a decade. There was one thing for certain I needed to see a traditional healer of either my people or their kin. Glancing at my phone, and then returning my eyes upon the Vodka, my shaky hand reached for the latter. Cracking open the bottle, I told my cat Elmer: “That critter will have a long swim to my dreams tonight.” On the first swig, I must have poured a few jiggers down my gullet. The initial guilt I felt was washed away with another big swig. I had used and beat smack without Bridget’s knowledge and felt that was an accomplishment in itself, but this would hardly justify another one of my insanely intoxicated weekends. However, it would serve for now. Not one for drinking alone, especially in the still of dawn, I inserted a Humble Pie cassette into my stereo and loaded a bowl to smoke. One of Charlie’s favorite bands, the music had me sadly thinking about my cousin, but served to remind that I needed to let him go for awhile. Elmer who preferred classical music over rock-n-roll trotted off to lounge in the bedroom. I called him a party pooper and lit my pipe.
Although having consumed almost a liter of vodka in less than two hours, I felt uplifted rather than dragging drunk. Whether if this had something to do with my recent withdrawal from smack, I couldn’t tell nor cared as the booze and weed certainly loosened me up a bit. In this substance induced elated state, the bars and gals of Ocean View came to mind, but for now I thought better of it. Remembering this was R.W.’s one weekend off a month; I picked up the phone and dialed his number. Although R.W. was still a fop, I’d be better off getting up with a Skid then the dregs of society down in Ocean View.
“Yeah, hello?”
It was R.W.’s sleepy voice answering after what sounded like the receiver being fumbled. “Were you asleep?” I sardonically asked. My ear was blasted by loud coughing from the other end. “Fuck yeah I was asleep.”
“Well get the fuck up man we’ve got a good day ahead of us.” Then I heard the unmistakably sound of a receiver being slammed down and after several seconds of silence, a fresh dial tone. “Slack ass mother fucker.” I growled and lit up a cigarette. Upon exhaling a second streaming cloud of smoke, the phone began ringing. I had a feeling who was calling.
“The abode of the damned. Can I help you?”
Sure enough it was R.W. “Skid, what’s happening?”
“Well good morning Reginald.” I returned then inquired why he was so rude earlier. “Man I was out until about 3:00AM with a wild ass vixen named Mary Anne.”
“The one from Gilligan’s Island?”
“No, this one spells her name with an E and is a lot hotter.”
“A college gal or some neglected house pet?”
“She’s about our age and isn’t married.”
“Local gal?”
“Yeah. She rooms with a gay guy over at our old haunts in Woodshire. It brought back old memories seeing that place.”
Hearing that I inquired where his hotel manager girlfriend was.
“Joy took Heather up to see grandma and grandpa up in Pennsylvania. So what are you doing at home this time on a Friday morning? Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“I’m on doctor excused sick leave.” I replied then told him to get ready to go. “Go where?” he asked.
“Where ever the sweet breeze takes us, so get ready. I’ll be over at your pad to get you in an hour.”
Arriving at Joy’s townhouse near Jamestown, I was a bit disappointed that R.W. wasn’t waiting outside for me. Even more so than my wife who happened to be employed there, Joy was a Colonial Williamsburg fanatic. Her entire townhouse was furnished 18th century colonial Virginia reproduction pieces and adorned with artistic trappings of that era. It would be a buzz kill going inside. Having gone steady with Bridget for six years after we dated on and off for six, along with three years of marriage, I had been exposed to the foundation for some fifteen years. At this point in my life I detested the restored area having watched it transform from a living museum of 18th century colonial living history to a big business patriotic theme park which was transforming the Williamsburg area. Along with Kingsmill other upscale gated resort communities were sprouting up along with timeshares, high end strip malls, chain restaurants and lodgings all built upon razed swaths of ground which use to be beautiful rolling woodlands or fields. The quaint Williamsburg area was steadily becoming an upscale suburban wasteland. I hadn’t seen the worst of it yet. The foundation, it’s fanatical, flaky new crop of historic interpreters who dropped by my house a bit too much and its corporate/political leanings along with Bridget’s periods of stressful emotions due to her taking on more responsibility had me loathing CW. Only last week before Bridget went on this latest promotional trip to Boston, while I was going through bad withdrawals, a few of these coworkers who are in character twenty four hours a day, dropped by. Knowing I was dealing with some kind of pain, she got rid of them, but only after an hour, but that was better than these people hanging around for the entire evening as they often did.
Laying on my truck horn, he finally emerged from the townhouse shouting: “Alright, alright! Enough of that!”
Aside from his close cropped hair, he was attired like a Skid in Levi jacket and jeans along with a black T-shirt. Not yet late April here, the morning was chilly and had me in a brown cotton sports coat, flat crown wide brim Stetson hat, black long sleeve shirt, jeans and boots. My sense of personal fashion had not changed in the last twenty years much to the dismay of my in-laws and their southern Baptist friends. Every Christmas, my mother and sister in law would give me clothes I never wore, like alligator or polo shirts, sweater vests and baggy pleated khaki pants as gifts. Brand new, I donated them to the disabled veterans’ thrift store. Neither Christian nor the kind of person who for one week a year ceases to be an asshole to seemingly transform into a caring, giving and loving human being, I probably would not attend any Christmas gatherings next year. That would go for Independence Day and Thanksgiving as well.
Climbing into my Chevy pickup, R.W. inquired about where we were going. “I haven’t figured that out as of yet.” I replied while backing out of the parking space.
“What about Hampton?”
“What the fuck for?”
“Have you had breakfast yet?”
“Yeah. A bottle of vodka.”
“Then you shouldn’t have a problem with the Surfside.”
“The Surfside Bar in Buckroe?”
“Yeah I heard they had a breakfast buffet.” He replied.
“I’ll drink in the Surfside, but wouldn’t eat the food there even if it was free. Susie and Charlie got sick from eating there. Tell you what R.W., we’ll grab a bite to eat here in town and then light out somewhere.”
By the time we finished breakfast, smoked a bowl at my pad bought a bottle of vodka and arrived in Hampton it was around 11:30. Pulling into a Korean owned bar called Young’s Place at the junction of Big Bethel, Saunders and Simple Farm Roads, I parked on the side and cracked open our bottle. Young’s Place had no liquor license therefore only sold beer, coffee and soft drinks. Ever since the Greenwood closed down, Young’s was a gathering place for what remained of the Skids. Others frequented this bar as well. From the glove compartment I pulled out my reproduction 18th century ceramic drinking cup which held about three jiggers and poured R.W. a drink. “Down the hatch, Skid.” I said while handing it to him.
“Friday come, but not yet gone.” He cheered before putting the clear liquor down in two gulps. Then I poured myself one. Getting out of my truck, we were both primed. “Watch where you’re walking.” I warned R.W. as he was about to step on a used condom next to the brown glass shards of a Budweiser bottle. Looking up I saw that someone has spray painted – ‘YOU’RE FUCKED’ on the side of the building.
Although a dive, Young’s was a popular one and already after an hour since opening this late Friday morning, there were some dozen patrons quaffing beer. At one of the big round corner tables sat four North Hampton bravos who eyed us as we walked by. Playing partners at the pool table were two Bull Islanders from Poquoson and a couple of York County fellows from Seaford. Depending upon season, all four worked on the scallop or commercial fishing boats. They gave us a cheer as we passed and we saluted them in return. At the bar seated on shoddy looking stools sat the bar’s number one patron, a local drunk named Curtis with my cousin Susie and her friend Brenda. Behind the bar, bartender Star. She had worked for Young since Woo’s brother Joe sold this establishment three years ago. A short plump sallow skin women with long raven hair, Star claimed to be half Cherokee, but she didn’t know was that my parents were friends with her Korean mother and Irish American father years ago when they lived in base housing. If I remember correctly her real name was Molly. Star who was several older than me had been mentioned by my parents as a cute little girl who loved to dance and sing. They lost touch with Molly and her parents sometime after my Father bought a house near Lynnhaven. Now she went by Star and even had five stars tattooed on different parts of her body. A lower York County resident, she and her four children lived off alimony, child support and the money she made slinging beer. Curtis, who lived with Star, didn’t have steady employment, instead he did handyman jobs, but spent most days at Young’s drinking draft beer bought with the tips Star made. A bit of a buffoonish redneck, he was smart enough not to trouble any Skids.
“Well now looky here, two Williamsburg gents come to visit.” My cousin Susie said as she slid off her bar stool and hugged both of us. Almost as lanky as Charlie, Susie’s hair was braided back offering a good view at her multiple ear piercings from which dangled a good many small silver rings. Even her septum was pierced in traditional manner. Attired in a brownish red hooded sweatshirt, jeans and western boots, she like her brother Charlie were the wildest of that family. Both still lived at home in Lynnhaven. “What’s the matter fellows, has Billysburg become a tad bit too boring for you? Come down here for a bit of excitement, eh?”
“We thought to see the old stomping grounds.” I replied.
“You mean what’s left of them.” Susie grimly returned. Since I had moved to Williamsburg just about everywhere we use to hang out was gone. Where the James River Hunt Club and the wooded Old Mallory Tract once were, a large subdivision had been built. The Pit, which had filled with water and was now ringed with upscale condominiums. No one had seen the pit witch for years. Old Greenwood Bar had been turned into a car stereo shop. As for the Skids, most no longer lived in the old neighborhood. Prodded by politics, prejudice, peer pressure popular trends, personal problems, matrimony, religion and of course the cold fell touch of death’s hand, many had moved on. Even some of their parents were moving out of Lynnhaven. New arrivals had taken their place; people like Susie’s next door neighbor Brenda, a young navy wife. Her husband out to sea, of late she had been carousing with my alcoholic cousin. Thin as a rail with strawberry blonde hair, a pale comely face and blue eyes, she was from Austin Texas. Clad in a short denim skirt and white blouse, Brenda was also shod in western boots. She and Susie seemed to be somewhat inebriated.
“So hows about you two well to do Williamsburg gents buying us ladies a round of beer?” Susie slightly slurred.
Ordering a round for the four of us, we moved to the other big corner table. Engaging in small talk, Charlie’s name and troubles were brought up. Hooked on the needle instead of a particular drug, whether it was cocaine, heroin or speed, he shot it up in his veins. He had gotten so bad I didn’t want to be around him even during my brief stint as a heroin user. Although he had a somewhat decent paying job, Charlie would spend all of his money paying off dope fronts and what was left he got high upon. By Sunday or Monday he was usually flat broke and bumming off everyone else. A few years younger than me, Charlie appeared much older. Aside from the dope it seemed something else was robbing him of his essence. Not intending to come off as rude, I abruptly changed the subject as it was rather too depressing for those of us still wounded or weary by strife from battles with our own personal demons. “Anything interesting been going on in this dive?” I inquired. Susie spoke of an incident which occurred two weeks ago involving Woo, Young and a game of eight ball. “They were playing for twenty bucks a ball. Young racked and Woo broke knocking the eight ball in on the break. Instead of Young just paying Woo twenty bucks for that game winning break, he felt cheated out of a chance to win more on other shots. Young cited hastily contrived house rules and Woo called him a zipper head welsh. Young called him a greasy wop. Pistols were drawn, but instead of a shootout they had a Mexican standoff. After about five minutes, Woo eventually backed out the door and hasn’t been back since.”
“Woo should of known better than to gamble with Young, the cheat and welsh he is. Lucky no one got killed. People carrying on like its 1889 instead of 1989.” Of course under my truck seat were a shoulder holster which held a long barrel .38 revolver. There were some drinking holes I would not enter without it, but never thought of Young’s as such a place, the shit hole it was.
Into our second round and already R.W. was laying it on thick with Brenda. He had been stationed for awhile in Texas and knew the state enough to carry on a conversation with her. Finishing my beer, I told him: “Alright Reginald, we’re burning daylight, time to get on down the road.”
“But you just got here.” Susie said then inquired about where we were off to. “To places not fit for decent women.” R.W. laughed as we got up. “Give those whores down there in Ocean View my regards and be careful not to catch any diseases.” Susie returned. Saying our goodbyes, we departed Young’s Place for unknown destinations.
Getting off interstate at the 4th Street exit, we were now in the Ocean View area of Norfolk Virginia. Although I hadn’t planned on coming here, Denny talked me into it. Barely into mid spring it was hardly beach weather and so far the sky had been overcast, but we were not here for sand or fun in the sun. Some of the Skids including me had been coming here for well over a decade drinking, drugging and the promiscuous women who frequented the many bars all along Ocean View Boulevard. At one time this had been a waterside resort area, but for a while now it was becoming more and more decadent by the day. Approaching my favorite clump of drinking establishments we were not surprised seeing a few street hookers out so early in the day applying their trade. Mostly crack heads, we Skids deemed them as untouchables as some were diseased. In passing I saw the leering eyes, blistered lips and facial sores of one who appeared to be half black. The other two who were either Filipino or some other Southeast Asian variety grinned at us, but had a predatory gleam in their dark eyes. “You want date?” one of the Asian women squeaked as we were pulling into the parking lot of the Drifters Restaurant and Lounge. R.W. stuck his head out the window and said: “No money baby, how about a freebee?” At that the street whores turned their attention back to the main drag.
On this particular corner there were three different drinking establishments all connected to one another, the Drifters which served liquor and the other two which were small beer joints. Upon parking we each had a good gulp of vodka and decided what aliases we would use. Around here they knew me as Walt and R.W. would go by the name Will. We already knew not to call each other Skid. Having to walk by the three prostitutes again, they paid us no mind as we head towards the Drifters. Laying in a clump of crabgrass by the curb was an old syringe the sight of which had me hankering for some heroin, but with a bit of determination and several small involuntary twitches, I swiftly beat down this urge. I would not however let go of my other vices an example of which was about to enter the Drifters ahead of us. Of medium height and quite shapely with dirty blonde hair cut into a long shag style, she was dressed too nice for any Ocean View watering hole. Attired in a tight black knee length skirt, opened high end leather bomber jacket of the same color and crimson blouse, I watched her go through the door. Recalling this woman from my last visit here a month or so ago, we had exchanged bold stares and flashed smiles. Several seconds later we stepped inside.
Rather roomy, with some two dozen small dining tables, a dance floor, bandstand and two pool tables the Drifters had seen better days. The old tile floor which was cracked, scarred, stained and missing squares had not long been mopped, but still appeared dirty. Above our heads were nicotine stained ceiling tiles. A large slow twirling ceiling fan moved around stale air and any peculiar aromas coming from the kitchen. There were several customers inside including a drunken off duty sailor, his rather plump pig faced drinking date and a few emaciated hollowed eyed local alcoholics sharing a pitcher of draft beer. From their table like hungry turkey buzzards they ogled the woman who had entered ahead of us and just seated herself upon a bar stool. Seeing opportunity, I swiftly stepped over to the empty stool beside her and plopped down. “Well hi there.” I greeted while R.W. seated himself beside me. Instead of returning my greeting she asked: “Haven’t we met before?”
“Not formally, but I saw you from across the bar about a month ago. I believe you saw me as well. I’m Walt.”
“I remember you now. You were on your way out.”
“And you were sitting with two big kats at a table.”
“A couple of coworkers.” She returned with a smile and then introduced herself as Angela. Her nicely styled hair, makeup and expensive perfume betokened not the kind of female who usually frequented this dive. I took her to be either a navy officer’s wife out like us for a little adventure or an undercover police detective. Horny navy wives and plain clothes cops on prostitution or drug stings were not at all uncommon sights in these Ocean View bars. Flashing R.W. the Lynnhaven hand signal for caution, we ordered our drinks from a rather comely half Asian barmaid. As Angela went into her pocketbook for money, I glimpsed a black leather badge holder such as police detectives carry. “Put your money away, I got this one.” I said. It made sense to me now. The two close cropped brutes I saw with her a month ago were plain clothes officers. As the barmaid busied herself making Angela’s white Russian and our two greyhounds, I suggested once our drinks arrive we get a table to which Angela agreed.
No sooner than we sat down with our drinks at a scratched up maple table the soft interrogation began, but all she got out of us were fake first names and false locations. Both R.W. and I, the rounders we were had been through this drill many times before. Our philosophical take on such socializing was, while at a place where no one knew us, was to keep it that way at least until people on an individual basis pass the test of time and trust. What came out of her mouth next, I was completely ready for. “What a bum day it’s been so far, two potential closings fell through and come Monday my boss is going to ream me out, plus my alimony check is late. I could sure use something other than a stiff drink.” Angela then looked at me with sad puppy dog eyes. “You guys wouldn’t happen to have anything we could smoke or snort?”
“Not us, our jobs do drug testing which pretty much sucks.”
“That does suck. What a bummer.” She feigned a sigh, but there was a glimmer of genuine interest in her lovely light brown eyes. “May I ask what kind of work y’all do?”
“You may. We’re civil service at the Naval Weapons Station up in York County.” I lied and then asked Angela what she did. “Real estate. We’ve been trying to sell some properties here in Ocean View. It seems people are reluctant to buy homes or commercial property in this area.”
“I can’t imagine why?” R.W. said while watching the barmaid jiggle as she wiped down the bar. “So what are you guys doing down in this part of the world?” Angela inquired.
“Hoping to meet some gals as pretty as you.” I replied as the liquor and that joint we smoked while going through the bridge tunnel had loosened my tongue a bit. What I said must have had an effect on Angela as she looked me over. I knew police detectives were big on body language and mine spoke as if this suspected cop was any other barroom cutie. “Actually we’re playing hooky from work and wanted to get off the peninsula.”
“So you don’t think I’m pretty?” she teased.
“Like a patch of wildflowers.” I chuckled as she looked down at my left hand again. A year before that hand got caught in some machinery at work pull and was injured. Not only did I have a dislocated thumb, but due to other contusions, my wedding band had to be cut off. Not yet having taken the ring to be repaired at a jeweler, I carried in my wallet. My ring finger bore no telltale signs of a recently removed wedding band. Her next question threw me off a little. “Are you Puerto Rican?” Almost saying yes, but considering the possibility of her being able to speak Spanish, which I knew only a smattering, my reply was: “Oh no, I’m a military brat. I was born in Virginia, but my ma is Hawaiian from Honolulu.” As there were thousands of non-Caucasian military wives and their half American children in southeastern Virginia, Angela happily accepted my hastily contrived heritage as being true. “I’d love to see Hawaii.” She stated and then took of big gulp of her white Russian. Amused in a somewhat deviant manner, I said: “Me too.”
“You’ve never seen your mother’s state?”
“Nope. I’ve been in the lower forty all my life.” Quite unexpectedly Angela changed the subject by asking if we were going to still be in Ocean View after 3:30PM. She then went into her pocketbook for a pen and a little note pad. Jotting down numbers and drawing a little smiley face, she gave me the piece of paper.
A mile down the road R.W. and I sat quaffing vodka greyhounds in the Thirsty Camel, one of the better Ocean View drinking establishments. Although to my knowledge there was at least one somewhat professional prostitute enjoying either a late breakfast or lunch and a few rough looking bar patrons, the proprietors of the Thirsty Camel did not tolerate what went on in or around most of Ocean View’s other watering holes. This place was a lot better kept than most of the others. Here we didn’t have to worry about being served low quality or watered down liquor from top shelf bottles which was the shady practice of some bar owners. Knowing that the Thirsty Camel’s food was safe for human consumption we enjoyed club sandwiches with our libations. Bringing up what occurred in the Drifters again, R.W. shook his head and said: “Damn Skid, caught the fancy of a cop and got her phone number. What are you going to do about it?”
“What the hell do you think?” I growled.
“Get up with her?”
“Fuck no.”
“Shit man, she’s kind of fine. You should at least get up with her for a hump and run. Hell, she doesn’t even know your name.”
“No she doesn’t, but she can jot down my license plate and run it through the DMV. I don’t think toying with a female cop’s affections would be all that smart.”
“Well give me her number then.”
“Fuck no.” I returned and told him we were heading back to the peninsula after this last round of drinks…
Re: Madness in the Colonial Capitol
23 – Party, pleasure and pain
Having gotten off interstate onto Route 17, we first stopped at Ahn’s, another Korean bar and quaffed down a few greyhounds. Not particularly fond of the country music on Ahn’s jukebox, we moved on. By the time we got to the Yorktown Pup, R.W. and I were somewhat snockered. Sitting up at the bar we were knocking back vodka shots and chasing them with some rather good ale.
Located upon the lower York River’s narrow sandy beach below its high banks, this establishment was fairly new and part of the revitalization of Yorktown’s Water Street main drag. Gone were older rundown buildings such as Rick’s Market which had been a landmark and now more modern upscale businesses were springing up. Also razed to the ground was the Spectrum Lounge a nice place for drinking and dancing to the music of local bands. Built directly under the huge Coleman Bridge, we referred to it as the troll bar. Up over the York River’s fifty foot banks were fields and woodland where not only the Revolutionary War was won, but a Civil War battle took place as well. Trenches, redoubts and other such earthworks still scarred the land. North across the river was Gloucester County one of eastern Virginia’s most backwards places. Gloucester was mostly inhabited by what we referred to as marsh Saxons who were the descendants of those English colonists whom nobody wanted living on the southern most Virginia peninsula. For over three hundred years they for the most part had evolved into a stocky to portly, ruddy skin, blue eyed tawny haired folk known for their illiteracy, stubbornness and crude as well as rude behavior which also included a tendency for violence. Mostly rural and lacking industry, the majority of them worked on this peninsula. Lacking any drinking establishments in Gloucester because of their drunken violence, they frequented the bars of York County right across the river and caused a great deal of trouble. They referred to each other as Bubba. Three of them sat drinking in the Yorktown Pup, a huge close cropped fellow with little close set dark blue eyes and another shorter squat man with a mullet hairstyle. Even shorter than him was their obese female companion who had upper arms bigger around than my thighs. Of small pudgy hands and tiny feet, she appeared to have no neck, just a blubbery triple chinned head set upon wide shoulders. Most of these middle peninsula people have large upper bodies and small legs. There is also a lot of inbreeding up there. We knew these middle peninsula people were extremely racist and that the Klu Klux Klan were up there as well. Having no reason to cross the river and visit Gloucester County, I stayed clear of it. Aside from that trio, the pub’s customers were mostly York County residents, some having an early dinner while others enjoyed libations.
While R.W. attempted to make time with a cute blonde barmaid, I thought about catching a good buzz. Tapping my drinking companion’s shoulder to get his attention I used the Lynnhaven word for pot. “Whoodee time, Skid.”
“Where?” he asked.
“I know a place.” At that we finished our rounds and departed on foot leaving my truck parked at the pub. Stepping off Water Street, we ascended upon a narrow asphalt road cut into the high river bank. Upon level ground again, R.W. and I were in sight of the Yorktown Battlefield Monument as well as a huge thick patch of tall bamboo into which we entered. Not native to this area, the bamboo was introduced during colonial times and had been thriving ever since. Some five feet into this growth we were completely concealed, but we made our way a bit further to be out of earshot as well. Fortunately there had been no battlefield visitors around when we slipped in. Sitting upon the ground in a small clearing, I pulled a joint out of my inside coat pocket and lit it up. Aside from the sound of our toking, we were all but silent as the joint went back and forth between us. Soon two wrens were back contesting this thicket with their shrill territorial songs. While having another toke something caught my eye. Smaller than the nail on my pinky finger black with a bright red abdomen it was a little assassin bug crawling upon the ground. Strangely enough it waved its long antennae in a crossing motion as people do with their arms when they are signaling others from a visible distance. I had thought it still too cool for this particular species to be out and about. Perhaps it was a sign of warmer days soon to come. It crawled towards an old half crushed beer can, but fled from the container’s opening as a wolf spider popped out of its aluminum home. I had to laugh having remembered where that old Budweiser got here. Some twelve years ago Bear, Charlie, Denny, Flip, Whitey and I had visited this place to smoke a few joints. Of course Whitey had a 16oz Budweiser with him and upon finishing it, crushed and tossed away the empty can thus littering in a national historical park. His logic was that no one would see it in this bamboo, but he would have probably tossed the can where ever it was finished. Apparently this clearing had been a party spot as there were several other old cans and bottles scattered about upon the ground. I guess it was this somewhat natural setting which prompted R.W. to suggest: “We should get the Skids together for another camping trip up in the mountains sometime next month.”
“Who remains to go camping?” I asked. Actually I had been hankering to get up into the Appalachians again, but no one else seemed interested in such an excursion. “We’ll call and invite them.” He replied adding: “Maybe Bear, Charlie, Susie, Flip and a couple of Williamsburg gals.”
“Well you can count Bridget out as she can’t seem to get a weekend away from work. And Charlie? You can forget about that. Charlie’s too much into the needle to do anything else and I wouldn’t want him along anyway unless he cleans up his act. We can’t have him booting up dope over and over again in camp around other folk. Susie? Probably. Bear and Flip? Maybe. That is if they can get away from their domestic bliss.”
“So where should we make camp this time?” R.W. inquired.
“If everyone can get enough time off, I was thinking somewhere west of Douthat in the Jackson River Valley. I’ve heard about a new reservoir up there called Lake Moomaw. There are several campgrounds around the lake which is supposed to be stocked with trout and smallmouth bass. A guy from work told me it is much more remote than the Blue Ridge and the scenery up there was spectacular.”
Upon emerging our bamboo hiding place dusk was spreading across Yorktown Battlefield dimming the cloud obscured setting sun’s already feeble light. From the distant woods we heard hundreds of spring peepers trilling. Night’s dark veil would be shrouding the landscape soon. Descending the road to Water Street, R.W. and I ambled back towards the pub, but upon returning we saw it had become much more crowded. Seeing our place at the bar was occupied by two other fellows, we decided to make for Williamsburg.
Second Street Tavern was barely a third filled with customers and most of them were diners. I watched as they nibbled on overpriced dressed up bar food entrées and sipped their beverages. A polished hardwood, brass and fern tavern, comparing it with Ahn’s, the Drifters or Young’s Place, to me Second Street seemed a whole different planet. Up in the raised lounge which overlooked this tavern’s main dining room, we sat drinking greyhounds and munching on complementary salted peanuts. R.W. wanted to stop here and I could see the reason why. Behind the bar worked his date from last night. Of medium height with dark spiky punk cut shoulder length rust tinted dark hair and bright green eyes. The maroon pullover polo shirt, black apron and slacks did little to conceal her shapely body. After fixing and serving drinks to three people several bar stools down, she resumed her rant regarding the dress code at Second Street. The owners wanted Mary Anne to do something with her hair as it didn’t fit in with the image they had in mind for their brass and fern tavern. “They already made me remove my nose ring. I guess I’ll have to see my old friend Sally for a new hairdo.” Although I was under the influence of alcohol and weed, upon hearing that name something jarred my memory. “Do you have an old friend named Mary as well?”
“I do. Why?” She replied. So this was the Mary Anne that Bridget had mentioned almost fifteen years ago as being a close friend of Mary and Sally. Here in front of me stood the last stop of an intriguingly strange triad. In my substance addled condition this woman now seemed much more interesting as I recalled those intimate times spent with Mary as well as Sally. Now I boldly ogled her as she studied my face. “Wait a minute!” she said, adding I know who you are.”
“Who am I?” I chuckled.
“You’re the one Mary referred to as Chief Whoopee Wahoo.”
“Whoopee Wahoo?” I laughed, but there was no mistaking that gleam in her green eyes. “You can call me Chief.” I said while lighting up a cigarette. It was then that R.W. asked Mary Anne what time she got off tonight. Her eyes still upon me, she replied: “Well I came in at opening late this morning to fill in for somebody, so hopefully around 11:00 tonight, however they may try to keep me in here until closing depending on business. I’d like to get out of here as early as possible and have a few drinks tonight with y’all.” Noticing all this attention Mary Anne was paying me, R.W. suggested we check out some other bars. Gulping down his drink he slurred: “Come on Skid, let’s go.” Leaning over the bar he gave Mary Anne a peck on the cheek and told her: “We’ll be back here a little after 11:00.”
After stopping by the liquor store, we found ourselves in the Hospitality House Hotel lounge which was yet another Williamsburg brass and fern affair. Enjoying our mescal and grapefruit juice, we were entertained by a fellow in a tuxedo playing golden oldies on a synthesizer. Having a look around I saw that the only other customers were eight old people probably in their seventies sitting at two tables near the door. Our bartender was a mannish looking sandy blonde haired woman with a German accent. It was a lot dimmer in here and there were no complimentary peanuts. Having another look at the senior citizens I said in a low tone: “This place looks like a fucking morgue. After these drinks we’re out of here.” It was then another customer walked through the doorway. In the lounge’s dim light her thick mane of shoulder length hair appeared either white or platinum blonde, but this woman was darker than me. Clad in a dark tight low cut, long sleeved pullover top and close fitting jeans tucked into high leather boots, she appeared to be a healthy specimen. “Well my, my, my, would you look at that, Skid.” I said as she sashayed up to the bar. Now this newest arrival had R.W.’s full attention. “Great day.” He sighed happily through a clinched teeth smile. My drinking companion was lit up like a child on Christmas morning. Placing her purse upon the bar, she sat down two stools over from. Turning her head she flashed us a toothy smile and proceeded to order a margarita. Having a better look at her in the bar light I could see this woman was probably in her mid forties in spite of what appeared to be some cosmetic facial surgery. From what I could tell her heavily made up eyes were hazel, but it was hard to tell in this light. Having never saw this woman in here or any other Williamsburg drinking establishment; I took her to be either a tourist or else new resident as people had been swarming into the area like locusts. Then there was the possibility she was a recently arrived upscale prostitute as they occasionally plied their trade in these Williamsburg hotels. Out of curiosity, I looked over at her and asked: “New in town?” then introduced R.W. and I to her. “Hi I’m Dee. As a matter of fact I am new to the area.”
With a small amount of slurring smooth talk, R.W. persuaded Dee to join us at a table. Rather open and trusting Dee informed us that her mother, aunt and cousin would be arriving in town tomorrow evening from Tallahassee Florida. Dee had arrived a day earlier than them. Hearing that, R.W. began attempting to impress and woo this off season tourist. I chimed in occasionally as well and she seemed very much impressed by our combined knowledge of the Williamsburg area. From me she received historical information while R.W. gave her the lowdown regarding restaurants and shopping. By Dee’s mannerisms I could tell she was a person of culture and means, but after finishing that first big margarita I noticed more of southern twang in her voice. “I have to stay at this dreadful place tonight, but tomorrow our rental unit will be ready at Kingsmill resort.” I had always thought the Hospitality House to be a decent hotel and Dee’s statement betokened the snootiness of Williamsburg more well off visitors as well as this area’s newer gentry class residents Since there was no wait staff on duty, I took it upon myself to fetch our next round from the bar. “You drank those last drinks that fast?” The barmaid asked in her thick German accent. “We were thirsty.” I replied as she knotted her brows. I really wanted to tell her – ‘Don’t fret over how fast we drink, Brunhilde, just get cracking on our beverages.’ but instead I smiled and said: “It’s my friend’s birthday and we’re celebrating.” Slipping a ten dollar bill in her tip jar seemed to alleviate this woman’s scrutiny. Right next door to Green Leafe Café and Paul’s Deli both college drinking holes, the Hospitality House’s lounge occasionally had to contend with drunken students causing a bit of mayhem.
Arriving back with our beverages on a borrowed tray, I saw that Dee and R.W. were getting along rather well. Not only somewhat intelligent, R.W. was rather debonair as well providing he hadn’t too much to drink. A seasoned toper like me, he was not at that point as of yet. Having more than a smattering of knowledge regarding numerous subjects, he was a good conversationalist and could skillfully change topics if they progressed beyond his understanding. With Dee getting more and more buzzed on tequila allowed him this perfect opportunity to apply his charm as if it were an art form. Halfway into her second margarita Dee began talking about her life. Telling us of her job with a real estate company, we also learned Dee had been widowed for little over a year, but it was what she imparted next which put a smirk upon R.W.’s face.
“My astrologist told me that on this trip there was a strong possibility of meeting an interesting person who would stimulate my senses.”
She was now like putty in his hands and he began to lay it on thick. “That’s a coincidence.” He said and then flashed a smile. “I received a similar message from a Chinese fortune cookie at lunch today.” I could almost catch the scent of sugar coated bullshit coming off his words. Rolling my eyes at him, he returned with the smelly finger gesture and complemented Dee on her tan which to me looked unnaturally like it was acquired in a tanning booth or perhaps a spray on job. From what I could see of Dee’s cleavage she appeared to have breast implants as well. If Dee had enhanced her appearance to garner attention, she was getting a generous amount from R.W. “I didn’t expect to meet a goddess on this cloudy night.” He said as his eyes danced upon her. She feigned a bit of modesty “Not in these knock around the house clothes.”
“You would look beautiful wearing anything or nothing at all.” R.W. told Dee with a smile while looking deep into her eyes. “I’ll keep an image of you in mind while on the long walk home later.” Having heard this line before, I kept my mouth shut as Dee was about to nibble on the bait. “Long walk home? Didn’t you guys drive here?” She inquired.
‘Here it comes.’ I mused while R.W. scratched his head, jerked a thumb at me and said: “He gave me a ride here, but after a few drinks I get motion sickness while in a car so I usually walk home. Hopefully my leg won’t give me any trouble tonight.”
“What’s wrong with your leg?”
“Oh a shrapnel wound I got in 1972 during the war.” Lifting his pants leg, R.W. showed her a big scar he got not during the Vietnam, but from barbwire while running from the MPs outside an army base in Texas. “Mortar rounds. They took out most of our patrol and the others who survived are far worse off than me.” The last time I witnessed him throwing out this line was at the Hilton several years ago. He said it was a landmine someone stepped on that caused this injury. Dee seemed awed by this outright lie. “How far do you live from here?” She asked. “Oh out near Jamestown about ten miles away. If I leave hear around midnight I’ll make it home by daylight, that is if the old leg don’t trouble me.”
“Why not stay here tonight?”
“Here?”
“I’ve a large suite.” She replied and looked at me. “If you’ve had too much to drink you’re welcome to stay.”
“Oh no, but thank you anyway, I’m a lightweight and will probably be heading out after this drink.”
“Well be careful.” Dee said then excused herself off to the ladies restroom. Once she was out of earshot I asked: “What about Mary Anne? You’re supposed to meet her in about an hour. Sure you want to stand her up?”
“Go meet her and tag you some, Skid. She was checking you out pretty heavily back at Second Street.”
“Hell man, I don’t even know her.”
“Well she seems to know about you. Take some time in getting to know her. I’ll tell you this, she’s a little on the freaky side and kind of aggressive in the sack, but you’re a big boy, I’m sure you’ll do just fine. Tell her I got sick and you took me home. There’s something else weird about her you should know.”
“What’s that?
“She likes attached fellows.”
“Attached?”
“You know, married or in a serious relationship.”
“That’s right. Mary Anne told me last night that single unattached guys want to get serious with her and at the present time she has no intentions of falling in love. She does however love to fuck so go meet up with her and tag you some of that, Skid.” Having said that his eyes met Dee’s as she reentered the lounge. R.W.’s information regarding Mary Anne weirdly plucked a nerve. It was if he was giving me a plate of leftovers from a dinner party that I had not attended. In his mind such one night stands like Dee and Mary Anne were like sexual objects or else a day at an amusement park. Over the last decade R.W. had been in numerous seemingly serious relationships some lasting a few years while others ended only after a few months or less. These relationships were always with women of means, but he would also frolic with one night stands. The longest was with a William and Mary student from an extremely wealthy family. She paid most of R.W.’s living expenses and kept him well dressed. For awhile we thought R.W. was going to marry her, but he crashed this free ride into a pine tree after giving his girlfriend a dose of the clap picked up from a Newport News bar floozy. Hopefully for both Dee and Joy’s sake, he wasn’t currently carrying any sexually transmitted diseases. For now I would part company with him. Gulping down the rest of my drink, I stood up and said my goodbyes. “Have a goodnight and so long for now.”
My next stop was the Best Western motor lodge lounge on York Street. A basement drinking establishment, The Fox Hunt Room was close to home which made it a good place for me to conclude my Friday night of bar hopping. Upon entering I was met with – “Well I’ll be goddamned it’s Cochise come a calling again! I know you’ll let me buy you a drink tonight and let bygones be bygones.” This person who greeted me in such a manner slid off his bar stool with an extended hand which had me crossing my arms and glaring at him. Of medium height and stocky build, he had short dark brown hair touched by a little silver at the temples and a mustache. Clad in a brown flannel shirt, blue sweater vest and slacks, this fellow’s smirk was close to being pounded off his face, but upon looking at his little shiny pair of tassel adorned Bruno Magli loafers, I had to laugh and reminded him “My name isn’t Cochise you drunken Mick.” As many times I heard his name called in this lounge and other area drinking establishments, I knew him to be John Reilly who was director of maintenance at Shady Pines state mental hospital right outside of Williamsburg. What I couldn’t possibly predict was that this person would play an important role in my future life. “Both drunken Indians and Irishmen shouldn’t hold their drunkenness against one another.” He slurred and then laughed. Turning, he told the bartender: “Get this man anything he wants to drink on me.” Then he turned to me extending his hand once again. My last encounter with this fellow about two months ago in here was not so cordial. He had spouted off a similar slur and became rather put off when I threatened to not only to lift his scalp, but castrate him as well with a shrimp cocktail fork. He laughed and said that would be very creative on my part. Just like that night so it was with this one, it would be bad medicine to punch out someone in such a mirthful state of being, especially after he stated: “You know why an Indian and Irishman should be able to poke fun at each other when they’re drinking?” He asked with his hand still extended.
“Why’s that?” I returned while lighting up a cigarette.
“Because one can’t hold his liquor and the other one doesn’t know how, but yet we drink anyway.” At that I extended my hand and grasped his in a knuckle popping grip. “Oh I don’t know about that Irishman, today I’ve been holding mine since before dawn.” I then introduced myself.
“I’m John Reilly.” He returned. “You’re not one of those Charles City or New Kent County Chickahominy. Are you a Pamunkey?”
“Nope, I’m Shawnee, my people are in Oklahoma.” Then I added: “You’re not one of those come heres from out of state.”
“No not a come here from out of state, but I was born and raised in Waynesboro Virginia.”
“Oh one of those Appalachian Micks, eh?” I chuckled.
Following our initial greeting and two triple Crown Royals on the rocks, Reilly and I got along much better. He wasn’t just another barfly. During our brief conversation I learned of Reilly’s service in Vietnam with the marines as well as his career as a state employee which included being a director at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts. He held a bachelor’s degree in art and history along with a master’s in engineering. Although a man of off time leisure which usually progressed into debauchery, he was very much respected for his knowledge and civic contributions. Reilly also had a cadre of elite female reveling companions, some of which he was getting ready to meet in Second Street Tavern. Reilly’s game and romping about made R.W.’s look pathetically amateurish. The more I talked with him, the more it seemed this would be a good person to know. “By coincidence, I was heading over to Second Street as well.” While thinking about what kind of women awaited Reilly, the thought of Mary Anne popped into my head.
For a Friday night Second Street was lacking in customers. A few parties sat in the dining room and several people drank in the raised lounge area. Two of these, a rather lovely buxom redhead and an attractive brunette occupied a small table. Upon seeing Reilly and I enter the tavern, they squealed in delight. These had to be some of his friends. Both were clad in office type attire, blouses, light coats along with matching tight knee length skirts and shod in black high heel pumps. Professional women having worked a long day and part of the night already half tanked up on mai tais. Ascending several steps to the lounge they both cheered: “Yay, it’s Johnny!”
Turning and looking down at me still on the hard wood steps he whispered: “What do you think of that trim, Cochise?” Both of these women were flashing some rather lovely smiles our way. “Who’s your friend, Johnny?” The brunette asked as we arrived at their bar side table. Before he could call me Cochise again, I introduced myself and plopped down on a bar stool. Having a look around, I didn’t see Mary Anne. Even though it wasn’t quite 11:00, I wondered if she had already gotten off work. My attention was diverted back to Reilly’s friends as he introduced them. The brunette’s name was Belle and the redhead’s Lynnette. Reilly inquired where Lori was. “She’s still working on a report and couldn’t make it tonight.” Lynnette replied. Just as the redhead acknowledged my ogling with a smile, Mary Anne entered Second Street’s lounge area from the kitchen. Approaching me from behind the bar, she halted, looked around and inquired about R.W.’s whereabouts. “Oh he had a little too much to drink and ended his night of reveling with me about an hour and a half ago.”
“So he met up with some other chick?”
“Well yeah.” I replied as her question hit me like a hurled rock while my sense of sincerity was held accountable by her emerald green eyes. She definitely had something which had an effect on me. Like Dee, her tan was obviously attained in a tanning salon, but it wasn’t so leathery. Off the clock earlier than expected and now changed out of her work attire, she was an exotic sight to behold. In a way what she wore reminded me of her friend Mary, when we met fifteen years ago, a long overly open neck black sweater and black tights, but upon peering over the bar I saw that Mary Anne was shod in snakeskin western boots. Even Reilly looked like he was about to drool while ogling her. Paying him or his friends no mind at all, Mary Anne asked me outside for a talk. Not waiting for a response, she came around from behind the bar, gracefully descended into the dining area and with a she panther like stride, headed towards the door. Both Belle and Lynette looked at each other and laughed while Reilly chanted: “Hurt me, hurt me hurt me.” With a hand motion he quelled his friends’ laughter and said while signaling the current bartender: “Hey what do you two lovebirds want to drink? I’ll order while you handle or should I say fondle affairs outside.”
“A tequila sunrise and a mescal sunset.”
“What’s a mescal sunset?”
“Double shot of mescal, grapefruit juice and a splash of grenadine. On second thought, make that a triple shot.”
Reilly chuckled and then asked: “Are you going to be alright, Cochise? I tend to worry about simple primitive folk when they’re drinking and attempting to make sense of the white man’s world. I could go out there and stand in for you or else act as an interpreter.”
“Now do we really need any Gaelic fickleness getting us both kicked in the nuts outside with only the cold asphalt parking lot to roll in agony upon?” I asked as the bartender arrived.
“You’re right, damn you.” He laughed then said: “Better for you to mind your own nuts out there so do be careful.” At that I slid off my bar stool to follow Mary Anne.
Stepping outside I saw her standing on the concrete walkway smoking a cigarette. Glancing up at me, she had another puff and flicked it out into the parking lot. Not allowing me time to walk to her, she advanced in an aggressive manner. Halting mere inches away from me Mary Anne said: “Let’s blow this popsicle stand, it reminds me too much of work.”
“Well I’m too intoxicated for anymore bar hopping and don’t want to end up in jail this weekend for DUI. Besides, I ordered drinks for us after you bolted outside.”
“You don’t even know what I like to drink.”
“I got you a tequila sunrise.”
“Okay. One drink here, that’s it. After that where do you suggest we go to be alone?”
“I’ve a place in mind.”
“Your home?”
“Nope.”
“My place?”
“Nope.”
“Look Chief Wahoo, I know you’re hitched and that doesn’t bother me, all I’m saying is its safe over at my place. I’ve got some beer at home.”
“I’ve another place in mind.”
“Where?”
“I’m particularly fond of motel rooms.”
“You’re going to waste money on a motel room? Should I be honored in a disreputable way?”
“If you so want.” I replied seeing no sign of being disrespected upon her unusually and wildly beautiful face. “When it comes to frolicking with women I barely know, motel rooms provide a comfortably neutral place.”
“But I got beer over at my place.”
“And I have a bottle of vodka, mescal and whisky. All top shelf.”
“Do you have a particular motel in mind? There must be over a hundred here in Williamsburg.”
“I was thinking about the Lord Paget.”
“Wasn’t that the place you fucked Mary?” Instead of being taken aback by her bluntness, I replied: “Yep that’s the place, but I liked it there at the Lord Paget even before meeting your friend whose name you keep bringing up. I’m not with her tonight.” No sooner did those words left my lips, they were upon hers after
Back inside Second Street we were met by the tight lip grins of Belle, Lynnette and Reilly. Seating ourselves on bar stools, I thanked Reilly for the drinks. He caught me off guard by asking if we had any announcements to make, but it was what Mary Anne said that was rather surprisingly frank. “Yeah. He’s taking me to a motel room.” At that both Belle and Lynnette looked at each other again, but held back their mirth.”
“Motel room?” Reilly blurted out. “Why don’t you follow us to my secret hideaway, Cochise?”
“Where’s that?”
“If I told you it wouldn’t be secret. Oh alright! It’s a vacation rental property I own on the Chickahominy. Three bedrooms, a fully stocked bar, plenty of munchies, hot tub and a deck overlooking the river.”
Just when I was considering his invitation, Mary Anne turned to him, leaned down a bit displaying an ample amount of her bosom and said: “Thanks for your kind offer, but we kind of want to be alone for the rest of the night.”
As we enjoyed our drinks, Reilly informed me: “Cochise you seem alright to me. If you ever need a job come see me over at Shady Pines. I could use a man like you?”
“Use?” I chuckled and then added: “My thanks, Irishman. If I find myself in need of employment, you’ll be my first stop.”
“Consider it. There are good benefits, medical, sick leave, vacation time, retirement, life insurance and job security.”
Oddly enough by coincidence upon registering at the Lord Paget, we were given the same room Mack and I checked into fifteen years ago. Although the carpet, curtains, bedspread and pictures had changed, the room’s layout was still the same. Even with Mary Anne with me it seemed a lonely place compared to the last time I stayed here. It brought about a little melancholy as I sometimes missed and longed for those simpler, more pure times with the Skids. While my date freshened up in the bathroom, I went out for ice and mixers at the vending machines. Unlike that weekend fifteen years ago there was no chirping, croaking or trilling coming up from the pond. Aside from an occasional car traveling upon Capitol Landing Road, the area was shrouded in eerie silence. Feeling a twinge of uneasiness, I shifted thought upon the woman in my motel room that brought about a sense of excitement and natural wariness at the same time. I probably could have ended up with one of Reilly’s reveling friends, but my ability to make such a decision seemed dominated by Mary Anne’s presence back at Second Street.
Cradling a small square motel ice bucket and several sodas in my arms, I ambled back to the room.
Having to sit ice and mixers down, I unlocked the door, scooped everything back up and entered. What I saw brought me to a halt and dropped my jaw. Turning away from the well lit vanity mirror, Mary Anne’s bright green eyes attempted to catch mine, but they were running amok all over her. The woman’s only article of clothing was a black thong which left little to the imagination. Mary Anne’s lithe yet voluptuous body which was completely tanned sent hot blood flushing my face and pounding against my temples. All but naked with her wild hair, she appeared like some wildly exotic sylvan nymph visiting from the deepest, darkest thickly wooded reaches of a place only tread lightly upon in dreams. “Are you going to stand there and gawk like some Pennsylvanian tourist, or are you going to make us a drink?” Setting everything down upon the motel table, I replied: “A far better sight than anything a tourist would see at CW or Busch Gardens.” Then I asked what she wanted to drink. “Vodka with a splash of Sprite on the rocks. Your friend Reggie apparently didn’t think I was much to look at. As soon as we got back to my place last night he wanted to immediately hump on me like a dog.”
“And here I thought he was the romantic type.” I laughed.
“But you are no dog.” She said while toying with a lock of my hair. “That’s a fact, I’m an old alley cat.”
“I think not.” She returned as I handed her a drink and proceeded to make mine. “Mary told me about you and your wild child friends the Skids.”
“You got up with one of them last night.” I informed her.
“Reggie? He told me he was from San Antonio Texas.”
“Reggie might have lived there for a spell, but he grew up one street over from me.”
“So why aren’t you in a hurry to get things going like him?” Mary Anne bluntly asked while turning away and sashaying back to the mirror. Such a sight had me pouring a plastic motel courtesy cup full of mescal and swiftly putting down half of it in one gulp. “Because I ain’t no dog.” Having hand fluffed her hair up a bit, she guzzled down her drink and brought me the cup for a refill. Mary Anne went about as if she had no reservations sharing my company in her near naked state and here I was still wearing a coat which came off after another swig of mescal. “Why don’t you come out of the rest?” She suggested. Rather than to jump into action, I made her another drink and immersed myself in voyeuristic pleasure. Knocking my empty cup off the table as if by accident, it came to a rest several feet away upon the carpeted floor. “Could you please get that for me?” I dared to ask. Sitting her drink down on the table, she turned around, slowly bent down and retrieved my cup going so far as to feign a fumble. Bending down again, her upturned well rounded derriere was only a foot or so from my face. I couldn’t resist snapping her thong string like a rubber band. Slowly rising, Mary Anne turned and not only returned my cup, but proceeded to pour me a drink. While leaning over the table she did not protest my fondling of her breasts. “So tell me, who did Reggie end up with tonight?” She asked while seating herself at the table. “Oh some tourist from Florida.”
“What did she look like?”
“Middle aged, over tanned, nose job, face lift and fake tits. They may still be in the Hospitality House lounge if you want to visit them. If not, don’t concern yourself about them if you’re going to be with me.” By her slight smile she seemed to have caught my drift. Finally feeling both too warm and constrained by my clothing, I came out of everything.
“Not as reluctant as I thought.” Mary Anne said as I stood in front of her as she sat at the table smoking a cigarette. Recalling what R.W. told me in the Thirsty Camel regarding how Mary Anne closely inspected his penis as if it were a cut of meat or vegetable at the grocery store, I expected her to do the same, but she just gave it a gentle squeeze and asked: “Are you the romantic type?” Instead of answering, I walked over to the nightstand and turned on the clock radio. Dialing through the stations I found some slow soft jazz. Ambling back to the table, I drained my drink and asked her for a dance. Getting up and coming out of her thong, one well tanned leg at a time, she accepted my hand and we embraced. After a few minutes of moving back and forth in front of the long low motor lodge dresser, Mary Anne pulled me down on the bed. Her arms locked around my neck, she all but smothered me with hot kisses. She was unusually strong for a woman. Mary Anne was wildly passionate in her lovemaking and upon feeling finger nails deeply scratching my back, I would be wearing a shirt around the house for a couple of weeks or so. She was also very vocal issuing various loud moans, screams, squeals and screeches. Then following an initial nibble, she sunk her teeth into my shoulder. Pulling out and rolling off, I could feel something warm trickling down my chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I growled while going for a towel to staunch the flow of blood. Mary Anne’s glaring green eyes were ablaze as she hissed: “What the fuck is wrong with you? Get down here and finish this damn you!”
“What so you can gnaw me down to bones?” I returned now feeling the stinging of a clawed back.
“Fucking wuss! And here I thought you to be a wild man!” At that she rolled out of bed and proceeded to get dressed. Within several minutes Mary Anne was fully clad and out the door. I heard her squeal tires while departing the Lord Paget.
Grabbing the mescal, I poured some over my bleeding bite wound. “Fucking cannibal nymphomaniac!” I cursed as the liquor stung raw bloody flesh. Pouring some on a towel, I cleaned what could be reached on my back then had a big swig. Going into my coat pocket, I pulled out a joint and with it came Angela’s number which got put back. Lighting up, I took in a big toke and after exhaling a cloud of smoke I laughed and said: “Perhaps she was hungry. Maybe I should have ordered a pizza.” The next big slug of mescal emboldened me to do something I wouldn’t have done in a sober state. Reaching into my coat pocket again, I pulled out Angela’s number and staggered over to the phone. Thinking no one would pick up after the eighth ring, I was about to hang up when a sleepy voice faintly answered. “Hello, who is calling?” Letting her know who I was, she seemed to perk up somewhat. Drunk out of my mind and having just endured a painfully incomplete sexual act, I took another toke then went on to tell Angela that I was laying in bed and couldn’t get to sleep while thinking of her.
We must have talked for two hours or more and during that conversation she agreed to go out with me…
Having gotten off interstate onto Route 17, we first stopped at Ahn’s, another Korean bar and quaffed down a few greyhounds. Not particularly fond of the country music on Ahn’s jukebox, we moved on. By the time we got to the Yorktown Pup, R.W. and I were somewhat snockered. Sitting up at the bar we were knocking back vodka shots and chasing them with some rather good ale.
Located upon the lower York River’s narrow sandy beach below its high banks, this establishment was fairly new and part of the revitalization of Yorktown’s Water Street main drag. Gone were older rundown buildings such as Rick’s Market which had been a landmark and now more modern upscale businesses were springing up. Also razed to the ground was the Spectrum Lounge a nice place for drinking and dancing to the music of local bands. Built directly under the huge Coleman Bridge, we referred to it as the troll bar. Up over the York River’s fifty foot banks were fields and woodland where not only the Revolutionary War was won, but a Civil War battle took place as well. Trenches, redoubts and other such earthworks still scarred the land. North across the river was Gloucester County one of eastern Virginia’s most backwards places. Gloucester was mostly inhabited by what we referred to as marsh Saxons who were the descendants of those English colonists whom nobody wanted living on the southern most Virginia peninsula. For over three hundred years they for the most part had evolved into a stocky to portly, ruddy skin, blue eyed tawny haired folk known for their illiteracy, stubbornness and crude as well as rude behavior which also included a tendency for violence. Mostly rural and lacking industry, the majority of them worked on this peninsula. Lacking any drinking establishments in Gloucester because of their drunken violence, they frequented the bars of York County right across the river and caused a great deal of trouble. They referred to each other as Bubba. Three of them sat drinking in the Yorktown Pup, a huge close cropped fellow with little close set dark blue eyes and another shorter squat man with a mullet hairstyle. Even shorter than him was their obese female companion who had upper arms bigger around than my thighs. Of small pudgy hands and tiny feet, she appeared to have no neck, just a blubbery triple chinned head set upon wide shoulders. Most of these middle peninsula people have large upper bodies and small legs. There is also a lot of inbreeding up there. We knew these middle peninsula people were extremely racist and that the Klu Klux Klan were up there as well. Having no reason to cross the river and visit Gloucester County, I stayed clear of it. Aside from that trio, the pub’s customers were mostly York County residents, some having an early dinner while others enjoyed libations.
While R.W. attempted to make time with a cute blonde barmaid, I thought about catching a good buzz. Tapping my drinking companion’s shoulder to get his attention I used the Lynnhaven word for pot. “Whoodee time, Skid.”
“Where?” he asked.
“I know a place.” At that we finished our rounds and departed on foot leaving my truck parked at the pub. Stepping off Water Street, we ascended upon a narrow asphalt road cut into the high river bank. Upon level ground again, R.W. and I were in sight of the Yorktown Battlefield Monument as well as a huge thick patch of tall bamboo into which we entered. Not native to this area, the bamboo was introduced during colonial times and had been thriving ever since. Some five feet into this growth we were completely concealed, but we made our way a bit further to be out of earshot as well. Fortunately there had been no battlefield visitors around when we slipped in. Sitting upon the ground in a small clearing, I pulled a joint out of my inside coat pocket and lit it up. Aside from the sound of our toking, we were all but silent as the joint went back and forth between us. Soon two wrens were back contesting this thicket with their shrill territorial songs. While having another toke something caught my eye. Smaller than the nail on my pinky finger black with a bright red abdomen it was a little assassin bug crawling upon the ground. Strangely enough it waved its long antennae in a crossing motion as people do with their arms when they are signaling others from a visible distance. I had thought it still too cool for this particular species to be out and about. Perhaps it was a sign of warmer days soon to come. It crawled towards an old half crushed beer can, but fled from the container’s opening as a wolf spider popped out of its aluminum home. I had to laugh having remembered where that old Budweiser got here. Some twelve years ago Bear, Charlie, Denny, Flip, Whitey and I had visited this place to smoke a few joints. Of course Whitey had a 16oz Budweiser with him and upon finishing it, crushed and tossed away the empty can thus littering in a national historical park. His logic was that no one would see it in this bamboo, but he would have probably tossed the can where ever it was finished. Apparently this clearing had been a party spot as there were several other old cans and bottles scattered about upon the ground. I guess it was this somewhat natural setting which prompted R.W. to suggest: “We should get the Skids together for another camping trip up in the mountains sometime next month.”
“Who remains to go camping?” I asked. Actually I had been hankering to get up into the Appalachians again, but no one else seemed interested in such an excursion. “We’ll call and invite them.” He replied adding: “Maybe Bear, Charlie, Susie, Flip and a couple of Williamsburg gals.”
“Well you can count Bridget out as she can’t seem to get a weekend away from work. And Charlie? You can forget about that. Charlie’s too much into the needle to do anything else and I wouldn’t want him along anyway unless he cleans up his act. We can’t have him booting up dope over and over again in camp around other folk. Susie? Probably. Bear and Flip? Maybe. That is if they can get away from their domestic bliss.”
“So where should we make camp this time?” R.W. inquired.
“If everyone can get enough time off, I was thinking somewhere west of Douthat in the Jackson River Valley. I’ve heard about a new reservoir up there called Lake Moomaw. There are several campgrounds around the lake which is supposed to be stocked with trout and smallmouth bass. A guy from work told me it is much more remote than the Blue Ridge and the scenery up there was spectacular.”
Upon emerging our bamboo hiding place dusk was spreading across Yorktown Battlefield dimming the cloud obscured setting sun’s already feeble light. From the distant woods we heard hundreds of spring peepers trilling. Night’s dark veil would be shrouding the landscape soon. Descending the road to Water Street, R.W. and I ambled back towards the pub, but upon returning we saw it had become much more crowded. Seeing our place at the bar was occupied by two other fellows, we decided to make for Williamsburg.
Second Street Tavern was barely a third filled with customers and most of them were diners. I watched as they nibbled on overpriced dressed up bar food entrées and sipped their beverages. A polished hardwood, brass and fern tavern, comparing it with Ahn’s, the Drifters or Young’s Place, to me Second Street seemed a whole different planet. Up in the raised lounge which overlooked this tavern’s main dining room, we sat drinking greyhounds and munching on complementary salted peanuts. R.W. wanted to stop here and I could see the reason why. Behind the bar worked his date from last night. Of medium height with dark spiky punk cut shoulder length rust tinted dark hair and bright green eyes. The maroon pullover polo shirt, black apron and slacks did little to conceal her shapely body. After fixing and serving drinks to three people several bar stools down, she resumed her rant regarding the dress code at Second Street. The owners wanted Mary Anne to do something with her hair as it didn’t fit in with the image they had in mind for their brass and fern tavern. “They already made me remove my nose ring. I guess I’ll have to see my old friend Sally for a new hairdo.” Although I was under the influence of alcohol and weed, upon hearing that name something jarred my memory. “Do you have an old friend named Mary as well?”
“I do. Why?” She replied. So this was the Mary Anne that Bridget had mentioned almost fifteen years ago as being a close friend of Mary and Sally. Here in front of me stood the last stop of an intriguingly strange triad. In my substance addled condition this woman now seemed much more interesting as I recalled those intimate times spent with Mary as well as Sally. Now I boldly ogled her as she studied my face. “Wait a minute!” she said, adding I know who you are.”
“Who am I?” I chuckled.
“You’re the one Mary referred to as Chief Whoopee Wahoo.”
“Whoopee Wahoo?” I laughed, but there was no mistaking that gleam in her green eyes. “You can call me Chief.” I said while lighting up a cigarette. It was then that R.W. asked Mary Anne what time she got off tonight. Her eyes still upon me, she replied: “Well I came in at opening late this morning to fill in for somebody, so hopefully around 11:00 tonight, however they may try to keep me in here until closing depending on business. I’d like to get out of here as early as possible and have a few drinks tonight with y’all.” Noticing all this attention Mary Anne was paying me, R.W. suggested we check out some other bars. Gulping down his drink he slurred: “Come on Skid, let’s go.” Leaning over the bar he gave Mary Anne a peck on the cheek and told her: “We’ll be back here a little after 11:00.”
After stopping by the liquor store, we found ourselves in the Hospitality House Hotel lounge which was yet another Williamsburg brass and fern affair. Enjoying our mescal and grapefruit juice, we were entertained by a fellow in a tuxedo playing golden oldies on a synthesizer. Having a look around I saw that the only other customers were eight old people probably in their seventies sitting at two tables near the door. Our bartender was a mannish looking sandy blonde haired woman with a German accent. It was a lot dimmer in here and there were no complimentary peanuts. Having another look at the senior citizens I said in a low tone: “This place looks like a fucking morgue. After these drinks we’re out of here.” It was then another customer walked through the doorway. In the lounge’s dim light her thick mane of shoulder length hair appeared either white or platinum blonde, but this woman was darker than me. Clad in a dark tight low cut, long sleeved pullover top and close fitting jeans tucked into high leather boots, she appeared to be a healthy specimen. “Well my, my, my, would you look at that, Skid.” I said as she sashayed up to the bar. Now this newest arrival had R.W.’s full attention. “Great day.” He sighed happily through a clinched teeth smile. My drinking companion was lit up like a child on Christmas morning. Placing her purse upon the bar, she sat down two stools over from. Turning her head she flashed us a toothy smile and proceeded to order a margarita. Having a better look at her in the bar light I could see this woman was probably in her mid forties in spite of what appeared to be some cosmetic facial surgery. From what I could tell her heavily made up eyes were hazel, but it was hard to tell in this light. Having never saw this woman in here or any other Williamsburg drinking establishment; I took her to be either a tourist or else new resident as people had been swarming into the area like locusts. Then there was the possibility she was a recently arrived upscale prostitute as they occasionally plied their trade in these Williamsburg hotels. Out of curiosity, I looked over at her and asked: “New in town?” then introduced R.W. and I to her. “Hi I’m Dee. As a matter of fact I am new to the area.”
With a small amount of slurring smooth talk, R.W. persuaded Dee to join us at a table. Rather open and trusting Dee informed us that her mother, aunt and cousin would be arriving in town tomorrow evening from Tallahassee Florida. Dee had arrived a day earlier than them. Hearing that, R.W. began attempting to impress and woo this off season tourist. I chimed in occasionally as well and she seemed very much impressed by our combined knowledge of the Williamsburg area. From me she received historical information while R.W. gave her the lowdown regarding restaurants and shopping. By Dee’s mannerisms I could tell she was a person of culture and means, but after finishing that first big margarita I noticed more of southern twang in her voice. “I have to stay at this dreadful place tonight, but tomorrow our rental unit will be ready at Kingsmill resort.” I had always thought the Hospitality House to be a decent hotel and Dee’s statement betokened the snootiness of Williamsburg more well off visitors as well as this area’s newer gentry class residents Since there was no wait staff on duty, I took it upon myself to fetch our next round from the bar. “You drank those last drinks that fast?” The barmaid asked in her thick German accent. “We were thirsty.” I replied as she knotted her brows. I really wanted to tell her – ‘Don’t fret over how fast we drink, Brunhilde, just get cracking on our beverages.’ but instead I smiled and said: “It’s my friend’s birthday and we’re celebrating.” Slipping a ten dollar bill in her tip jar seemed to alleviate this woman’s scrutiny. Right next door to Green Leafe Café and Paul’s Deli both college drinking holes, the Hospitality House’s lounge occasionally had to contend with drunken students causing a bit of mayhem.
Arriving back with our beverages on a borrowed tray, I saw that Dee and R.W. were getting along rather well. Not only somewhat intelligent, R.W. was rather debonair as well providing he hadn’t too much to drink. A seasoned toper like me, he was not at that point as of yet. Having more than a smattering of knowledge regarding numerous subjects, he was a good conversationalist and could skillfully change topics if they progressed beyond his understanding. With Dee getting more and more buzzed on tequila allowed him this perfect opportunity to apply his charm as if it were an art form. Halfway into her second margarita Dee began talking about her life. Telling us of her job with a real estate company, we also learned Dee had been widowed for little over a year, but it was what she imparted next which put a smirk upon R.W.’s face.
“My astrologist told me that on this trip there was a strong possibility of meeting an interesting person who would stimulate my senses.”
She was now like putty in his hands and he began to lay it on thick. “That’s a coincidence.” He said and then flashed a smile. “I received a similar message from a Chinese fortune cookie at lunch today.” I could almost catch the scent of sugar coated bullshit coming off his words. Rolling my eyes at him, he returned with the smelly finger gesture and complemented Dee on her tan which to me looked unnaturally like it was acquired in a tanning booth or perhaps a spray on job. From what I could see of Dee’s cleavage she appeared to have breast implants as well. If Dee had enhanced her appearance to garner attention, she was getting a generous amount from R.W. “I didn’t expect to meet a goddess on this cloudy night.” He said as his eyes danced upon her. She feigned a bit of modesty “Not in these knock around the house clothes.”
“You would look beautiful wearing anything or nothing at all.” R.W. told Dee with a smile while looking deep into her eyes. “I’ll keep an image of you in mind while on the long walk home later.” Having heard this line before, I kept my mouth shut as Dee was about to nibble on the bait. “Long walk home? Didn’t you guys drive here?” She inquired.
‘Here it comes.’ I mused while R.W. scratched his head, jerked a thumb at me and said: “He gave me a ride here, but after a few drinks I get motion sickness while in a car so I usually walk home. Hopefully my leg won’t give me any trouble tonight.”
“What’s wrong with your leg?”
“Oh a shrapnel wound I got in 1972 during the war.” Lifting his pants leg, R.W. showed her a big scar he got not during the Vietnam, but from barbwire while running from the MPs outside an army base in Texas. “Mortar rounds. They took out most of our patrol and the others who survived are far worse off than me.” The last time I witnessed him throwing out this line was at the Hilton several years ago. He said it was a landmine someone stepped on that caused this injury. Dee seemed awed by this outright lie. “How far do you live from here?” She asked. “Oh out near Jamestown about ten miles away. If I leave hear around midnight I’ll make it home by daylight, that is if the old leg don’t trouble me.”
“Why not stay here tonight?”
“Here?”
“I’ve a large suite.” She replied and looked at me. “If you’ve had too much to drink you’re welcome to stay.”
“Oh no, but thank you anyway, I’m a lightweight and will probably be heading out after this drink.”
“Well be careful.” Dee said then excused herself off to the ladies restroom. Once she was out of earshot I asked: “What about Mary Anne? You’re supposed to meet her in about an hour. Sure you want to stand her up?”
“Go meet her and tag you some, Skid. She was checking you out pretty heavily back at Second Street.”
“Hell man, I don’t even know her.”
“Well she seems to know about you. Take some time in getting to know her. I’ll tell you this, she’s a little on the freaky side and kind of aggressive in the sack, but you’re a big boy, I’m sure you’ll do just fine. Tell her I got sick and you took me home. There’s something else weird about her you should know.”
“What’s that?
“She likes attached fellows.”
“Attached?”
“You know, married or in a serious relationship.”
“That’s right. Mary Anne told me last night that single unattached guys want to get serious with her and at the present time she has no intentions of falling in love. She does however love to fuck so go meet up with her and tag you some of that, Skid.” Having said that his eyes met Dee’s as she reentered the lounge. R.W.’s information regarding Mary Anne weirdly plucked a nerve. It was if he was giving me a plate of leftovers from a dinner party that I had not attended. In his mind such one night stands like Dee and Mary Anne were like sexual objects or else a day at an amusement park. Over the last decade R.W. had been in numerous seemingly serious relationships some lasting a few years while others ended only after a few months or less. These relationships were always with women of means, but he would also frolic with one night stands. The longest was with a William and Mary student from an extremely wealthy family. She paid most of R.W.’s living expenses and kept him well dressed. For awhile we thought R.W. was going to marry her, but he crashed this free ride into a pine tree after giving his girlfriend a dose of the clap picked up from a Newport News bar floozy. Hopefully for both Dee and Joy’s sake, he wasn’t currently carrying any sexually transmitted diseases. For now I would part company with him. Gulping down the rest of my drink, I stood up and said my goodbyes. “Have a goodnight and so long for now.”
My next stop was the Best Western motor lodge lounge on York Street. A basement drinking establishment, The Fox Hunt Room was close to home which made it a good place for me to conclude my Friday night of bar hopping. Upon entering I was met with – “Well I’ll be goddamned it’s Cochise come a calling again! I know you’ll let me buy you a drink tonight and let bygones be bygones.” This person who greeted me in such a manner slid off his bar stool with an extended hand which had me crossing my arms and glaring at him. Of medium height and stocky build, he had short dark brown hair touched by a little silver at the temples and a mustache. Clad in a brown flannel shirt, blue sweater vest and slacks, this fellow’s smirk was close to being pounded off his face, but upon looking at his little shiny pair of tassel adorned Bruno Magli loafers, I had to laugh and reminded him “My name isn’t Cochise you drunken Mick.” As many times I heard his name called in this lounge and other area drinking establishments, I knew him to be John Reilly who was director of maintenance at Shady Pines state mental hospital right outside of Williamsburg. What I couldn’t possibly predict was that this person would play an important role in my future life. “Both drunken Indians and Irishmen shouldn’t hold their drunkenness against one another.” He slurred and then laughed. Turning, he told the bartender: “Get this man anything he wants to drink on me.” Then he turned to me extending his hand once again. My last encounter with this fellow about two months ago in here was not so cordial. He had spouted off a similar slur and became rather put off when I threatened to not only to lift his scalp, but castrate him as well with a shrimp cocktail fork. He laughed and said that would be very creative on my part. Just like that night so it was with this one, it would be bad medicine to punch out someone in such a mirthful state of being, especially after he stated: “You know why an Indian and Irishman should be able to poke fun at each other when they’re drinking?” He asked with his hand still extended.
“Why’s that?” I returned while lighting up a cigarette.
“Because one can’t hold his liquor and the other one doesn’t know how, but yet we drink anyway.” At that I extended my hand and grasped his in a knuckle popping grip. “Oh I don’t know about that Irishman, today I’ve been holding mine since before dawn.” I then introduced myself.
“I’m John Reilly.” He returned. “You’re not one of those Charles City or New Kent County Chickahominy. Are you a Pamunkey?”
“Nope, I’m Shawnee, my people are in Oklahoma.” Then I added: “You’re not one of those come heres from out of state.”
“No not a come here from out of state, but I was born and raised in Waynesboro Virginia.”
“Oh one of those Appalachian Micks, eh?” I chuckled.
Following our initial greeting and two triple Crown Royals on the rocks, Reilly and I got along much better. He wasn’t just another barfly. During our brief conversation I learned of Reilly’s service in Vietnam with the marines as well as his career as a state employee which included being a director at the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts. He held a bachelor’s degree in art and history along with a master’s in engineering. Although a man of off time leisure which usually progressed into debauchery, he was very much respected for his knowledge and civic contributions. Reilly also had a cadre of elite female reveling companions, some of which he was getting ready to meet in Second Street Tavern. Reilly’s game and romping about made R.W.’s look pathetically amateurish. The more I talked with him, the more it seemed this would be a good person to know. “By coincidence, I was heading over to Second Street as well.” While thinking about what kind of women awaited Reilly, the thought of Mary Anne popped into my head.
For a Friday night Second Street was lacking in customers. A few parties sat in the dining room and several people drank in the raised lounge area. Two of these, a rather lovely buxom redhead and an attractive brunette occupied a small table. Upon seeing Reilly and I enter the tavern, they squealed in delight. These had to be some of his friends. Both were clad in office type attire, blouses, light coats along with matching tight knee length skirts and shod in black high heel pumps. Professional women having worked a long day and part of the night already half tanked up on mai tais. Ascending several steps to the lounge they both cheered: “Yay, it’s Johnny!”
Turning and looking down at me still on the hard wood steps he whispered: “What do you think of that trim, Cochise?” Both of these women were flashing some rather lovely smiles our way. “Who’s your friend, Johnny?” The brunette asked as we arrived at their bar side table. Before he could call me Cochise again, I introduced myself and plopped down on a bar stool. Having a look around, I didn’t see Mary Anne. Even though it wasn’t quite 11:00, I wondered if she had already gotten off work. My attention was diverted back to Reilly’s friends as he introduced them. The brunette’s name was Belle and the redhead’s Lynnette. Reilly inquired where Lori was. “She’s still working on a report and couldn’t make it tonight.” Lynnette replied. Just as the redhead acknowledged my ogling with a smile, Mary Anne entered Second Street’s lounge area from the kitchen. Approaching me from behind the bar, she halted, looked around and inquired about R.W.’s whereabouts. “Oh he had a little too much to drink and ended his night of reveling with me about an hour and a half ago.”
“So he met up with some other chick?”
“Well yeah.” I replied as her question hit me like a hurled rock while my sense of sincerity was held accountable by her emerald green eyes. She definitely had something which had an effect on me. Like Dee, her tan was obviously attained in a tanning salon, but it wasn’t so leathery. Off the clock earlier than expected and now changed out of her work attire, she was an exotic sight to behold. In a way what she wore reminded me of her friend Mary, when we met fifteen years ago, a long overly open neck black sweater and black tights, but upon peering over the bar I saw that Mary Anne was shod in snakeskin western boots. Even Reilly looked like he was about to drool while ogling her. Paying him or his friends no mind at all, Mary Anne asked me outside for a talk. Not waiting for a response, she came around from behind the bar, gracefully descended into the dining area and with a she panther like stride, headed towards the door. Both Belle and Lynette looked at each other and laughed while Reilly chanted: “Hurt me, hurt me hurt me.” With a hand motion he quelled his friends’ laughter and said while signaling the current bartender: “Hey what do you two lovebirds want to drink? I’ll order while you handle or should I say fondle affairs outside.”
“A tequila sunrise and a mescal sunset.”
“What’s a mescal sunset?”
“Double shot of mescal, grapefruit juice and a splash of grenadine. On second thought, make that a triple shot.”
Reilly chuckled and then asked: “Are you going to be alright, Cochise? I tend to worry about simple primitive folk when they’re drinking and attempting to make sense of the white man’s world. I could go out there and stand in for you or else act as an interpreter.”
“Now do we really need any Gaelic fickleness getting us both kicked in the nuts outside with only the cold asphalt parking lot to roll in agony upon?” I asked as the bartender arrived.
“You’re right, damn you.” He laughed then said: “Better for you to mind your own nuts out there so do be careful.” At that I slid off my bar stool to follow Mary Anne.
Stepping outside I saw her standing on the concrete walkway smoking a cigarette. Glancing up at me, she had another puff and flicked it out into the parking lot. Not allowing me time to walk to her, she advanced in an aggressive manner. Halting mere inches away from me Mary Anne said: “Let’s blow this popsicle stand, it reminds me too much of work.”
“Well I’m too intoxicated for anymore bar hopping and don’t want to end up in jail this weekend for DUI. Besides, I ordered drinks for us after you bolted outside.”
“You don’t even know what I like to drink.”
“I got you a tequila sunrise.”
“Okay. One drink here, that’s it. After that where do you suggest we go to be alone?”
“I’ve a place in mind.”
“Your home?”
“Nope.”
“My place?”
“Nope.”
“Look Chief Wahoo, I know you’re hitched and that doesn’t bother me, all I’m saying is its safe over at my place. I’ve got some beer at home.”
“I’ve another place in mind.”
“Where?”
“I’m particularly fond of motel rooms.”
“You’re going to waste money on a motel room? Should I be honored in a disreputable way?”
“If you so want.” I replied seeing no sign of being disrespected upon her unusually and wildly beautiful face. “When it comes to frolicking with women I barely know, motel rooms provide a comfortably neutral place.”
“But I got beer over at my place.”
“And I have a bottle of vodka, mescal and whisky. All top shelf.”
“Do you have a particular motel in mind? There must be over a hundred here in Williamsburg.”
“I was thinking about the Lord Paget.”
“Wasn’t that the place you fucked Mary?” Instead of being taken aback by her bluntness, I replied: “Yep that’s the place, but I liked it there at the Lord Paget even before meeting your friend whose name you keep bringing up. I’m not with her tonight.” No sooner did those words left my lips, they were upon hers after
Back inside Second Street we were met by the tight lip grins of Belle, Lynnette and Reilly. Seating ourselves on bar stools, I thanked Reilly for the drinks. He caught me off guard by asking if we had any announcements to make, but it was what Mary Anne said that was rather surprisingly frank. “Yeah. He’s taking me to a motel room.” At that both Belle and Lynnette looked at each other again, but held back their mirth.”
“Motel room?” Reilly blurted out. “Why don’t you follow us to my secret hideaway, Cochise?”
“Where’s that?”
“If I told you it wouldn’t be secret. Oh alright! It’s a vacation rental property I own on the Chickahominy. Three bedrooms, a fully stocked bar, plenty of munchies, hot tub and a deck overlooking the river.”
Just when I was considering his invitation, Mary Anne turned to him, leaned down a bit displaying an ample amount of her bosom and said: “Thanks for your kind offer, but we kind of want to be alone for the rest of the night.”
As we enjoyed our drinks, Reilly informed me: “Cochise you seem alright to me. If you ever need a job come see me over at Shady Pines. I could use a man like you?”
“Use?” I chuckled and then added: “My thanks, Irishman. If I find myself in need of employment, you’ll be my first stop.”
“Consider it. There are good benefits, medical, sick leave, vacation time, retirement, life insurance and job security.”
Oddly enough by coincidence upon registering at the Lord Paget, we were given the same room Mack and I checked into fifteen years ago. Although the carpet, curtains, bedspread and pictures had changed, the room’s layout was still the same. Even with Mary Anne with me it seemed a lonely place compared to the last time I stayed here. It brought about a little melancholy as I sometimes missed and longed for those simpler, more pure times with the Skids. While my date freshened up in the bathroom, I went out for ice and mixers at the vending machines. Unlike that weekend fifteen years ago there was no chirping, croaking or trilling coming up from the pond. Aside from an occasional car traveling upon Capitol Landing Road, the area was shrouded in eerie silence. Feeling a twinge of uneasiness, I shifted thought upon the woman in my motel room that brought about a sense of excitement and natural wariness at the same time. I probably could have ended up with one of Reilly’s reveling friends, but my ability to make such a decision seemed dominated by Mary Anne’s presence back at Second Street.
Cradling a small square motel ice bucket and several sodas in my arms, I ambled back to the room.
Having to sit ice and mixers down, I unlocked the door, scooped everything back up and entered. What I saw brought me to a halt and dropped my jaw. Turning away from the well lit vanity mirror, Mary Anne’s bright green eyes attempted to catch mine, but they were running amok all over her. The woman’s only article of clothing was a black thong which left little to the imagination. Mary Anne’s lithe yet voluptuous body which was completely tanned sent hot blood flushing my face and pounding against my temples. All but naked with her wild hair, she appeared like some wildly exotic sylvan nymph visiting from the deepest, darkest thickly wooded reaches of a place only tread lightly upon in dreams. “Are you going to stand there and gawk like some Pennsylvanian tourist, or are you going to make us a drink?” Setting everything down upon the motel table, I replied: “A far better sight than anything a tourist would see at CW or Busch Gardens.” Then I asked what she wanted to drink. “Vodka with a splash of Sprite on the rocks. Your friend Reggie apparently didn’t think I was much to look at. As soon as we got back to my place last night he wanted to immediately hump on me like a dog.”
“And here I thought he was the romantic type.” I laughed.
“But you are no dog.” She said while toying with a lock of my hair. “That’s a fact, I’m an old alley cat.”
“I think not.” She returned as I handed her a drink and proceeded to make mine. “Mary told me about you and your wild child friends the Skids.”
“You got up with one of them last night.” I informed her.
“Reggie? He told me he was from San Antonio Texas.”
“Reggie might have lived there for a spell, but he grew up one street over from me.”
“So why aren’t you in a hurry to get things going like him?” Mary Anne bluntly asked while turning away and sashaying back to the mirror. Such a sight had me pouring a plastic motel courtesy cup full of mescal and swiftly putting down half of it in one gulp. “Because I ain’t no dog.” Having hand fluffed her hair up a bit, she guzzled down her drink and brought me the cup for a refill. Mary Anne went about as if she had no reservations sharing my company in her near naked state and here I was still wearing a coat which came off after another swig of mescal. “Why don’t you come out of the rest?” She suggested. Rather than to jump into action, I made her another drink and immersed myself in voyeuristic pleasure. Knocking my empty cup off the table as if by accident, it came to a rest several feet away upon the carpeted floor. “Could you please get that for me?” I dared to ask. Sitting her drink down on the table, she turned around, slowly bent down and retrieved my cup going so far as to feign a fumble. Bending down again, her upturned well rounded derriere was only a foot or so from my face. I couldn’t resist snapping her thong string like a rubber band. Slowly rising, Mary Anne turned and not only returned my cup, but proceeded to pour me a drink. While leaning over the table she did not protest my fondling of her breasts. “So tell me, who did Reggie end up with tonight?” She asked while seating herself at the table. “Oh some tourist from Florida.”
“What did she look like?”
“Middle aged, over tanned, nose job, face lift and fake tits. They may still be in the Hospitality House lounge if you want to visit them. If not, don’t concern yourself about them if you’re going to be with me.” By her slight smile she seemed to have caught my drift. Finally feeling both too warm and constrained by my clothing, I came out of everything.
“Not as reluctant as I thought.” Mary Anne said as I stood in front of her as she sat at the table smoking a cigarette. Recalling what R.W. told me in the Thirsty Camel regarding how Mary Anne closely inspected his penis as if it were a cut of meat or vegetable at the grocery store, I expected her to do the same, but she just gave it a gentle squeeze and asked: “Are you the romantic type?” Instead of answering, I walked over to the nightstand and turned on the clock radio. Dialing through the stations I found some slow soft jazz. Ambling back to the table, I drained my drink and asked her for a dance. Getting up and coming out of her thong, one well tanned leg at a time, she accepted my hand and we embraced. After a few minutes of moving back and forth in front of the long low motor lodge dresser, Mary Anne pulled me down on the bed. Her arms locked around my neck, she all but smothered me with hot kisses. She was unusually strong for a woman. Mary Anne was wildly passionate in her lovemaking and upon feeling finger nails deeply scratching my back, I would be wearing a shirt around the house for a couple of weeks or so. She was also very vocal issuing various loud moans, screams, squeals and screeches. Then following an initial nibble, she sunk her teeth into my shoulder. Pulling out and rolling off, I could feel something warm trickling down my chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I growled while going for a towel to staunch the flow of blood. Mary Anne’s glaring green eyes were ablaze as she hissed: “What the fuck is wrong with you? Get down here and finish this damn you!”
“What so you can gnaw me down to bones?” I returned now feeling the stinging of a clawed back.
“Fucking wuss! And here I thought you to be a wild man!” At that she rolled out of bed and proceeded to get dressed. Within several minutes Mary Anne was fully clad and out the door. I heard her squeal tires while departing the Lord Paget.
Grabbing the mescal, I poured some over my bleeding bite wound. “Fucking cannibal nymphomaniac!” I cursed as the liquor stung raw bloody flesh. Pouring some on a towel, I cleaned what could be reached on my back then had a big swig. Going into my coat pocket, I pulled out a joint and with it came Angela’s number which got put back. Lighting up, I took in a big toke and after exhaling a cloud of smoke I laughed and said: “Perhaps she was hungry. Maybe I should have ordered a pizza.” The next big slug of mescal emboldened me to do something I wouldn’t have done in a sober state. Reaching into my coat pocket again, I pulled out Angela’s number and staggered over to the phone. Thinking no one would pick up after the eighth ring, I was about to hang up when a sleepy voice faintly answered. “Hello, who is calling?” Letting her know who I was, she seemed to perk up somewhat. Drunk out of my mind and having just endured a painfully incomplete sexual act, I took another toke then went on to tell Angela that I was laying in bed and couldn’t get to sleep while thinking of her.
We must have talked for two hours or more and during that conversation she agreed to go out with me…
Re: Madness in the Colonial Capitol
24 – A more wilder setting
Small scattered golden rays of the setting sun found their way through tangled boughs and branches thick with spring’s new green growth illuminating patches of the leaf littered ground. A faint breeze carried the scent of our campfire to my nose as I finished urinating. That, these new surroundings and the not so distant sounds of revelry was heartening. Standing upon this thickly wooded upper slope, I could not see the big reservoir, but from an earlier updraft which brought the scent of fresh water to our encampment, we knew it was somewhere below us. Before leaving I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small bead adorned buckskin pouch and tied it to an ash sapling as an offering. I could feel the presence of unknown local spirits and hoped my gift would be well received. Of course those spirits that watched over travelers, revelers, gamblers and fools I revered as well. Hopefully they had accompanied us to this lofty distant and darkly wooded location.
Emerging into this partially cleared campground, the sight of friends gathered around the fire brought a smile upon my face. It had been almost three years since our last gathering and among old familiar faces were a few new ones. Accompanying R.W. was his boss and love squeeze Joy. Petite, somewhat mousy, yet rather comely Joy had for the most part been all eyes, but quietly reserved. I suspected she never lodged and reveled outside the comfortable confines of civilization, or in the company of those who had. I imagine to her, some of us appeared as rather heathenish and she was probably right. Occasionally she would nervously glance at the huge shaggy haired denim clad fellow as he guzzled beer from a bull’s horn that I fashioned for drinking and gave to him as a gift. From time to time Bear would meet her glances with a wild eyed look and savage smile. My traveling companion Angela seemed almost as unfamiliar and out of place as Joy. After seating myself upon the picnic table bench, Angela scooted right next to me as she appeared somewhat fearful of both location and company. Across from us sat Tom Bystrom, a coworker of Scandinavian and Ojibwe heritage who hailed from Minnesota. Of medium height, he was swarthy, dark haired and had blue eyes. An exceptionable angler, Tom was still getting use to Virginia freshwater fishing. Clad in jeans and T-shirt, Tom also wore his multi-pocketed khaki fishing vest. Sitting beside him was my cousin Susie who was attired in black jeans and olive green ‘Free Leonard Peltier’ T-shirt. A flickering ray of sun played upon her raven hair and septum ring. Next to Susie sat her older brother Charlie, someone I could have done without on this trip. Wearing beige long sleeved shirt probably to hide track marks, he also wore a black leather vest and faded blue jeans. Already smashed on liquor and prescription pain killers because he had nothing to inject, Charlie occasionally mumbled incomplete sentences which no one could understand but him. Susie loved Charlie very much and wanted him off the needle. Between our two picnic tables stoking the fire was Flip. Able to get away from both family and work, by the Birdman’s behavior and occasional trips into his tent, I suspected he was tooting from a highly personal stash of cocaine. Charlie noticed this as well and already asked Flip twice what he had for the head. Turning and looking at Angela, I was certainly glad she wasn’t a cop as previously assumed. Angela in fact was what she originally told me, a real estate agent who had not long got out of an abusive marriage with a somewhat high ranking naval officer down in Norfolk. I had mistaken the black leather case she carried her card in as that of a police detective. Attired in an orange short sleeve top and knee length loosely fitting white cotton skirt, Angela like Joy quaffed heavily seemingly to loosen up a bit. Upon our first date two weeks ago, I was open in regards to my unconventional married state. Angela did asked why I didn’t get out of such a relationship and my reply touched upon the assets such as a home we shared and the fact that Bridget had promised me that she would get us into marriage counseling to become a more loving couple. However to me it seemed both of us didn’t want to be around each other, but couldn’t let the other go. I loved the Bridget from over a decade ago, but she was not that person now. I even tried to get her to come camping with us up here, but Bridget would not take time from the huge amount of vacation hours she had accumulated. Her job seemed more preferable than a home life. Of course I should have left this marriage instead of running around with other women, but was too cozy and lazy to do so. It didn’t seem to be that much of a pressing matter at this point in time. Angela was on the rebound and out enjoying life for a change while I continued to get my leisure time kicks off booze weed, pills and chicks. Although Bear, Flip and Susie were somewhat surprised I had brought another woman along camping, they didn’t scrutinize me. Charlie, R.W. and Tom who was separated from his wife didn’t seem to care at all.
“Well it’s time!” Bear growled and rose from the folding outdoor chair to his full height. “Time for what?” Angela whispered into my ear. Whispering back into hers, I replied: “Let’s wait and see.” Lumbering over to his pickup truck, he removed from its bed, a big Weber charcoal grill. Setting that up on level ground, he went back for a bag of charcoal and starter fluid. In no time he had coals burning. Lumbering over to the ice chests he asked: “What’s it going to be, steaks or pork chops?” Everyone opted for steak all that remained was to have the side dishes ready once meat had been grilled. Having stopped in Covington Virginia some fifteen miles to the south, we were well stocked on provisions. On ice we had a dozen ribeye steaks, two dozen pork chops, hamburger, hot sausages, three cartons of eggs, four packs of bacon, potato salad, plenty of brew, lemonade and juice as well as butter. In dry storage there were several big cans of baked beans, a bag of potatoes, onions, seasonings, bagels, English muffins, a few loaves of bread and a large supply of liquor. Our stock of hard spirits included bottles of brandy, cognac, mescal, rum, tequila, vodka and whisky. We also had cases of ale and beer yet to be chilled. Of course we brought enough fishing gear for everyone and with any luck there would be some trout or bass on the table by tomorrow evening. As far as sleeping arrangements went, our six tents were spread out upon three adjacent campsites. At this particular one, Susie, Charlie shared a large dome tent with Flip and behind that was a smaller one in which we used for storage. To the right was where Bear and Tom pitched their tents. The latter was going to share a tent with Bear until I warned him about my huge friend’s thunderous snoring. However, thin tent fabric would barely muffle such terrible noise. To the left of Flip’s camp which we did all our gathering at, R.W. and I pitched our tents. With a bit of foam padding, a few blankets, two sleeping bags and pillows, I made a nice little love nest in mine. Angela told me she had never slept in a tent and didn’t seem too keen on the idea at first, but after her third screwdriver, appeared more optimistic. She had opened up a little and coaxed Joy out of her shell as well with some alcohol induced small talk. Charlie, a fucked up mess before supper, cackled at Tom’s northern Midwestern accent as he talked about fishing in his home state of Minnesota. This would be the first time he fished the Appalachian highland rivers, streams and lakes. In spite of Tom’s accent and jargon, he was an avid outdoorsman and did his fair share of camp duties. Bear and he seemed to hit it off quite well. Susie, a sister Skid kept up with the rest of us as far as drinking was concerned. She was good company, but wanted me to play a role in getting Charlie off the needle which I thought as being a waste of time. It was enough that I was feeding him Darvon so he wouldn’t weird out while going through detoxification. I couldn’t help but notice the tremor in his left hand subside after those pain killers took effect. It was good Charlie didn’t have any works with him or else he would be trying to boot the prescription pain killer or any cocaine begged off Flip into his veins. I had seen my cousin so bad before he had injected cheap wine into his arm. That’s when I began seeing him as a lost cause and a big reason to quit my smack addiction a month ago. Having shot dope with Charlie on many occasions, I had left him in that strung out state of being, but he hardly noticed. Charlie had no intentions of ever leaving. Swilling liquor, he was now directing his gibberish at me at which all I could do was nod my head. I suppose this was better than Charlie running around horribly fretting over imaginary bugs crawling all over him. One thing was certain as far as I was concerned; this would be our last excursion together unless he cleaned up a bit.
“Oh this is going to be a good first night.” Bear stated as he watched the coals burning down. Draining his drinking horn, he belched, turned, looked at Joy and asked: “So you’re R.W.’s boss?” Lumbering over to the picnic table he loomed over Joy and R.W. She seemed terrified and scooted closer to her boyfriend. “It’s alright dear woman, he’s a friendly ogre!” I shouted from my table. “You’re in safe hands her.” Flip hissed which had Joy slightly cringing as she stared wide eyed at the Birdman in his oversized un-tucked pearl white short sleeve buttoned shirt and dark blue corduroy flared pants with a red bandanna tied around his head and confining long dark oily looking hair. With those thick glasses, beady eyes, beak-like nose and smock, he looked like an Apache barber. All he needed was a pair of scissors and a big black comb in his large shirt pocket. Joy as well as Angela must have felt they were in the company of savages, especially with Bear, Flip, Tom and I wearing sheathed knives on our belts. It was quite apparent we were not like the people in their social circles.
“I’m manager of the Best Western Inn in Lightfoot.” Joy replied after a good gulp from her drink. “Reggie manages the Safari Room Lounge.”
Susie looked at R.W. and laughed. “Reggie!”
“That’s Reginald to you, sis.” Charlie slurred as he poured himself another cup of whiskey. Somewhat wobbly, he stood up and staggered off into the woods. “The Safari Room, you say? What kind of place is that?” Susie inquired.
“Actually it’s a pretty nice place to put one on as far as Williamsburg bars go. It’s got an African Safari theme complete with mounted imitation animal heads, imitation big cat hides, elephant tusks, native shields and spears.” I informed her.
“No animals were killed or injured in the making of the Safari Room Lounge.” R.W. chuckled as he poured ale into his mug.
“We’re thinking about changing the lounge into colonial tavern.” Joy stated and took a big gulp of her screwdriver.
“Oh leave it the way it is. A place one can escape American colonialism and experience a little African colonialism.” I returned. Bear lumbered over to the ice chest and proceeded to pluck out a bottled beer and fill his drinking horn. “Fuck colonialism.” His growl was like distant rumbling thunder. “We’re some three hundred miles away from Williamsburg up here in the high country for the next four days.” At that Tom raised his mug aloft and said: “Here’s to the high country!”
Clanking my mug against his, I suggested: “We should get high. Catch up with the altitude so to speak.”
“Somebody say something about getting high?” Charlie asked as he came staggering out of the woods.
“Isn’t it about time?” Tom suggested.
“I would say so.” Flip agreed.
“Me too.” Susie chimed in. R.W. remained quiet, but Angela inquired about what was going on. “Passing the pipe.” Flip replied while unzipping his tent.
“Passing the pipe?”
“It’s an Indian thing.” Susie laughed.
“Indian thing?”
“In case you haven’t notice, there are several of us here. Fisher Cat, didn’t you tell Angela here about your kinfolk and friends?”
Susie’s question had me realizing that Angela still thought I was Hawaiian. Knowing now she wasn’t a cop, I thought this a good time for truthfulness, but not without a little stretching. “Angela, these are my cousins, Susie and Charlie, they are of Absentee Shawnee, Kickapoo and Chickasaw ancestry. Flip here is Lumbee and Cherokee and Tom’s mom is Ojibwe.”
“You’re not Hawaiian?”
“Absentee Shawnee, a little Catawba and a wee bit Irish.”
“So why did you tell me you were Hawaiian?” Angela asked with both hands on her hips and a knotted brow. She did not seem all that pleased with me. Now it was time to stretch truth a little. “From previous experiences meeting pretty women in bars, several have gotten turned off after telling them I’m Indian. A couple of them got scared. You really caught my eye down in the Drifters and I didn’t want to scare you off. I didn’t want you to think that I was some kind of drunken Indian who would carry you off somewhere against your will.”
“But I’m willing and here with you, carried far off.” Angela returned, adding: “I’m not turned off or scared, but there goes my fantasy of lying with you under a palm tree on a tropical beach, but here there are only these.” She pointed up at the forest canopy behind our camp. I turned and looked at the Appalachian forest and stated: “The closest I’ve ever come to a tropical beach was Miami Florida, but these mountainous woodlands are much more preferable.” Shifting my gaze to Susie, I added: “Everyone I again want to introduce Angela who works in real estate. Now we can go into Flip’s big tent and pass the pipe.” At that Susie, Charlie and Tom entered Flip’s tent. “Aren’t you coming?” The Birdman asked me.
“Are you guys coming?” I asked Angela, Joy, Bear and R.W.
Bear scowled and replied: “You know I don’t smoke that shit.”
R.W. declined as well “Me neither.” He was as big a pothead as me, but I recalled that Joy didn’t partake and probably thought the same of her live in lover. This brought up memories of my cohabitation with Susan years ago and how I had to sneak tokes in the bathroom. In regards to Bridget, she no longer smoked weed and although she knew I did, it wasn’t in her presence. Angela rose from the bench and said: “If you’re talking about pot, I haven’t smoked it since college, but up here far from home and work on kind of a vacation, I’ll have a little with you if that’s alright and won’t be infringing on any sacred ceremony.” Flip, still holding the flap open told her: “There’s no one infringing on anything in this camp. Now come on.” Casting a glance at Bear, I said: “Keep an eye out, Skid and give the signal if anyone enters camp.”
In a lose circle we sat and passed the big long stem pipe around. Within its green pipe stone bowl burned a blend of Flip’s, Tom’s and my weed which was working wonders. By the smile upon Angela’s face, now aglow, she appeared a lot less uptight. Susie’s characteristic snarling smirk had turned into a tight lip grin while Tom’s ramblings were of tomorrow morning’s much anticipated bit of angling. Flip who had never fished the nearby waters of this area gave pointers on what flies and lures to present tomorrow while Charlie’s gibberish seemed to me like it was making some sense. It was the first marijuana high for us here atop Morris Hill. “I’ll catch us some good bait guaranteed to snag some big smallmouth and trout!” Charlie exclaimed over Flip and Tom’s jabbering.
“What bait is that?” I asked already knowing the answer from the times we fished the highlands together.
“Crawdads man, especially the ones who have just shed.”
“Not me.” Tom informed him. “I’m using all artificial baits.”
“Whatever works for you.” Charlie chuckled and then proceeded to tell him of the seven pound brown trout he caught in the upper Rapidan River several years ago off a crayfish. Recalling the last time I heard this fish tale it was a five pound rainbow trout caught off a hellgrammite. However Charlie was correct, crawdads make for excellent bait. Tomorrow down on Lake Moomaw or the Jackson River would be a learning experience.
Following the second bowl we exited Flip’s tent and rejoined our companions. Bear was already grilling steaks while Joy and R.W. were well on their way to getting snockered. The latter scanning our faces with envy in his eyes. We would have to get him buzzed somehow without Joy knowing so I thought about rolling him a small one for the next time he had to go piss. Excusing myself, I went back into Flip’s tent and acted upon my charitable thought. Rolling R.W. a number would be the easy part; however passing it to him may prove difficult with Joy almost constantly by his side. Susie who was somewhat proficient picking up on schemes, especially mine rose from her seat and announced: “Alright ladies who’s ready to visit the ladies room?” Angela, feeling the full effects of drink and smoke raised her hand like a school girl. “I am! I am!” Joy looked at R.W. and asked for him to escort her. “Oh let the guys bullshit with each other while we take a nature break. “But what about bears and other wild animals?” Joy nervously asked. Susie took a look at us, laughed and replied: “Other wild animals? They’ve been good company so far, but a hungry bear would soon as eat R.W. as you or Angie here.” Reaching into a leather shoulder bag she pulled out her holstered Browning .32 semi automatic pistol. “I don’t think you’re supposed to have that up here and the national forest, Susie.” Bear informed her from the grill. “That’ll get us in trouble.” Flip added.
“And the booze and weed won’t?” Susie returned while tucking the holstered gun in her belted waistband and covering it with her long T-shirt. “I wouldn’t think of being this far up in this unknown vastness without at least a peashooter like this. Either bear or bastardly gullion, I’ll put at least five in his skull.” Strangely enough almost immediately both Angela and Joy were very much impressed with Susie. Both were swiftly on their feet and following her out of camp. From here on out it appeared she would be the alpha female. Susie made quite a impression on Tom as well.”Oh man, she’s foxy and wild.”
“And could probably kick your ass, Tommy my boy.” I informed him and then handed R.W. the joint. “Hurry up man, get yourself in Flip’s tent or yonder woods.”
“What a pal! Thanks!” Extremely appreciative, R.W. quick stepped it into the shadowy forest. When Charlie got up and started to follow, I said: “Shit man, let him get a good one going, you just got yours.”
“Fucking dope heads. All of you.” Bear snarled while flipping a steak on the grill. After getting a good paying job with the city, Bear had to quell his weed smoking due to drug testing. Since then while drinking, he had probably gotten smoked up only twice, but here of late seemed down on weed smokers. It reminded me of some people I’ve known who gave up cigarette smoking and went on to hate those who do. Then I recalled my brother-n-law’s wife. Once obese, she lost a lot of weight then constantly ragged upon fat people. I guess this was one way of keeping a habit broke. This had me reevaluating the disgust I was feeling towards Charlie. Perhaps a renewed effort on my part to help him get off the needle was in order.
“I want to thank you guys again for inviting me up here.” Tom stated while holding his mug aloft. “Cheers!” Flip who had just got a big pot of canned baked beans warming up on his propane camp stove and I clanked our mugs against his. Two years ago Tom originally from the wilds of Minnesota discharged from the navy and found work at the same plant where I was employed. Like Bear, Tom lived in the congested suburbia that is central Newport News. Unlike me, Bear, Tom and especially Angela living in Norfolk did not have large swaths of forest and field. After what happened to the remaining woods around Lynnhaven, I couldn’t stand to live where there were no wild places and open spaces. Many people worship in man made structures, but I had the forest and now up here in the southern Alleghenies sensed powerful presences. Flip mentioned earlier that this should be our new spring gathering place and I couldn’t have agreed more. Lacking tourists this area was much more wildly remote than what we were accustomed to along the Blue Ridge Parkway and Skyline Drive. In spite of his occasional gruffness, Bear seemed quite happy with these surroundings as well. Although still of savage visage and basically the same sense of fashion since the early 1970s, upon arrival Bear seemed subdued from his job and domestic obligations, but here in camp his dolefulness was subsiding. After a good supper and lots of drinking he would be the slurring, sputtering and stammering jolly giant we Skids loved as a good friend. Glad to be away from home, work and coastal plain, I too felt less subdued and would do my best to keep up with Bear in this shedding of the norm.
As R.W. ambled back into camp Flip stood up and informed me that we had forgotten to do something rather important.
“What’s that, Flippy?” Bear asked with a slight snarl.
“The camp banner.” the Birdman replied.
“I have it behind the seat of my truck if you care to fetch it.” I said. Doing just that, Flip placed the doeskin bag on a picnic table and removed our camping banner. After lashing it to a young beech in front of his campsite, Flip, Tom and I looked upon the large snapping turtle skull adorned with osprey tail feathers and thin beaded buckskin strands now wavering in the breeze. R.W. who was obviously high approached our banner and said “Oh yeah. From the land of wide brackish rivers, tall trees and low marshes. Hopefully it will serve us better than it did at Big Meadows nearly three years ago.”
“Never know who you’ll meet while far away. Speak not of who you don’t want to come visiting. ” Bear added and then reminded Flip to check the camp taters roasting in foil on another smaller grill.
By the time Susie, Angela and Joy returned, supper was all but ready. Flip gave the beans one last stir and then proceeded to remove his camp taters off the grill. Sliced, flavored with chives, wild onions and a generous amount of butter, along with the steaks, they would grease our bellies well so as to better hold whatever we drank tonight…
Small scattered golden rays of the setting sun found their way through tangled boughs and branches thick with spring’s new green growth illuminating patches of the leaf littered ground. A faint breeze carried the scent of our campfire to my nose as I finished urinating. That, these new surroundings and the not so distant sounds of revelry was heartening. Standing upon this thickly wooded upper slope, I could not see the big reservoir, but from an earlier updraft which brought the scent of fresh water to our encampment, we knew it was somewhere below us. Before leaving I reached into my pocket and pulled out a small bead adorned buckskin pouch and tied it to an ash sapling as an offering. I could feel the presence of unknown local spirits and hoped my gift would be well received. Of course those spirits that watched over travelers, revelers, gamblers and fools I revered as well. Hopefully they had accompanied us to this lofty distant and darkly wooded location.
Emerging into this partially cleared campground, the sight of friends gathered around the fire brought a smile upon my face. It had been almost three years since our last gathering and among old familiar faces were a few new ones. Accompanying R.W. was his boss and love squeeze Joy. Petite, somewhat mousy, yet rather comely Joy had for the most part been all eyes, but quietly reserved. I suspected she never lodged and reveled outside the comfortable confines of civilization, or in the company of those who had. I imagine to her, some of us appeared as rather heathenish and she was probably right. Occasionally she would nervously glance at the huge shaggy haired denim clad fellow as he guzzled beer from a bull’s horn that I fashioned for drinking and gave to him as a gift. From time to time Bear would meet her glances with a wild eyed look and savage smile. My traveling companion Angela seemed almost as unfamiliar and out of place as Joy. After seating myself upon the picnic table bench, Angela scooted right next to me as she appeared somewhat fearful of both location and company. Across from us sat Tom Bystrom, a coworker of Scandinavian and Ojibwe heritage who hailed from Minnesota. Of medium height, he was swarthy, dark haired and had blue eyes. An exceptionable angler, Tom was still getting use to Virginia freshwater fishing. Clad in jeans and T-shirt, Tom also wore his multi-pocketed khaki fishing vest. Sitting beside him was my cousin Susie who was attired in black jeans and olive green ‘Free Leonard Peltier’ T-shirt. A flickering ray of sun played upon her raven hair and septum ring. Next to Susie sat her older brother Charlie, someone I could have done without on this trip. Wearing beige long sleeved shirt probably to hide track marks, he also wore a black leather vest and faded blue jeans. Already smashed on liquor and prescription pain killers because he had nothing to inject, Charlie occasionally mumbled incomplete sentences which no one could understand but him. Susie loved Charlie very much and wanted him off the needle. Between our two picnic tables stoking the fire was Flip. Able to get away from both family and work, by the Birdman’s behavior and occasional trips into his tent, I suspected he was tooting from a highly personal stash of cocaine. Charlie noticed this as well and already asked Flip twice what he had for the head. Turning and looking at Angela, I was certainly glad she wasn’t a cop as previously assumed. Angela in fact was what she originally told me, a real estate agent who had not long got out of an abusive marriage with a somewhat high ranking naval officer down in Norfolk. I had mistaken the black leather case she carried her card in as that of a police detective. Attired in an orange short sleeve top and knee length loosely fitting white cotton skirt, Angela like Joy quaffed heavily seemingly to loosen up a bit. Upon our first date two weeks ago, I was open in regards to my unconventional married state. Angela did asked why I didn’t get out of such a relationship and my reply touched upon the assets such as a home we shared and the fact that Bridget had promised me that she would get us into marriage counseling to become a more loving couple. However to me it seemed both of us didn’t want to be around each other, but couldn’t let the other go. I loved the Bridget from over a decade ago, but she was not that person now. I even tried to get her to come camping with us up here, but Bridget would not take time from the huge amount of vacation hours she had accumulated. Her job seemed more preferable than a home life. Of course I should have left this marriage instead of running around with other women, but was too cozy and lazy to do so. It didn’t seem to be that much of a pressing matter at this point in time. Angela was on the rebound and out enjoying life for a change while I continued to get my leisure time kicks off booze weed, pills and chicks. Although Bear, Flip and Susie were somewhat surprised I had brought another woman along camping, they didn’t scrutinize me. Charlie, R.W. and Tom who was separated from his wife didn’t seem to care at all.
“Well it’s time!” Bear growled and rose from the folding outdoor chair to his full height. “Time for what?” Angela whispered into my ear. Whispering back into hers, I replied: “Let’s wait and see.” Lumbering over to his pickup truck, he removed from its bed, a big Weber charcoal grill. Setting that up on level ground, he went back for a bag of charcoal and starter fluid. In no time he had coals burning. Lumbering over to the ice chests he asked: “What’s it going to be, steaks or pork chops?” Everyone opted for steak all that remained was to have the side dishes ready once meat had been grilled. Having stopped in Covington Virginia some fifteen miles to the south, we were well stocked on provisions. On ice we had a dozen ribeye steaks, two dozen pork chops, hamburger, hot sausages, three cartons of eggs, four packs of bacon, potato salad, plenty of brew, lemonade and juice as well as butter. In dry storage there were several big cans of baked beans, a bag of potatoes, onions, seasonings, bagels, English muffins, a few loaves of bread and a large supply of liquor. Our stock of hard spirits included bottles of brandy, cognac, mescal, rum, tequila, vodka and whisky. We also had cases of ale and beer yet to be chilled. Of course we brought enough fishing gear for everyone and with any luck there would be some trout or bass on the table by tomorrow evening. As far as sleeping arrangements went, our six tents were spread out upon three adjacent campsites. At this particular one, Susie, Charlie shared a large dome tent with Flip and behind that was a smaller one in which we used for storage. To the right was where Bear and Tom pitched their tents. The latter was going to share a tent with Bear until I warned him about my huge friend’s thunderous snoring. However, thin tent fabric would barely muffle such terrible noise. To the left of Flip’s camp which we did all our gathering at, R.W. and I pitched our tents. With a bit of foam padding, a few blankets, two sleeping bags and pillows, I made a nice little love nest in mine. Angela told me she had never slept in a tent and didn’t seem too keen on the idea at first, but after her third screwdriver, appeared more optimistic. She had opened up a little and coaxed Joy out of her shell as well with some alcohol induced small talk. Charlie, a fucked up mess before supper, cackled at Tom’s northern Midwestern accent as he talked about fishing in his home state of Minnesota. This would be the first time he fished the Appalachian highland rivers, streams and lakes. In spite of Tom’s accent and jargon, he was an avid outdoorsman and did his fair share of camp duties. Bear and he seemed to hit it off quite well. Susie, a sister Skid kept up with the rest of us as far as drinking was concerned. She was good company, but wanted me to play a role in getting Charlie off the needle which I thought as being a waste of time. It was enough that I was feeding him Darvon so he wouldn’t weird out while going through detoxification. I couldn’t help but notice the tremor in his left hand subside after those pain killers took effect. It was good Charlie didn’t have any works with him or else he would be trying to boot the prescription pain killer or any cocaine begged off Flip into his veins. I had seen my cousin so bad before he had injected cheap wine into his arm. That’s when I began seeing him as a lost cause and a big reason to quit my smack addiction a month ago. Having shot dope with Charlie on many occasions, I had left him in that strung out state of being, but he hardly noticed. Charlie had no intentions of ever leaving. Swilling liquor, he was now directing his gibberish at me at which all I could do was nod my head. I suppose this was better than Charlie running around horribly fretting over imaginary bugs crawling all over him. One thing was certain as far as I was concerned; this would be our last excursion together unless he cleaned up a bit.
“Oh this is going to be a good first night.” Bear stated as he watched the coals burning down. Draining his drinking horn, he belched, turned, looked at Joy and asked: “So you’re R.W.’s boss?” Lumbering over to the picnic table he loomed over Joy and R.W. She seemed terrified and scooted closer to her boyfriend. “It’s alright dear woman, he’s a friendly ogre!” I shouted from my table. “You’re in safe hands her.” Flip hissed which had Joy slightly cringing as she stared wide eyed at the Birdman in his oversized un-tucked pearl white short sleeve buttoned shirt and dark blue corduroy flared pants with a red bandanna tied around his head and confining long dark oily looking hair. With those thick glasses, beady eyes, beak-like nose and smock, he looked like an Apache barber. All he needed was a pair of scissors and a big black comb in his large shirt pocket. Joy as well as Angela must have felt they were in the company of savages, especially with Bear, Flip, Tom and I wearing sheathed knives on our belts. It was quite apparent we were not like the people in their social circles.
“I’m manager of the Best Western Inn in Lightfoot.” Joy replied after a good gulp from her drink. “Reggie manages the Safari Room Lounge.”
Susie looked at R.W. and laughed. “Reggie!”
“That’s Reginald to you, sis.” Charlie slurred as he poured himself another cup of whiskey. Somewhat wobbly, he stood up and staggered off into the woods. “The Safari Room, you say? What kind of place is that?” Susie inquired.
“Actually it’s a pretty nice place to put one on as far as Williamsburg bars go. It’s got an African Safari theme complete with mounted imitation animal heads, imitation big cat hides, elephant tusks, native shields and spears.” I informed her.
“No animals were killed or injured in the making of the Safari Room Lounge.” R.W. chuckled as he poured ale into his mug.
“We’re thinking about changing the lounge into colonial tavern.” Joy stated and took a big gulp of her screwdriver.
“Oh leave it the way it is. A place one can escape American colonialism and experience a little African colonialism.” I returned. Bear lumbered over to the ice chest and proceeded to pluck out a bottled beer and fill his drinking horn. “Fuck colonialism.” His growl was like distant rumbling thunder. “We’re some three hundred miles away from Williamsburg up here in the high country for the next four days.” At that Tom raised his mug aloft and said: “Here’s to the high country!”
Clanking my mug against his, I suggested: “We should get high. Catch up with the altitude so to speak.”
“Somebody say something about getting high?” Charlie asked as he came staggering out of the woods.
“Isn’t it about time?” Tom suggested.
“I would say so.” Flip agreed.
“Me too.” Susie chimed in. R.W. remained quiet, but Angela inquired about what was going on. “Passing the pipe.” Flip replied while unzipping his tent.
“Passing the pipe?”
“It’s an Indian thing.” Susie laughed.
“Indian thing?”
“In case you haven’t notice, there are several of us here. Fisher Cat, didn’t you tell Angela here about your kinfolk and friends?”
Susie’s question had me realizing that Angela still thought I was Hawaiian. Knowing now she wasn’t a cop, I thought this a good time for truthfulness, but not without a little stretching. “Angela, these are my cousins, Susie and Charlie, they are of Absentee Shawnee, Kickapoo and Chickasaw ancestry. Flip here is Lumbee and Cherokee and Tom’s mom is Ojibwe.”
“You’re not Hawaiian?”
“Absentee Shawnee, a little Catawba and a wee bit Irish.”
“So why did you tell me you were Hawaiian?” Angela asked with both hands on her hips and a knotted brow. She did not seem all that pleased with me. Now it was time to stretch truth a little. “From previous experiences meeting pretty women in bars, several have gotten turned off after telling them I’m Indian. A couple of them got scared. You really caught my eye down in the Drifters and I didn’t want to scare you off. I didn’t want you to think that I was some kind of drunken Indian who would carry you off somewhere against your will.”
“But I’m willing and here with you, carried far off.” Angela returned, adding: “I’m not turned off or scared, but there goes my fantasy of lying with you under a palm tree on a tropical beach, but here there are only these.” She pointed up at the forest canopy behind our camp. I turned and looked at the Appalachian forest and stated: “The closest I’ve ever come to a tropical beach was Miami Florida, but these mountainous woodlands are much more preferable.” Shifting my gaze to Susie, I added: “Everyone I again want to introduce Angela who works in real estate. Now we can go into Flip’s big tent and pass the pipe.” At that Susie, Charlie and Tom entered Flip’s tent. “Aren’t you coming?” The Birdman asked me.
“Are you guys coming?” I asked Angela, Joy, Bear and R.W.
Bear scowled and replied: “You know I don’t smoke that shit.”
R.W. declined as well “Me neither.” He was as big a pothead as me, but I recalled that Joy didn’t partake and probably thought the same of her live in lover. This brought up memories of my cohabitation with Susan years ago and how I had to sneak tokes in the bathroom. In regards to Bridget, she no longer smoked weed and although she knew I did, it wasn’t in her presence. Angela rose from the bench and said: “If you’re talking about pot, I haven’t smoked it since college, but up here far from home and work on kind of a vacation, I’ll have a little with you if that’s alright and won’t be infringing on any sacred ceremony.” Flip, still holding the flap open told her: “There’s no one infringing on anything in this camp. Now come on.” Casting a glance at Bear, I said: “Keep an eye out, Skid and give the signal if anyone enters camp.”
In a lose circle we sat and passed the big long stem pipe around. Within its green pipe stone bowl burned a blend of Flip’s, Tom’s and my weed which was working wonders. By the smile upon Angela’s face, now aglow, she appeared a lot less uptight. Susie’s characteristic snarling smirk had turned into a tight lip grin while Tom’s ramblings were of tomorrow morning’s much anticipated bit of angling. Flip who had never fished the nearby waters of this area gave pointers on what flies and lures to present tomorrow while Charlie’s gibberish seemed to me like it was making some sense. It was the first marijuana high for us here atop Morris Hill. “I’ll catch us some good bait guaranteed to snag some big smallmouth and trout!” Charlie exclaimed over Flip and Tom’s jabbering.
“What bait is that?” I asked already knowing the answer from the times we fished the highlands together.
“Crawdads man, especially the ones who have just shed.”
“Not me.” Tom informed him. “I’m using all artificial baits.”
“Whatever works for you.” Charlie chuckled and then proceeded to tell him of the seven pound brown trout he caught in the upper Rapidan River several years ago off a crayfish. Recalling the last time I heard this fish tale it was a five pound rainbow trout caught off a hellgrammite. However Charlie was correct, crawdads make for excellent bait. Tomorrow down on Lake Moomaw or the Jackson River would be a learning experience.
Following the second bowl we exited Flip’s tent and rejoined our companions. Bear was already grilling steaks while Joy and R.W. were well on their way to getting snockered. The latter scanning our faces with envy in his eyes. We would have to get him buzzed somehow without Joy knowing so I thought about rolling him a small one for the next time he had to go piss. Excusing myself, I went back into Flip’s tent and acted upon my charitable thought. Rolling R.W. a number would be the easy part; however passing it to him may prove difficult with Joy almost constantly by his side. Susie who was somewhat proficient picking up on schemes, especially mine rose from her seat and announced: “Alright ladies who’s ready to visit the ladies room?” Angela, feeling the full effects of drink and smoke raised her hand like a school girl. “I am! I am!” Joy looked at R.W. and asked for him to escort her. “Oh let the guys bullshit with each other while we take a nature break. “But what about bears and other wild animals?” Joy nervously asked. Susie took a look at us, laughed and replied: “Other wild animals? They’ve been good company so far, but a hungry bear would soon as eat R.W. as you or Angie here.” Reaching into a leather shoulder bag she pulled out her holstered Browning .32 semi automatic pistol. “I don’t think you’re supposed to have that up here and the national forest, Susie.” Bear informed her from the grill. “That’ll get us in trouble.” Flip added.
“And the booze and weed won’t?” Susie returned while tucking the holstered gun in her belted waistband and covering it with her long T-shirt. “I wouldn’t think of being this far up in this unknown vastness without at least a peashooter like this. Either bear or bastardly gullion, I’ll put at least five in his skull.” Strangely enough almost immediately both Angela and Joy were very much impressed with Susie. Both were swiftly on their feet and following her out of camp. From here on out it appeared she would be the alpha female. Susie made quite a impression on Tom as well.”Oh man, she’s foxy and wild.”
“And could probably kick your ass, Tommy my boy.” I informed him and then handed R.W. the joint. “Hurry up man, get yourself in Flip’s tent or yonder woods.”
“What a pal! Thanks!” Extremely appreciative, R.W. quick stepped it into the shadowy forest. When Charlie got up and started to follow, I said: “Shit man, let him get a good one going, you just got yours.”
“Fucking dope heads. All of you.” Bear snarled while flipping a steak on the grill. After getting a good paying job with the city, Bear had to quell his weed smoking due to drug testing. Since then while drinking, he had probably gotten smoked up only twice, but here of late seemed down on weed smokers. It reminded me of some people I’ve known who gave up cigarette smoking and went on to hate those who do. Then I recalled my brother-n-law’s wife. Once obese, she lost a lot of weight then constantly ragged upon fat people. I guess this was one way of keeping a habit broke. This had me reevaluating the disgust I was feeling towards Charlie. Perhaps a renewed effort on my part to help him get off the needle was in order.
“I want to thank you guys again for inviting me up here.” Tom stated while holding his mug aloft. “Cheers!” Flip who had just got a big pot of canned baked beans warming up on his propane camp stove and I clanked our mugs against his. Two years ago Tom originally from the wilds of Minnesota discharged from the navy and found work at the same plant where I was employed. Like Bear, Tom lived in the congested suburbia that is central Newport News. Unlike me, Bear, Tom and especially Angela living in Norfolk did not have large swaths of forest and field. After what happened to the remaining woods around Lynnhaven, I couldn’t stand to live where there were no wild places and open spaces. Many people worship in man made structures, but I had the forest and now up here in the southern Alleghenies sensed powerful presences. Flip mentioned earlier that this should be our new spring gathering place and I couldn’t have agreed more. Lacking tourists this area was much more wildly remote than what we were accustomed to along the Blue Ridge Parkway and Skyline Drive. In spite of his occasional gruffness, Bear seemed quite happy with these surroundings as well. Although still of savage visage and basically the same sense of fashion since the early 1970s, upon arrival Bear seemed subdued from his job and domestic obligations, but here in camp his dolefulness was subsiding. After a good supper and lots of drinking he would be the slurring, sputtering and stammering jolly giant we Skids loved as a good friend. Glad to be away from home, work and coastal plain, I too felt less subdued and would do my best to keep up with Bear in this shedding of the norm.
As R.W. ambled back into camp Flip stood up and informed me that we had forgotten to do something rather important.
“What’s that, Flippy?” Bear asked with a slight snarl.
“The camp banner.” the Birdman replied.
“I have it behind the seat of my truck if you care to fetch it.” I said. Doing just that, Flip placed the doeskin bag on a picnic table and removed our camping banner. After lashing it to a young beech in front of his campsite, Flip, Tom and I looked upon the large snapping turtle skull adorned with osprey tail feathers and thin beaded buckskin strands now wavering in the breeze. R.W. who was obviously high approached our banner and said “Oh yeah. From the land of wide brackish rivers, tall trees and low marshes. Hopefully it will serve us better than it did at Big Meadows nearly three years ago.”
“Never know who you’ll meet while far away. Speak not of who you don’t want to come visiting. ” Bear added and then reminded Flip to check the camp taters roasting in foil on another smaller grill.
By the time Susie, Angela and Joy returned, supper was all but ready. Flip gave the beans one last stir and then proceeded to remove his camp taters off the grill. Sliced, flavored with chives, wild onions and a generous amount of butter, along with the steaks, they would grease our bellies well so as to better hold whatever we drank tonight…
Re: Madness in the Colonial Capitol
Damn fine writing. Quite a cast of characters (and I assume, based on actual events). I've enjoyed the story, and all of its twists ...
Re: Madness in the Colonial Capitol
Thanks, but I'm trying my best to be a better writer or else story teller.mnaz wrote:Damn fine writing. Quite a cast of characters (and I assume, based on actual events). I've enjoyed the story, and all of its twists ...
Real people and accounts, however after this passage, it is doubtful I’ll ever write about them again. Over a month ago perhaps out of boredom and curiosity, I registered to join that big social networking site to see how these kin and old friends were getting along. Miles apart I thought it would a good way to not only reconnect with them as well as stay in touch with my coworkers from the mental hospital and perhaps meet others. There are a lot of people where I work of all colors, faiths along with some of different nationalities. A good several of them befriended me on this site as well as some people from around the world. Then there were my old friends, that is what’s left of them. People in these stories, but of course their names have been changed or altered. Nothing quite like having coworkers who are African American, Asian American and American Indians see the confederate flags and white nationalistic rhetoric plastered all over my wall, page or whatever it’s called. In fact after coming home from work, getting on the net and seeing this bullshit, I was a bit taken aback myself.
My fault entirely.
In the years I’ve been living away and for the most part out of their lives, some of these old friends had changed in ways that struck me as unimaginable. I saw this after we became social network friends. Aside from all the substances we use to partake of, these people were somewhat open minded, but upon looking at their profiles, I broke my own sobriety and swilled down a quart of vodka. Rabid partisans who are about a goosestep away from being white nationalists. Even as a mixed person, this was rather disturbing to me. Then there were my coworkers and others who saw this as well. Not only did these old friends assume I was part of their ‘movement’, but other people thought so as well. Along with a dozen or so of these old friends, I had to block, a few others blocked me as well. Although I’ve kept only several of these old friends, I had to tell them not to spew such racist partisan political puke next to my name. It’s extremely strained as now they see me as somewhat of a heathen adversary either to be swayed over to them or else shunned. Even two of my sisters are with them for fuck’s sake. Yeah it’s my fault for not noticing hints of this some years ago and for even reconnecting with them upon such a broad venue of communication.
Nothing quite like having Bear send me a John Lennon quote followed by one from Ted Nugent. Bizarrely unbalanced. And he thinks I’m mixed up. I must be.
Perhaps it was I who changed with the years while they became themselves. Rabid racist political partisans parroting pushing an agenda with far more weird zeal than anything I’ve ever touched upon. Yeah they broke my heart or else tugged too hard on its strings.
Then my cousin Charlie passed last month and with the others who are dead like Denny, Woo, Mitch and Joe the Skid, perhaps it’s disrespectful of me to write about them anymore. The Skids are gone and there is so much more to write about.
Re: Madness in the Colonial Capitol
I don't think it's necessarily disrespectful to write about people you've known in life, but yes, the process can feel strange at times. I debated with myself about how much I should include in my book about the strongly religious person I stayed with in Utah just after 9/11/01. I left quite a bit out, but I couldn't leave out our biggest clashes-- they were too integral to my strange journey of that time.
As for politics-- yes, it has turned into a diseased farce, for the most part, riddled with parroted talking points. Maybe it always was like this, but it really seems to have escalated in the last 10,12 years. It's gotten beyond ridiculous.
As for politics-- yes, it has turned into a diseased farce, for the most part, riddled with parroted talking points. Maybe it always was like this, but it really seems to have escalated in the last 10,12 years. It's gotten beyond ridiculous.
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