Twenty Eight

 

June 1974

From San Luis Obispo to Los Angeles was not easy.  

It took me a spell to walk to the highway ramp. I passed the Taco Bell where I’d been picked up the night before by the proselytizer.  I eyed the tiny house with the sourpuss family, quiet now in the early hours of the morning. And then I stood by the highway with my thumb out for an hour.

Eventually, I was picked up by a couple with a Saint Bernard in a Volkswagen. 

By this time, now over a week into the journey, I had a sense of what cars might stop and which probably would not.  A guarantee no go—was a truck with a camper.  Only once out of the dozens of rides I had did a truck with a camper stop.  I remember her too.  Did not say a single word to me beyond the basic “where are you going” and “here’s where I get off.”  

Single drivers stopped more than those with company. Men more than women. Young more than old.  With commercial trucks you had a shot, like I had with Nelson and would later this day with Jim, and then of course with Mike in a few days. 

Often I knew, before I stuck my thumb out, if there was a reasonable chance that I’d get a lift.

But then there were times when you were offered a lift and it made no sense. Thirty empty cars could go by with a single driver and none would stop.  Then a tiny car packed to the roof, would pull over and rearrange everything to give you a lift. Once near Albany on a different trip, a woman stopped in a car just jammed with her stuff because, she told me later, she was moving. She had to hoist two plants that were sitting on the front seat so I could get in.  I rode with leaves in my face that day for a couple of hours and tried to hold a conversation.

So, I was surprised when this couple in a Volkswagen bug pulled over.  I sat in the back with a dancing Saint Bernard as they chatted about the weather in California and occasionally told this huge dog to settle down. The dog paid no attention.  I was relieved, but again surprised, when the driver pulled over after only one exit, telling me that he hoped he helped having driven me with his slobbering animal about five miles down the road.  

I waited for another hour before an Allied Van line truck pulled over. A handsome smiling fellow told me to “get my ass on in.”  He was going all the way to LA.  This seemed like a godsend. 

It was mid-morning at this point. Jim and I chatted easily. He was easy in general--the kind of fellow who looks and sounds as if he doesn’t have a care in the world and you wonder how happy he can really be.  But he sure seemed to be happy.  Jim was a baseball fan and we talked Dodgers Giants and sports in general, though you could tell he did not know much in the way of particulars, just liked the idea of sports. 

I found out that Jim just did not haul goods, he loaded and delivered them.   He was today stopping in Santa Barbara where he was to unload a family’s furniture and deposit it in their new abode.  

Jim had mentioned his wife and kids a few times in the conversation when, suddenly, a woman’s head popped out from behind a curtain.  This was, I discovered, his wife who had been sleeping in the back.  She too was easy, happy and smiling.  She crawled out from the sleeper and sat in the front with me. It was kind of tight but Katie was tiny; probably no more than a 100 pounds and I guessed 5 2. She was built like a gymnast and told me she’d been one in high school. We three bounced along in that truck while I listened to the good natured and loving back and forth between the two.

Outside of Santa Barbara they made me a deal. I could get off there and be on my way, or I could help them unload the furniture and continue on with them to Anaheim.  Feeling strong and enjoying the company, I chose the latter. We pulled up to a condo in a senior development where we met the Rothsteins who had chosen to retire in Santa Barbara.  It took us close to two hours to get the stuff out of the truck and at the end of the effort I was worried if maybe it had been worth the deal. Katie was, for her size, as strong as a bull and Jim was able to carry heavy objects effortlessly. I was doing okay myself but it was tough and I felt a strain on my back when we finally got back into the truck.  The Rothsteins were nice, wanted us to be gentle with their furniture, and offered us cookies while debating with each other whether this move was a wise one for them.  We left them still discussing the merits of retirement living. 

A half hour later, Jim, Katie and I stopped to eat. We were now about an hour north of the Los Angeles city area. We all got into a heated discussion of the Dodgers versus the Giants in the restaurant. A good natured back and forth about the merits of Jimmy Wynn the toy cannon who played for the Dodgers.  Jim said that the Dodgers were in town and why didn’t we just go on in to see the game.  This seemed a bit odd to me that we would haul a huge Allied Van Lines truck into the parking lot of Chavez Ravine, but that is what we did. We bought us some tickets that were excellent right behind home plate and watched the Dodgers lose in eleven innings before we got back into the truck. 

It was late by now and I was concerned about where I might sleep.  Jim and Katie suggested I come back to their home and sleep on the floor there.  Their home was a little out of my way, but they promised to take me the next morning to Disneyland as it was on Jim’s next day route.  I was beginning to feel a little odd about all this good fortune. It seemed too good to be true. A ride all the way to LA, easy happy company, the Dodger game, and an invite to sleep at their suburban home.  But I thought I was wily enough to extricate myself from something goofy if it came along. I accepted their offer and we wound the truck through the suburbs of LA until very close to midnight when we pulled up in front of their home.  Their kids, they said, were being baby sat by Katie’s sister and brother-in-law who lived right next door. They said they’d pick up the kids and I figured, incorrectly, that we’d be asleep a short while thereafter.

Sleep did not come for a long while.  When we entered their cozy home, Katie went next door to get the kids and Jim offered me a beer.  I was hoping the kids would arrive sleepy and the parents would tuck them in saying good night and sweet dreams as I got ready to collapse on a living room couch.

The kids came in as did Katie’s sister and sad looking brother-in-law.  The kids were bouncy like they had had several chocolate bars.  Nothing approaching sleep. As gregarious as their parents, they wanted to know my life story and whether I liked playing hide and seek.  Jim found this charming and giggled each time the kids asked me a question. The boy was probably around seven and his sister five. They stumbled around the small living room.

The brother-in-law wanted to go home. The sister though was grousing about something. The sister Jeannine looked nothing like Katie. She had some weight on her, big floppy tee shirt over her shorts, puffing away on one cigarette after another.  She was upset at Bob because she said he had been cheating on her.

This seemed to be an ongoing argument that Jim and Katie had heard before. Katie did not appear to be amused but Jim laughed each time Jeannine suggested that Bob had been unfaithful.  Jeannine was coarse about it accusing Bob of “playing with that whore’s tits.”  Bob seemed tired either because it was late or because he had heard this many times before. Jim couldn’t stop giggling and repeating now and again “playing with that whore’s tits.”  Finally, Bob exasperated said, “I did not play with no girl’s tits.”  This set Jim off into teary waves.

I was beginning to feel more than a little uncomfortable. I did not know these people and I had the feeling that Jim was showing me off somehow, as if this was a show for my benefit, a show he had seen before. He was behaving like someone who had previously watched a funny bit and wanted to share the laughs with another. 

From the start, but certainly after a short time, I did not find the scene especially humorous. Jeannine kept accusing Bob, Bob sat shaking his head, Jim was giggling like a teenager while the kids oblivious to the adult conversation were showing off themselves, doing cartwheels for my benefit and the assembled.

Finally, Bob said he had had it and left to go to sleep. And Katie went upstairs to put the kids to bed.  But Jim kept drinking beer and Jeannine still was muttering about Bob while smoking cigarettes. Jim right at the tail end of a laugh, said, “Why don’t we play Alan the tape?” 

 “I don’t want to play no stranger no tape.” Said Jeannine

I didn’t want to listen to no tape either. I was exhausted and also this was not a scene that was appealing. I had a sense that this was going to be about sex and while, in the abstract the idea of a California orgy of any sort would have its appeal, it had no appeal with chain smoking obese Jeannine late at night when I was battling to keep my eyes open.  Jim’s giggling was beginning to sound like the laughter of a pervert who got off on some strange doings.  It was now after 1 in the morning and there was no exit for me.  I was going to sleep on this couch in the living room and could not get down to business of nodding off until Jim and Jeannine left for bed.  And here was Jim continuing to egg on Jeannine about some tape.

Despite Jeannine’s protestations that she did not want to “play no tape for no stranger”, she really kind of wanted to, in the same way she got a kick out of saying the word “tits” when her husband was in the room.  

“Alan” Jim said with big anticipatory eyes, “you gotta hear this tape. Jeannine made.”  

“Well,” I said, “if Jeannine doesn’t want to, that’s okay, and besides its late.”

“Oh Jeannine doesn’t mind. Where is that tape?”  So over my continued, “It’s okays, I need to get to sleep” and Jeannine’s milder protestations--which were intermingled with directions to where the tape was in the cabinet-- Jim scrambled, got the cassette and stuck it in a machine.

“You got to hear this” he said. 

It was an audio tape of amateurish porn talk, so amateurish that it was difficult to imagine who would find the tape steamy. Jeannine was playing a character in a story she made up which was close to the real one she had described when Bob was in the room.  The character was talking about a nurse Jeannine and Bob knew, again of course with big tits, who, the character wondered,  her husband wanted to feel up. 

And the character in this truly idiotic, sophomoric and steam-less skit, insisted that the only way her husband would get to feel up the nurse was if he took his pants down so he could see his dick get erect.  Then eventually the narrator in this drama decided to take her shirt off.  

Fortunately, the actual Jeannine sitting in the living room kept her potato sack of a top on. She feigned disinterest in the radio story. “I don’t know why I let you play this, Jim Donaldson.”

Jim was hysterical at every sexual allusion.  Jeannine was shaking her head. Katie came down and said something like, “Oh you’re listening to that tape.”  

“Sit here and listen to this.” said Jim

“I’ve heard it a million times.”  

“He’s gonna suck the nurse’s tits now.”

“I know I’ve heard it.”

This is not erotic and I am getting nervous. Who knew if this was some grand charade hoping to have me get naked and take photos and blackmail. All sorts of wholly unpleasant notions are racing through my head.

Finally, I stood up. “Hey Jim, this is great, but I got to get to sleep. Thanks for the show. Very interesting”

“Just this one part.”

Katie said, “No, Alan’s tired. And so am I.” Jeannine said the same thing but she was clearly disappointed.

“Okay” said Jim.  “Okay.” He got up still laughing. “It gets better, though. It gets even better.” 

“I’ll bet” I said.  

Jeannine hauled herself up and waddled out the side door. Jim and Katie waved good night and I felt very relieved.