Growing Up Then and Now

Chapter 33

Meanwhile in Mamou . . .

     Rocky and Skip finished the ride to Fred’s about four in the afternoon, having driven through rain most the day.  The last stretch was a 20-mile two-lane straight road through a flat land with no scenery.  Tante Sue was bartending when they arrived; the place near empty.  “Tante Sue” is how she introduced herself.  (“Tante” is Cajun for “Auntie.”)  She and Fred owned the place.  But now it’s just her after Fred died.

     “What can I get ya’ll?  Heard you wuz comin’.  Where’s the rest of the gang?  Whaddaya call yourselves, The Rompers?”

     Tante Sue didn’t stop.  “Met three of ya’s already.  Great guy, that big fella Sam, but they all skadaddled quick.  Well, you see, your lady friend, Sunshine I think she calls ‘erself – well, Cajun wimmen don’t take kindly to makin’ out with their husbands.  That she was a-doin’.  We got a wife on the warpath.  Came in just as theys took off. We go for dancin’ here, not breakin’ up marriages.  Poor fella was half in his cups, gettin’ takin’ advantage of.  Least that’s what I tol’ his wife.”

     “Aw geez, Tante Sue,” Rocky said, “she’s not really with us.  Actually we’re here to try to rescue Big Sam from her.  Can you get us a couple of those Double Shotgun IPAs I’ve been hearing about?”   

      “No more dancing until next Saturday?” Skip asked, admiring all the framed stories on the walls, including one from the NY Times Travel Section about ‘Tante Sue from Mamou.’  “We heard Saturday morning you’re the best dance hall anywhere – and what a great sign you got hanging by the bathrooms ‘If You’re Not Having Fun at Fred’s, You’re Doing It Wrong!’.” 

      “Dunno ‘bout nowhere but here, but yessir, it’s a local tradition to party Saturday mornings, then long afternoon naps.

     “Folks around here mostly for Trump running again?” Skip asked.

     Rocky tried cutting off the conversation, “Thanks Tante, we’ve got to be pushing off.”

      “Not Trump so much, maybe that Florida guy, mostly we only vote for Mayor around here.  Tell that Sam fella he’s welcome back – might be better if he leaves the dame home,” Tante Sue bid us adieu.  “Leissez les bons temps roullez.”

     First call was to Huck: “We heard about the fast exit – Patty told us Sunshine and Peaches would be nothing but trouble. Maybe you should just cut away and we’ll pick you up somewhere.  Everything OK?  Where are you?”

     “Oh man, they liked us at that bar,” Huck explained.  “All the guys were dancing with Sunshine.  Big Sam was helping tend bar by the time we left.  He and Tante Sue were getting along great.  Peaches was holding court about how great RV’g is, and then one of the guys he’s talking with says, ‘You guys better scamper.  Heard there’s a wife comin’ lookin’ for her hubby, but first to whack your gal.’  We were quick outta there.  We’re almost to Lafayette – another music town.  Peaches says there’s a Walmart.  Come in on 182 and you’ll find us.  I’m going to crash for awhile.”

     Second call was returning a missed call from the Land Yacht.  Sally answered, “What did I tell you, Skip!  It was a mistake not to recruit a mechanic for this trip – the Yacht’s broken down.  We’re stuck on U.S. 167 just south of some small town called Ruston and it’s friggin’ raining outside.  How much did you budget for keeping this old boat afloat?  We’ve got a tow coming, we think.” 

     “Hey, we’re only an hour away – we’ll start heading back towards you,” Skip said.  “Keep us posted.”  Then, turning to Rocky, “Call Huck and tell him we’re not coming Lafayette way.  From what I could hear in the background, nobody on the Yacht is going to want to party in Lafayette, or anywhere else.  We need to get back up to I-20 and see what’s next.”

      An hour later we spy the Land Yacht up ahead and a tow truck with its lights flashing – one of those big ones made to tow a semi-trailer.  Turns out the tow driver was a mechanic with a good sense of humor.  After making fun of our bumper stickers, he says, “Whad you expect with a battery-operated RV?”  Checking things over, he discovered water in the spark plugs.  “Whad ya try to do – make it a pontoon boat?” he says laughing, drying off the spark plugs.  “Next time, slow down for dem deep puddles.”

     A half hour later, we’re all having coffee at some truck stop on I-20 figuring out what to do next.  Patty suggested, “Tell Huck to meet us in Daphne, with or without Big Sam.  But maybe use this as an excuse to ditch Peaches and Sunshine.” Sally agreed, saying she was also in to ditching Big Sam as soon as possible, adding “What’s next.  Daphne, Alabama?  Who is it we want to visit there anyhow?  Let’s get to where it’s sunnier as fast as we can.”

     Leaving the truck stop, Jack took back his Land Rover, this time with Max, not Sally, as his navigator.  Skip was back driving the Land Yacht.  We spent all night driving on I-20 trying to get some sleep.  Patty convinced us that visiting Bonnie in Daphne was important to her (privately telling Sally, “even essential.”)  Sally and Patty kept up a private conversation, Patty asking Sally, “What’s the big hurry?”

       Patty was intrigued by Sally’s answer: “I don’t know what to do.  We’re almost to the east coast.  We’re close to finishing the list of visits.  What am I going to do?  Bring Jack home with me?  Right!  I just can’t be sure if I’m in love with Jack, or in love with just being loved again.  You know what he calls me, doncha?  ‘Sally B’ – B for beautiful.”  

Chapter 31

That Night in the Airstream

     Most of us thought hanging out at the Valley of the Vapors music festival our last night in Hot Springs was a good idea, but Big Sam was lobbying to leave before midnight, so we could make that bar in Mamou, Louisiana, by morning.  “And what,” Sally said, “be so damn tired you can’t dance?!  You gotta be kidding.  Not me, I can skip the bar in Mamou.”

     “Yeah Sam, we can hit the bar by mid-afternoon if we check-out early tomorrow,” Rocky said.

     “Youse jus don’ unnerstand,” Sam pleaded, “it’s a SAT-UR-DAY MORN-IN’ bar – the band’s a playin’ and ever’one’s dancin’.  I hear it’s gotta sign, ‘No dancing on the juke box.’ By afternoon, er’body willa gone home, the prett’ girls all taken . . .”

     “We’re convinced,” Sunshine said.  “Come on Big Sam, ride with us.  We can pack an extra twelve-pack before we leave town, and arrive in Mamou half in the tank.”   

     Big Sam hesitated, thinking Sunshine and Peaches weren’t part of the group just yet, and he might get abandoned along with them.  But he felt a rise just below his belt, thinking about making it with Sunshine, and said, “Okey-doke, I’m goin’ with Peaches and Sunshine.”

     The music festival was a big deal.  Central Avenue was closed to traffic.  The restaurants all put tables in the street.  A big stage was set up in front of the Quapaw Bathhouse.  It was a combo blue grass and country music festival.  Huck went back and got his guitar, did an impromptu solo between acts, and was asked to stay on stage and join in.  Whatever had ailed all these old-timers, their day in the spas seemed to have worked.  Just about everybody was up and dancing to the fiddle music, the weather cooperating nicely. 

     Rocky and Skip eventually showed up, but Skip seemed subdued and unwilling to do his usual political-baiting routine.  This didn’t stop Patty though, holding the camera interviewing anyone willing to speak.  When we saw the film later, she had gotten some good stuff to blog.  One of the best was, “I voted for Bill Clinton because he was from Arkansas and he could play saxophone.  I voted for Obama because he was a Black man and could shoot some hoops.  I didn’t vote for Trump because he’s a mentally disturbed white man who can’t dance, can’t play basketball, can’t do shit except put people down.”   

      About 10 p.m., the festival started to wrap up.  Peaches said, “Let’s go – who’s coming with?”  

     Big Sam said, “Me.” 

     Then Huck surprised Sam saying he was having too much fun to call it a night, “I’m with ya on the ‘Sunshine Express’ to the next bar.  Come on Rocky, what is fun anyhow?”

     “Call in the morning when you’re at the bar,” Rocky told Huck, “and we’ll figure out hookin’ back up.  Maybe you can grab a fiddle and keep everybody dancing ‘til we get there.”

     “Damn,” Sam thought.  “Huck tells me what a deep throat Sunshine’s got – and now it ain’t gonna happen!”  He couldn’t have been more wrong.

——————————————————————————————————————-

     Sunshine and Peaches.  Free-Love types all these years, even now in their 60’s.  Whatever else you might think of Sunshine, she was genuine to her era, kind, tolerant and open, always bubbly and bright, and into sex – mutual sex – all types of sex.  “Hey, it’s about pleasure!” she’d say.

     Peaches’ Airstream had a back “bedroom” with a curtain dividing the back from the driver’s area.  First, Huck disappeared in back for a while with Sunshine, while Peaches and Big Sam enjoyed a beer up front.  Big Sam wasn’t saying much, but Peaches broke the ice saying, “You wanna make it with Sunshine?  I’m sure she’s willing.”

     A little later, Huck came back up front and said, “Sorry Sam, Sunshine says she’s worn out.  All you get is a back rub . . . No –  just kidding, says ‘come on back if you want.’ ”

     Later on, for the movie, Huck told Patty everything that happened on the Airstream that night:

     “Yep, we finished the 12 pack.  Peaches drove the first few hours and I finished up.  It was daybreak before Sunshine and Big Sam re-emerged.  And get this!  Sunshine starts telling Peaches – in front of me, no less – it was the best sex she ever had!  ‘Peaches,’ she says, ‘I’ve got some new tricks to teach you.  Sam here, knows how to set the mood.  Found some late-night L.A. radio station playing soft music.  Got my head right before anything else – gazing into my eyes, telling me how beautiful I am, asking me how I liked my sex.  And, God knows from where, he pulls out this feather, then he did something no one else has ever done before – he said, ‘Ya gotta give me permission to come.’  Now, that’s a new one!  I’ve never been so revved up knowing I was in total control . . . “

     “And what did she have to say about you, Huck?” Patty asked for the movie, “Did you try any of our old tricks on her?”  

     “Hey,” Huck said, “you know I’ve always respected your wish to keep our sex life private.  No, there’ll never be anyone as good as you, Patty . . . Remember the time, we . . . ”

     “STOP right there, Huck!” Patty commanded, turning off the camera, her face turning red.

Chapter 29

Skip Shares What’s Bothering Him With Rocky

     Leaving Norman, Oklahoma, our next stop was a late addition to the list.  “It’s on the way,” Rocky said.  “There’s this hotel, The Arlington, in Hot Springs, Arkansas.  Before there was a Las Vegas, there was a Hot Springs.  Once the best place in the United States to gamble, Hot Springs still has all the things a town needs for fun times – and The Arlington, famous for being Al Capone’s hangout – well, wait ‘til ya see it.”

     From the second we arrived, we saw what Rocky meant about The Arlington.  Coming from the west it’s the last place on “Bathhouse Row.”  From the east it’s the first place on Central Avenue, the main road into town.  One reason Al Capone used to stay there – he could post sentries on the front veranda and make any needed escape into the hills out the back way.  Topping it off, the “world’s greatest” swimming pool, eight floors up tucked into the mountain side.

     The lobby was exquisite, gold chandeliers dangled from 75-feet up, inch-thick carpeting all around.  Before paying, Sally suggested, “Let’s go see the rooms.” 

      “No, first the pool,” Rocky said.  “You won’t mind the price once you’ve seen the pool.”  (Rocky had stayed there before during a poker tournament.)  Eleven of us crammed into the all-mirrored (floor to ceiling, including the ceiling) elevators.  Whoa, not like any other swimming pool in the world.  First, yes, an Olympic-sized pool with chaise lounges (not too many takers in November).  Then a walk up a circular stairway to a huge hot tub built into the side of the mountain with a view of the entire town, with real honest-to-goodness thermal waters – not just a pool, it was a hot-springs with a slide that goes into the pool.

     “OK!” we all agreed and started figuring out rooms:  Jack and Sally in one.  Skip, Rocky, Max and Big Sam in a suite.  Patty was okay sharing a room with Huck and Steve – that is, until Huck invited Sunshine and Peaches to share the room.  Kicking him in the shins, Patty said, “No Huck, go stay with them in their RV – you’ve all gotten to be such good friends.” 

      The next morning, Skip got up early and bought all the newspapers in the lobby, the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, the St. Louis Post-Dispatch, the New York Times and yesterday’s L.A. Times, but there was nothing new to learn about the bombing at Dodger Stadium.  There were still no arrests or new leads, just a note found in the women’s bathroom at the ballpark with words cut out from a magazine saying “Release Political Prisoner Proud Boys or Face Greater Wrath from the Islamic State.” 

     When Rocky found Skip in the coffee shop, Rocky suggested they check out the hot tub.  They did.  The sun was just coming up.  It was way too cold for swimming, but a perfect morning for a hot tub.  They were the first early risers enjoying the thermal waters, gazing at the radiant early purple-orange sky.  Robin had rolled Rocky a couple “j’s” for the road and lit one up.  “So what’s got you so down, man?” Rocky asked.  “You haven’t seemed yourself since you got back from L.A.”  

      After taking a long hit, holding it in, looking off to the sunrise, Skip exhaled saying, “Oh, for crissake, I guess I got to get this off my chest, that fucking brother-in-law of Max’s and his SLA buddy are involved in the L.A. bombing.” And there it was – it just came out – marijuana will do that to you.

      “SLA buddy, who’s that?”

      “Oh, I never told you, but I didn’t want any one on the bus to know how close Max’s brother-in-law was to the SLA.  The guy I stayed with in Sacramento, the guy Ken put me up with, Gordy, was an original SLA member and did five years for that Sacramento bank robbery, the one with Patty Hearst.  I couldn’t fucking believe it when Patty came up with that Patty Hearst skit.  And I really couldn’t fucking believe it when Ken told me that he and Gordy were in on the bombing.”  

     “You’re kidding me, right?”

      “God damn not kidding one bit.  And so I tell Ken I’m going to the cops – can you believe that – me going to the cops – but this is some serious shit.  And then Ken tells me Gordy is now a CIA operative, approached by the government and given early release to become a sorta double agent.  With his past history, he was easily able to get the confidence of some terrorist group; infiltrate it – and this you’re not going to fucking believe – some terrorist group operating out of Vancouver . . . The Charlie Furbush connection!”

     “No Shit!  What are you going to do?”

      “Yeah, that’s what’s bothering me.  Really doubt our gigolo buddy Ken is telling the truth about the CIA.  All I know for sure is that the guy I stayed with in Sacramento, Gordy, knew the bomb was going to go off, and when Gordy heard Ken was going to the ball game, he warned Ken off.  Probably doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me.  If Ken tells him I’m clued in on all this, they might come lookin’ for me.  I’m looking over my shoulder every friggin’ minute . . .”

      “Jesus Christ.  This is deep shit, man.  Deeper than we’ve ever been.  Guess that explains no leads, no arrests . . . until they find you,” Rocky tried laughing.

      “ . . . but I don’t think Ken has told Gordy that I know anything.  I’m pretty sure Ken wants to stay tight with all of us.  Just happens to have Gordy for a good friend too.  Un-fucking-believable.” Skip finished.

      “So tell me what happened on the way to the Dodgers game – and how Vancouver came up,” Rocky said, looking down the stairs and seeing their roomie, Big Sam, coming to join them.

      “Yeah, I want to keep talking.  Let’s tell Big Sam we got to race off to do something.”

     “Toppa da mornin’ gentlemen,” Big Sam said, bounding up the last stairs and throwing himself into the hot springs, setting off a humongous wave, “I hafta tell ya, this – is – the –  life!   How’s that Rompers thing goin’?  Whacha up here schemin’?”

     Pretty quickly everybody was up enjoying the hot springs, and Rocky and Skip postponed their ongoing private conversation.  Sally wanted to know where’s next after Hot Springs, “Not that I’m anxious to leave – this is a great place, Rock.”

     Patty said she had a friend in Daphne, Alabama, next on the list, “but Jack, Big Sam, one of you must know somebody in New Orleans, no?”

     All smiles, Big Sam was quick with, “Arn’t ya glad I’m along – I nose a gaahh–rate bar we oughta hit in Louise-e-anna – hafta time it jus right tho  – it’s a SAT-UR-DAY MORNIN bar, a dance hall.  Place called Fred’s Lounge in Mamou.”

     Sally tried steering the conversation back to politics, “I could use help pushing the Rump idea.  It’s looking cradle to grave without a life in-between.  Jack here, all he wants to do is….” she trailed off blowing him a big kiss.

     Patty wondered, “What are you thinking, Skip?”

     Before Skip could answer, Rocky tried ending the conversation: “I’m checking out the bath houses.  Scotch, you comin’ with?  There’s still things called bath houses.”

     Skip ignored the cue to leave, “Yeah, maybe a spa will be good later, but everybody’s here now.  Let’s think this through a minute.  What connections have we made with Trump Nation types?  How can we build on crossing the political divide?  Max, now that Eloise’s election is over, maybe those Montana cowboys want more action, more fun.  Are we really Facebook friends with them?  And Steve, how ‘bout those guys you all met at the RV park in Arizona? Maybe find common cause in fighting terrorism together.”

     Big Sam broke-in:  “Yah, yur on ta sumpin’ – I voted for Trump.  I know, I feared tellin’ ya . . .  but I’m not really a right winger . . . sure as hell not a left-wing nut job, like you guys, either.  Just kiddin’ . . . I voted fer Trump cuz he was diff’rent . . .   more like a Pirate.  Ya gotta stay wit dat.  Dats why yer so loved in L.A.  Why I wanted to hang with ya.  Dats why I got on board.”

     “Yah, what is fun?” Rocky said.  “I’m off to the bathhouses.”

     Skip followed Rocky down the slide, “Meet tomorrow morning, same time, same place, and we’ll make a plan?”