A Toast to Bribery

Ford Lincoln Town Car, circa 1924.  Chauffeur Charles (Chuck) Cheshire, at your service.

Claudette and I nodded ever so slightly at each other.  Stepping forward she attached herself to Mr. Sheen’s other arm and we walked three abreast across the street.  Even in the Roaring Twenties he was an obnoxious and bullish lout.  I could tell that he felt like Mr. Cock of the Walk having twin blonds on each arm.  Fortunately for us he didn’t realize he was being played for a fool.  Our plan was to take advantage of his resources as soon as we figured out what he had to offer.  I’m not sure about Claudette, but I must say I was completely disoriented.  It seemed like only a few hours ago the City was devastated and now it was back in one piece.  With a couple of good shakes everything seemed to have righted itself, except we were still in the wrong time zone.  I had a weird hunch that if we stuck by His Majesty the Sheen we’d find some clue that would lead us in the right direction.

Sheen put his arms around our waists and gave us both a tight squeeze. “Hey fillies, I’m going to get us a lift to the Buena Vista so hang on to your tits, I mean hats.”  He whistled once and out of nowhere a chauffeur driven car pulled up to the curb. It appeared brand new but to us it was as old as the hills.

Claudette squeezed his waist in return.  “Dahlink, so goot uff you to transport da twins to dinning eestablisment.”  She tapped on the hood.  “How old is dis?”  It seemed important to find out exactly how far down the 20’s timeline we had fallen. 

He gave us one of his twisted grins.  Sweet thangs, this is my 1924 Ford Lincoln Town Car right off the assembly line. She purrs just like a kitten when you get inside her.” He laughed at his intended lewdness.   “My buddy W.C. Fields owns one of these too.”

Claudette smirked.  “I am certain you and friend W.C. have great deal in common. I bet ees prone to nasty fits too.”  Sheen must have misunderstood my sister because he snickered instead of snapped at her remark.  Before he could respond further the chauffeur opened the back door and we piled in.  We made sure that Sheen was in the middle and flanked by each twin for safe keeping.

He tapped the driver’s shoulder.  “Be a good chap Chuck and take us on over to the Buena Vista.  I’m going to show my sweet Russian tea cakes how to take a walk on the wild side tonight.”

Immediately the lyrics to Lou Reed’s song Walk on the Wild Side came to life in my head. I thought the words were somehow appropriate.

Sugar Plum Fairy Came And Hit The Streets

Looking For Soul Food And A Place To Eat

Went To The Apollo, You Should Have Seen Him Go Go Go - They Said:

Hey Sugar, Take A Walk On The Wild Side,

Said Hey Honey, Take A Walk On The Wild 

And The Colored Girls Go, Doo Dodoo....

As we drove off I hummed the song quietly to myself and took in the sights of San Francisco.  It is, or should I say was a great city even in the days of yore.  Claudette was also gazing out the window and was probably thinking the same thing.  Sheen had dozed off and his head lolled from side to side as the car wound circuitously towards Hyde and Beach Streets.  Something rolled over my foot after the last turn and I reached down to investigate. I found a black leather wallet which must have fallen out of Sheen’s pants.  While he continued to snooze I searched its contents.  It was filled with money, mostly large bills, one business card and nothing else.  I pulled out a small wad of cash and stuffed it and the card safely inside my bra.  I placed the wallet back on the car floor between his feet.  The last thing I needed was for a drunken madman to think he had a pickpocket in his midst.  

The Lincoln came to a halt outside the Buena Vista Cafe/and hidden speakeasy. The chauffeur opened the door and we slid out one at a time.  Sheen asked us to wait out front for a few minutes and then disappeared inside.  The car and driver had already headed slowly down the street to park.  I pointed at the tail end of the Lincoln. “Hey sis, what do you bet Chuck doesn’t have any trouble finding a parking space.  After all, these are the good old days, right?  In real time he’d be circling the wagons for weeks trying to find a spot in this area, day or night.”

Claudette laughed at my irony.  She took a step back to get a good look at the Buena Vista’s facade. “Paulette, check out this old building, some things never change.”  She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Hey, do you suppose the magician bartender is inside?  Maybe he tumbled backwards through space too.  Do you remember when we were having Irish coffees a few months back and he badgered us relentlessly with his magic card tricks?  He thought we were turistas.” 

I grimaced at the remembrance. “Well, if he is inside maybe he can perform his magic mumbo and get us a jumbo, jet that is, ride home.  Claudette, I'm feeling so nervous I could really use a bit of whiskey right now, forget the coffee and cream.  Where is that freak show Sheen?”

Just as I mentioned his name he poked his head out the front double doors.  “Ladies, I’ve cleared the deck.  I just booted a bunch of filthy stinking fishermen out the back entrance.  Follow me inside to the back of the place.  There's a special hidden passageway in the wall we need to go through. Drinks are on the house my little minxes and I’m ready to get the party started."

Before entering, I put my hand on the side of his face and made him look into my eyes.  When I had his full attention I turned on my mock charm.  “Maybe Anya vill teach Mr. Sheen real game uff Russian roulette. Da?  Ees fun.  No gun, just a vip.  Or maybe you vant to play with Agrippa’s trapeze.....humm?” 

I could tell by Claudette’s face that she wanted me to proceed with caution.  Sheen was a known quantity, a powder keg in search of a match.  She gently touched his shoulder. “My deeear man vill you take us to drinks if, you please?  Sheen held the doors open and we walked into the cafe.  The Buena Vista looked pretty much the same as it does in the future, except not as tidy or welcoming. The mahogany bar was void of liquor bottles, but the  narrow room had the same wooden barstools and tables in place.   A handful of   patrons were dining by the windows although it was too dark outside to enjoy the view.  Missing were the BV’s future signature bartenders clad in clean white jackets, the noble men who ceaselessly pour Irish Whiskey drinks for quintessential of out-of-towners.  It’s a great place to people watch, even now and then.

We walked past the diners and headed downstairs.  Sheen rapped twice on a hidden door and when it slowly opened we entered. It was hot and crowded inside, but I’ll give old Charlie credit as we were whisked to the best table in the house.  A full bottle of whiskey and three glasses arrived before we had a chance to settle into our seats.  I took the first shot like a champ and it scorched my throat all the way down. Fortunately I was seated because when the burning liquid hit my stomach the lower half of my body went completely numb.  Claudette shot hers just as quickly and we clinked our empty glasses together.   Above the din we shouted at each other, “vashe zdorovie!”  In Russian it meant, “to your health.”  My sister and I had a repertoire of foreign toasts and tributes that always came in handy.

Charlie refilled our glasses first before he lifted the bottle to his lips and chugged the remaining contents.  Always a gentleman, he wiped his sleeve across his mouth and burped.  I swear I could see steam coming out of his ears.   He waved his hand in the air only once and another bottle quickly materialized.  Both Claudette and I looked up at the waiter and did a double take.  It was Li, the same Chinese guy who took us through the red door to “Shanghai.”

Claudette yelled his name out loud and they made eye contact.  He leaned down and listened to her quiet rant. “What happened Li?  We were right behind you and Jia in 1906.  I was leading Paulette and following in the dark when a shaker knocked us both to the ground.  We woke up in the 1920's.  You said you knew a way out!”

Li looked at the three of us and grinned widely.  He spoke to us in very broken English.  “Ah solly, not so good at Engrish.”   He made a fast u-turn and his long black braid swung like like a tail as he ducked behind the bar.

Sheen frowned.  “Hey, where do you know that Chinaman from?  I don’t trust that guy.  He’s a sly money grubbing little shit and his woman is no better.  I tried to grab her sweet little ass earlier and she nearly cut my hand off with a lemon slicer.”

Claudette and I followed Sheen’s eyes as he looked towards the end of the bar, and sure enough Lia stood balancing a tray in front rowdy customers.  She didn’t look like Li’s shy wife anymore.  Jia was dressed provocatively in a slinky beaded saloon girl costume.  I waved at her but she ignored my gesture.  Claudette pointed at each of the Chens as they stood in opposite corners of the room. “Dahlink, we know doze two from circus. Dey ride de elephant and do fire tricks.  I tink they run away from ringmaster last night. Probably sold the big Dumbo to thieves or keeled poor ting.  The two are vicious as vipers, vatch out or dey vill cut you like pig."

Sheen smirked, but he seemed to loose interest in a potentially dangerous Asian confrontation or possible evisceration. He hoisted another glass full of whiskey and down the hatch it went.  I’d be dead if I drank that much alcohol, dead drunk or dead sick.  His eyes suddenly turned blood red before they rolled back into his head.  I watched his jaw slacken just enough to let his pink tongue dangle out the corner of his mouth.  His pickled puss looked like a Q sign.  In slow motion his body slumped over and his forehead met the wooden table with a loud “thunk.”  He'd passed out cold in that exact position and not a soul cared.

Claudette and I made our move.  First, I reached into Sheen’s pants and removed his wallet and then we both headed straight for the bar to confront our good friend Ji.     

Ji was wiping the bar top when we approached. He pointed a wet rag at us. “Hey listen,  we’re in the same boat as you are, lost in space.  Lia and I figured we’d at least work until another worm hole opens up and who knows when that will happen again.  Were trying to keep busy and lay low.”   

I cocked my head to one side.  “What happened to good old grandpa’s earthquake escape route?  We followed you through the “Shanghai” door and ended up in a Roaring Twenties funhouse with Charlie Sheen as our leader.  What a nightmare.  Can’t you help us in any way?

Ji shook his head. “I don’t have any answers right now.  Maybe come back tomorrow.  I’ll try and talk to the fortune teller who lives upstairs.  She’s some whacked old gypsy with frizzy orange hair and lips to match.  They call her the Great Walnutto or something like that. Supposedly she’s good at reading palms and predicting the future.  Hey, I have to start pouring now before the drunks try to kill me.  Come back before noon, Ok?”

We nodded at the same time, tightened our coats, and headed back upstairs and outside into the frigid air.  A thick pale fog had crept in off the bay and hung heavily over the cityscape.  I clapped my hands to keep them from freezing. “Can you believe Li and Jia?  They're both worthless and crazy!”  Claudette pursed her lips and frowned in agreement. I put Sheen’s wallet into my coat pocket and felt around in my shoe for the extra cash.  “Say, I have an idea.  Let’s walk down the street and see if Chuck’s sitting in the Lincoln.  Maybe we can get him to drive us somewhere before le MaSheen sobers up enough to rev his engines.  His tiger blood is going to boil over when he finds his wallet and the twins gone."  

Claudette nodded.  “Let’s roll.  We can at least check out what San Francisco looked like at night back in the 20's.”

Sure enough we found Chuck nearby in the Lincoln asleep at the wheel.  I tapped on the window to wake him.  “Meester Chaufffeurrr, ees Anya and Agrippa, Charlie’s tvins.  Please open door, ees freezing.”

Chuck jumped out and opened a door for us.  We slid in and scooted close together.  I waited until he was in the driver’s seat again before I tapped his shoulder. “Mr. Charlie has told us to take long ride until ees ready to go.”  I leaned forward and waved several large bills in front of his face.  He eagerly nodded in agreement.  On went the headlights and the Lincoln pulled out into the foggy night.  I whispered to Claudette, “there’s nothing like a leettle bribe, da?”  She stabbed me in the ribs with her elbow and we both swallowed our giggles.

Chuck looked in the rear view mirror and addressed us, or I should say undressed us. “Uh, where do you fine ladies want me to drive you tonight?  

Claudette smiled at him nicely.  “Take us over to da Castro Theater dahlink.  Perhaps we vil take in a film.  Maybe find some Russians to drink vodka vith, ha.”   I pinched my sister and we tried to stifle our laughter again.  


After twenty minutes of twisting and turning down unfamiliar streets the car pulled up to the old/new theater.  We recognized the building but the big neon Castro sign wasn’t there yet.  It wouldn’t show up until the late 1930’s.  We watched as a long queue of fashionably dressed people inched towards the entrance.  As my sister and I stepped out I turned and addressed Chuck in plain English.  “Chuck, I’m going to give you a big cash tip and some advice.  Drive back to the Buena Vista and park.  If Charlie asks for the twins, tell him you were asleep and didn’t see us.  Go now, you should take the money and run, cut your losses.  Be safe.”  

Chuck snapped up the money.  “You gals be safe.  I won’t rat you out. He can't find you if you don't want to be found.” He tipped his hat and drove off without looking back.  

I don’t know why I'd dropped the accent.  I figured he probably thought we were frauds like most of the people who hang with guys like Sheen.  I let it all go.   We had plenty of money and who knows how much time left in this zone. I still wanted to see the Castro theater’s ornate interior in all its early glory.   I took Claudette’s hand and pulled her towards the line.  Suddenly, I felt a sharp poke in my right breast.  I fished around inside my bra until I found the culprit. It was the business card I’d taken from Sheen’s wallet.  I pulled it out and moved under the bright lights of the marquee.  I read the words aloud to my sister.

Dr. Harry Lapin - Blanc 

Rare & Antiquarian Books

329 Liddell Street, Apt. A

San Francisco, California

Claudette flipped the card over and I nudged closer to get a better look.  On the backside was a small black and white picture of a toothy rabbit standing on a book.  He was dressed in a waistcoat, bow tie, and dark rimmed reading glasses.  One of his front paws pointed towards the reader.  The caption underneath read, “By Appointment only. Don’t be late!” 

Claudette shook her head and tapped the card.  “The good Dr. Lapin-Blanc is très drôle.” 

I had a strange feeling that finding the card was no coincidence and we were heading towards a new venue....  Adventures in Castroland.