The Dettes

If, and only If......

2012-03-02T12:38:00.003-08:00

Claudette and I eyed our special invitation with both curiosity and suspicion. November 1, 2013, was either two years or forty-four years away, depending upon one’s vantage point in time. I inspected the envelope hoping to find a postmark or an address, but there were no additional unique markings. My sister returned to her side of the booth and we sat mutely staring at each other. Our silence was finally broken by an insistent flapping movement followed by a three note whistle. We turned towards the sound and saw the delivery bird inspecting us from the window sill. “Did you know that the whistling warbler is called a Golden Crowned sparrow? I remember seeing a picture of one in mother’s book A Field Guide to Birds. Doesn’t the puff of gold on the top of its head look like a tiny toupee?”

Claudette smiled at my question, but kept her eye on the birdie. “I didn’t realize that our cheeky little messenger was still hanging around.” Just as she spoke, the sparrow flew out of the window and landed in a nearby cherry tree.

I was about to comment, but our toothy waitress returned unexpectedly with a tray full of food. “I’ve got two grilled cheese sandwiches, chips and fresh brewed coffee for you gals. Mr. Chuck Chicollini sends his compliments, lunch is on the house. Chef Chuck wanted me to tell you that any friend of Troy D is a friend of his.”

I squinted while trying to read our waitress's name tag. “Ah, thanks Angora. Please tell Mr. Chicollini how much we appreciate his kindness. The food looks really good, but who is Troy D?

Angora’s protruding front teeth covered her lower lip as she answered, “Troy Donahue, of course.”

“As in Troy Donahue... the actor, Claudette questioned? I am fairly certain that he is a goner.”

I nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he passed a few years back.”

Angora appeared flustered. “Not the actor, I meant the bird. Chef Chuck named the sparrow Troy D after the actor because they both have that thatch of golden hair on top. Of course, Troy D has feathers and not hair, but nonetheless....”

Claudette smiled insincerely at Angora. “Oh, thanks for clearing that up for us. I thought you were talking about some new rapper on the music scene. Now I get it. Troy D is the same envelope toting tweety bird who sashayed across our table earlier.”

This nonsensical conversation reminded me of a Drama assignment I once had in college. The purpose of the exercise was to explore The Theater of the Absurd and its ties to the idea that life has no inherent meaning. Students were instructed to discuss random topics while our flights of ideas were recorded. Then, the professor turned our disjointed dialogue into a script and read it back to the class. I stopped retro-reflecting on life’s little absurdities when I heard Claudette’s voice began to escalate. I tapped on her hand. “Hey, sis, maybe we should eat before our food gets cold.”

Claudette dismissed Angora with a quick salute. “Oh, and on your way back to the kitchen, tell Chuck we would like to thank him personally for lunch.”

Angora’s unblinking eyes were hugely magnified as she stared down at us through her rose colored glasses. After a long pause, she hunched her shoulders and unceremoniously hopped towards the kitchen.

Neither of us commented on Angora’s springy gait as somehow it seemed fitting. Instead, we hungrily consumed the grilled cheese sandwiches and the chips. Simultaneously, we finished our meal and pushed our empty plates aside. “Claudette, let’s forget about the present and rewind for a minute. I noticed that you and Thomas really connected at the party. What happened? I thought everything was fine until I saw you in the garden looking totally freaked out.

“Being with Thomas was amazing, Claudette continued. We both experienced some kind of cosmic and magnetic pull of attraction. I was okay until I felt an overpowering need to find you. I’m fairly certain Thomas thought I had gone a little nuts, but I didn’t care. I overruled him.

“Sis, I am really glad you followed your intuition.”

“When I found you in the garden, I felt an inexplicable sense of foreboding. I don’t know how to explain it. A few minutes later I locked eyes with the turbaned fortune teller, and that’s when she flashed me a ghastly grin. Then, I recognized Becky under the oracle get up and that’s when I lost my shit.”

“Claudette, I’m glad we left the party. I think The Fates, or the great and mighty Oz, or who ever else is running this show, prevented the two of you from intersecting.”

“Fate, butterflies, whatever. It made me so sad to leave Thomas at the party knowing she was there. Seriously, seeing his confused expression as we were leaving was too much.” Claudette dabbed her eyes with a napkin.

I gave her my cheeriest smile. “I’m sorry, but at least you know the future story has a happy ending.”

“Jeeze, I was so shocked when Becky smiled at me, Claudette sighed. She looked so twisted.”

Listen Claudette, let me explain what happened right before you showed up. When I sat down to get my fortune read, I recognized it was Becky immediately. My instinct told me to back away from the table, but I realized that she couldn't see me. She was stoned to the bone, and I mean thoroughly trashed on something wicked. I reached across the table and grabbed a hold of her hands. I thought someone should try and talk her off the ledge.

Wow, I wonder who spiked her Cheerios? I don’t remember hearing that she mixed with the drugs.”

"At first, I used my sweet calming voice and we had a nice one-way conversation. I talked... while Becky’s eyes rolled around in the back of her head. She finally mumbled some cryptic stuff, but it was hard to decipher. She said something like, “All my square, or under square or a circle meets the square.” The strangest part of our tête-à-tête happened when I told her I wanted to read her fortune. She stopped tripping momentarily and gave me her hand to read... palm up.”

Claudette gave me her best slack jawed zombie expression. “Oh, that sounds soooo Night of the Living Dead!

I laughed. “Seriously, it was really weird. The dimmer lights were on, but nobody was home.”

Claudette was always entertained when I performed my “energy readings.” “What happened next, she urged? Did you give her a reading?”

“Yes, I ran my finger over the lines in Becky’s palm. Truthfully, I decided not to dick with destiny. I used my best portentous voice and told her the truth. I said that she would soon meet a tall, handsome and fair haired stranger. They would live near the ocean together, but the bloom would fall off the rose. Eventually, they'd go their separate ways and marry other people.”

“Did your words register? I mean, do you think she was really listening?”

“Maybe. It’s hard to say.” Oh, and I also told Becky that if she ever saw this fair headed man in the new millennium, she should run in the opposite direction. Otherwise, her bulging eyeballs would turn opaque and she’d instantly go blind. I think she understood me on some deeper level because she flinched.” We dissolved into laughter.

Just then, we saw a bouncing butterball of man coming our way brandishing a slotted burger flipper. “Don’t you dare look at me, begged Claudette. I swear, I’ll wet my pants.”

I lowered my voice. “That must be Chef Chuck. Doesn’t he look like a big Weeble from Weebleville?”

“Yeah, and Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down," added Claudette.

We both were trying to contain our hysteria as Chef Chuck rolled to a full stop in front of our booth. He wore an impeccably clean apron, a puffy white chef’s hat and incredibly tight dark checkered pants. Black diagonal-shaped eyebrows accentuated his forehead and gave his face a perpetually questioning expression.

“Hiya girls. What’s cooking?” asked Chef Chuck. For emphasis, or as an exclamation point, he slapped his spatula on our table. The sound of metal hitting Formica resonated throughout the dining room. “I’m glad you finally showed up, he continued.”

Claudette and I glanced nervously at each other before giving the chef our full attention. “That’s strange. Were you expecting us?” Claudette asked.

“Of course, he said. It seems like I’ve been waiting for you two bookends to appear since the end of the Roaring Twenties.” His laughter boomed over our heads like a rapid staccato of rolling thunder.

Impatience seeped into my voice. “Do you know anything about the invitation my sister and I received today?

Chef Chuck gleefully rubbed his hands together and snickered. Yes, a little birdie told me so.” He put his hands over his mouth to stifle a giggle.

“Paulette, this scene is way too weird. I think we should amscray, as they say in Pig Latin.”

The chef picked up the spatula again and waved it over his head. “No, you can’t leave yet. I’ve got the scoop. I’m suppose to hand feed you some important information.”

“Well, let’s have it. My sister and I are ready for a second helping.”

“Okay, okay,” he replied. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of twenties with an address attached. “I’ve been instructed to tell you to take this money and stay the night at the Stewart Hotel in Union Square. In the morning, walk across the street to the Dewey Monument. It’s a tall white column with a bronze statue on top. The figure is holding a trident and a wreath, you can’t miss it.

Claudette was annoyed. “We know where the monument is located, but what’s next? Are we supposed to wait for someone or something? Where did you get this information?”

Chef Chuck pointed out the window. “Troy D gave me the envelope. It had the money inside plus a handwritten note. The message read, “Give this package to the twins when they arrive.”

“How do you know we are the right twins?” Claudette snapped.

“You are Paulette and Claudette, right? Angora was keeping an eye out for you two. I guess she must have overheard your names in passing.” Chef Sherlock seemed pleased with his brilliant deduction.

Claudette was in a pissy mood. “Chuck, what’s with all the subterfuge? I’d like to know who trained Troy D. I mean, he’s just a wee bird with a tiny brain. Who does he work for the CIA, UPS, SPCA?” For the second time today The Theater of the Absurd crossed my mind.

“Girls, I want you to think of me as your special intercessor. Believe me, my sources are sound. Truthfully though, I can’t give you any more details. My gut tells me that it’s time for you gals to get down to Union Square and figure it out from there. The puzzle pieces will eventually fit together if you follow the breadcrumbs.

“Alrighty then. I guess this tea-party is over. Are you ready to split the scene, Dormouse? Claudette grinned from ear to ear like the Cheshire cat.

I nodded enthusiastically. “Sounds like a plan, MaryAnn.”

Chef Chuck suddenly slapped the side of his head. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you something and it’s very significant. Re-think the date on the invitation. November 1, 2013, might be a code or a password rather than a future date.

“Now, that’s an interesting theory. My sister and I will definitely keep that in mind for future reference. Chef, thanks for your hospitality and for interceding on our behalf. I think it’s time Claudette and I and head on down the Yellow Brick road."

Chef Chuck gave us each a hug and walked towards the kitchen. He did not turn around, but he called back over his shoulder, “I hope you find your way, On a wing and a prayer.”

Once outside, my sister flagged down a Yellow Cab and we happily climbed inside. “The Stewart Hotel,” requested Claudette. The cabbie sped off in the direction of Union Square. He had incredibly good luck with the traffic signals as we hit zero red lights along the way. Claudette and I took that as a good sign.

As usual, Union Square was crowded with cars and pedestrians vying for the right-of-way. “Stewart Hotel, little ladies,” barked the cabbie. We jumped out at the curb and Claudette paid the man.

I pointed at the hotel. “Hey, we’ve stayed here before. It’s The Handlery, or it will be at some point in the future.”

Claudette smiled. “Yeah, and that means Lefty’s is just a hop, skip, and a jump away. Let’s save the best for first. I could use a cocktail right about now. Do you think they will ask for our IDs?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s worth a try.” We walked several doors down and stood under Lefty O’Doul’s green neon sign. I opened the door and was instantly overpowered by the scent of Hofbräu cooking. The various carved meat smells merged with the odor of baked potatoes and overly cooked peas. “Sis, some things never change.”

The place was crowed with tourist types standing in line for an early dinner. We slid in behind the piano and maneuvered ourselves into a nice dark corner. A harried waitress finally approached and asked what we were drinking. “Two double martinis,” Claudette boldly answered. The server jotted down our order and never once looked up.

“You sounded so mature. Great job. A double should fix us right up.”

The drinks arrived without fanfare, and we spent the next hour reviewing our afternoon spent at the diner. Claudette ran a hand through her hair and straightened out a few tangles. “If you ask me, old Chef Chucky has been cooking with too much gas. And Angora...Jesus. Maybe his bird friend, Troy D, is really a robot.”

I was listening to my sister chatter, but my mind was stuck in a groove. I couldn’t stop thinking about the words Becky (the Exothalmic Oracle of Asbury) had spoken while hallucinating to the oldies. It was like working on a jumbled word puzzle, I knew I’d get it eventually.

Claudette suddenly whistled to get my attention. “Yoo-hoo! Is Paulette home?”

The vodka had worked its miracle. It erased all my tension so I could think more clearly. Then, the answer simply “gestalted.” “Claudette, I finally decoded Becky’s words and they are very apropos. I believe she said, Union Square and Alma’s square. Do you remember when we were visiting the 20’s and you told me about Alma Spreckels? You said that she was the model for the bronze statue on top of the Dewey monument in Union Square.”

“I remember talking about Alma, but what do you think it means? We need to figure out the common denominators?

“At this point, I don’t understand the equation, but an old math saying comes to mind. We have the answer, we just need to work through the problem. I think our best bet is to study the variables. After that, your guess is as good as mine.

An Invitation

2012-01-09T17:01:00.000-08:00

Paulette! Where are you? I had lost my twin in the swarm of people. I put my half-empty beer on a wee clearing on the counter and spoke into Thomas' ear.

"Where is Paulette? This place is freaking me out."

He turned his face so I could hear him and responded, "I told you this was a bad idea."

"Well, whatever. I have to find my sister. I don't need your scolding me, Dad. C'mon, we need to find her." I reached for his arm to drag him along.

He stood his ground. "Maybe we should split up for a few minutes. Meet back here in exactly ten minutes, and every five minutes after that."

"Yeah, okay." I turned on my heel and pushed my way through the crowd. Strung-out hippies and derelicts blocked my every path, and I found myself pushing people aside, and hearing, "Hey!" in my wake. I didn't care. I had to find Paulette.

I squeezed myself into a hallway jammed with undesirables taking tokes. "Have you seen a tall blonde who looks like me?" I called. No one answered, but one guy turned his head to look towards me. "Have you seen my sister? She's tall, blonde and beautiful," I implored.

"Hey, foxy lady," he responded, "You are some stone fox. Come 'ere." He stretched out his bony hand to encircle my waist. I flinched, but held my ground. "Hey, baby, we could have some fun. Don't freak out." He gazed at me through half-mast eyelids.

"Knock it off. Look, I need to find my sister." I knocked his hand back and put my nose close to his, even though he smelled like Fritos and limburger cheese. "She looks like me and I believe her to be in danger. Help me out. Now."

The guy put his hands up in surrender. "Whoa, you are bummin' my mellow. I haven't seen her. Back off."

I pushed my way down the hallway and went into the room where the orgy was taking place. I disregarded the couple in full copulation and headed for a naked girl who looked no older than I in my current guise. She rose to meet me and called out, "Hey you, tall chick - lose the threads, man." She grabbed at my dress.

"Oh Jesus, get the hell away from me. I'm looking for my sister. Have you seen a girl (I had to remind myself to say, "girl") who looks like me?" I softened my tone. "Look, I am sorry to barge in on your, um, scene. But I am really worried about her. She's tall, looks sort of like me, but really pretty."

The girl covered her breasts and looked up at me. "Yeah, I did, actually. I saw her walk by and peer in the room. I was hoping she wouldn't come in because I think my old man would really go for her type. But she just walked away."

"Which direction?" The girl pointed towards the garden.

"Thanks," I hollered as I pushed my way through the throngs.

I arrived in the garden only a minute or so later, but it felt like a year since I had left the orgy room. Where is she? I was starting to panic, getting more aggressive in pushing people aside. The masses weren't happy. "Hey!" "Fuckin' uptight bitch!" "What the hell?"

And then I saw her. She was talking with a young woman wearing a turban whose very long wavy hair `a la Botticelli's Venus snaked down her shoulders and back. Her face turned to me, and I saw that she had big doe eyes, and a vacant expression. But she was a sexy beast, I could tell. The kind of woman that without seemingly putting forth any effort snags men. I had to get Paulette away from her. "Paulette! Paulette!"

Paulette saw me and scurried over to where I stood. "We have to leave, Claudette. Right now. This place is bad news."

"I know, I know. I was so worried about you."

"There's nothing to worry about. But let's grab Thomas, and beat feet."

"No, leave him. He is meant to stay here."

"You already know then?"

"Yes," I said resignedly. "I know. I don't like it, but as you said earlier, we can't screw with the butterflies."

We were passing through the front door when we heard our names called. We turned to see Thomas standing alone in the middle of the living room. "Where are you going? You're leaving without saying goodbye?" He approached us and we all walked out to the porch.

Paulette took a breath and explained, "Thomas, my sister and I have to go, but you have to stay." She paused and Thomas' eyebrows shot up, as he was about to speak. Paulette raised her palm. "Thomas, listen to me. You have to stay. This is your destiny. This evening will help you on your path, but our staying is neither beneficial to you or us. You must stay."

"What? What do you mean?" Thomas was getting annoyed. Typical, I thought, but then I stopped myself. We were at a critical juncture. It was important I kept my mouth shut.

Paulette continued, "There are forces at work here that none of us understand. You'll just have to trust me. There was a reason we had to go to this party - well, there was a reason you had to go to the party. So go look for Sam. Take your time. See what transpires. But we must go. We have to leave immediately." And with that, Paulette grabbed my hand and we ran down the stairs.

"Where to?" I cried.

"We aren't far from a diner on Haight. Let's go there." We ran nearly the whole way, panting as we entered the restaurant and slung ourselves into the booth.

"First, are you okay? I mean, no one slipped you drugs, or anything? Right?" I asked my sister.

"No, no, I'm fine. And what about you?"

"I'm hanging in there." My sister and I were holding hands across the table and leaning in close to one another. Right at that moment, a waitress approached. She had white billowy hair, pink translucent eyeglasses and wore a bow tie as part of her uniform.

"What can I get you?"

We were both taken aback by her appearance and stuttered our responses. "Uh, uh, we'll have coffee."

She tentatively walked away. I rubbed my eyes for several seconds and dropped my hands. "Now what? Was that another bunny? Are we going be a part of Arthur's Round Table? Is this diner going to turn into a rocket ship?" I find sarcasm to be the cheapest form of humor and expression, but I was practicing it regardless.

Paulette laughed. And then I laughed and we found ourselves doubled over in our seats, wiping our eyes and then laughing all over again. We both took a deep breath at the same time and were silent for a moment.

"So you saw Thomas' old girlfriend, Becky? The girl in the turban?" Paulette placed her hands on mine.

I sighed again. "Yeah, I am just so jangled. This sort of thing shouldn't bother me in the least. I mean it was years and years ago - 1969, for Christ's sake! But I'm human I guess. I wanted to claw out her thyroidal eyes and shove them down her spindly throat. But even in a different dimension, one must hold oneself to certain standards." I sniffed.

Paulette stared at me for three seconds and then laughed heartily. "Oh God, I wish you could have tackled that limp dish rag. And I wish I could have been there to see it! That would have been great. But you are right. The butterflies! We can't go messing with the order of things. I'm glad you took my lesson to heart." She looked to the side; I could tell Paulette was ruminating. She then continued, "Look, I don't know what's going on here. Are we in some time warp? Are we on an expedition? Is this experience a metaphor for some, some... thing?" She looked up at me. "Thoughts?"

"Aw, geez. I wish I knew. I know I'm getting weary. And in fact, I'm getting pretty tired of looking like this." I waved my hands across my mini muslin Mexican frock.

The waitress brought our coffee and asked, "Anything else? Maybe another piece of wood for the pile?"

"Huh?" Our puzzlement over the strange question was interrupted by a sparrow fluttering in through the awning window above our booth. The little bird landed on our table, looked completely at ease, and carried a large envelope in his mouth. Paulette and Claudette was imprinted on the front of what appeared to be an invitation. Paulette grabbed the envelope and ripped it open, as I ran around the table to look over her shoulder. The invitation showed only the following:

November 1, 2013.

"In-da-Gada-Da-Vida, Baby"

2011-10-29T18:56:00.000-07:00

It was fascinating watching my sister interact with her twenty year old future husband. She was nervous and seemed a bit on the defensive, although it could have been left over irritation from the hotdog-in-face incident. Whatever the case, the atmosphere between the two of them was charged with electricity. My thoughts drifted elsewhere while they continued their flirtatious bickering. I started thinking about a science fiction piece by Ray Bradbury called A Sound of Thunder. It’s a tale about a group of men from the future who go back to the past on a time travel safari. The hunters are warned not to disturb anything and to stay on the designated trail. Of course, one miscreant traveler steps off the path, flattens a butterfly, and this small action alters the future. I thought the story apropos, but I decided not to mention it to my sister at this time for obvious reasons.

Claudette’s unrestrained laughter broke my reverie and I snapped back to the present. “Sis, what is so funny?” She pointed to Sam who was self-absorbed in a daydream of his own. His eyes were rolled back in his head and the contorted o-shape of his mouth made him look whacked out. He was jamming on an air guitar and his legs moved like James Brown to some tune in the distance.

“Thomas, I didn’t know you were friends with the finest guitarist in the world, Samtana.” We all laughed at my sister’s joke which seemed to break the tension. She chose just the right moment to pounce. “Hey guys, Paulette and I really want to go to the party. We’re game if you are.”

Thomas stuck his hands into the front pockets of his beige cords and shifted his weight uncomfortably. As he gave us both the once over his face registered concern. “Well, the party is in an old beater house in the Haight and it could get really gnarly. I heard they are going to have a couple of bands so the place will be crawling with all kinds of groupies and hippie types.”

Sam chimed in. “Yeah, and I bet there will be a lot of drugs too. The fuzz will probably show up and bust everyone.”

Claudette decided we were definitely tagging along and nothing could dissuade her. “Thomas, my sister and I are more mature than you think.” She turned my way and flashed a quick all knowing smirk, but only perceptible to me. “Seriously, you don’t have to act like Bonkers the Guard Dog because we can fend for ourselves. Just point us in the right direction.”

Thomas absently ran a hand through his sun-bleached surf-do as he contemplated a new plan of action. He clearly wanted to make tracks but it appeared he couldn’t bring himself to move his feet. For a minute he wore a bewildered expression and he looked like he could faint. Suddenly, he shook his head as if discarding a scary thought. “Wow, that was weird. I thought I saw this big yellow dog running at me with its tongue hanging out. I was about to block it from jumping on me but the doggy mirage just disappeared mid-leap. Damn, it was like something right out of Star Trek! You know, when Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock dematerialized. Seriously, it felt like I was tripping out. Sam, did you spike my Coke?”

Sam vehemently denied any wrongdoing. “No way Jose. I’d never do that to you. Dude, are you okay?” They put their heads together and conversed quietly.

Claudette looked shaken, not stirred. Only minutes before she had mentioned the name Bonkers, their furry and perpetually smiling Golden Retriever who lived with them in the future. She quickly leaned over and whispered in my ear. “Shit, do you think I’m tempting fate by talking to Thomas? Why did Bonkers make an appearance in this time zone?”

I gave my sister a comforting pat on her shoulder. “Hey, it’s 1969, anything can happen. I mean really, here we are talking to a young babelicious Thomas from the past. As for Bonkers, it seems fitting that he'd show up, hence his name. Maybe we are experiencing some kind of bleed through from the fourth dimension where our past, present, and future lives are intersecting. Hey, did you ever hear of “The Butterfly Effect? Did you step on any butterflies recently?”

Claudette eyed me suspiciously. “What are you talking about? Butterflies?”

The boys broke huddle and saved me from having to explain myself further. Thomas’s color had returned and he appeared to be steady on his feet. “I just want you to know that I’m okay, so no worries. Let’s forget about the whole disappearing dog act. It was probably something I ate that made me go temporarily loco. Go figure. Anyway, if you want to go to the party with us let’s get rolling.”

We all hunched our shoulders in unison and agreed to follow the leader. Sam had everyone turn around and then waved us forward. “Okay, right this way mademoiselles and monsieur.” He took us on a circuitous route through the park and headed in the direction of the Haight. I was excited about the prospect of seeing a real homespun hippie hoedown. I’d seen pictures of the area in its heyday, and appreciated that the boys were brave enough to take two “fifteen year olds” along on a little H & A joyride.

Claudette spied the infamous Haight-Asbury street sign before anyone else. “Wow! That is so iconic.” Sam and Thomas shook their heads in agreement, but for different reasons.

We walked another block before Sam stopped us just shy of a towering monstrosity painted a robin’s egg blue. The sickeningly sweet smell of pot permeated the air and seemed to envelope the dilapidated old Victorian in its smoky tendrils. We watched as the densely packed veranda undulated slowly under the weight of people coming and going. The trendy sixties “costumes” and hairstyles gave the mise en scene a carnivalesque flavor. Sam waved his hand at the crowd. “Voila mes amis. Have you ever seen hippies in their natural habitat?

Thomas bit his lower lip. “I don’t know about this place. Everyone looks kind of messed up. I mean, I guess anyone can go inside, right?

I ran past our little entourage and elbowed my way up the front steps. The orange lacquered front doors were propped wide open by two grimacing gargoyles. A stop sign painted with a swirling black and white optical illusion was positioned in the entryway to halt traffic. Printed on the octagon were the words Go ask Alice, I think she’ll know! I turned back and yelled loud enough so my sister could hear me. “Claudette, follow me. I’m going down the rabbit hole.”

Claudette shouted above the droning crowd. “Paulette, please wait for us.” She saw me hesitate and I motioned for her to come up.

Thomas grabbed Claudette’s arm. “Your sister is crazy. She shouldn’t go in there alone. Can’t you make her stop?”

Smiling, she shook her head in the negative. Without thinking, Claudette took Thomas’s hand and led him up the porch stairs. The three of us stood together and looked around for our fourth comrade. My sister frowned. “Hey, where did Sam go? He was standing next to me a minute ago.”

Thomas searched the crowd but didn’t see his friend. “He must have gone inside by himself. I hope he doesn’t do something radical. He is pretty wild.” Thomas became aware that he and Claudette were still holding hands. For two seconds they sustained eye contact, and once again I felt an electric current pass between them. They both released their grip at the same time but neither appeared to be embarrassed over their brief connection.

I stepped inside the foyer and turned back to get their attention. “Okay kids, I’m going in so follow me.” Thomas put his hand on Claudette’s shoulder and guided her through the entrance. Someone had kindly taped paper pointing finger signs along the walls to help lead partygoers to the garden.

The house had a labyrinth of rooms we had to navigate in order to find the backyard. As we moved through the hallway we slowed to peer into a few rooms as we passed. The darkened living room was filled with a more subdued group seated on large over stuffed chairs and back-to-back couches. Psychedelic rock posters (of now long dead rockers) covered the walls and each one glowed with an eerie phosphorescence. Black lights had a mesmerizing effect and were “so sixties.” We moved down the hallway and passed a bedroom with a hanging beaded door. Inside, a circle of moaning naked people were entangled in one big group grope. I kept the line moving and was glad when another pointing finger led us into the kitchen.

Claudette had pretended not to notice the nudes and made small talk instead. “This old place is a maze and we’ve just seen the downstairs. I wonder if there is anything here we can eat without tripping the light fantastic? I am starving.”

Thomas walked closely behind her. “We had better be careful about the food. I don’t want to end up hallucinating again. Seeing that dog kind of freaked me out.” Claudette reached over and gently smoothed his hair. He didn’t seem mind the intimate gesture one bit.

The kitchen was jammed with people who were laughing and talking loudly. At least this group appeared to be coherent. In fact, it looked like a bunch of young college students who had gathered casually in the quad before class. I saw a lot of denim, paisley, and long hair. They were drinking mostly beer and wine, although a few were puffing on joints. In a dim corner, a hairy bunch of cerebral types sat around a large picnic table and passed around a cup of brown liquid.

I turned to Claudette and Thomas. “Mushroom tea, anyone.”

Claudette rolled her eyes at me. “How about a beer?” She handed me a bottle of Coors that she’d fished out of a barrel. “Colorado Koolaid, my dear. At least this stuff should be safe. Paulette, you should stay away from the tea. Do you remember the last time we took mushrooms together? You saw a room full of tiny twirling fairies.” We both snickered at the memory from long ago.

Thomas’s mouth dropped open and I thought he was about to scold us for talking about schrooms. Instead, he put his hand out. “Hey under-agers, give me one of those beers.” My sister threw him an icy cold one with a perfect right-handed pitch.

After my second beer I had a nice buzz on and was ready to tackle the garden party. I had not forgotten the octagonal sign in front hallway and my curiosity was still piqued. I wondered if there really was an Alice, and if so, what exactly did she know? We walked into a huge backyard just as the band started their first set. There were a ton of people outside and many were starting to dance. Thomas and Claudette veered towards the music. He put his arm around my sister’s waist and lead her through the throng. I spoke out loud to myself as I watched them disappear into the masses. “Well, this is getting interesting.” Scanning the area I noticed a small handful of people lined up along a side fence. I walked towards the gathering and loitered behind the last person in line. “Excuse me, I just arrived. What are we waiting for?”

A tall young man turned around and looked questioningly into my eyes. “Man, don’t you know? We are waiting to see Alice, Oracle of Ashbury.

I nodded. “Thanks for the info. Then I guess I’m lined up to seer her.”

He didn’t catch my pun and continued talking. Ya, it’s Grace Slick’s party and she hired Alice to tell people’s fortunes. Isn’t that far out?” I heard she looks into your soul and tells you where it’s at.

I peered around the three other people ahead of me. Seated on a red velvet chair was a very petite and pale complected individual. She was dressed in street clothes except for a purple turban bound around her head. As she shuffled a deck of cards our eyes met. It was her toothy grin that sent me quick stepping backwards. I felt unnerved as I tried to place her. My twin had a mind like a trap and I knew she would remember Alice’s face. I needed to find Claudette in a hurry before I had to step up to the plate and have my fortune served to me by the “Oracle of Ashbury.”

Surfer Boy

2011-09-21T14:45:00.000-07:00

He wore tight cords and a madras shirt - the uniform of a 1960s surfer boy. His white blonde hair swept across his forehead and his freckles spoke of many hours spent on the waves. He looked about twenty years old - about a decade younger than when I would eventually meet him.

"Oh my God, Claudette. It's Thomas and his surfing buddy, Sam." I barely knew how to respond. The Fresca and Twinkies sunk to the bottom of my stomach and I felt a little sweaty.

"Paulette, I think we need to leave, like now. We need to hide."

"What? What is the matter with you?"

"I don't think it's a good idea for me to mess with the sequence of the universe, if you know what I mean."

She paused to look at me. "Look, if you are worried about meeting your husband too early, I really don't think there is anything to worry about."

"But you don't know that! I could screw up everything. I mean, look at me! I did not get the looks at this age. Did you notice the broken glasses? How about the pimples? When Dad let me get contacts and mom finally got me to the dermatologist, well, you know. I started looking good - like you, obviously. I mean since were twins. Shit, Thomas takes one look at my 1969 self..."

"Stop! Stop right there. You are beautiful through and through whether you are fifteen or fifty. And look at them," Paulette and I both glanced at Thomas and Sam, who were at this point standing on a nearby hill, passing a paper bag back and forth - consuming a libation of some sort. "They are boys, really. He won't remember this moment even if we do have a conversation with them."

"Oh, no, Paulette. We are not engaging them in conversation." I wagged my head back and forth several times and started to walk towards the park exit. Paulette grabbed the back of my dress.

"What are you so afraid of?"

"Are you kidding? I'm scared to death he'll be repulsed by my present teen state and remember said repulsion and then when we meet a decade from now, he will run for the hills. No marriage, no kids, no life." I looked down at my sandals and closed my eyes for a second.

"Oh shit, here they come." Paulette put her fingers under my chin and whispered, "Smile," and then twirled me around. Thomas and Sam were right in front of us.

"Hey, I know you," said Sam looking at Paulette. "You hang out at the beach. Are you friends with Sonny LaChapelle?"

Paulette replied that she and Sonny's sister were friends. While they were going through the names of various acquaintances, I studied Thomas. He wasn't looking at either Paulette or me, but rather, he was surveying the crowd and looking bored. He was so boyish; when I met him in 1978 he wasn't nearly as lanky or freckly. But, he sure was cute.

I took my eyes off Thomas and took in the scene around me - the music, the smells of hot dogs and weed and the wind kicking up the limbs of pine trees. I started to feel a little less terrified. Thomas and Sam were at the park to listen to music and drink beer. They had no interest in a couple fifteen year olds. I felt my breathing return to normal, but then -

"Hey, you guys want to go to a party?" Sam asked. I snapped my mind back to the conversation and blurted, "No."

At the very same moment, I watched Thomas lean into Sam and say, "What are you doing, man?"

Paulette, also at the same second, looked at me and said, "Let's roll, huh, sis?" I pulled her to the side and urgently whispered to her that we weren't going to any party. For God's sakes, we were too young to be going with these guys to a party.

Suddenly, Sam sprinted over to the hot dog stand and said, "Whoa, these dogs smell good. I just realized I'm hungry. Thomas?" Thomas loped over as well, and we followed. "Wow, 50 cents. I can't believe they charge that much for a hot dog." Sam and Thomas both laid out a dollar each. And they both nearly swallowed their first dog whole.

"I guess you guys were hungry." I don't know what compelled me to speak at that moment, but once I did, I didn't feel as scared. Thomas looked at me for the first time since we'd encountered them.

"Hey, I don't think I caught your names. I'm Thomas."

"I'm Claudette and this is my sister, Paulette." Paulette gave a little wave and started laughing, which got me to laughing.

"What's so funny?" Thomas grinned crookedly and then I saw a familiar expression cross his face - one that told of impending mischief. He hadn't taken a bite from his second hot dog; he pointed the dog very close to my face and forced the wiener in and out of the bun. He did this several times, all the while, chuckling and looking to Sam for an audience. Sam laughed and started doing the same thing with his hot dog.

I pushed up my glasses to stare at Thomas more acutely.

"Wow, you are being an ass." Paulette's expression was grim.

"You squeakers are so up tight. Jesus, lighten up." Thomas' laughter had died down, but then Sam started sliding the dog back and forth once more, and they both busted up again.

I had had it.

"So, like, are you indicating you'd like to have sex with me - a squeaker? Is that it? Are you into underage sex? I mean, you are twenty years old, right? Is that how you get your jollies? Hmm?"

The laughter stopped and Thomas' jaw hardened. "What ..."

I cut him off. "Look, I don't think it's funny. I think you are acting incredibly stupid for someone so smart." I felt as if thought I'd been running several blocks - my breathing was heavy and my heart was pounding.

"First off, how do you know how old I am?" I started to say something, but he cut me off. "Just wait. You don't even know me."

"Well, I know that your behavior is inappropriate." I could see Paulette in my periphery, looking bemused. "But I guess, being inappropriate isn't the end of the world." I frowned at him, pushed up my glasses, and looked off in the distance. Little tufts of fog were starting to skirt the tops of the pine trees. I didn't have a sweater and the breeze was brisk. I looked at my sister and wondered what was going to happen next. I also wondered if meeting Thomas at this juncture may prove to be edifying.

"So, where's this party?" I heard myself ask.

“The Times They Are A- Changin’

2011-08-01T22:33:00.000-07:00

~1969~

My sister and I couldn’t stop staring at our faces in the mirror. Our initial reaction of shock quickly gave way to amazement and a fond remembrance of those bittersweet bygone days. As newly “restored” adolescents our images reflected a genuinely sweet and guileless quality that is owned solely by the young. It was uncanny to physically look fifteen again and yet even more incredible to have our adult intellect still intact. The old saying, “If I only knew then what I know now,” came to mind and I wondered how we’d put that “hypothesis” to the test.” I turned towards my youthful twin to share my excitement. “San Francisco in '69 was... I mean, it is the nucleus of all that is happening and groovy. Welcome to “where it’s at,” baby!

Claudette listened with a neutral expression and didn’t seem to share my overt enthusiasm. “Well, at least we’re back in a more familiar time zone and one we actually lived in. Now don’t get me wrong, I think the Roaring Twenties kicked ass as an era. I’m just glad to be moving forward along the timeline because as it stands right now, we are forty-one more years closer to home.” She drew in a deep breath and let out a peep of a sigh. “Oh, and I do agree that San Francisco was the “it” place in the sixties. If someone wanted to step out of their proverbial box and into the wild....well, it sure was a jungle out there.

I nodded. “Both eras rocked the radical, that’s for sure. It is hard to believe sometimes how young we were during the whole 60’s shebang. You and I were just barely teens in ’68 when the “anti-establishment” crusade was in full swing. I remember when the national news showed Jimi Hendrix playing The Star Spangled Banner at Woodstock, dad nearly kicked in the television. I’ll never forget the indignant expression on his face.”

“True, he really despised our music. However, I think it was the entire decade of changes across the board that shortened his generation’s lifespan. I’m still sad that in my youth I didn’t have a clue what the 60's “counter-culture movement” was setting in motion.” Claudette pounded her fist into her other palm for emphasis. “Revolution, evolution, institution, constitution, demonstration.... !”

I tried to redirect her stream of consciousness. “Hey, aren’t those lyrics from The Beatle’s song Revolution? Or maybe it was The Temptation's Ball of Confusion. I raised my voice a few octaves higher and quoted the Temps by singing, “Just a ball of confusion, that’s what the world is today.”

Claudette ignored me and continued to furiously unpack her thoughts. “I only hope we aren’t heading for devolution in the near future and I mean in the new millennium. And don’t ask me what I think about our so called counter-culture now ..in 2011!”

“Girlfriend, I hear you loud and clear.” I wasn’t going to risk asking my sister anything in her present mood. Claudette had become extremely agitated and it always happened when she was hungry. The last time we ate was, hummm, way back in the 1920’s. I needed to locate some food and fast before she completely decompensated. We stopped outside the bathroom to get our bearings. The doctor who had attended us earlier was standing near the medical tent smoking a cigarette. We waved and gave him two thumbs up. Dr. Welby stubbed out the ciggy and saluted us before retreating back into his temporary hive. Apparently, he thought we’d sufficiently recovered enough from our “experimental drug ingestion” to enjoy the rest of the day, unlike his other buzzed patients inside. The joke was on him though as we hadn’t taken any drugs at all...unless Lapin and slipped us something in our cocktails back in the 20’s. I put that thought on a back burner.

Claudette pushed me from behind. “Come on, let’s dive into this mess of flesh.” She pulled me in the direction of the field where a sea of bona fide hippies wearing bell-bottomed jeans, tie dye, and other assorted 60’s attire had amassed. The polo grounds looked like a three ring circus on Nickel Night. A throng of tangled folks stood in front of the empty stage and swayed in unison as if one hairy breathing entity. They still kept movin’ and groovin’ even though the band was on break. A disheveled hippie teen in a red velvet top hat shoved something into his mouth as he stumbled past. Claudette observed the motion and briefly considered tackling him. Instead she yelled, “Hey man, where did you get the food? My sister and I haven’t eaten in like.. forty years.”

The shirtless flower child stopped in his tracks having heard my sister’s plaintive cry. He attempted to greet us by tipping his top hat but couldn’t seem to locate his head. The sight of twins must have been doubly confusing for him in his present spaced-out state. Like a cheeky monkey in the zoo he scratched his privates and gaped at us shamelessly. While keeping his bloodshot eyes trained on our faces he returned to gnawing on whatever he clenched protectively in his right fist. As he chewed mechanically dribbles of macerated brown goo escaped from his mouth and splattered onto his bare chest. At the end of his dining experience he groaned in ecstasy as he licked each finger and his palm clean.

Claudette was angry (starved) and it looked like she was going to snap his ass in two. “Listen numbskull, I told you I need to eat. Tell me where they sell food around here before I squish my thumbs into your eye sockets!”

I stepped in front of my sister before she throttled the poor bonehead. In an attempt to get his attention I clapped my hands loudly by his ears. “Hey bud, where did you get that greasy possum pie you just snarfed down?” For some reason my words must have computed because he pointed to a school bus a few yards north of yonder.

Claudette barred her teeth and bowed in mock gratitude. “Thanks, you friggin’ loadie.”

We were in the process of leaving when the hippie dude yelled something incoherent in our direction. “Grobbs und kidkn poss, noooooo.”

I thought he was speaking German until I realized he was in the midst of freaking out. We stopped where we were and watched as his face turned a ghastly shade of gray. He started sniffing wildly at his hands like a dog in search of a scent. A second later, he looked cross-eyed as he stared down his nose at his own tongue which appeared to be moving involuntarily in and out of his mouth. When he dropped to all fours his shoulders started to roll and I knew that vomit wasn’t far behind. I took several steps backwards to protect my shoes. “I suppose I shouldn’t have mentioned the word possum. I guess there’s nothing like the power of suggestion, eh sis?”

Claudette put her hand over her mouth. “Oh no, I have to get out of here before I start to gag. I can’t stand watching people hurl. Please let’s go.” She grabbed my hand and we made a direct beeline for the bus.

The aged behemoth was parked sideways and its original school bus yellow color was long gone. It was now a thing of “art” painted in a quasi-Peter Max style, canvased over with psychedelic swirls of turquoise, red, and green. One long lone table was stationed in front of it and offered an enticing array of packaged munchies. We quickly amassed a pile of our own and sustenance was just a bag’s reach away. Obviously there was no bottled water as it hadn’t been invented (marketed) yet. I grabbed two Fresca’s and opened them with a church key I’d found hanging on a nail. We stood around for a few minutes and waited for someone to wait on us. I called out, “Hello, is there anybody home?” Nobody answered, no curtains parted, nor did anyone appear after I’d knocked. I looked at my sister and knew there is only one thing left to do. I yelled, “run Claudette run.” We bagged the food and beat feet!

Claudette had eaten several bags of chips and was working on a cookie by the time we reached the hub of hippiedom again. After she had washed back the dry snacks with a few slugs of soda her color had finally returned. She wiped her hand across her mouth and smiled. “Damn, I’m on a junk food high. That was good stuff.”

I watched as she pawed through her stash. “At least you didn’t grab any pink Hostess SnoBalls. You finally remembered that I don’t like coconut. I do see that you snitched a package of DingDongs. Speaking of DingDongs, do you think that’s what the hippie kid was chompin’ on before he upchucked? It’s not um..im..possumable.” I laughed at my juvenile joke but Claudette waved the thought away in disgust.

We walked into the middle of the concert crowd where everyone seemed to be enjoying various stages of intoxication. An array of stoned merrymakers clowned around and busily annoyed other fellow concert goers like ourselves. A topless blond with peace sign decals stuck over her nipples screamed as one of her pasties was hastily removed. At exactly the same moment a shrieking whistle abruptly escaped from the standing microphone situated mid stage. Both high-pitched sounds pierced a multitude of eardrums far and wide, including my own. A man appeared from behind the the drum set and adjusted the mic before making an announcement. “Hey man, hang in there. Airplane’s coming back to finish their second jam in a few. So all you freaks out there mellow out.” The happy and high horde of music worshipers roared with pleasure at the news.

Claudette leaned towards me and said, “The natives are restless tonight.” We both laughed as our father had used that quote frequently when we were growing up. He was so not “PC.”

“Sis, let’s ditch these knuckle draggers and move closer to the front. My dream of seeing Grace Slick perform live is about to come to true.” Claudette and I hooked arms and waded through the thick audience in a slow moving snake-like progression. Joints passed by us every which way and the sweet smell of weed permeated the air. Most of the anesthetized folks barely reacted when we kindly stepped in front of them in search of an unimpeded view.

Claudette put her hand in the air and pointed upwards just as we’d positioned ourselves in the most perfect spot. “Look Paulette, this is so awesome!” The male band members were already in place when Slick sauntered to center stage and picked up the microphone.

“Grace Slickkkkk!” I’d screamed her name out loud and felt like a drooling groupie, but I couldn’t help myself. In front of me stood my favorite iconic rock goddess dressed in a dark blue kaftan and lace-up boots. Slick’s signature dark hair/cropped bangs framed her face and made her soulful eyes appear even more penetrating. She stared at the crowd and commanded their attention before belting out Somebody to Love in her lusty mind-blowing contralto vocals. The band followed with She has Funny Cars, Embryonic Journey, and ended with the riveting ballad Comin’ Back to Me. I felt like I’d melted from the power of the music and the heat of the crowd. Even when I was really truly fifteen years old their music had a profound effect on me. In my perspective, Jefferson Airplane’s music captured the end of the 60’s, a decade of tumultuous changes, crossroads, and new frontiers. In that moment, I felt that those around me had the same passionate foreknowledge... that times were indeed “a changin’.”

Claudette interrupted my reverie by pointing excitedly. “Oh my God! I can’t believe it. Look who is standing over there and he’s not alone!”

I shook my head in disbelief and laughed. I took this sighting as a very positive omen.

It's About Time

2011-07-06T22:21:00.000-07:00

My eyes were still closed, but I could tell it was way too light and way too loud outside. I stretched from fingers to toes before cracking open an eye. Grace Slick was wailing that I needed someone to love, and Ben Casey was in the corner munching from a bag of Laura Scudder potato chips.

"Paulette? Who's the Doc in the Box? And why are we in a tent?"

"Oh my God, Claudette. I think we have jumped ship again. This time to 1969! We are at a concert in the park - Golden Gate Park. The doctor says we dropped some acid, or something. Crazy, huh?" She was in her cot and I, in mine.

"What the fuck?" I exclaimed and threw my hands, palms up.

"Young lady!" boomed Dr. Potato Chip, "that's quite a mouth you have on you." Since when did a hippie dippy doc sound like Dick Nixon? "You shouldn't use curse words."

Both Paulette and I stared at Marcus Welby for a moment. "Okay, Dad," I said. But what I thought was have some respect for your elders, Doc Holliday. "What a jerk off," I whispered to Paulette, who started laughing. I was still fixing my most sullen look upon Dr. Not So Steamy, when it dawned on me that I wasn't wearing my contacts. "Paulette, it would seem in 1969, unlike 1906 or 1924, I no longer wear contacts. This is all so weird. Do you, by any chance, have my glasses?"

Hawkeye Pierce piped up, "I found your specs in your pocket." What was he doing squirreling around in my pockets? Perv.

"Oh, thanks." I took the glasses from him. I recognized them immediately as mine, but from a long time ago. I turned them about and saw the rhinestones in the corners, the pale green patina and the telltale white tape that held the arm to the frame front. Yep, those were my glasses, all right.

I mumbled, "Hmm," as I peered through my glasses at my twin.

"What?" Paulette was reclining and rubbing her temples. Her eyes were closed.

"Well, these glasses - my glasses - are the ones I wore when we were in ninth grade. You know..." I stopped mid-thought. "Paulette! You look so young, like you are fourteen or fifteen. I mean..."

Paulette cut me off. "Oh, you are so full of it. But thanks for the compliment. That's sweet of you." She sighed and rolled to her side, keeping her eyes shut. She was wearing a green hip hugger skirt with a wide white belt, a flowered baby doll top, and tan huarache sandals. Her long blond hair hung loosely and was parted in the middle. Her freckles were scattered along the bridge of her nose.

"I think we need to find a mirror." I grabbed Paulette's hand, pulling her from the cot. "Hey, Dr. Kildare," I hollered, "where are the bathrooms?"

"Just out the tent flap and to the left. You can't..." Dr. Seuss was still blathering, but we had already hit the exit, and made our way to the restrooms. There were a bunch of hippie chicks standing in front of the mirrors, applying makeup in such a way as to make it look "natural," but I figured age before beauty and elbowed my way through the girls and the smoke. Paulette and I examined our reflections in the mirror, neither of us saying a word for two seconds.

"OH MY GOD! WE ARE FIFTEEN YEARS OLD!"

“And if You Go Chasing Rabbits.....”

2011-06-15T20:28:00.000-07:00

Chaplin’s hand had crept above my knee just as I heard a high pitched scream from the tiers behind us. The woman who shrieked must have read my mind as I was about to do the same to stop his lecherous groping. When I turned in the direction of the commotion above I saw four burly men carrying a sagging form towards the lobby. A tall brunette in a sequined gown walked haltingly behind the group. The dimmed theater lights faintly reflected off her dress as she disappeared behind a curtained doorway. The movie stopped rolling and the organist had arisen once more to soothe the disquieted crowd. It wasn’t until I faced forward in my seat that I realized Claudette was gone.

Chaplin was chatting to someone on his other side when I tapped his shoulder. “Excuse me Charlie, did you see my sister leave?”

He looked at me and raised his famous eyebrows. “My dear, did you say you were going to heave? Champagne does that sometimes.”

I shook my head. “No, I asked if you saw my sister leave.

He answered nonchalantly. “Yes, I saw her slip out of here right before all the yelling began. It looked like she was following a small man, an usher perhaps.”

I gathered my things to leave when he clutched my wrist to stop me. “Why don’t you stay a while and finish the movie. We can go back to my hotel room later and order some real cocktails.” He swirled his champagne glass and knocked it back in one gulp. “No more of this fuzzy French shit.”

I stood abruptly and extricated myself from his hold. “Honey, I’ll be right back. I need to go powder my nose.”

Chaplin shot me one of his famous twisted grins and slapped the chair beside him. “I’ll save your seat.” I could feel his eyes all over me as I escaped down the stairs. Two lascivious Charlie’s in one night were one too many.

I hurried into the lobby and ran into a sea of people surging towards the bar. Caught in the gridlock I bobbed along amidst the crowd unable to reach the front door. As I was swept forward I heard snippets of conversations all around me. Most folks were talking about the man who’d collapsed. Apparently, Adolph Spreckles, Jr. and his wife Alma had just settled into their seats when he slumped forward. Two buxom women in chiffon and crepe chattered as I waited for a chance to bolt. A strapping redhead leaned towards her friend and whispered out loud. “Well, I can’t imagine anyone calling their husband “sugar daddy,” even if he was a sugar baron. It’s simply vulgar. Eunice, did you know that Mrs. Spreckles posed in the nude? Her husband was twice her age.”

Eunice, the smaller of the two, made a face like she had smelled something sour. “Mildred, you always know all the delicious details. Look at that tart crying crocodile tears while they stuff her poor dead husband into the back of that ambulance.”

Suddenly energized, I reversed my direction and elbowed my way past the mass of tuxedoed men and corseted matrons. I finally reached the exit and passed by Mrs. Spreckles on my way out. She stood by watching and weeping into her silk handkerchief. I couldn’t help but feel badly that she maligned by gossips whom she had probably never met. Our eyes met for a moment and I gave her a sympathetic nod as I walked past.

Once outside I was dumbfounded and at a loss. Where was Claudette and who was the mysterious little man in black? It wasn’t like her to leave me high and dry especially under these precarious circumstances. Somehow though I knew instinctively that she’d left a clue behind. As quickly as the thought materialized I saw a small white card lying on the sidewalk. I retrieved it from the ground and smiled already knowing that it was Mr. Harry Lapin Blanc’s business card. Fortunately, Claudette had dropped this breadcrumb for me to follow. I asked the man at the theater’s taxicab stand to hale me a cab and I didn’t wait long. An old Ford taxi chugged up and I slid into the backseat. “Take me to 329 Liddell Street and please hurry.” The taxi pulled away from the curb and I turned back once to glance at the fading Castro theater. I knew that I would see it again in real time, or should I say, reel time?

The cabbie adjusted his mirror so that I could see his eyes. “Hey lady, just so you know Liddell is in an iffy part of town. You OK with that?”

I leaned forward and spoke to him over the seat. “I’ll be fine and thanks for your concern. I’m trying to find my twin sister and her friend. I know this is a shot in the dark, but did you see a tall blond and a short fellow in a black tux in front of the theater? It would have been about a half an hour ago.”

He slapped the dashboard as if to get my attention. “I thought I was going batty when I saw you on the sidewalk. You looked just like the pretty blond dame I dropped off about twenty minutes go. Sorry, I didn’t mean to get too personal. I let her off in some alley near Liddel Street and she was with a small ghost of a guy. You were wearing a different colored dress so the puzzle pieces didn’t match up. I notice these kinds of things in this business. Who knew I was actually seeing double. Twins, right?”

I gave him a weak smile and nodded. “Listen, it’s important that you drop me in the exact same spot where you left them off. I must find my sister as soon as possible.”

The cabbie adjusted his hat and tapped the steering wheel. “You got it, lady.” He remained silent for the remainder of the ride, until he took a sudden left turn and the car rolled to a stop. “Here ya go.” He stuck his hand out of the window and pointed. “When I dropped those two off they went under that archway over there and ducked into that brick building. Be safe now.”

I leaned into the car and paid him the fare plus a generous tip. “Sir, you are an observant man and the only normal person that I’ve talked to all tonight, aside from my sister. I am so grateful.” He tipped his hat and sped off into the night.

Lidell street was dark and deserted but I wasn’t afraid. I inhaled deeply and tried to regain some composure before I searched for my sister. A line from Grateful Dead’s song, “Truckin,” Lately it occurs to me what a long, strange trip it's been, spontaneously slipped out of my mouth like one long moan. I sing when I’m nervous, old habits die hard. As I knocked on apartment number 329 I spoke out loud to myself, “Mr. Harry White Rabbit you had better be home.”

I noticed the door was painted in red enamel and that the same Chinese symbol from Li’s “Shanghai” entryway was positioned above it. I wasn’t sure if seeing it here was a good thing, but before I had a chance to contemplate further the door opened. Standing in front of me was a very petite and pale man. Before I could say anything he waved me in. “We have been waiting for you Paulette. Quickly get inside, hop to it, hop to it.” He reached up and tugged me through the opening then slammed and bolted the lock. “Claudette is fixing us some drinks in the kitchen. Come sit down, sit down.”

Lapin-Blanc invited me to take a seat on a compact sofa then he perched on a footstool nearby. I surreptitiously glanced around the room for details, clues, or any indictor as to why we had ended up in his apartment. Every square inch of the room was filled with furniture, books, paintings, pillows, figurines, and objets d’art exraordinare. When he spoke he scrunched his nose which made his two front teeth appear even larger. His words were accented with a slight lisp. “I see that you are admiring my collection.”

I wasn’t sure what he was talking about since everything he possessed seemed to be a collection of sorts. “Ah, Mr. Lapin-Blanc I’m just curious how...”

He quickly cut me off. “Paulette, don’t be so formal, no formalities here. Please, you must call me Harry.” As he gave me a friendly scolding he nervously took off his glasses and swiped them clean with a cocktail napkin. It was then I noticed that his eyes were rose colored and I mean the iris part. A politically incorrect thought popped into my head, albino midget. Of course, I let it pass and tried not to stare.

Thankfully, Claudette appeared with a tray of drinks and placed a martini in front of me. “Well, hey sis, glad you could join us.” She faced Lapin-Blanc and handed him a drink. “Harry, I hope you don’t mind that I added a spot of cranberry juice, I know how you love the color pink.” I caught my sister’s eye momentarily and she raised an eyebrow in response. She also had prepared a tray of crackers and cheese with a side of vegetables. I was ravenous and could hardly contain myself from devouring the entire plate. I took a handful of each before passing it to my right.

Claudette squeezed in next to me on the sofa and we sat mashed together like Siamese twins. We lifted our glasses and toasted, “Cheers Harry.” Our drinks were consumed in two gulps. She immediately poured us seconds from the perspiring pitcher of cocktails that rested on the wooden coffee table. After a few more sips I felt blanketed in a warmth of euphoria, anesthetized by the velvet hammer known as a vodka martini.

My sister was ready to resume an earlier conversation. “Harry, I don’t know if we can ever unravel this time travel conundrum but you said you might be able to help us.” She turned to me. “Harry said he knows who the players are in this game.”

I watched closely as his nose went into non-stop twitch mode. “What kind of game are we talking about? What players?” Harry appeared agitated as he furiously rubbed his delicate hands together. My ex Vince had the same nervous tic. He'd also over anxiously rub his hands like a madman when the Lakers or some other team he liked were about to score.

Unfortunately, Harry ignored my question and changed the subject completely. “Yes, yes, I know all about your troubles. It began in Chinatown, I’m absolutely sure of it now. Listen, I’ll explain later, later is better. I want you both to get some rest. I’m sure the drinks have made you sleepy. I promise to tell you what I know tomorrow. I insist that you stay the night as my guests. I have a room ready, let me show you the way.”

Since we didn’t have anywhere else to go so we agreed to stay. Claudette and I wanted answers but at the same time we were completely exhausted. My body felt so weighted down I could hardly get up. My sis pulled me off the sofa and I followed behind as Harry led the way. She turned and whispered softly. “What difference does another day make?” I shrugged and didn’t argue the point.

The darkened hallway smelled of mold and decay. I prayed he wasn’t taking us on an underground route to bunny hollow hell. Harry had lit a candle and the meager flame reflected our gloomy shadows on the walls as we walked in single file. I swallowed my panic as the passageway to the back of the house became smaller and stuffier. I held onto the back of Claudette’s jacket so we wouldn’t be separated. Harry finally stopped and opened the door to a bedroom. “This room is ready for you, clean and ready for my twin guests. I have extra blankets in the closet if you get cold. Old houses do get drafty even in the summertime, no need to open the windows. Sleep well tonight girls and I promise by tomorrow you will have a much different perspective when....

Harry had set the candle on a dresser and shut the door in mid-sentence. As I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dusky lighting, I saw my sister sit down on something low. I waved my hand around the room. “Well Alice, I think we’ve done it now. We have literally and figuratively gone down the proverbial rabbit hole. I'm sure a conversation with the talking doorknob is next. This place reeks like a root cellar.” I tried to peer through the only window but the gesture was useless as all I could see was blackness.

Claudette patted the place next to her. “Come over here and lie down. I’m feeling really sleepy and kind of dizzy. Let’s crawl into this bed and get some sleep. We have earned it.”

Out of no where I felt woozy and light headed too. The cocktails and food had eased my hunger but this was a new sensation. We peeled back the sheets and climbed into the double bed. I pulled the down comforter up to our necks and turned onto my side. Automatically, we moved closer together for warmth just like we did when we were children. Claudette grabbed my hand. “Are you alright? I know this place bothers you. Close your eyes now and sleep tight. I am right here... here I am.”

She was asleep before I could answer or even tell her goodnight. I started to do deep breathing exercises to relieve my anxiety. To keep my sanity intact I tried not to entertain the thought that we could be sleeping in a burrow. Anything subterranean sent my mind reeling. For the second time this evening I prayed, but this time the prayer was for merciful sleep. As the only source of light snuffed itself out, I fell asleep and went directly to dreamland. Later, it felt like my body had turned upside down but I hadn’t moved. It was really warm now, and although my eyes were closed I sensed it was getting lighter outside. I curiously watched as kaleidoscopic swirls of snowflakes drifted by and dissipated before landing. I heard a women singing and her powerful contralto vocals easily penetrated the walls. I struggled to wake up and heard my own voice shout out loud, “White Rabbit. Yes, that’s the name of the song. Hey, turn up the sound!”

Someone draped a damp towel on my forehead. I heard a man talking to me from above but I couldn’t open my eyes yet. “Harry, is that you? I reached next to me for Claudette but she wasn’t there. “Claudette, where are you? If I don’t get out of this rabbit hole I’m going to scream.”

A soothing hand patted my shoulder. “Calm down, take a deep breath. Your sister is on the cot next to you. I think you got a hold of some really strong hallucinogens . Did you bring your own stuff or did someone give it to you at the concert?”

I pulled the rag off my forehead and looked at the person who had their hand under my head. “Ah, I’m kind of freaked out. When I went to bed last night I was at Harry Lapin Blanc's house on Liddell Street. I have no idea where I am now or who you are. I don’ t even know what year it is.

Standing over me was a man wearing a pair of jeans, black P.F. Flyers, and a white doctor’s jacket with a stethoscope hanging from his neck. He had brown shoulder length and a neatly trimmed beard. “I’m Dr. Jeremy Wright and you miss are in San Francisco at the Grateful Dead and Jefferson Airplane concert in the park. It’s 1969, remember? This is the Emergency tent on the Polo Field. We take care of all the folks who are tripping out on crazy drugs.”

I looked around the room and sure enough I was inside a large white tent. There were several other casualties scattered throughout moaning at the unforeseen. I sat up and found Claudette lying on a cot an arms length away from me. She was asleep on her side with the sheet kicked off and was no longer dressed in head-to-toe satin. As I took in her new wardrobe I realized we had somehow overnight moved about forty-five years into the future. On her feet were a pair of leather sandals and she wore a rumpled muslin Mexican dress with embroidered flowers stitched across the bodice. Two yellow daisies were tucked inside her headband and a smeared peace sign was on her left check. After the first earthquake when we landed in Chinatown of yore, I’d wished that we were in the 60s. I think my wish just came true.

I gently pulled on Claudette’s hand. “Hey, wake up hippie chick, you are not going to believe this one.” While I waited for my twin to regain consciousness another song popped into my head. Ironically it wasn’t music by the Dead or Jefferson Airplane. It was a song by Grand Funk Railroad and I nervously hummed the first few lines out loud.

I'm your captain, I'm your captain,

Though I'm feeling mighty sick.

Everybody, listen to me,

And return me, my ship.

I'm your captain, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah.

I'm getting closer to my home ...

I'm getting closer to my home..

When Folks Still Named a Son "Adolph"

2011-06-03T20:14:00.000-07:00

I was completely discombobulated by the latest turn of events. Here we were at the Castro Theatre, just blocks from my home, but I couldn't go home because it was 1924.

I looked up from the mysterious business card of Monsieur Lapin-Blanc to see William Randolph Hearst escorting Marion Davies on the red carpet. "MARION DAVIES in JANICE MEREDITH," shone brightly on the marquee of the Castro Theater. I took a glance at the movie poster: "Produced by William Randolph Hearst." Of course! This would have been the time of the newspaper magnate and the movie star's illicit affair. Miss Davies and Mr. Hearst walked by after having posed for photos. She was exquisite in face and form; her hair arranged in a marseille wave, her lips painted `a la Betty Boop, and her gown fitted fluidly - the color of lilacs. Mr. Hearst was large and dressed in tails and top hat. I coughed in the trail of his cigar smoke. Other notables strolled the red carpet. As Alma Spreckels and her husband Adolph strolled by, I heard Mrs. Spreckels coo to her husband, "Sugar daddy, shall we have a little popcorn?"

My sister was resplendent in a midnight blue flapper dress, showing off her long legs. I wore a full-length sheath in pale pink. I smoothed the front of my frock and whined, "I want to go home, Paulette." I was suddenly taken by an urge to bolt up the street, to see my husband, my children, and Bonkers.

"We will, Claudette. We will. I think we have to talk to the good rabbit, Monsier Lapin."

"Well, could we just walk up and see? Maybe if we go up to the house, it will have changed. I mean, the time will be back to the present." I was pouting and Paulette knew I was pouting. She gently yanked on my hair, and broke into a little jig. I couldn't help but laugh.

Just then, the lights dimmed twice, signaling that it was time to find our seats. I was curious about the movie and nodded to Paulette that I'd hang in for the show. The ushers were offering glasses of Dom Perignon, and Paulette and I each grabbed two flutes. We were escorted to seats near the front of the proscenium. Paulette elbowed me, "Look, look! It's the organ." Before I could say anything crass, I saw that the gold painted organ and the organist were coming out of the stage floor. "Putting on the Ritz" was filling the air. I flung down the first of my drinks.

Paulette was seated next to yet another Charlie, this time Charlie Chaplin, who already had a hand on her knee. What a tramp he was! My sister was whispering something in Mr. Chaplin's ear, and he was laughing so hard he nearly spit. The music stopped, the organ retrenched, the curtains parted and the credits rolled. There was a great roar, especially from Mr. Hearst, when his name appeared as producer.

In the darkened theater I felt a presence and turned to see a rabbit. He pulled at my wrist and signaled for me to follow him. I turned to look at my sister, but she was watching the movie, and keeping a close vigilance on Mr. Chaplin's hand.

Once in the lobby, the rabbit, who was actually a man, peered up at me very intently. And I stared back. He was short and very white. He wore a pale pink waistcoat and had a giant Flavor Flav-style watch hanging off his pocket.

"My dear, you are one of The Twins, n'est-ce pas? Good, good. This is all very good. We must be on our way. Yes, yes, we must go now. We mustn't be late. No, no, that would not be prudent. We mustn't delay." The rabbit-man furrowed his brow and sniffed.

"Wait! Who are you? What are you talking about?" I released my wrist from his weak hold.

"My dear! I am Mr. Lapin-Blanc - the very same Mr. Lapin-Blanc for whom you are holding a business card. And I gather you and your soeur need my assistance. A little something about falling down the rabbit hole, no?"

"Well, yes, but how can you..?" I had my doubts that a man who had pink eyes could help.

"My dear woman, we are wasting precious time!" Monsieur stomped his rather large foot.

"I have to get..." My words were cut off by a loud scream from inside the theater.

"Help, help! Someone help me! My husband is ill!"

And then, an usher barreled out into the lobby, "Mr. Spreckels has succumbed! Call an ambulance - quickly!" the usher ordered the ticket taker. Four large men quietly and succinctly brought out the prostrate Mr. Spreckels, his bride in tow. She looked so young and frail - so different from the woman who walked into the theater an hour earlier.

It was then that Mr. Lapin-Blanc grabbed my hand and whisked me through the doors to the cool evening air. "We mustn't be late!"

"Paulette! Paulette!" I cried.

A Toast to Bribery

2011-05-02T10:55:00.000-07:00

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.

Curiouser and Curiouser

2011-04-23T11:23:00.000-07:00

Another aftershock threw us to the hard, sloping ground.

"Paulette!"

"Here, I'm here!" I felt her warmth burrowed next to me.

"Can you stand? Paulette, are you okay? Is your blindfold still on?" I asked urgently.

"Yes. Yes to all. Let's keep moving." Holding each other for support as we staggered to our feet, we then gingerly crept toward a narrow slit of light - a door, perhaps? Another aftershock! Paulette and I fell, this time rolling and picking up speed, like a couple of baby bunnies headed down the rabbit hole. We landed against the shaft of light. No one else had followed us.

We got to our feet and groped around for the door knob. It turned and the door sprung open to a dimly lit room. I pulled the blindfold off my sister and we looked around the room. There were shadows of creatures, people? lurking in the corners and on the settees. I pulled Paulette's hand close to my chest and started to pick my way towards the back of the room. As my eyes adjusted, I saw that the figures were indeed people. They were all very thin, their musculature looking as if though it were made of gelatin. Their faces were gaunt and putty colored, no matter if they were Asian, White or Black. "Opium," Paulette whispered in my ear. I realized she was right.

We made our way to another set of doors, and here the mood changed. Underneath the blazing chandeliers, gamblers were playing craps, poker and roulette. The men were dressed in top hats and tails; the few women on the floor sauntered with trays of cocktails and whiskeys. They wore very short skirts, fishnet stockings and several wore huge red plumes of feathers in their hair. When these women bent over to place the drinks in front of the gamblers, their bulging bosom momentarily caught the attention of the men. "Hey, there, Louise, you are looking mighty lovely this evening." This particular gambler thrust a coin in the woman's cleavage. Cigar smoke wafted from every gaming table.

I leaned into Paulette and whispered, "Do you think this is still 1906? What happened to Ji and Lia? Or was it Li and Jia?"

Paulette smirked. "Ah, jeez, I have no idea. Let's just hang back for a moment and see what unfolds."

Just then, the door behind the roulette table thrust open and in walked Charlie Sheen. "Charlie Sheen! What the hell? Paulette! Do you see? That's Charlie Sheen."

"You are so right." Charlie Sheen was a television personality, but more famous for his crack addiction and crazy rantings about "winning," and "tiger blood." He, too, was dressed in top hat and tails and smoking a large cigar. "Come on, let's roll." Paulette was already striding towards Mr. Sheen. There was nothing I could do, but follow.

"Mr. Sheen, I haf been waiting for you." My sister was speaking with a Russian accent. She curtsied, and Mr. Sheen picked up Paulette's hand to kiss the top of it. "Oh, Mr. Sheen, you are so, sooo..." Paulette fumbled for the correct word, "winning." He cocked his head to one side, and kissed her hand again.

Mr. Sheen's gaze turned to include me and he said nothing for a moment, but a smile slowly played out. "Twins? I love twins."

"I tought you would. You seem like man who loves gut time." Paulette leaned in, pulled Mr Sheen's top hat off his head and placed it at an angle over her eyebrow. "You smell like a man, Mr. Sheen." She took a really big whiff and stepped back to appraise her prey. I stood still.

"Oh, excuse me my manners. Dis ees my sister. " I started to open my mouth, but Paulette gently placed her hand over it. "She speaks only the Russian. She never had time to learn the English. She ees lion tamer in circus. But, sometimes, she tames the blood of tigers. "

"Da." I said.

"Hmmmm. That's interesting," Mr. Sheen ran his hand through his abundant head of hair, his eyes never leaving my sister. "And what do you do for a living, Miss ...?"

"I run circus. And I am artist of trapeze. Oh, my name ees Agrippa, and this ees my twin, Anya."

"Well, let's get on the A train, ladies. Can I buy you a drink?"

"Da," I said.

Mr Sheen snapped his fingers, but wasn't able to find a waitress immediately. "I'll be right back, girls. Don't go anywhere!" By now, I assessed that our clothing had changed again. We were wearing togs from the 1920s, shapeless dresses that skimmed our knees. We sported bob haircuts and red lips. I was fascinated to see a cigarette holder in my hand. "Paulette - curiouser, and curiouser!"

"I know, I know. Hang in there! I think I can find a way out of here."

"Do you think we have sort of pseudo jumped time? I mean, is it possible the fire - the 1906 fire - could still be a threat?"

"I don't know. But we need to keep our wits about us." Paulette caught sight of Mr. Sheen toting our drinks. "Shhhh!"

That first sip of bourbon forgave my sins. I silently thanked Jesus for allowing me this moment of softer edges. I looked at my sister, who - still wearing the top hat, skimmed her finger along Mr. Sheen's jawline. "What does girl do to find place to stay?"

"Wellll," Mr. Sheen smiled, "Chinatown is no place for you girls. Why don't I accompany you to my hotel? It's downtown and I'm certain you'll find what you need there." Paulette spun around to smile at me. I shrugged and placed my cocktail on the bar. A young woman brought our coats. Our coats?

Mr. Sheen held open a door I hadn't noticed before. The air was chilly, but fresh. I breathed in a big gulp, and kept a close eye on my sister, who remained fully in character. "Mr. Sheen, it would be nice to have leetle something to eat, no? Do you know such a place?" She linked arms with the tall actor.

"Sure, we'll head down to the wharf. Have you ever heard of the Buena Vista? That means, "beautiful view," by the way." He smiled at her smugly, as if though he had mined the gold, but had yet to alert the media.

Red Door to “Shanghai”

2011-03-31T18:17:00.000-07:00

I quickly scanned the stuffy basement and tried to assess the best escape route. I didn’t have time to feel the terror of claustrophobia that grips my mind when I’m underground. It appeared that the only way out was back through the trapdoor. The Chinese folks were huddled together assuaging each other’s nerves and didn’t seem in any hurry to move. It was our chance to climb the wooden stairs unimpeded and head for the street above. In survival mode, I pulled Claudette to her feet and we climbed up the steps in single file. Above ground Chinatown was in full throttle pandemonium. The sidewalks and streets were covered in debris as rows and rows of buildings had crumbled face down. Standing at an intersection we noticed the same catastrophic view in all four directions. Frightened people scurried past amid the dust and destruction as Claudette and I huddled to devise a plan.

“Paulette, the fire is coming and it’s going to wipe out everything in its path, let’s try heading towards the water.”

Without waiting for a response Claudette took off down the road trying to side step obstacles of glass, rubble and ruptures. I trusted my sister’s keen radar sense as we began maneuvering away from the central point of chaos. As we scurried along in our long woolen skirts and pointed boots, I pondered what were we doing in a ravaged Chinatown circa 1906. I asked myself, did we disappear into another dimension when “our” earthquake hit? Were we experiencing some kind of paranormal time traveling adventure? Whatever the case, I was sorry we ended up in such a ghastly time frame. Too bad it wasn’t SF in the 60’s, at least we could listen to some radical music. I started humming. “And if you go chasing rabbits, And you know you’re going to fall.” Obviously I was feeling mad as a hatter and lost in a flight of ideas.

Just as I started to hum another verse my sister yanked me out of my fugue state. “Hey, look behind you.” I turned around and saw a small group of beleaguered people following in our footsteps. Two were quietly conversing in Mandarin and the rest were speaking English. When we halted abruptly they stopped too. Claudette commanded attention. “I realize you’re following us and we don’t mind, there is safety in numbers. Unfortunately, it’s like the blind leading the blind. I’m not sure what road to take to avoid the coming fires.” All but two of the stragglers looked at each other in confusion.

Claudette didn’t know how to explain what was happening to us or to them. “Most of this city burned, um, I mean is going to burn to the ground friends so if any of you know the quickest route to the water, speak up.”

A Chinese man in a dark gray jacket stepped forward and addressed my sister and I in English. “Ah, my wife and I were standing on the curb outside the produce market before the quake hit, we were right behind you in 2011. I do understand what you are saying about the fires. I’m Li and this is my wife, Jia.” Li and Jia Chen.”

“I’m Paulette and this is my sister Claudette.” We nodded at each other and I addressed both Chens. “I’m glad my sister and I aren’t the only ones lost in the wrong time zone.”

Jia stood shyly at Li’s side and didn’t say a word. He twisted his long goatee and eyed us carefully before speaking. “In Chinese culture twins are considered good luck, even girl twins.” Claudette and I smiled for the first time in what seemed like a century. He cleared his throat to speak again, but changed the subject. “I wish to tell you about my grandfather, Peng, who lived through the 1906 earthquake and fires.”

The six people who’d tagged along behind us were mumbling amongst themselves. Obviously they didn’t understand why Li spoke in the past tense, it was still 1906 to them. They showed their discomfort by keeping a silent distance. I understood their reticence to join the discussion, but insisted they pay attention. “We should all listen to him, he may be able to help us.”

Li politely nodded at them and turned his attention back to us. “As a child grandfather told me many stories about how the earth dragon had awakened early one April morning and consumed his beloved Chinatown. He and his family lost everything, except their lives.”

Claudette waved her hand and gestured at the scope of ruin before us. “I’d like to say it’s a hard scenario to imagine but here we are in the thick of it.”

Li continued talking in an urgent tone. “Long after the earthquake and in the latter portion of his life grandfather lived with our family. I remember he often picked me up after school and we took circuitous routes home through Chinatown. He talked endlessly about his earthquake survival strategies. His abject fear of earthquakes and its devilish companion, fire, never left him. Once he told me about a secret passageway, a place to go if the earth dragon ever returned.”

We looked at Li and Jia then spoke in unison. “Do you know a way out of here?

Claudette looked at them beseechingly. “Maybe we’ll even find a way back home too, real home.” The four of us eyed each other again and wordlessly agreed. In a matter of minutes our conversation had led to a shift in power. Claudette had abdicated her post as troop leader and Li moved to the head of the line.

Thankfully, our little pod of survivors starting moving again with Li and Jia guiding the group. As we crept along cracked roadways strewn with human wreckage, Li continued his story. “My grandfather said the fires came fast and unexpectedly. He and his family had been scavenging through the ruins in search of food, clothing, blankets, or anything to aid with survival. The quake had hit early that day but the morning sky was quickly obscured by dark smoke. They thought it was dust, but soon they could see red flames swirling menacingly closer to Chinatown. Grandfather explained that the water mains had broken so there was no water to put out the fires.” Li stopped talking and stood very still. "The bay is downhill and dead ahead. OK, follow me. Walk slowly, and choose your steps wisely.”

As we inched along Li kept looking for something, a sign, or a recognizable landmark. I searched along with him although I had no clue what it was he sought. Jia followed at a close distance and never uttered a sound.

We stopped at an intersection while Li got his bearings. “Do you know where we are?” I thought he might be lost.

He tossed his long braid over his shoulder and it fell down his backside. “Yes, this is the correct way. I’ve been down this road many times in my mind.”

I turned around to check on the rest of the group and found that the four of us were alone. The six followers had disappeared. I pulled on Claudette’s jacket to get her attention. “Sis, they’re gone. The other people aren’t behind us anymore.”

Claudette shook her head. “I don’t know what happened to them, they were behind us few minutes ago. Maybe they thought we were dangerous, all that talk about 2011. I don’t blame them as I don’t feel quite all here myself.”

I shook my head. “Claudette, there has to be an explanation, this can’t be real. Funny thing, I have the strangest feeling that we’re being watched. Isn’t that odd?”

She looked at me suspiciously. “What? Now you’re scaring me.”

I heard the sound of clapping hands. Li and Jia were signaling for us to join them. Li was standing in front of an old brick building which was surprisingly intact and he was grinning. Above a big red door emblazoned with one black Chinese symbol was a name, "Shanghai." Before I had time to think, Li held the door open and pushed us inside. “Hurry, we must move along.”

The heavy door closed behind me and I stood still in pitch blackness. I could sense the space around me was narrow. Claudette gently grabbed my hand and I felt we were being tugged down a hallway. She could sense my panic rising just by listening to my breath. She called out to Li and Jia, “Wait a minute.” I heard something tear and then felt her tie a soft blindfold over my eyes. “Paulette, you know this helps with the claustrophobia. I’ll get you through this but your job is to breathe.”

The passageway became quite cold and I felt mist on my face.

Quite suddenly the floor started moving and I fell forward, loosing my sister’s grip. A loud roaring noise filled the dark space. I yelled out. “Claudette, where are you?”

Chinatown

2011-03-11T09:08:00.000-08:00

A few days later, I got on the horn to Paulette.

"Hey, how goes it? I've missed you. I think we were both a little punch drunk after our last rendezvous."

"I know what you mean. Oh God, I have had such a time lately." Paulette sighed.

"Oh, what?"

"Oh, it's no big deal. Well, it is a huge deal. Barney is getting old and you know...." Paulette's dog, Barney, was fifteen years old and his balance was failing him. She'd find him lizard-like trapped on her slick kitchen floor.

"I'm sorry. Barney is such a sweet guy." I didn't know what to say. A few years ago when my pooch Chrissy died, I cried for a month. "Hey, I don't know if you feel like a field trip, but I would really like to drag you along."

"Yeah?" Paulette hadn't really heard what I had said, I could tell.

"There is a tour of Chinatown tomorrow at noon. It's only an hour, but we could do the tour and then have pupus at House of Nanking. So, anyway, I've been reading the history of Chinatown. Salacious! There were these brothels that had fifty mats in a room and a girl - and I mean a girl - on every mat. And you know the term shanghai'd - like to get shanghai'd, kidnapped - well that word originated in Chinatown. Ship captains who needed a crew would make a deal with bartenders in Chinatown, who would liquor up a potential deck swab and then dump him through a trap door! The guy would wake up on a boat in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Lots of weird shit, so I thought it'd be fun to take a tour."

"Yeah, okay, I'm in." Paulette and I made plans to meet the next day.

It felt a little muggy as I waited for Paulette at the corner of Stockton and Vallejo Streets. I spied her blond bob pop up above the dark haired fray and started towards her. I started to wave, but recognized a look of alarm cross her face. She was only a half block away and I started to trot. "Paulette!" Suddenly, she dipped out of sight. Other pedestrians rushed toward me, and I found myself elbowing my way toward my twin. And then I felt it: a sudden wave going under my feet, under the sidewalk. I staggered and pitched, finally catching my balance and making my way to Paulette. "Come on!" We grabbed each other's forearms and made our way to the produce market. We clambered over a tipped-over table and some debris. "Stand in the door! Hurry!" The shaking subsided and we took a breath. But then, I heard a dull roar and another quake hit. This time, rather than a wave, the shaking was violent and we saw through the window a gift store across the street slump down, like a child falling to his knees.

Some of the people around us starting speaking softly in Mandarin and pointing to the ground. One man desperately started clearing debris and cabbages from the floor to expose a trap door. Quietly, but quickly, men and women filed through the trap door, us included. When we stepped into the basement, we were met with another big shake and dropped to the floor.

After the last tremor, Paulette turned to me, "Are you okay?" We both sat up.

"Yes, yes. I'm fine. Are you all right, Paulette? Oh, look, you are bleeding!" Paulette had a spot of blood seeping through the material of her skirt. She pulled up her skirt and dabbed at the wound with her finger. That was weird; I didn't remember her wearing a skirt when I first saw her.

"It's fine. Just a flesh wound. I wonder how these other people are doing?" We took in our surroundings; we were sitting with maybe thirty people, all of whom seemed to be speaking in a Chinese language. Some were bleeding, some were bending arms back and forth and others were holding children close to them. But then, we started to notice something else. Their dress was antiquated - the men were wearing traditional Chinese jackets and the women were in long skirts. And we were both in long skirts. "What, why..." we said in unison. Paulette and I were both wearing long wool skirts and jackets, with our long hair piled on top of our heads. We looked like the women in my history guide - the women from 1906.

"Claudette, this time I'm scared. If this is what I think....The fire is coming."

"We have to get out of here."

It’s A Bout Synchronicity!

2011-02-22T16:10:00.000-08:00

My thoughts were suddenly diverted by clomping shoe noises. I saw Thomas open the front door and jog down the steps into the cool February twilight. At the same time Claudette suddenly appeared and pulled me to my feet. She explained the need to leave immediately and so we were off following on the heels of her husband. Always a masochist Thomas had run straight for the hills. We hoofed it downhill instead towards the bus stop and adventure.

“Which way are we headed, I asked.”

Claudette paused to think. “Let’s go north. North to North Beach.”

When we reached the bus stop I noticed a man sprawled on the ground in front of a laundromat. I inched closer to see if he was still taking in air. As I leaned over to take a peek his chest heaved and a gurgling snore oozed between his lips. A gold sweatshirt was tucked under his head which made him look at peace in his passed out world. He appeared to be wearing a large wooden sandwich board as a blanket. I read the big block lettered advertisement aloud to Claudette. “Dine at Dempsey’s...Our specials will really knock you out!”

We were still laughing at the scene when a motorcycle cop u-turned and parked at the curb. He removed his helmet and ran a hand through his auburn crewcut. Stuffed into a tight CHIPS uniform and knee-high boots, he swaggered towards us. I leaned towards Claudette and whispered in her ear. “It’s Foghorn Leghorn, I say, I say.” She shot me a warning look. I winked at her then assumed a faux serious expression.

The officer had the watchful eyes of a hawk, ever vigilant and suspicious.

“Good evening ladies, it looks like we’ve got a man down here. Is he a friend of yours?

Claudette stepped forward confidently. “ No officer, he doesn’t belong to either of us. We just saw him on the sidewalk and my sister checked to see if he needed any help.”

“Well, it looks like he’s already helped himself, if you know what I mean.” The officer took the man’s pulse. Satisfied, he reached under the guy’s splayed legs and pulled out an empty bottle of Jameson Whiskey. “Pity, good stuff too.”

I started moving forward. Claudette countered by stepping on my right foot hoping to stop me from wooing trouble. I juked left escaping her body block and approached the man, the one standing. He was humorless and obviously a cop who played it only by the book, SOP, standard operating procedure. Like they say in the military, “Sir, yes sir.” How could he be impervious to Man Down’s obvious aptitude for innovative advertising? It was funny and he missed the whole point. I thought I’d wave a red flag and give him a hint about what he was missing.

I started by hitting him with my boxing repartee. “Officer, this guy is definitely down for the count. I bet he and Jameson had a ringside seat at Dempsey’s. Boy, somebody must have given him the bum’s rush after the bout.” He ignored me by readjusting his name badge, Officer F. Flannery. I continued to harangue, “Are you going to call a paddy wagon to come get him?”

Officer Flannery was definitely irritated. “Look lady, I’m going to call and have this guy picked up by the county. You two are free to run along and finish your little shopping trip.” He leaned his head towards his shoulder and squawked an unintelligible code into his strap-on walkie-talkie.

I didn’t like his chauvinistic jab and continued to tease. “1-Adam-12 we’ve got a man down in need of immediate removal. Is that how you call for a paddy wagon? I guess “paddy wagon” isn’t PC anymore. In years of yore, Irish immigrants were always getting arrested for public drunkenness. The police had to get them off the street so they sent in wagons, as in paddy wagons. Get it? St. Patrick, Patty..Paddy wagon? Sir, I noticed your last name is Flannery. Irish, am I right?”

Claudette grabbed my arm and turned me in the opposite direction. “Come on sis, the officer doesn’t need a history lesson.” She whispered under her breath, “shush up lassy before he calls the paddy wagon for you.”

I looked back in time to see him admiring his cop countenance in the laundromat window. I wanted to whistle but thought better of myself. Plus, the bus had pulled up and offered us refuge in a sea of faces. We were both quiet on the ride downtown. At the end of the line we de-bused and grabbed a cab to North Beach. When we arrived, Claudette and I started looking for places to dine.

“All that yapping with the “popo” made me hungry,” I said. You’re not mad at me are you? That cop was like Joe Palooka in jodhpurs, I say, I say.”

“No, I’m not mad, but you have to admit he has a hideous job. How’d you like to lift up a bum’s butt in search of liquor?

“I can honestly say I’ve never had to stoop that low for a drink. “That’s hitting below the belt, sis.”

Claudette ignored me and paid attention to her stomach instead. “I’m so hungry I could eat a boxing glove.”

“Did someone hit me with a right cross? I thought Boxer Day was in December, not February.

We kept walking north and then took a random right on to Green Street. Claudette and I both stopped, looked up at the sign simultaneously, and then at each other. A bright orange and green neon arrow pointed the way to Dempsey’s Bar, home of the “Knock Out Specials” fame.

Claudette stopped in from of the bar and shook her head. “Are you kidding me? Paulette, is this some kind of joke? Are you doing that intuiting thing again? This is way too coincidental. Dempsey’s, of all the gin joints...”

“Sis, you know I don’t believe in coincidences, I’m a believer in synchronistic events. I never knew this place existed but we are meant to be here, even though I detest anything to do with combat sports... especially boxxxing.”

“Let’s go in and maybe I’ll order one of their “knock outs.” Paulette, all of these boxing references are making me punch-drunk.”

I pushed open the red double doors and we entered Dempsey’s dimly lit interior. It was a classic Irish bar in every respect and heavily accented with boxing paraphernalia. Patrick the bartender took our order, a Guinness for Claudette and a Grolsh for me (anarchist). After the food and drink orders were secured I inquired, “Is Thomas joining us this evening?”

Icy steins of beer arrived and Claudette reached for hers first. “Arghhhhhh.”

“Are you a pirate or did you didn’t just stroke out on me?” I took a slug of my Dutch beer. “What’s up, were you and Tommy sparring earlier?

Claudette tapped her fingers on the bar top in time to an Irish folk tune playing on the jukebox. She stopped tapping and slammed her fist into the red Naugahyde barstool beside me. “You are so right Paulette, there are no coincidences. First we see Man Down flattened between his sandwich board, and then we couldn’t stop with the boxing jokes. Now we’re in the midst pugilist heaven. Go figure.”

“I read somewhere it’s called, “The Law of Attraction,” or even better, “Where attention goes energy flows.” I nodded my head indicating our surroundings. “Synchronistic events happen a lot if you’re paying attention, but most people are somnambulists like Robcop. By the way, you didn’t answer my question, is Tommy coming or not?”

“No, he isn’t coming. I told him we couldn’t wait for him to get back from his run, then shower, dress, and finally walk Bonkers before we’d eat. Truthfully, we did put up our verbal dukes this afternoon. It was not a fight though, more like a power struggle and I lost.”

Gratefully, the food arrived along with our second beers and we dove eagerly into both. “Sis, you acquiesced, you didn’t lose. It’s called the art of compromise which I know you are well versed in since you’re married, thirty plus and counting. Riddle me this, what were you two power struggling about?”

Claudette took a long sip of Guinness. “Typically I have no problem respectfully disagreeing with Thomas, but today was different. I really wanted to say something to him, but I couldn’t get the words out. He was hyper and already had one foot out the door. I felt anxious and wishy-washy at the same time, do you know what I mean?”

“I know exactly what you mean. Not to beat a dead horse (boyfriend), but Theo would get into one of his lock n’ load modes and nothing could blow him of course. At times, he was so self-absorbed I could’ve taken a chain saw to the bedroom furniture and he wouldn’t have noticed, unless I’d cut off one of his appendages in the process.”

“What a vision. I get the picture.” She laughed and pushed her empty soup bowl to the side.

“Claudette, I’m not sure what happened today between you and Thomas. It sounds like you had irresolute feelings to be sure. If you want to try to explaining I’m all ears. I'd like to understand.

Claudette shook her head in the negative and remained quiet.

“Maybe it’s time to pay homage to our dear old mother. Mom always said it best. “Trust your intuition,” “To thine own self be true,” and “Men are a different species than women.” I couldn’t help but smile at the latter. “In my book, men have much more simplistic needs than women. At least that’s what Joyce Brothers preached.”

We’d been so involved in conversation neither of us noticed that the bar had filled with patrons waiting to be seated. We gathered our things and got up to leave and that’s when I saw him. It was a perfect ending to a particularly peculiar day. I led Claudette by the hand to the last stool at the end of the bar. “Officer Flannery? My sister and I saw you earlier today at the bus stop. Remember the man in the sandwich board?

Flannery, sitting alone sans uniform, upended a shot of Jameson before he answered. “How’d you find Dempsey’s of all the places? He pointed his finger at me, and then at Claudette. I do remember you, or was it you? Seriously, I’m off duty and I’m trying to forget. Besides, I’m getting double vision just looking at you two. Skedaddle.”

I looked him straight in the eyes. “Hey, that’s a low blow officer! I don’t want to go toe-to-toe with you either. My sister and I know the ropes and can we roll with the punches. We know when to throw in the towel.”

Flannery’s face and scalp flushed scarlet. He clenched his fists and opened his big flounder lips to say something, but I beat him to the punch.

“Did you know the name Flannery translates to “red eyebrows” in Irish? Take a look in the mirror, your brows are on fire. Officer, I bet I can guess what the initial F stands for on your name badge!”

Claudette grabbed me under the arms, and for the second time today steered me away from Officer Flannery. A cab pulled up just as she’d pushed me out the red double doors. I yelled to passersby, “we’ve been saved by the bell.” Safely inside and heading home, I smiled conspiratorially at my sister. “Well sis, did you get your fill of zip in your do dah today?”

Claudette smiled back. “We went quite a few rounds.”

As we crept up the stairs an ivory moon cast a pale pathway through a maze of deck furniture, plants and assorted footwear. Bonkers bravely muscled his way towards me, and along the way picked up a sneaker in the process. He dropped the sandy, slimy, stinky shoe at my feet and grinned widely at his accomplishment. In his world sharing a shoe was as good as giving up a bone. I thanked him for his present with a quick muzzle massage. “Bonkers, where’s Tommy? Did you get your walk? Bonkers perked his ears at the hallowed word “walk.”

A voice called to us from the shadows. “Hi Twinettes, I’m glad your back. Old Yeller and I have been holding down the fort. Bonkers missed you Claudette. He’s still a bit upset because our badass cat used him as a punching bag again.”

I looked at Claudette and she stood there shaking her head.. again.

Bonkers

2011-02-04T10:18:00.000-08:00

I made a beeline into the house and straight for the bathroom. I needed relief, but I also needed a moment to breathe in and out. I checked my image in the mirror, disregarding the wrinkles and checking the pupils. All looked acceptable. I opened the door to find Bonkers, my trusty pooch, who had just had a growth removed from his foot the day before. He was toting the Cone of Shame around his neck. I called it his halo; our yellow walls reflected through the funnel creating a golden aura.

"Bonk! How are you doing, my sweet little guy?" I knelt close to him, smelling the doggyness of him and picked up his bandaged foot.

I'm great. I missed you. Bonk is sitting up and looking earnestly into my eyes.

"Oh, I missed you, too. How does your foot feel?"

It hurts. Bonk lay down. I put my face close to his nose. He lightly bonked my nose. He is called "Bonkers" because he likes to bonk people's noses, crotches, and also chairs and bushes. Really anything that can be nose bonked, he will bonk.

"Oh, my sweet little thing," I coo, "I am so sorry. It is getting better. It just takes time." I slid my hands down his downy golden retriever ears.

Bonk gingerly pushed himself up, and smiled. I went outside today and saw The Other. Bonk uses informal nouns to name people and other animals. The Other is a black Great Dane. The Other growled and thought he was all badass.

"Quit talking like the kids, Bonk."

Sorry. His eyes cast downwards, but then, he remembered his thread. But, anyways, I was ferocious! I barked really loud and low. I threw my entire body against the fence. I scared him. It was cool. Hey, are we going to go see The Man? Bonk had already turned up the stairs and was hobbling toward the top.

"Yes, I'm coming." I wasn't really looking forward to facing my husband.

Tom was sitting on the bed attempting to tie his running shoes, but Bonk was shoving his nose in Tom's crotch and trying to jump in his lap. Hey, you are going running. I want to go! Can I go? Can I? Can I? Tom gently pried Bonk out of his lap.

"What is it, boy?" Tom looked up at me and said, "This dog is so goofy."

"He wants to go running with you."

"Nah, his foot hurts too much. He wouldn't want to do that. He's probably just happy to see me." Tom finished tying his shoe and popped up from the bed. "I'm off. I'll see you in a little. I'm not going for a long run."

"But..." I didn't finish my thought.

"I know. Your sister is here. I'll be back before you know I'm gone. I want to get done before it's dark, though." He started for the door.

"Wait. Just wait. I feel like I haven't seen you in days. Can't your run wait another two minutes?"

Tom stayed by the door, putting his weight to one side of his body. His mouth was set in a line, and I saw him glance at his watch. "Well, okay. What is it?"

"Oh, I don't know. I just feel so, so ... unsettled? I just can't seem... Oh, it's nothing. I know you want to run. But didn't you already have some wine? I saw the bottle on the porch." I sat down on the edge of the bed and realized that I had given up effectiveness with that move.

"Nah, not really. I poured Paulette a glass, and then I brought a couple glasses up for you and me." He gestured to the nightstand, where two full glasses sat. He smiled at his thoughtfulness.

"Thanks. Well, okay. I'll see you later." I frowned and half-smiled at the same time. He noted the smile and was on his way.

Bonk saw Tom off at the bedroom door. Bye! I'll see you soon! I wish you weren't leaving. He turned his attention to me and the wine glasses, nearly taking them out with his cone.

"Yikes, Bonk! Here, boy, come here and lie down." I patted his head with one hand and downed both glasses of wine with the other. "Bonk, I'm outta here. You be a good boy." I grabbed the empty wine glasses, skipped down the stairs, and out to my patient sister on the porch. "Let's blow this stand, my dear. I need a little zip in my doo-da." Paulette laughed and foraged in her purse for the car keys. "Noooo. Let's take the bus."

"Cab," Paulette countered while dropping her keys back in her pocketbook.

"Bus, and then a cab."

Paulette threw her head down and up to fluff her hair, put her arm around my neck to noogie me and then gave me a gentle push down the street. Bonk looked longingly after us, So long.

Doe Se Doe In The Headlights

2011-01-21T17:23:00.000-08:00

Claudette flashed me a peculiar grin as she whisked the snow dust from her hair. Before I could say anything she ran up the stairs to her front door and disappeared inside. Her husband, Thomas, had watched as his wife streaked past and now looked to me for an explanation. I hunched my shoulders and put my hand out palm up. “Please sir, can you spare me a drink? He smiled and wiggled his pointer finger at me as an invitation to join him on the deck. I watched as he uncorked a bottle of red wine and offered me a glass. After fiddling with an outdoor heater he poured some for himself and sat down. I took a quick sip and nodded a toast his way, “Thanks brother I needed that.”

Thomas toasted back, “Anytime, dearie.” He pointed at the bottle, “Do you think Claudette would like some too?”

I nodded adamantly in agreement, “Yes, I’m sure of it.”

He poured a generous glass for Claudette. “Is she alright?”

I answered him in a quiet and low tone. “We took a long drive down memory lane this afternoon and I think it made her sad.” Thomas didn’t bring up the subject of snow which I thought was noble of him. If he’d asked I would have quoted my idol Rod Serling.  "There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man...... This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area which we call "The Twilight Zone." I truly believe that there are some things that simply defy explanation.

Thomas stood up and took two glasses of wine down the hallway. Over his shoulder he mouthed his plan. “I’ll be back in a bit.” I smiled reassuringly knowing from experience it would be a while. From my chair on the deck I watching the jagged cityscape turn silver against an indigo sky. I felt comfortable and peacefully alone sitting amongst the evening stars. My mood was reflective and I allowed my mind to wander rein free into the past.

Thomas and Claudette have been married a very long time. Of course, that means I’ve been in his life equally as long as Claudette, and he’s been a good sport about it. He knows above all else that you can’t separate twins, and if you marry one you might as well be married to both. I don’t mean to sound like a Mormon fundamentalist, but it’s true. We are fraternal twins, not two peas in a pod. Our personalities and temperaments differ, but we laugh at the same things. Thomas has always liked to kid us. “You are like finding two prizes in a Cracker Jack box.” As a trio we’ve spent eons together in the pursuit of love, happiness, and evolution.

Over the years I’ve observed Thomas and Claudette navigate the unpredictable currents that accompany marriages of a long duration. I truly respect their perseverance and bravery for staying on course. In turn, they’ve been accepting of my relationship choices, including my short marriage to Vincent. When Claudette walked down the aisle with Thomas she said, “That’s that,” and meant it. When I whispered “I do,” I crossed my fingers and hoped for the best. I’ve always been the one who questioned the slippery sloped institution of marriage.

Claudette warned me well in advance before I took my ill-fated plunge into matrimony. “Sis, you are not over Doody yet, Vince’s a rebound.” She teasingly referred to my first true love, Theo, as Howdy Doody (the famous puppet) because of their seriously similar characteristics; auburn hair, pale blue eyes, fair freckly skin, long fingers, and both look like goobers in a pair of jeans. I was attracted to Theo’s exceptional intellect which he used skillfully and often with steely arrogance. It turns out he was rather wooden-headed too when it came to matters of the heart. It didn’t take him long to expertly splinter any hopes I had entertained for a future together.

Eventually, I gave up on Theo and married Vince. I should have listened to Claudette’ concerns. “Sure opposites attract, but it depends on your definition of opposite!” Vince was a perfectionist in all respects (anal), a straight shooter (myopic), and a rectangular thinker (blockheaded).

Vince would often seriously lecture me. “Paulette, the answer is either black or white, there is nothing in between.”

I enjoyed teasing him. “What about gradations of gray?” I exasperated him beyond words and he bored me to no end. Truthfully my marriage to a “known quantity” was doomed from the beginning. Had Theo proposed I’d have accepted in a heartbeat, but he never asked. In retrospect, I was saved from living a very linear and conservative life with a stuffed shirt. He probably would have hung me out to dry somewhere down the line like he did his first wife. For those who are hard of hearing advice please note, if you want the real truth about a prospective mate, ask someone whom you love and they’ll give it to you straight. You may not like the answer either but you’d better listen.

The concept of marriage is perplexing and I still haven’t figured out how it works yet. I think it’s like a complicated dance. It takes care, patience, and a lot of fine tuning to keep in step.

THE X-MAS FILES: Freeze Frames

2010-12-24T17:33:00.000-08:00

Tiny snowdrifts clung stubbornly to the window sill and Claudette set off a miniature avalanche as she brushed them to the ground. Our warm breath left a dense fog on the lower pane which I quickly erased with my Winky sleeve. Our old kitchen reappeared, and when we saw our mother’s transfixed expression we could tell that she was deeply engrossed in her favorite opera, La Boheme. (“An Eye-talian tragedy, with emphasis on the eye,” as we’re fond of slurring). Mother painstakingly frosted a white beard on a Santa cookie and we watched her mouth move as if in conversation. With an exaggerated Italian accent I whispered to Claudette. “It’s the end of Act One, Paris, Christmas Eve, circa 1830. The lovely heroine Mimi is singing the part where she drops her key in the snow, and the poet Rodolfo and she search for it, and their candles are blown out.” I grabbed Claudette’s mittened hand and place it over my heart, “This is where Rudolfo takes Mimi’s hand and in the frigid moonlit night sets the wheels of their fate in motion.” We know the story well, and we’ve witnessed our mother before act out with preternatural precision her silent version of the scene. I tugged on Claudette’s braid, “As I bring the curtain down, on cue another tear will weave a weary trail down Mimi’s, I mean mother’s, luminous cheek.”

My sister pulled my hat down over my eyes. “Paulette, you are such a big jambon.” I pushed up the tip of my nose to make a pig face and together we squealed with laughter. As a purple dusk settled over the old neighborhood we returned our attention to the illuminated window. Our mother had disappeared from sight, but we can see her enlarged shadow as it flickers past the Christmas tree. Claudette put her arm over my shoulder and hugged me. “Can we go home now?”

I hugged her back, “Hey silly, we are home.”

My old Volvo has a great heater and it keeps us warm as I drive down the avenues away from Ocean Beach. I take a circuitous route south toward Claudette’s house trying to avoid a sea of red stop lights. She’s sleeping quietly in the passenger’s seat, her La Boheme CD sounds distant and muffled as it filters through the back speakers. I swabbed the windshield with my forearm to remove clouds of condensation. These motions of mine are mechanical as my mind is not on the road, but on Claudette’s recent fixated dreams of Minnesota. I turned the music up a notch and catch the part where Mimi sings to Rodolfo about dropping her key in the snow. The opera makes me think of our mother and how she always insisted that we “consume a little culture,” and she didn’t mean yogurt. She gave us great freedom to do as we pleased as long as we set aside time for the Metropolitan Opera Hour on the weekend.

On wintry Minnesota Saturdays Claudette and I played in the family room and pantomimed l’ opera du jour. We would drag out our box of dress up clothes and in full costume, stagger and swoon dramatically in time to operatic histrionics. Mother baked most of the day and the smells from the kitchen were divine. This may explain why the aroma of fresh baked cookies always makes Claudette and I want to break out in song.

I stopped in front of Claudette’s house and gave her a nudge, “Wake up Mrs. Van Winkle, you are home.”

She unfurled herself like a waking cat, and yawning loudly looked at me with mock suspicion. “Hasn’t Mimi passed yet? It seems like she’s been singing that part forever. Aren’t you tired of that same old opera, Those Darned Bohemians?”

I reach over and tug her imaginary braid. “Act One is over and the curtain is coming down. E’ Finita!”

As we get out of the car we both look up and see her husband staring down at us. He leaned over the deck railing and yelled, “Hey Coquettes, where’ve you been all day, Tahoe?” I see his brows knit as he pointed. “Paulette, is that snow on the back end of your car?”

My sister and I turn around at the same time and do a twin double take. It was true. A layer of snow mixed with evergreen needles clung to my bumper. With a quick scoop I made a small snowball and tossed it at Claudette's head, “Sis, is this a dream?”

Bohemians and Weather Winkys

2010-12-18T08:40:00.000-08:00

Paulette put the old Volvo into gear and made a right onto the Great Highway, passing the surf at Ocean Beach. At the next turn, we were on the I-35, heading into Minneapolis.

"Oh my, I didn't know we were headed this way. What's up, sis?"

Paulette keeps her eyes on the icy road. The air is heavy with snow that hasn't fallen yet, but we can smell it. I lean over to crank the heat and wrap my arms around myself.

We pull up in front of our childhood home - a three bedroom bungalow. It looks exactly as it did forty years ago, and so do we. Paulette is wearing a pink wool cap with ear flaps, a red Weather Winky coat, flannel-lined dungarees and snow boots, and I mirror her in my attire. Our feet aren't touching the floor boards. "Hey, we are little!"

Paulette reaches over to pull on my braid, "Yeah, I thought it'd be fun to go home for Christmas."

We push hard to open the doors of the old Volvo, which now looks brand new. Paulette grabs my hand as we trudge through the foot of snow. We press our faces to the kitchen window to see our mother making cookies. She is painting each snowflake, each crescent and Santa, but pauses to look out the window. We wonder if she sees us, but she is looking past us. She pushes a blond strand away from her forehead with the back of her hand. Her shoulders lift slightly and then we see a tear slide down her cheek. We can hear strains from Puccini's La Boheme. It must be Saturday, the day the weekly radio broadcast of the Texaco Metropolitan Opera Hour airs.

The Bells of St. Georges

2010-12-06T17:44:00.000-08:00

I patted Sloan’s shoulder sympathetically. If I recall, 1933 wasn’t exactly a banner year for Russia or the US. You gained your freedom and escaped the Soviet famine, but how depressing to get caught in the Depression.

Sloan laughed at my irony. “Ha, the joke was on my Comrades as we weren’t thrown to the wolves like they’d hoped. My mother’s brother, Uncle George, lived in San Francisco and he’d made arrangements for us to live with him. My uncle was a very generous man and financially stable compared to most. He owned a three story building on Ashbury Street across from All Saint’s Episcopal Church. He ran a bakery on the first floor, and it fared quite well, bread lines and all. The three of us made a home on the third floor and life was very comfortable and safe. I worked in his shop when I wasn’t in school and it was the warmest place in town. I can assure you it was a far cry from those frosty Mother Russia mornings.” Sloan put her hand to one ear, and said, “I’ll tell you what’s funny, to this day every time I hear the sound of church bells ringing the smell of fresh baked bread wafts through my head. How Pavlovian is that?” Before I could respond, she had cleared her throat, “Of course, I found out later that my Uncle George had other sources of income, but his private business on the second floor wasn’t my concern.”

I moved the barstool and casually stretched my legs. Sloan stifled a yawn and was fading fast, vodka and spicy memories make a wicked cocktail. Claudette had turned her face slightly and was looking out the window, lost at sea. She caught my glance, and gave her phantom braids a quick tug. I knew instantly that my sister and I had an identical image in mind. As children the gesture had been our secret code for “retreat troops,” our father’s favorite command in Swedish. He’d grab us by our long braids and order “reträtt trupper, move along my blond little reindeer.” The memory flashed past and in the next second the three of us stood up all at once. We both hugged Sloan, exchanged numerous numbers, and promised to meet again.

Once outside Claudette and I walked down the sidewalk towards my car. She jumped into the passenger’s seat and I slid in behind the wheel. I looked over at her and tapped her hand. You disappeared back there. Where did you go?

Claudette's expression turned contemplative. “I keep thinking about the recent dream I had about Minnesota. I dreamed we were chasing fireflies in the dark and following dad around an icy lake. Maybe it was all that talk about Kremlin graves and frozen tundras. Strangely enough, it made me think of the snow globe he brought back for us from Stockholm. Weird, huh?” I nodded my head in agreement. “I shook the thing over and over again so I could watch the snowflakes bury the little village.”

I started the car and turned towards her before backing out. "Claudette, do you remember the story I made up about the snow globe? I told you the snowflakes had suddenly turned into fireflies, and if you squinted your eyes you could see the tiny villagers gathering in the twilight to celebrate their first summer. Winter was over for good. I looked at my twin’s face and saw myself slowly smile.

Firefly Ocean

2010-11-29T13:29:00.000-08:00

My attention drifts out to the ocean for a bit. The Cliff House sits on a cliff - surprise! - overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Large rocks, seagulls, and surfers hold steady in a tumble of blue. I am still on the barstool, next to Paulette who is deep in conversation with Sloan, "...and so finally we received our paperwork to get back into the United States, but that was 1933, the very worst year of the Depression...."

I hear the waiter clear the plates from a table behind me; I take a sip of beer, while still watching the twinkling of the water. Like the twinkling fireflies Paulette and I chased with Mason jars back home in Minnesota. Daddy called out to us, "Dottrar, dottrar! Now let the fireflies free - out of the jar with them." He reached out to tug on our braids. We protested, "Dad!" But we unscrewed our jars. What if our father had stayed in Sweden? He wouldn't have met our mom. Would we have still been twins if we'd been born in Stockholm? I can't imagine not having Paulette - my mirror, my guide, my firefly.

Stone Cold Sober

2010-11-18T20:51:00.001-08:00

Sloan drained her Bloody Mary and bit the remaining juice from a quarter moon lemon wedge. Delicately she patted a soft white napkin to her lips and moved her barstool conspiratorially closer. She had spun a convoluted yarn and we were anxious for her to unravel more of her Russian past. The bartender eyed us suspiciously while removing plates, ever protective of his favorite little comrade customer. I ordered another round of drinks and smiled, hoping to nip any further mistrust in the bud.

Sloan spoke haltingly at first, then her story burst forth like a warm summer rain. She spoke quite wistfully. "After my father passed, my mother, Marion, and I were "persuaded" to stay in Russia, and we did until I was thirteen. The government knew of my mother's suffragette leanings, but none of the Kremlinite brass cared. All women were chattel as far as they were concerned. Journalism was mother’s forte, but they were far more interested in her skills as a multi-linguist. She had an ear for languages and could easily interchange Russian, French, German, or English with a quick twist of the tongue. Interpreting recordings of phone conversations made by unsuspecting foreigners was her assigned service, and she excelled at the task. Later, some would call it spying, but others, more kind, called it survival.” Sloan continued, “and not so coincidently, our passports disappeared shortly after my father was buried at the Kremlin. We were caught in the thick of bureaucratic Red tape for twelve years."

Claudette slapped her hand on the bar top. "Where where did you live? Did you go to school and were you alone a lot? What about your father?”

Sloan looked at us thoughtfully. “Let me wax philosophical for a moment." She put her hand on top of her head and made a twisting gesture. "My life is like a matryoshka doll, keep unscrewing its head, and a set of smaller dolls appear, one nested inside the other, much like an onion, so many layers, so many stories to tell.” When she closed her eyes I thought she was finished talking, but with much more passion in her voice she continued. “I distinctly remember Russia’s bitter cold mornings. When I was little and half asleep my mother wrapped me up like a woolen mummy but I still shivered well into the afternoons. The days we took the train to visit my father’s grave at the Kremlin are my coldest memories. I was very frightened of the guards who looked like gargoyles, stone-faced and scowling.”

Reds, Revisited

2010-11-13T08:27:00.000-08:00

Septuagenerian? More like an octogenarian! But however old Sloan was, she told a tale that Paulette and I would recall for many years to come....

As Sloan sipped her Bloody Mary and leaned in to take bites of her omelette, she told us fragments of her life. "Well, I was born here, of course, but my parents were journalists. And they were very interested in the workers' cause. They decided to go to Russia to write about the Bolsheviks. This was in 1920, I think. I was just a baby."

"What? You went to Russia as a baby? Wasn't it dangerous?" I exclaimed. I swung around to see the amazed expression on Paulette's face, before looking back at Sloan to hear her answer.

"Yes, yes. It was extremely dangerous." Sloan sat up a little straighter and had another sip, before continuing. "But my parents were very much of the time. Or at least, that is what I gathered. Mother had been a suffragette and Dad was truly concerned about the plight of the worker - you know, things were very different then. There was no insurance, no pensions, none of that. So anyway, we went to Russia, and they both got a number of pieces published. I believe they were the only American journalists in Russia and they had to sneak over the border from Finland to get there."

"Wow - really? With you? A baby?" Paulette looked startled. "How did they ever sneak you in?"

"Mother said they treated me like a puppy. They just put me in a bag - like that girl, Prague? or whatever her name is. You know, that girl who is rich and is known for doing nothing, but be pretty."

"Paris Hilton?"

"Yes, her. She puts a little dog in her bag. And I was that pooch." Sloan looked down to tug at her starched cuff. When she looked up again she was smiling. She took a small breath. "But then Dad became ill. I'm not sure what it was. Black lung? And he died. Mother said she was holding his hand and he just went to sleep. He was buried at the Kremlin - the only American buried there."

I choked a little on my beer. "He was buried at the Kremlin? Oh my God! Did you stay in Russia? What happened to you and your mother?"

Old Haunts

2010-10-29T10:06:00.000-07:00

I didn’t tell Claudette that I desperately needed a beer to chase away my excruciating hangover, but somehow she intuited my pain as twins often do. While driving along Highway 1 we decided to stop at a famous San Francisco landmark, the Cliff House. Before stepping through the entryway we read a plaque that spelled out the Cliff Houses' rather ill fated history and tempestuous struggle for survival. From what I could gather we were walking into its third incarnation. Between 1863 and 1909, the two prior Cliff Houses' were constructed, deconstructed (razed by fires), and reconstructed again. The present building has had many facade lifts over the years, but its basic structure has held on the longest. Third time's a charm, as they say, or maybe a long line of arsonists died out. What ever the case may be, I sensed that the entire property including the skeletal remains of the Sutro Baths is as haunted as Halloween, but I put a lid on that thought until later. Gratefully, Claudette and I passed through its front doors and happily seated ourselves at the bar inside. Shortly after our first sips of Stella, a voguish septuagenarian sat down and we struck up a conversation. Her name was Sloan.