A Toast to Bribery

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sugar Plum Fairy Came And Hit The Streets

Looking For Soul Food And A Place To Eat

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

Hey Sugar, Take A Walk On The Wild Side,

Said Hey Honey, Take A Walk On The Wild 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

Dr. Harry Lapin - Blanc 

Rare & Antiquarian Books

329 Liddell Street, Apt. A

San Francisco, California

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

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

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

Curiouser and Curiouser

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”

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

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!

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

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

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.