“The Times They Are A- Changin’

~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

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.....”

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"

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

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.