Gon # 16: Aftermath

Getting Old Now

Westlake Village, California

Wednesday, April1 6, 1999

9:10 AM

Having an appointment with long time repeating clients that over the past twenty-five years had bought their first house through me. Then, having their first child sold that house and purchased another, larger house. Had two more children, sold that property twelve years later, purchased another, even larger house and, as all their kids are grown and as Mister Clybourn had retired a couple of months ago and is planning on moving to Arizona to be nearer their oldest daughter, I’ll be meeting with the Clybourns later this morning to put this house on the market.

I’ll be sad to see Jim and Ida Clybourn move away, and it goes beyond the six commissions I’ve earned throughout these years as I feel as though I’ve grown older with this family – and I guess I have.

Barbara was right!

Out of the shower, still nude standing before the bathroom mirror shaving.

She was right! Barbara was right: Spotting it in my kit, seeing that I shave the old fashioned way, using shaving soap and brush; buying the best shaving brush Marshall Field had and the best I’ve ever had during our walk on that first evening.

Barbara was absolutely right because a day does not go by when, lathering my face, ‘Good morning, Barbara,’ I whisper to my reflection. But truth be told, I do not have to shave to remember Barbara, my Barbara.

And as a good shaving brush will last forever, I will ‘never’ forget Barbara and our three days together.

3:45 PM

Pulling myself from the computer and my current story.

“Yeah, hello.”

“Hey, Mitch!”

Looking at the computer screen, having a thought that he did not want to lose, grudgingly, “Yeah, hi, Milt.”

“You busy?”

“Working on a story.”

“Looks like a great evening. Want to take a cruse later?”

‘A cruse’ meaning a slow ride about the four and a half miles around Westlake Lake.

I have been living here since April of 1986, thirteen years now, and a ‘cruse’ around the–in circumstance four and a half mile lake, at ‘warp’ speed of four miles per hour, to be honest has become rather boring, but...

“You talking dinner, Milt?”

“Yeah, if you want.”

“Had a pretty good day…”

“Sale or listing?”

“ ‘Listing’. Tell you what, you bring the coffee pot and I’ll buy dinner.”

“Lipensky buying? Must be some listing.”

“Yeah, it is…. Give my an hour, will you?”

“Sure. Four-forty-five okay?”

My eyes still on the screen, envisioning my next sequence; “five’ll be perfect.”

“You drive, or me?”

“You bring the pot and I’ll drive.”

“Works for me, Mitch.”

5:07 PM

Waiting on the boat for Milt as he came from behind his side of our joint barrier wall and along the narrow, grassy path between our properties, that runs alongside the entire shoreline.

In one hand is an old beat up aluminum coffee pot, in Milt’s other hand, both held by the crook of his index finger, were two coffee cups.

Handing the pot to me as he stepped aboard, I could hear the clink of the three ice cubs we figured would not dilute any of our first cups of ‘Beefeater martinis’, and though somewhat diluted by the time we got to our second cups, neither Milt or me really cared.

No noticeable breeze on this lovely spring evening so we cruised slowly– ‘slowly’ meaning our max speed of four MPH while navigating in and out of the numerous fingers of land jutting both from the land side and from –heavily secured–‘Westlake Island’ into Westlake Lake, each containing eight or nine, extremely expensive– especially on the ‘island’ – homes each containing their own individual docks.

‘Strange…” Milt had said once “...here we are, in comparatively inexpensive attached homes looking across the lake at million dollar homes, while those million dollar homes are looking across the lake at our comparatively inexpensive attached homes.”

My battery operated– which are the ‘only’ kind of boat allowed on Westlake Lake.

My battery operated, six by sixteen foot pontoon boat behaving more as a cork in any type of wind, on this evening easily glides between the ten foot wide distance between two of the ‘Landing Restaurants’ customer reserved piers.

Sitting awhile before going ashore for dinner as, finishing our by now fairly well diluted Beefeater martin’s. “Milt…” I asked “...you know Vickie?”

Shifting to the shady side. “Your new neighbor?”

“She’s been here about two months now but, yes…” drinking the last of my watered down martini “... the lady that bought next door to me.”

“I’ve seen her a couple of times walking her dog.”

“Walking her little white dog?”

Nursing the last of his cup of martini. “Yes.”

“When’s the last time you saw Vickie with her little white dog.”

“Might have even been yesterday, maybe the day before. Why?”

“Notice anything odd about that little white dog?”

“Anything ‘odd’? No.”

“Notice its paws?”

“It’s paws? No. Why?”

“Vickie walked by the other day while I was unloading some groceries from my trunk and when I saw her little white dog, I asked, ‘What happened? ‘

‘Her feet?’ Vickie asked.

“Yes. How come your white dog’s paws are black?”

‘The other night…’ she said absolutely nonchalantly ‘...I was dyeing my pubic hair…”

“Pubic hair…” choking on whatever martini was left in his coffee cup “...Vickie said she wad ‘dying her pubic hair’? Milt asked incredulously.

“Milton, yeah! And when I asked, ‘so what happened to your pup’? Remember, she is still talking to me ‘completely’ nonchalantly, and told me she was sitting on a low stool, brushing black dye onto her pubic hair with a small bowl of black dye alongside the stool, when her dog stepped into the bowl, knocking it over and walked through it.”

“ ‘Brushing black dye into her pubic hair and the dog knocked the bowl over and walked through it’!” Laughing so hard, he could hardly get the words out: “Think she’d like to show her black pubic hair to us?”

“D’know, Milt. ‘Dying her pubic hair’! Who would even do such a thing? ‘Why’ would anyone do such a thing?”

“Maybe to make her…” laughing again “…look younger.”

“Not unless she walked around all day showing her pussy.”

“I’ve seen Vickie, Mitch, and a black pussy sure wouldn’t help the rest of her.” Thinking a moment, “Well, maybe if she walked around all day showing her pussy, maybe it might, at least to ‘some’ people.”

And besides…” I said “...if she’s that nuts, don’t know if I even ‘want’ to see it.”

Thousand Oaks, California

April 16, 1999

Having some idea of how long the publishing process takes, hoping that ‘Border’ or ‘Barnes & Noble’ were either of the ‘guaranteed placement’ in at least one major book marketing chain. I had been checking both local bookstores for the past month, and today...

“Hello…” I said to the woman in ‘Information’ “...I’m looking for a book of poetry by Barbara Longford.”

“One moment, Sir.” Checking the computer. “Yes, Sir.”

My heart fluttering.

“The book came in with yesterdays shipment.” Pointing in the general direction of ‘Poetry’..

Going to the rack, looking...

Looking. Oh, my God! My heart thumping now. Wanting to pay and check out fast.

Going quickly to the counter...

“That’ll be twelve-fifty-seven.”

Outside now. Sitting in my car now, removing the thin book from the Barnes & Noble bag, my heart still racing, I look...

                  ‘A Three Day Lifetime’

             by Barbara E. Longford

Opening to the dedication page:

“Dedicate to my Chicago muse, with everlasting love.”

                            B.E.L.

I cried.

Then I drove home, called my pal, Milt, and asked him to break out his old beat up aluminum coffee pot.

Notation: I sincerely want to thank those of you that stayed with Mitchell during the presentations of the “BOW” (Better or Worse) “PIT” (Points In Time) and “GON” Getting Old Now series.

Actually, I would like to say "thank you" to anyone that has reas anything that I have written. 

Giving Mitchell a bit of a rest for a while, and as Christmas is nearing, please follow along with ‘Zachariah’ (the Climbing Boy) series, which will include some screenplay inserts..

Mitchell will return in ten years (2009) at the age of seventy-four with the “OY” ( ‘Oder Yet’ series) when one of his past loves… Possibly Marsha, his ex wife (with a major change of heart) Possibly Elizabeth Herzon? Possibly Lita Warner? Or possibly Barbara Longford – will reappear; ‘forever’.

Problem is, I have no idea which of the four women it will be.

Well, I’ve time to figure it out.

By the way, Mitchell’s elicit love of/with Elizabeth Herzon (the ex fat girl) can be found in in ‘1963’ in my (sequel to “Becoming”) novel, “For Better Or Worse”

Now onto ‘Zachariah’ and the day and eve of ‘December 24, 1843’.