PIT 2/22: Missy & Mona

Points In Time

Westlake Village, California

July 4, 2009

7/3/09 : Finishing our sweet, frothy ice coffee drinks. “Maybe...” Elizabeth said “... you’d like to take me for a boat ride some day.”

“For old times sake?”

“Yeah.” Standing close to me as we stood. “For old times sake.”

Pushing the basket towards where I’d parked – which was no where near the Bentley. “Yeah, I’ll give you a call.” I called over my shoulder.

But never did, and never ran into Elizabeth Herzon, or whatever her married name was now.

July 4, 2009

6:47 PM

On Westlake Lake

My eighteen foot party boat secured to one of the ‘Landings’ docks. An eighty-three degree balmy evening Milt and me in shorts and light weight summer shirts.

Finishing our first round of martinis along with Kate Smith and James Cagney bleating from our tape deck along with a full range of American Fourth of July patriotic music….

About seventeen miles north-west of the far western fringe of the ‘San Fernando Valley’, the ‘Landing’ in Westlake Village one of those beautiful nearby places for people to come to to cool off on hot days or evenings, to come to one of the three Landing restaurants for a delicious high end meal while overlooking the beauty of Westlake lake with the far northern range of the Santa Monica mountains as a background.

On this Fourth of July evening there were dozens of red, white and blue bunting and flag draped twelve to eighteen foot battery propelled party boats scatting about the lake waiting for dark when – even though prohibited, many of the wealthy ‘Island people’ within the lake would have firework displays from their private boat docks, along with the rockets coming from Thousand Oaks Mall.

Coming from our blasting tape deck, people strolling dockside stopping to sing along with Kate or James…

“God Bless America, Land that I love…”

“I am a Yankee Doodle Dandy, born o the fourth of July…”

“Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the lord...”

“Way down yonder in the land of cotton, old times there are not forgotten…”

“My country tis of the, sweet land of liberty, of the I sing...”

Singing…

And Jealously looking at those two rich, drunk old guys in the boat.

Actually those two old drunk rich guys aren’t ‘rich’ or so drunk they’re not keeping an eye out for two elderly attractive women whom might be coxed onto the boat by the offer of a martini and a boat ride to the far north-earnest part of Westlake Lake to watch projected fireworks coming from ‘Thousand Oaks Mall’ six miles distant to the west.

On the deck there is a ‘Igloo’ loaded with ice containing two foot long ‘Subway’ sandwiches, one unopened bottle of ‘Beefeater’ gin– part of what’s left of Mitchell’s first bottle of gin in Milts old eight cup coffee pot – A minute bottle of ‘Vermouth’ and two extra clean cups for the ladies (?) martini’s.

6:59 PM

“So’s you meet Missy?” Milt shouted over, ‘Anchors Away’!

Sipping martini from an old ‘bugs Bunny’ kids cup.“My new neighbor?”

“Yeah, I met here sister, too.”

“She going to be living there too?”

“Don’t know… Shit…” nodding his head towards the boat counsel and built in tape deck “...think we ought to lower that thing.”

Glancing at ten or twelve people standing on the sidewalk above the docks that were singing along with, ‘It’s a grand old flag. “Nah…” nodding my head towards the singers “...they’re having too much fun.”

Sipping from his ‘Elmer Fudd’ cup. “Shame about Vickie.”

“Didn’t even know she was sick.”

“Don’t even think she knew she was that sick.” I said.

Quiet a moment, then laughing. “That poor dog!”

Oh, my God, Mitch! That was the funniest thing I’d ever seen.”

Remembering: Hearing a whole lot of barking one evening, I stepped outside to see what was happening and Vickie, my a somewhat attractive sixty-four year old next door neighbor was outside with her little white Maltese- poodle type puppy then had a black snout, black paws and a black tail.

Laughing, barely able to get the words out. “You got Lulu made up for Halloween?"

“ ‘No’.” she said a bit belligerently.

“Milt’s got to see this.”

Calling Milt outside to see Lulu, the three of us, Milt, Vickie and myself all laughing at the sight of this little dog when…

“Well…” I asked “...what happened to Lulu?

“It’s like this…” Vickie said “...I was dying my pubic hair…”

Disbelievingly.“You were ‘dying’ your ‘pubic’ hair?” I asked.

Okay, I know I’m a man and am not expected to understand all that women do, but immediately a number of questions came to mind:

(1) Why in the world would a sixty-four year old woman dye her pubic hair? And looking at the color of Vickie’s hair, which was – of course – dyed a kind of reddish blonde, and looking at little Lulu who had black paws, snout and tail.

(2) If your hair is reddish blonde why dye your pubic hair black?

(3) How come at age sixty-four you’ve even got enough pubic hair to dye?

(4) The big, big question: “What’s that got to do with little Lulu?” I asked.

“I was dying my pubic hair.” Vickie repeated.

At this, “Why?” Milt asked.

“I like my pubic hair to be black.”

“Uh, this some kind of ‘makes you feel young’ kind'a thing?”

“No…” said Vickie “...I just like my pubic hair to be black.”

Being a man and knowing better than to question female logic, however, this being just a little too much, “Well…” I said, looking at her head “...what ever happened to ‘a snatch to match’?”

“Hey…” said Vickie “...no one’s looked at my pubic hair for years, so if I want to dye ‘em black, I’ll die ‘em black.”

“So…” I said “...if it’ll make you feel better, being the good neighbor I am, I’ll be glad to look at your pubic hair.”

“Yeah! Me, too!” Milt said.

“So how come Lulu got dyed, too?”

Sighing. “I was sitting on the chair brushing it on...”

“You got a special brush for dying pubic hair?”

Shooting me a dirty look, “I was sitting on a chair brushing it on with the bowl of dye next to me on the floor…” Vickie said “...and along came Lulu and stuck her snout in the bowl of dye knocking it over, and before I could get to her…”

Have to explain here: Lulu is one of those bouncing, hyper type dogs that always acts though she’d just had the ‘Energizer Bunny’ inserted into her ass and I could see her bouncing around, over and through this bowl of spilled black hair dye.

“Hey…” Milt asked “...thing she died of ‘Alzheimer’s?”

“Don’t know.” I said. “Don’t know if you can die from Alzheimer’s.”

“Don’t look like anyone’s looking to take a ride with us. I’m ready if you are.” Milt said.

“Yeah, lets go.”

7:16 PM

Lowering the music coming from the tape deck and waving to those ashore, As I’m the skipper on this trip, Milt untied us as I started the motor.

Backing from the dock. “So..” I asked “...when did she move in?”

“Who?”

“My new neighbor… Hell, I didn’t even know Vickie had moved.”

“Oh, ‘Missy’. I got a feeling Vickie’s son inherited the place and rented it furnished because I never saw a moving van coming or going.”

“How she look?”

“ ‘Missy’?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. She looks to be sixty or so, and her sister… I think she’s her sister. They kind of look alike.”

“There’s two of then?”

“I only saw them long enough to introduce myself and catch their names.”

“What’s the other one;s name?”

Thinking a moment… “ ‘Mona’, I think.”

“ ‘Missy’ and ‘Mona’, huh?”

Finishing the last of his second cup of martini. “Yeah, I think.”

“Wonder if they’re home and alone tonight.”

“Don’t know.”

Finishing the last of my second cup of martini. “Why don’t we head over there and find out.”Kicking the motor up to it’s full six nautical miles an hour and turning the helm… Electric boats have a wheel but talking nautical like, I still call it the ‘helm’.

7:48 PM

Taking about ten minutes to circle back, as Vicki did not have a boat I was able to– throwing the motor into reverse to slow our drift, we were able to glide up to and against the dock.

Looking up the ice plant covered embankment to their deck, “Hey…” Milt called “...you girls home!”

“Yeah…” Missy and Mona coming to the decorative iron bandmaster “...whoever you are…” words slurred “... we’re home!”

“You met me a couple of days ago, I’m ‘Milt’, and Mitch here is your next door neighbor.”

Waving, “Good to meet you ladies!” Coming right to the point. “What are you doing?”

“Waiting for the fireworks.”

“Won’t see much from here…” I said.

“You ladies like to join Mitch and me in a Forth of July

cruse?”

“Yeah, we would!” a slurred voice answered.

“Who are you?”

“Missy, and you’re?”

“ ‘Mitch’. What are you girls drinking?”

“Started with margaritas, but ran out’a mix so been working on gin’n’tonic.”

“We only serve martinis on this here ship. Think you ladies can handle sore really dry martinis?”

“Oh, yeah! Mona and me handle martinis real well.”

Grab a jacket and come on down…” Milt said.

“Haven’t eaten yet.” Supposing it was Missy speaking.

“Don’t worry…” Milt said “...we’ve got ‘foot longs’.”

“Oh…” giggling again “Missy and me ‘love’ ‘foot longs! Don’t we ‘sis?”

A sexual innuendo?

Ten or eleven railroad ties as steps up a slight incline from the dock to the deck… Anxious to get closer to see what these middle to older age women look kike. And knowing that they’d been drinking...

“Need a hand down?” I asked.

Giggling, “We go down pretty easy.”

A preview of coming attractions?

“Don’t listen to Mona! Yeah, come on up and get us!”

I suppose anxious to see what we look like, although Missy had met Milt.

8:03 PM

Throwing half hitches onto the fore and aft cleats screwed onto the dock, stepping from the boat, Milt and I started up the railroad ties.

Assuming us to be old men – which we were, Missy held her hand to me to help me from the last railroad tie onto the deck.

Though not in need of help, reaching forward I tool hold of the offered hand, which for it’s size and grip surprised me. Large, although not so large as to consider it freaky.

On the deck now, releasing my hand, “Hi!” Missy said.

“Always lad to meet a new neighbor, ‘Hi” I said.

Introducing herself to me. “I’m ‘Mona’ the other woman said.

A string of red, white and blue bulbs hanging above the patio door stretched from end to end of the deck.

Still light enough to see.

To observe….

Both just a ‘bit’ inebriated, expecting the evening to become cool, which it was, and obviously not expecting company, Mona dressed in rather baggy brown slacks and a wrinkled summer weight jacket. Her sister in thread bare blue jeans and a well worn sweat shirt.

Clothing giving no hint at to what was beneath. Neither looked overly heavy nor underley thin.

Missy, obviously the elder had pale blue eyes and dull red hair evenly entwined with white strands. Her face lined with the wrinkles – especially her upper lip showing a lifetime of cigarette smoking.

Mona, possibly five or six years younger, also had pale blue eyes and red hair also showing heavy upper lip wrinkling.

At one time Missy and Mona may have been considered as pretty, but at this time both appeared to have had a lifetime of hard living.

“You guys like a drink, or something?”

“No, thanks…” I said “....got to get to the far end to grab a place to drop anchor.”

“Best place to see fireworks is at the far eastern end of the lake...”

Paring ourselves, I took hold of Missy’s elbow to help her down the railroad ties as, moving closer, Missy put her arm around my waist…

Next: PIT 2/23: Fireworks