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| Mine at least has a little class... |
Louis Shalako
The women. Women are important to this story, for
surely man does not live by bread alone. Some of the women were fine,
upstanding, and innocent. Some others, not so innocent after all. Some of them
were just victims, in the end.
So, there was a group of guys and gals, virtually none
of us actually going together, ‘going steady’, which is a term not much heard
anymore.
One night, four or five of the guys, rather a few more
of the girls, all nice kids from the north end of town, the product of some
prosperity, some security, good homes, good families, nice houses…some of the
guys were more of the south-end types. We met them while hanging out at
Canatara Park, where all you had to do was to park your car, get out and start
throwing a Frisbee around.
Oh—you had to talk.
Somehow or other, a whole gang of us decided to go to
a pool hall—whose idea that was is now lost in the mists of time.
The pool hall did not serve liquor, but then we were
underage anyways. It was simple enough to rent a pool table, sit at another long
table, with a pop and a bag of chips, taking turns and quite frankly, not that
interested in winning, or competition, or making bets and taking money. It was
just for fun, and if there were a few raised eyebrows among the serious
regulars, we had enough healthy young males to discourage any kind of trouble.
No one even tried to hit on the females, but
presumably they were capable of taking care of that sort of thing on their own…it’s
not like they hadn’t seen it all before.
After a couple of hours of this, we had the idea of
grabbing a couple of pizzas. The whole bunch of us piled into three, four, five
cars, having met up at Barb’s place, and I distinctly recall that someone asked
if I didn’t mind picking up Geoff, and Doug, and Lisa, and Lori. This was
probably the first time I’d met some of them. I ended up going to the Formula One Grand Prix at Mosport with Geoff and Doug, so that was pretty cool too.
The girls, very attractive. This is before they get
married, get pregnant, have a few kids and begin that long, slow slide into
staid middle age, all sagging tits, buttocks, stretch marks and lines in the
face.
One on one, I was terribly shy with girls, but these
folks had gone to school together, and some minimal conversation wasn’t all
that hard.
So, with all those vehicles, and the pizzas, I had the
idea of heading for my place.
We opened up the garage, turned on the lights. There
was a picnic table, which was left inside, and as I recall, it was raining. We
had some little radio up on a shelf. So, we laughed and joked and ate our
pizza. All very well—
One of the girls gasped, and pointed out the door. My
1967 Dodge Fargo van was parked outside, it was customized. It was purple
metal-flake. It had shag carpeting. It had the walls paneled, it had a built-in
icebox, a fucking bar for crying out loud, and a quilted, fake leather bed in
the back end. You lifted up a centre section, stuck in a steel pipe and you had
a table. There were little tear-drop windows in the back, a sun roof, mag
wheels, there was an eight-track tape player bolted up on the dashboard. A
pretty cool vehicle…and it was rocking.
There was somebody in my van, ladies and gentlemen.
Naturally, I opened up the side door and had a look.
A cloud of blue pot smoke comes rolling out, a strong
smell of alcohol, there was a distinctive laugh.
Zoom.
Fucking Zoomer.
What the hell?
There was some light from the back door and I could
see he wasn’t alone in there. He’s got a girl, and I have to admit, I wasn’t
too pleased with all of this. Kind of hard to explain Zoom to nice girls, (or
even nice guys), that is for sure.
In a kind of disgust, I shut the door and left them at
it…at some point, our little party broke up and everyone went home. Finally,
Zoom and the girl clambered out of the back of the van and went their own way.
Only one big problem. Dee was about fourteen years
old. Zoom would have been about the same age as me, eighteen or maybe nineteen
years old in his case.
I think it’s safe to say that I was a little shocked,
but also, as a virgin, and as a kind of shy and lonely guy, one who sort of
thought he’d be alone for the rest of his miserable little life, I have to
admit I was kind of jealous.
Fuck, here’s Zoom, one of the most delinquent, most
disruptive, rude, abusive, loud-mouthed people ever, and yes, a born thief, and
for fuck’s sakes, the man’s at least getting laid.
The funny thing was, they were together for many
years. She was his partner in crime.
When she started that young, I reckon she fell right
in love with the guy. How in the hell would she know any better? With Zoom,
booze, drugs, money, sex, a kind of mental and moral independence, it was
probably quite the adventure…one big party, all the fucking way.
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| A built-in bar, an ice-box, and a bed in the back. |
***
I got my first girlfriend as the result of a
high-speed chase. Sounds crazy but it’s true. It’s also kind of a cute story.
As mentioned, we hung out quite a bit at Canatara
Park, and people still do that, although the number of young people of a
certain age has gone down due to the aging of the population.
We were in Johnny’s car, a Plymouth Cricket, which was
a small, four-cylinder little sedan. We cruised the park, and didn’t see anyone
we really knew, or if we did, the acquaintance was so slight. You have to
wonder what they might have thought when we pulled up and joined the
gang…mostly males, which was also a factor.
We’re just pulling out of the parking lot, onto an
internal drive within the park, and here comes an Austin Mini, with three young
women in it. Johnny’s beeping the horn, sticking his head out the window,
waving at them, I’m yelling stupid shit like ‘I love you, Baby!!!’
The girl driving had thick, coppery tresses, blue
eyes, and from what I could see, pretty good bone structure…
Huh.
How in the hell we ever expected that sort of thing to
actually work, shows just how inept the pair of us actually were.
Johnny and I decided to follow them back into the
park—maybe they were going to stop and hang out for a while, right? Pulling
into a driveway and turning around, the girl in the back seat, looking out at
these two weird guys, realizes we’re on their tail. The girl driving puts the
hammer down and takes off through the park. The actual park road comes in off
of Christina Street, and winds through the park, and then you pop back out onto
Sandy Lane in what is Point Edward, a small municipal enclave surrounded on
three sides by good old Sarnia. It’s a twisty little bit of road, perfect for
the Mini and some female driving aggression, which is more common than you
might think.
And she was good, certainly better than poor old
Johnny. Fuck, when he got his beginner’s, I had my license and I took him out
for a few driving lessons. Johnny had a hard time telling left from right, it’s
like he suffered brain-lock when he didn’t know what to do. Me yelling
instructions and curses, clutching the dashboard in panic, probably didn’t
help, ladies and gentlemen.
We had them cornered—they’d taken the wrong turn,
ended up down at the end of a cul-de-sac at the end of Beverly Road. Johnny
blocked about half the road, and I got out, waving at the girls, basically we
just wanted to talk to them…we wanted girlfriends and that’s just the truth of
it. The redhead in the driver’s seat points the car right at me and she guns
it. Laughing, I dove out of the way, and got in the vehicle, with Johnny madly
trying to turn it around and to get on their tail again.
We followed them south, practically the full length of
Indian Road, and they got so far and nipped into the subdivisions again. They
made it through an intersection on the tail end of the yellow, Johnny being
Johnny decided to stop—arguably the right thing to do.
We’re watching tail-lights disappear into the
distance. The light changes and Johnny and I go racing off up Ontario Street,
which cuts through the city on an angle, which is handy sometimes.
And in a move straight out of The Italian Job, the girls in the Mini have turned a corner and
immediately pulled into the old H & S Sports Cars, the British Leyland
dealer right there at the corner of Russell and Ontario Streets. They shut down
the lights, turn off the motor, and duck down in the vehicle…she’s found a spot
in a line of new and used Minis, and the truth is, we drove right on past them,
searching in vain for what was hiding in plain sight. After a while, I suppose
we gave up.
***
I must have been out of work. Back then, if you were
laid off, you could get unemployment within about two weeks. If you quit, there
was a penalty, but your cheques would start in six weeks. Ah, but the
unemployment folks had ‘Manpower’ courses at Lambton College. Academic
Upgrading. Fuck, they even had employment counselors at the unemployment office
back then, and so this is how I ended up getting the ‘equivalent’ of Grade 12.
In my usual form, I did not have to take English, but I did the work and got
Grade 12 math, physics and chemistry. It also extended your benefits for one
additional year, after that you were on your own. I even got kicked out once or
twice, but I did finally finish and then at least I could get into the plants
in Chemical Valley. Sure beats working at K-Mart, right.
I was riding my bike to school one day, and I saw a
familiar little vehicle in the Sentry Department Store parking lot, at the
corner of London Road and Murphy Road…just across the parking lot from
McDonald’s, mentioned previously. I noted the car there more than once. With a
continuous intake set of courses, I was in school, but the high school kids
were out and I wondered if maybe one of them girls worked there in some sort of
summer job.
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| Four gears and four cylinders. |
I mentioned this to Johnny, and one evening we went to
McDonald’s for a cheeseburger or whatever. This was even before they had a
drive-through. And on the way out, we took a little tour through the Sentry
Store parking lot. Sure enough, the Mini was sitting there in one of the rows.
What in the hell do we do now? Rummaging around, we
found a pen and a bit of paper. We left a note. It went something like this: Please
don’t run away next time. We’re friendly. Signed, two nice guys. Johnny, and
Louis, and we put our phone numbers on there, which is sort of naïve, in fact
unbelievable in the more modern world.
What is even more unbelievable, but true, is that I
was sitting at home one night when the phone rang. With an odd look on his
face, my old man said it was for me…
It was them—all of them, most likely listening in on
an extension and trying not to laugh.
Anyhow, we talked a bit and then I asked if maybe, uh,
like maybe if we could go out some time. I have often wondered if they drew
straws to see just who would go—but that’s cynical.
Much to my surprise, she said yes. Much to Johnny’s
surprise, he ended up going out with her older sister, the brunette. As for the
third one, the blonde in the back seat, she was a cousin and had a boyfriend up
in Quebec somewhere…she was just staying with them for a year or so, taking
Grade 13 or something like that. That one is a bit fuzzy on the details; but
her boyfriend’s name was Gilles, and one wonders if the parents were just
getting her out of town for a while.
When I went to write French noir detective novels
years later, Gilles was the coolest name I could think of on the spur of the
moment, hence the Inspector Gilles Maintenon Mystery Series.
Available from many fine online retailers.
As for the ladies, they will be back later in the
story.
***
END
Louis Shalako has books and stories available from Kobo.
Louis has some art available from Fine Art America.
If you’re a writer or interested in writing, here is my
free audiobook, One Million Words of
Crap, available from Google Play.
My Criminal Memoir. (Part One).
My Criminal Memoir, Part Three.
My Criminal Memoir, Part Four.
My Criminal Memoir, Part Five.
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