Chapter 3 – Sin City

Being next to a suicide room was not inviting enough for second night, despite the lack of sleep. Instead, continuing the trek westward seemed the better play. It would only be two days ‘til we reached the western shore of the United States. Every evening a resting spot, placing us further from trouble and yet, eerily closer to it. The ill vibe of 225 was still present.

When those new days had come and gone, soon the landscape of Los Angeles sprouted from old Route 66 and made way for this new land. The rolling hills supported more homes than what we’d later be introduced to as the welfare system, winding and sloping drives, and sunshine above their heads. “Wow, this is really it, huh?” I looked over at Jenny who now had completely awoken from her nap. Two young kids both stared in awe at how each famous intersection connected into a new known name. Landmarks and manmade capitals abounding. This was it and we were there.

“Pull over here. We can park and take a walk around.” Jenny wanted her feet on the pavement of Hollywood Boulevard, lined with stars. After all, many celebrities had imprinted their mark on the cement just in front of the theatre. “Maybe my hand fits Jean Harlow’s?” Her enjoyment was my only amusement. I tried to be struck and not notice the environment creeping up on the glitz.

Quickly the glam of this street showed its dark underbelly as we passed tattoo parlors, rundown convenient stores, and the weird patronage which haunt this stretch of road. Stuff you never see in photographs. Odd remarks from grungy barkers slammed into us, “Hey man, I’ll show you a map of the stars,” or “Do you wanna meet me in the back. I’ve got all you’re looking for.” A crazed black man in front of NBC studios was dishing out cassettes to his white passer-bys, “I’m going to be on TV tonight. I’ll be famous, baby.” The regulars, the derelicts, the circus-like people who breathe the bizarre and speak in needy dialects.

I looked at Jenny, “You wonder how many of them came here like us, hoping for something better.”

“No, I don’t wonder. These people are just crazy.” She walks up to the transvestite mime and yells, “You’re fucking crazy!”

“Jenny…what the hell are you doing?”

“Blending in I guess.” The mime went back to his/her normal transgender transgression.

Sunset Blvd seemed a little milder, yet transferred a little rough edge over to its side. That evening, Jenny would find herself, and me through association, at the Whisky. It’s not easy to recall who played that night, perhaps a house band. My girl was close on my arm as we left that night, keeping her distance from the native residents of the Strip. Seeing the city this way, though crude, was an honest viewing. We were small town compared to this giant of the West.

We got in late to a dive motel just out of West Hollywood. It left me as cold and dirty as the other had a few nights back. The next day, after walking around and being typical foreigners to the area, we explored safer roofs to place over our heads. Being in the heart of L.A. wasn’t exactly better locale, so I relied on a hunch and drove south, hugging the western shore to the rest of the world.

Redondo Beach is an exquisitely beautiful place set along the coastal hub. I remember Diltz’s photos of bands taken here, featured in Jenny’s magazines. Those same periodicals helped create the talking mural on her bedroom wall. Redondo gets tucked away between southern Los Angeles County and the hills to the south. There is a steep drop from the main street down to the sand, its edge violently meets the crashing waves, and the thunderous roar bounces off the embankment. Any normal person takes the pathway down, but a few morning surfers slid down the grassy slope for a quick thrill before the Pacific swallowed them whole.

Between West Hollywood and Redondo, one could grab a bite anywhere. I had never seen so many Mexican food stands before, which worked out great for us. In our hometown, that’s almost unheard of. Food was a main stable of our daily routine. Whenever Jenny and I would go out, we always ate. She was a small girl, but she ate as much as me, and back then I was about 175 lbs on a 5’11” frame.

Besides food, we decided to site-see some more and drive up Gower Street to see the big Hollywood sign. Jenny seemed so excited by the iconic name plate, “You know a woman jumped to her death from the letter H?”

“No I didn’t know,” which every fact she mentioned along the way were all new to me.

“Yeah, she was an actress in the 30’s. What was her name…,” she did the typical finger to mouth imitation, “Oh, Entwistle. I remember the name now because it’s the same as the bassist for the Who.”

“You’re like a walking dictionary.”

“I’m a hungry dictionary.”

Then, worry stirred in my swill of negativity. She has been eating a lot, maybe she is pregnant. “What’s with you and all this food today?”

“There’s some great stuff to chow on here. Why? You think I’m going to get fat?”

“No, I’m more worried about…” I really didn’t want to say it.

“Eric, I’m not pregnant!”

“How do you know?”

“I’m on the pill.”

Oh! Not much needed to be said after that. But why did she never tell me before? “I still feel safer with the rubbers.” Though that one box ran out and more were needed…I thought. Jenny reassured me and told me to please not buy more. It was better without them.

Probably the only area we really didn’t want to explore was Beverly Hills. We weren’t of the right caliber to witness such a gaudy display.

The fifth day out, my conscience was tapping me on the shoulder, “Call home.” I’d been having too much fun with Jenny and learning to forget about the world until that voice took over. Down from our room was a pay phone. A collect call went out across America’s phone lines.

“Hi, mom.”

“Eric, we’ve been so worried. Why didn’t you call sooner?” There was an obvious “worried mom” voice.

“Sorry. We’ve been pretty busy, just having a blast.”

“And you left so early on Saturday. We didn’t have a chance to say good-bye.”

“Oh, just wanted an early start.” Before I moved onto less difficult conversations, my mom issued the “guilt trip.”

With a sharper tone, “And where did you and Jennifer go, anyway?”

“We’re in California…”

“WHAT!?” This four letter word shot out loudly and abruptly for emphasis. The call was going to cost more carrying the weight of her tone across these lines. “Why did you go there?”

“We’ve never been. This trip was supposed to be about having fun.”

Melancholy-like with a hint of apathy, “Alright, Eric.”

The conversation ended shortly thereafter. I’m for certain my mom never wanted me taking a trip with Jenny. She certainly didn’t ask about her on the phone. Probably not since my early teens did I feel like I was arguing with my mother. And my young female is competition, someone from out of the family taking her last boy away. Motherly instinct protects her boy, not trusting the opposing female.

Her sentiments toward Jenny, though indirect, hurt my feelings. I leaned back against the phone booth, just staring at cars driving past. While it lasted, I tried to count how many two door coupes I saw speed by. Then from behind, a motel door opened, then soft, cat-like footsteps coming closer.

“Hey, Eric.” Her eyes looked over my face. “What’s wrong?”

Lacking eye contact, “Nothing is wrong. I just need a moment.”

“Come on. Tell me what’s up.” I got quiet. She grabbed the open edges of my jacket and held her face against my chest. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t know she was crying until I heard a sniffle break the silence between passing vehicles.

“My mom wanted to know when we (though she only asked about me) were coming home. I didn’t have an answer for her.”

“I didn’t know you needed one.”

“They want to spend time with me before I leave for college. They probably have something big planned.”

“Your mom seemed fine with the trip until she knew it was with me.” This was not a discovery I cared to address. “You’re grown up now. This is the point of your life where you start making your own decisions.”

“How long do we want to be out here then?”

“How much money do we have left?”

“At least one hundred and fifty.”

“I don’t want to leave right away. This is our moment Eric. For us to be together and enjoy life. We’ve had a great time so far, let’s not think about going right away.”

“Alright.”

Purposely, I put the phone call out of my head. Like astronauts on the moon, we charted into the unknown and made the giant leap. We remained in the golden state for as long as the money was solid…which was about another five days…thanks to Jenny’s shoplifting skills.

“Love me now as you loved me then

Remaining together until the end

Hold true to our vows, forever so

Making sure you always know

That in my heart beats a tune

One I’ve been singing just for you.”