Baja Stories - Writers Corner Contributions from Our Forum Members

Old 04-11-10, 01:16 PM   #1
Osprey
 
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Default Change of pace from Police and Politics

Connie, leaving



It really didn’t take me long. The early Connie was a quick, easy, study. A Baywatch body, the attention span of a carrot, no discernable soul, heart of an Armenian camel broker.

The second day she literally took the place over. She redesigned everything, including me, to suit her strange and ever-changing fancies. At first it seemed fun, different – kept me jumping, wondering “what’s next?” Often, the “what’s next” was also a pleasant diversion – spur of the moment this, madcap spontaneous that. I got lost there for a while, ceased to be anything more than furniture, kitchenware, right here in my own home!

It was only when she took off, spent the day at the beach, went to town, left me alone did I even get a chance to stop the terrible, wonderful spinning; to sit back, close my eyes, listen to the silence, open them again to glance around at what had happened in just a couple of weeks.

Her history was more of a challenge. She said she had been born and raised in small town Georgia, mother was a teacher, father a union organizer. Then fragmented bits and pieces of her recent history painted a picture of her working some kind of wild circuit tied to spring break destinations from North Carolina to Key West. She said she had been living, off and on, in Key West for the past five years.

“Too gay, too many amateurs. So I left. Just got in the car and drove.”

I suspect there was more. She wore the faint green-purple mark of a shiner under her left eye – could have been a week or two old; trick, boyfriend? I think she was mad and scared. Must have been plenty of both to cause her to drive from Florida to Baja California to get away from the pain. She didn’t even bother to get a visitor’s visa at the border in Tijuana.

Married and divorced twice, no kids. She was vague about an occupation; “Masseuse, personal trainer…” was all she would add. Aside from swimming, walking on the beach I witnessed no exercise program, no massages. The only touching came when asleep in my big bed, I would roll over, some movement would bring us together, she would awaken thinking it was a signal I wanted to have sex. Then, her lovemaking was meted out, measured, designed only to fulfill my immediate need. It made me think she might have a well-earned sobrenombre, nickname, on the Southern Seaboard; Spring Break Connie comes to mind.

Seems the age of electronics passed her by without incident. No computer, T.V., private communication gadget got her attention. Only radios and CD players, anything that would play reggae or Buffett – she was a devoted Parrot Head and a Marley freak.

Connie didn’t drink much but I was not surprised to learn she liked rum drinks. She found a bottle of Purser’s rum in a specialty shop in Cabo, paid the $75 bucks for it with her own money. She saved what she could of my cash when she shopped for staples; where she took me over the edge was with her special Gucci brands of skin and hair care lotions and potions, the mega-bucks bottles of vitamin supplements she took and also laid out for me twice a day.

She cooked Cajun and island style so I ended up asking Julio, my shrimp guy, to stop by more often.

When Connie and I had disagreements it was usually about bugs.

“Les, you have got to call the fumigator. The cockroaches are just lapping up that spray stuff under your sink. You’ve waited too long. You need industrial strength gas, mist, fog or bombs.”

My golden retriever, Storm, loved her, lavished her with attention but she was dismissive, tried to keep him out of the house. She parked her little VW bug all over the street. Her Florida plates had expired two years ago. She didn’t seem to fear being stopped by local village cops or highway federals. Maybe she was confident she could bribe, bullshit or screw her way out of any serious potential jackpot.

You know how they say “It’s all good.” Well, it’s never “All Good.”

She cut my hair. She did the wash, all of it. Shopped for the house, took really good care of the house plants. Connie could not hold an intelligent conversation on anything. She wiped out my meager bank account. She shared her supple, young body with me, serviced me like a mechanic services a car – with a checklist. She, the house, the dog, my clothes smelled like a lush spring meadow. The woman made no sweeping demands, offered no special care or attention, gave no noticeable display of respect or endearment nor held out any evidence of the development, the growth of any form of special personal relationship.

One day she was driving through this little pueblo and there’s no telling what it was about this house, about seeing me under the ramada on the lounge chair, Bloody Mary in hand, Storm, a blond-cinnamon mass asleep between my fat legs that told her to stop, right here. Told her this could be her own private Embassy Suite until the next time spoiled rich kids from the Hamptons get a dying need to go south to play. A place to wait. A place to hide. A place to heal.

Hard to imagine what might be said about the woman where she plays. The ones in Daytona or Long Key, as they pass her around, do they sneer and giggle about Spring Break Connie? Does she have more unflattering handles?

She has a tattoo of a delicate butterfly on her thigh. Maybe she needs one more, maybe in the small of her back. Maybe it should say “Use By ___________.” like the ones on milk cartons.

She’s gone. The nice smell is gone. I’m back. Money in the bank, money in the jar. Storm is sleeping on the bed again. Now I can walk around naked looking at my droopy house plants. I left the Buffett disk in the player.

I don’t know why but I just play it to death.
Old 04-11-10, 02:50 PM   #2
longlegsinlapaz
 
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Default Re: Change of pace from Police and Politics

Well done, Osprey!
Old 04-11-10, 06:43 PM   #3
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Default Re: Change of pace from Police and Politics

Thanks legs. This is all an experiment. This is a new board, a new gathering of people. From my first explorations seems blood and politics is the prominent thrust of the board.

Thanks for your appreciation of my little fictional pieces/vignettes/anecdotes. I've sold some so I think I can safely call them "literature" but that doesn't mean they are tailor made for this forum.

Maybe the moderators can help. I'm a writer, not a warrior or lecturer.
Old 04-11-10, 07:27 PM   #4
kate
 
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Default Re: Change of pace from Police and Politics

Fun story and well written. I loved "the attention span of a carrot" and "She, the house, the dog, my clothes smelled like a lush spring meadow."

Whoever is into blood and politics, it ain't yours truly. One reason I retired here was to distance myself from all that. So please don't write (so to speak) all of us off as belonging to that ilk, as Bajalera would say. Keep 'em coming!
Old 04-12-10, 06:52 AM   #5
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Default Re: Change of pace from Police and Politics

You definitively have your own style my friend. Well done!
Old 04-12-10, 07:41 AM   #6
Marty Cortez
 
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Default Re: Change of pace from Police and Politics

Quote:
Originally Posted by Osprey
...She has a tattoo of a delicate butterfly on her thigh. Maybe she needs one more, maybe in the small of her back...
Something tasteful and simple...






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