Around about three a.m. I was pulling the Toranado up in front of her house, actually, turns out, her mother’s house.
During the course of our conversation after leaving the bar’s parking lot Shonnie revealed to me that she had left her husband, who was a biker, and moved in with her mother.
She had a nine-year-old son who suffered from a crippling disease and though fairly independent, still required almost twenty-four hour supervision.
I asked her why she felt compelled to move out of her house and she told me her husband was overly jealous and had a ‘bit of a mean streak’.
(Perfect, I thought: A jealous Biker with a mean streak and I had just finished screwing his wife.)
Smooth Lance. Real smooth.
In spite of this revelation, and in the department of ‘I shouda known better’, I agreed we ‘needed’ to continue seeing each other, so we set a date for the following Saturday night, back at the bar, which I have decided to arbitrarily Christen ‘Gilley’s Lite’.
A., Because I am tired of calling it all sorts of generic names.
And B., Because this is My Blog and I can do whatever I like.
For the next several weeks we continued our weekly rendezvous, sometimes meeting on a Friday if I had ‘Duty’ on Saturday. Occasionally even sneaking in a mid-week ‘booster shot’ rendezvous on a Wednesday or Thursday night.
Basically, we would drink and dance and romance. (Still only slow dancing, but once I did allow her an attempt at teaching me the ‘Two-Step,’ with semi-disastrous results: Pretty sure I had embarrassed her no end, for she never broached That Subject again.)
Of course after we had closed down the bar, uh, I mean ‘Gilley’s Lite’, we would retire to the Toranado for some late night, great night, great sex.
And it was all good. Not just the great, energetically, intensely, passionately acting of our love-making. (We had ‘up-graded’; no longer did we ‘fuck’. We ‘made love’.) Yes, I was in the midst of ‘Stage-Four Deep Emotional Vulnerability’.
Not Just The Sex!
The whole just ‘Being-with-Shonnie‘ experience was great.
And better now that she was arriving in her own car (Miss Layla having moved on to find a new BFF to Chaperone) and I did not have to risk accidentally running into ‘Jealous-Biker-Dude-With-A-Mean-Streak-Estranged-Husband at her momma’s house at three or four in the morning.
Eventually we grew weary of the bar, ‘Gilley’s Lite’ scene and went straight for the sex, generally in some out of the way dark and empty parking lot.
But every once in a while, usually right after one of my paydays, we’d find ourselves in some ‘Budget Motel’, read ‘Cheap and Sleezy’. Some in San Diego even rented by-the-hour, and even though I was trash, Shonnie was not. So I never, ever considered those venues as even a remotely viable option.
This new routine went on for some several more weeks.
One weekend I had a rare three whole days off duty, so we planned an ‘outing’, or rather, ‘she planned an outing’. She managed to get her mom to take full responsibility of the kid for the entire three days and we met up in a parking lot in Pacific Beach.
She got out of her car with a small suitcase, locked up, jumped into my car, inquiring breathlessly, “You got plenty of gas?”
“Not really,” I said. “Why?”
“I’m kidnapping you, and we have some miles to cover today.”
“Road trip?” I asked.
“Yep, and while we’re gassing up, we need to get some booze and maybe some munchies.”
“Hey, I’m all in. Hell! Let’s do it.”
So without even asking where we were going, I took care of the logistical tasks. Once we were fueled-up, stocked up, and by then, slightly fucked-up (With excitement and more than just a little bit giddy over the prospect of our two-and-a-half days of just being together and doing what-ever-the-hell-we-damned-well-pleased…)
As she directed me to start heading east toward the desert, I asked,
“So Shonnie, where’re we going?”
“Away from all this San Diego Shit an’ into the desert,” she said.
“This much, I have already figured out, but where, and why?”
“Tell ya when we get there,” was all she said as she dropped ZZ Top’s Tres Hombres into my cassette player, firing up “Jesus Just Left Chicago” which started mid-way through. Couldn’t really talk over that, so I just kept driving east.
OH MY GOD! THIS IS
DURING HAPPIER TIMES FOR HER. SHOULD I LEAVE IT IN? OR DELETE IT?
I WILL NOT “DELETE” HER!
That would be disresectful
Ed. Note: Remember, this photo was just one I pulled off the Net, back in June. It is not here for any other reason than I needed a photo of a beautiful blond to represent Shonnie. I am honoured, to have her ‘Live on’ in my story.
An hour or so later we were pulling into some little town called ‘Alpine’. It seemed nice enough, I suppose, if just a little dusty and brown. But apparently, we had come in through the ‘back door’, as later I would see mountains in the background and green areas too!
Also, I discovered later, that ‘Alpine’ was the ‘Austin’ of Eastern Southern California, famous for live music and various other attractions. According to the 2000 census, Alpine had a population of 13,143 people, so probably substantially less on the weekend of our visit (didn’t say how many dogs, but I saw a lot of dogs that day)
And also famous for quirky sites to visit:
Alpine, California: Dead Dolly Lane
“Find us a motel. If you take the next left, I’m sure you’ll find the Perfect One, but don’t let me tell you what to do.” she said, after turning down the stereo which she had kept cranked-up during the entire trip: ZZ Top, Marshall Tucker Band, Hank Jr…. It was about two in the afternoon.
I ignored her smart-assed instructions and loved them all at the same moment.
Performing as ordered, I turned a corner and sure-as-shit, ran into this ‘Perfect-for-us’ run-down, kinda sandy, sleezy-lookin’ joint:
As we were getting out of the car I asked her, while discretely pointing at a bored-looking girl sitting on the porch, “Reckon that’s the manager? One night or two?”
“You’re the boss,” I said as I got out and headed to the office.
I always kept most of my civilian clothes in the trunk of my ‘Tornado’ since there really was not much room on the USS Callaghan DDG 994 for anything in my locker other than uniforms.
I grabbed some civvies out of the trunk and along with my Babe, headed toward our new little love nest.
The room was Spartan, but adequate. At least it had regular sized towels and no roaches that I could see.
Actually, it was clean and tidy. There was a tiny TV on the dresser-drawers and a regular-sized bed, two chairs and a small coffee table which had some initials carved into it along with a review offered by a previous occupant succinctly describing their experience while staying in this establishment:
“J and J had sex here. 1981. Hiley Rec’mend”
Very quaint, I thought.
“Hey Shonnie,” I said to her back as she unpacked, “Do you have a pocket knife? I’m feelin’ sorta ‘literary’.”
“What? Too soon to slit yer wrists City Boy. What for?”
“’City Boy’? That hurt. Never mind,” I laughed.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” she said, already half-way through peeling off her shirt and blue jeans. “Join me?”
We did the shower sex, er… ‘love-making’ then wearing nothing but towels, sat on the bed and had a drink or two over some Marlboros.
“Okay Shonnie,” I said. “You gonna tell me now exactly why we’re here, ‘miles from nowhere’, on this hot and dusty Friday afternoon?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” She said.
“Nope… I mean it’s lovely an’ all, and good to be out of town an’ all, but if you just wanted a sleazy motel room and me all to yer lonesome, we coulda done that in San Dog and saved the gas.”
“You told me you were a ‘romantic’.
“Yeah. Yeah. I did. Uh… I mean I am, but…”
“Get dressed. We have a place to be this afternoon.”
So we got dressed, grabbed the Beam and cigs, locked up our room and headed to the car.
“You got a beer cooler stashed in your trunk or somewhere?” She said as we pulled out of the parking lot.
“You know I do,” I said.
“Good, take a left. There’s a Seven Eleven up the street. We need some more beers and some more cigs.”
That mission properly dispatched, Shonnie played navigator and back seat driver and eventually we ended up in a dusty park.
A dusty park teaming with people.
She had kidnapped me to a Blue Grass Festival! Surprised? Yep.
Nothing shocking me about this gal anymore.
We parked the now very dusty ‘Tornado’ next to all the other dusty cars and trucks and Harleys and climbed out.
People were milling about everywhere. I noticed more than a few walking around with beer bottles in their hands. Shonnie was anxiously walking ahead of me. I yelled,
Turning around, somewhat glaring at me, she demanded, “What IS it?” (Occasionally, Shonnie exhibits No Patience)
“Come with me back to the car for a sec, Ok?”
Grumbling as she made her way back to the car, then once next to me, in a lower, calmer voice, said, slowly and ‘matter-of-factly’,
“Ok, here we are, back-at-the-fuckin-car. Why? You don’t like ‘Blue Grass’?”
“Darlin’ I love ‘Every-Thing’ when I’m with You, but we forgot something.”
She yawned as she leaned against the driver’s side door while lighting a Marlboro.
Opening the trunk, I began fishing bottles of beer out of the cooler, drying each bottle with a towel I kept with the beers for just such purpose.
“Baby,” I said. “Come over here with that big-ass purse of yours that never has nothin’ in it.”
She sauntered over to stand next to the trunk and opened her bag, allowing me to cram several beers into it.
“Ya know, Cowboy, we can always walk back over here and get more beers. Don’t have to make me carry a portable brewery around in this damn heat all day.”
“Shit! You’re right. What was I thinking?” I said.
Shonnie rolled her baby blues at me and opened her bag once again.
I retrieved a few of the beers and placed them back into the cooler, leaving only four in her ‘purse-big-ass-bag’.
“Much better. Now those beers can breathe, and so can I,” she laughed.
“Smart ass.” Was I could come up with, by way of a retort.
“Come on. Let’s get on over to the stage.”
During our casual trek, I was observing all the folks in attendance. All sorts of folks, mostly dressed in ‘Real, Bona-Fide’ attire: Straw Cowboy hats, Gimme Caps, Jeans, Some Daisy-Dukes and halter tops on a few of the Ladies, Boots, Beers in hand, Smiling, Rowdy Faces, and on and on…
Real “My kind of People” stuff adorned them, is what I’m sayin’.
There were older, younger, very older, very younger and everything-in-between folks. Little kids runnin’ wild laughing and whooping it up.
Everyone was havin’ FUN!
Woodstock it weren’t, but
It was Heaven to this Cowboy, especially after suffering that joint in San Dog where Shonnie and I had first met.
As we drew near the stage the crowd grew denser and tighter (No ‘Social Distancing’ back then and certainly not at this venue.)
Everyone was pleased-as-pie just to share the love of the music and the camaraderie.
The band on–stage started up with their rendition of ‘Uncle Pen’, a song which was in fact, very familiar to me.
Bill Monroe–The Man, The Myth, The Legend!
The folks in front of the stand went nuts!
Clapping their hands and stomping their feet.
A-Whoopin’ and A- Hollerin’
Shonnie and I joined in.
And I Loved it!
And She Loved it!
And I may have been falling in ‘for-real-love’ with Shonnie at this point.
That is a lie!
I had been in ‘for real love’ with her from ‘Night One.’
Just had a little trouble admitting it to myself.
Until That Moment.
For You See?
I Had Fooled Around And Fallen In Love
Title: Fooled Around And Fell In Love (Elvin Bishop)
Band: The Winery Dogs
Shared Vid Cred: no1here4unow
Update: Part Four May be Found Below:
Commentary From The Original Version. As before, for continuity, I recommend you start at the bottom and read your way up.
LAMarcom July 22, 2014 at 19:33 Edit
I don’t know what I’m doin’ half the time…
Thanks for the read my Friend.
Tony Single July 22, 2014 at 18:11 Edit
I have no idea where this is going. (This is a good thing.)
LAMarcom July 21, 2014 at 13:06 Edit
Sorry for the tardy response. Slipped in under my radar.
Thanks for reading and commenting. Always.
peakperspective July 12, 2014 at 14:04 Edit
You had me wondering where the field trip was heading–nearly thought it might have been the end for you there, Lance, but how lucky … Bluegrass. Hot diggedy.
Waiting with bated breath for Chapter 4. 🙂
markbialczak June 18, 2014 at 21:40 Edit
LAMarcom June 18, 2014 at 21:37 Edit
I was joking.
I am a sap for a happy ending.
markbialczak June 18, 2014 at 21:25 Edit
Not necessarily, Lance.
LAMarcom June 18, 2014 at 19:49 Edit
There is enough for five or six more…
Happy Endings are so boring though. Wouldn’t you agree?
markbialczak June 18, 2014 at 19:02 Edit
I indeed am rooting for a happy ending. Yet the realist in me … You go, Lance! Make the magic last five or six more chapters, please do!
LAMarcom June 18, 2014 at 18:32 Edit
Aw C’mon Mark.
Don’t ya want the story to have a happy ending?
LAMarcom June 18, 2014 at 18:31 Edit
Hahaha! Nope, wasn’t me!
“Me no Alamo.”
Hey thanks Friend.
LAMarcom June 18, 2014 at 18:27 Edit
I agree. Imagine the nerve of that woman! Calling me, ME! A City Boy!
Mad Annie, Bronwyn, Ann June 18, 2014 at 13:48 Edit
“City boy”… when I called someone that, it was the Kiss of Death! LOL
happierheathen June 18, 2014 at 07:55 Edit
My Texican second wife tried to teach me to two-step. I usually made it three or four steps. Step, step, get confused, shuffle a bit, step, shuffle, shuffle, trip, cuss. She and I once made an escape to a “rustic” motel in the desert, too. And she had a thing for picking up guys at urban poser cowboy bars. If it weren’t for it being a crippled son instead of two perfectly healthy daughters I’d think one of you had changed her name and you were banging my wife.
Hanging on the edge of my seat here, man.
markbialczak June 18, 2014 at 07:19 Edit
Oh, great bluegrass fest twist, Lance. I’m digging the serial and biding my time until Biker hubby appears, in, what, next chapter, or the one after?
LAMarcom June 17, 2014 at 22:59 Edit
Yes. She cut me to the quick on that one!
Love that you are reading.
~ Sadie ~ June 17, 2014 at 22:57 Edit
City boy – LMAO!!!!