CHAPTER 39 Comic Relief - Part Two
The circumstance of the Three Mile Island incident and the April Fool's Nuclear Meltdown Party set me in an interesting light and I began to mix socially again. My biker friends saw to it that I had a taste of Real Life, and we spent almost every weekend in inner-tubes with supplies of beer, pot and peyote on the Salt River. Such river riding with Bob (Rivers), Suzie, Pat and the rest of a rather motley gang helped me find and establish a place for myself in the segment of Phoenix society that didn't care if Phoenix Society had a segment or not.
Friends and acquaintances of Bonnie began to draw me into their parties and circles, without her. They loved her pot though, and it seemed a bit unfair. Nonetheless, both of us together in the same party would have deflated the balloons and brought the party down.
The "Flasher" party costume I had worn had stirred some gossip it seems, if spoken of quite privately. An old friend of Bill Compton's named Chuck Holmes had a fine home in Tempe and a lovely if delicate wife named Helen. Together, they had adopted a yellow ferret with a distinctive, bitter musk. I found myself invited to a Halloween masquerade party there. These were among the circles of friends who enjoyed an occasional dignified smoke, but were not "wild and crazy" types. They would tend toward elevated conversation and somber mysticism rather than "freak out". You would regard them as Yuppies. Bikers would regard them as developmentaly retarded. In other words they would be seen in the biker world as addicted to, and dependent on - money for their social status and indeed, their very identity.
Since most of these folks were within the circles of society that could barely accept their own "darker" sides by indulging in pot, I decided to go dressed as a detective. And..... a flasher.
I found a nice-enough pair of detective-type shoes at one of the several thrift stores I frequented, and an old pair of slacks that could be cut to fit my purposes. An old fedora hat, a pipe and sunglasses made the rest of the detective costume very convincing. That was the first half of the costume. Beneath the coat which draped to just below my knees, the pair of dark slacks had been cut at knee level. The pants legs were held onto my knees with rubber bands. The only other thing that I chose to wear was a tight pair of flesh-colored briefs. In the front of the briefs I attached two small apples with about a foot-long smoked sausage between them, as genitals. To keep all that concealed, I had to stoop a bit when I walked. The necessary posturing was perfect. The detective disguise was complete.
Chuck was the Perfect Host of course and Helen was the Perfect Hostess. Her royal attire for the evening was as perfectly appropriate as she, herself. She welcomed me, purring over how appropriate my costume was for the evening. I had an appropriate drink and sat appropriately at the end of the bar with it. Guests in their various regalia began to trickle in and although I was easily enough recognized, no one spoke. How appropriate. I sat as a Detective should; a quiet observer - a Hercule Poirot, a Magnum P.I. or Mannix - Everyone's Detective - as the party scene began to unfold.
One after another, costumes began to arrive with people in them. Many, I recognized as friends of friends, clients of friends and friends of the circles of friends that Bonnie and I used to revolve in. The air began to be charged with the party mood and the level of conversational noise along with it. When most of the invited guests had arrived and were in their chosen places, the air began to become electrified with anticipation. It was obvious who was missing, and who had chosen to be fashionably late. Linda Thompson one of the female announcers from KDKB and her husband Tyler were on their way it was said, and would be there any moment. It was obvious that their arrival would be the highlight of the evening. That was the buzz.
There was a saying, a benediction among the truckers, the bikers and the drug dealers of the times; "Don't feed the bears". It meant that you should avoid being arrested. The hats worn by Highway Patrol officers and some other law enforcement officials made them look like Smokey The Bear of forest fire prevention fame. It gave a solid dentity with underground overtones, to local police as well. Linda and her husband arrived, dressed in outrageous teddy bear costumes that were all of seven feet tall. They could hardly squeeze through the door. To the laughter of the crowd, they danced in as gracefully as possible in slow motion, through the foyer, first one, then the other. The difficulty of navigating into the room in such outlandish costumes made the situation even more comical and the room became atomic with hilarity. It was then that The Detective struck.
Stepping down stooped from my bar stool, I stalked towards Mama Bear and Papa Bear. Obviously to all, The Detective was about to expose them. Bears indeed. Helen was crowing with laughter, but not much more loudly than the rest of the room. The Detective took a stooped but challenging stance before the bears and the laughter was enhanced by an element of anticipation in the room. Helen was out of control, happily hysterical along with the rest of the crowd. I stood stock still as the bear costumes began to lurch up and down to the obvious giggling inside. It was Pooh Corner on Acid. The bears rocked silently back and forth, attempting in vain to lean on one another for support. Helen's hysterical laughter began to take on screams as punctuation.
The moment was as theatrically perfect as that when the Phantom of the Opera reveals his horror. The Detective slowly straightened up and spread his raincoat to reveal only to the bears, his Naked Truth, presenting a lovely snack of apples and sausage. Helen was beyond salvation and her hysteria had taken over her sense of humor. She was having an attack of some kind and I was seriously concerned that she was about to have a seizure. Chuck was doing his best to get her under control but she was weeping, laughing and gurgling all at the same time. So were most of the rest of us. The room was so highly charged it was like a hospital emergency room during a major disaster. The ferret was cowering in a corner. One of the bears, slapping its knees, almost fell over. Helen apparently, was passing out. Chuck carried her into the bedroom. I could tell I would not be invited back.
I slowly returned my raincoat to its closed position and stalked back over to the bar. After the room finally settled down, I left. Anything else would be anti-climactic. All that could possibly be said or done in that circle of Phoenix society had just been said and done.
Friends and acquaintances of Bonnie began to draw me into their parties and circles, without her. They loved her pot though, and it seemed a bit unfair. Nonetheless, both of us together in the same party would have deflated the balloons and brought the party down.
The "Flasher" party costume I had worn had stirred some gossip it seems, if spoken of quite privately. An old friend of Bill Compton's named Chuck Holmes had a fine home in Tempe and a lovely if delicate wife named Helen. Together, they had adopted a yellow ferret with a distinctive, bitter musk. I found myself invited to a Halloween masquerade party there. These were among the circles of friends who enjoyed an occasional dignified smoke, but were not "wild and crazy" types. They would tend toward elevated conversation and somber mysticism rather than "freak out". You would regard them as Yuppies. Bikers would regard them as developmentaly retarded. In other words they would be seen in the biker world as addicted to, and dependent on - money for their social status and indeed, their very identity.
Since most of these folks were within the circles of society that could barely accept their own "darker" sides by indulging in pot, I decided to go dressed as a detective. And..... a flasher.
I found a nice-enough pair of detective-type shoes at one of the several thrift stores I frequented, and an old pair of slacks that could be cut to fit my purposes. An old fedora hat, a pipe and sunglasses made the rest of the detective costume very convincing. That was the first half of the costume. Beneath the coat which draped to just below my knees, the pair of dark slacks had been cut at knee level. The pants legs were held onto my knees with rubber bands. The only other thing that I chose to wear was a tight pair of flesh-colored briefs. In the front of the briefs I attached two small apples with about a foot-long smoked sausage between them, as genitals. To keep all that concealed, I had to stoop a bit when I walked. The necessary posturing was perfect. The detective disguise was complete.
Chuck was the Perfect Host of course and Helen was the Perfect Hostess. Her royal attire for the evening was as perfectly appropriate as she, herself. She welcomed me, purring over how appropriate my costume was for the evening. I had an appropriate drink and sat appropriately at the end of the bar with it. Guests in their various regalia began to trickle in and although I was easily enough recognized, no one spoke. How appropriate. I sat as a Detective should; a quiet observer - a Hercule Poirot, a Magnum P.I. or Mannix - Everyone's Detective - as the party scene began to unfold.
One after another, costumes began to arrive with people in them. Many, I recognized as friends of friends, clients of friends and friends of the circles of friends that Bonnie and I used to revolve in. The air began to be charged with the party mood and the level of conversational noise along with it. When most of the invited guests had arrived and were in their chosen places, the air began to become electrified with anticipation. It was obvious who was missing, and who had chosen to be fashionably late. Linda Thompson one of the female announcers from KDKB and her husband Tyler were on their way it was said, and would be there any moment. It was obvious that their arrival would be the highlight of the evening. That was the buzz.
There was a saying, a benediction among the truckers, the bikers and the drug dealers of the times; "Don't feed the bears". It meant that you should avoid being arrested. The hats worn by Highway Patrol officers and some other law enforcement officials made them look like Smokey The Bear of forest fire prevention fame. It gave a solid dentity with underground overtones, to local police as well. Linda and her husband arrived, dressed in outrageous teddy bear costumes that were all of seven feet tall. They could hardly squeeze through the door. To the laughter of the crowd, they danced in as gracefully as possible in slow motion, through the foyer, first one, then the other. The difficulty of navigating into the room in such outlandish costumes made the situation even more comical and the room became atomic with hilarity. It was then that The Detective struck.
Stepping down stooped from my bar stool, I stalked towards Mama Bear and Papa Bear. Obviously to all, The Detective was about to expose them. Bears indeed. Helen was crowing with laughter, but not much more loudly than the rest of the room. The Detective took a stooped but challenging stance before the bears and the laughter was enhanced by an element of anticipation in the room. Helen was out of control, happily hysterical along with the rest of the crowd. I stood stock still as the bear costumes began to lurch up and down to the obvious giggling inside. It was Pooh Corner on Acid. The bears rocked silently back and forth, attempting in vain to lean on one another for support. Helen's hysterical laughter began to take on screams as punctuation.
The moment was as theatrically perfect as that when the Phantom of the Opera reveals his horror. The Detective slowly straightened up and spread his raincoat to reveal only to the bears, his Naked Truth, presenting a lovely snack of apples and sausage. Helen was beyond salvation and her hysteria had taken over her sense of humor. She was having an attack of some kind and I was seriously concerned that she was about to have a seizure. Chuck was doing his best to get her under control but she was weeping, laughing and gurgling all at the same time. So were most of the rest of us. The room was so highly charged it was like a hospital emergency room during a major disaster. The ferret was cowering in a corner. One of the bears, slapping its knees, almost fell over. Helen apparently, was passing out. Chuck carried her into the bedroom. I could tell I would not be invited back.
I slowly returned my raincoat to its closed position and stalked back over to the bar. After the room finally settled down, I left. Anything else would be anti-climactic. All that could possibly be said or done in that circle of Phoenix society had just been said and done.
posted by freespeak@gmail.com at 4:51 PM
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