Villa RiveraA Chapter by Judas Hammer I moved from third street to the Villa Rivera a historical Long Beach landmark. From the front seat of my car a condo in a building for the rich. I saw my life changing...... On a summer night while walking back from the straight coffeehouse on Temple and Broadway, I stopped by Bixby Park. It was a large park that was about two city blocks in deep divided into two section. It stretched from Broadway to Ocean. The front park had work out equipment: Parallel bars, three pulls up bars, a dip slash sits up contraption and a long vertical pole that seemed to have no use. It had T shaped bars in the ground around the vertical pole. Men were doing close grip and wide grip push-ups. I decided this would be the day I started a my routine. Dubs always did pull ups with me at the high school late at night in the harbor city. I wouldn't resist the pull up bars call anymore. I wanted to be stolen by the steel monster. I wanted to be an iron beast. I put my computer bag on the grassy earth and jumped up to the cold metal. I did seven and was ashamed but it would take time. I did three sets and moved on. That became my routine which included the beach exercises. I had to keep the mind and body sharp to survive the storm of life. The park would open up other worlds I had not yet explored. I remember my past trips down from The North side in search of a chess game. I had seen the homeless sleeping on grassy pillow with newspapers and madness as blankets. I remember the skinny, black drug dealer with the sneaky eyes, riding around on his BMX bicycle looking for buyers and oh what the buyers were they. Hunch backed, toothless zombies with second hand clothes and pockets full of change they had gotten from panhandling downtown. They waited under the open air, wooden beamed veranda trying to hide in the shade from the three o’clock sun. I came across a seventy year old man with a six-pack. He humbled all at the park from corner to corner, then memories flashed back like a re run of a sitcom playing in background of my mind. Memories of past days and night that seemed to melt into one, like a box of unmonitored crowns abused by the sun. The park was grimy and had an unseen film that stuck to a man like an invisible sludge. The wheels from skateboards clacked off of the cement obstacle, as one young man after another tested his skill against the skate park. All races, sizes, shapes and colors skating in the concrete sand box trying to stay upright and avoid bloody knee embarrassment. Memories cascaded on my brain: images striking my gray mater. I couldn't tell one from another. They started to overlap each other. After the workout: the Brit and I ran down to the local grocery store. She sprung for the two dollar wine and some other things. “This will get you off of her” She said in an over extended Manchester twang as she dropped me off a block from the Condo. Her sister had promoted a variety show that night. I remember they discussed it the whole time in Hamburger Mary’s: silently disagreeing with their dueling Body English. It was also to be held across from the park in a quaint cafe, which boasted four-dollar Sunday mimosas and open air dining area surrounded by a wooden fence and open fire pit. I took the wine up and placed it in the refrigerator. I hung around for a few beats, hit the treadmill then grabbed The Subterraneans and ran to the Gay coffee shop. I sat in the corner and read Ol’ Jack. Eight o’clock came and I returned to the Doc’s condo. She smiled said I could have some of the food and thanked me for the wine. I went into the room and put on a basketball game trying to zone out of the odd situation. It also seemed so strange. We were basically strangers without the sex and frequent disagreements. I tried my best to keep a level head and my eyes on the barely visible hope. The day came for the move. It was a gray day with sadness attached to the dull, silver clouds. I was to meet Susie, the Brit’s friend for the first time. I was nervous but had to control it; there was moving to do. The Brit and I had breakfast at the Pantry across from the Java. I had ordered and eggs and the Brit had the same plus a Mimosa. A tall, light skinned, black man about six for with slender, fitted clothes and a skinny smile approached us. He looked deeply into my eyes and shook my hand. I felt the vibes that he was a lover of men and women, but just a wee. The Brit meekly gave him a hug. She only came up to his c**k at best. After he left with another suspicious sweet looking man she confided in me that they had has sex a couple weeks before. They had meet in the Reno room of off Redondo ave. She asked me if I though he was straight. I said in the nicest yet most honest voice I could muster. ‘No.’ I figured from time to time he liked Penis-a lot. She bowed her head shamefully. The Brit told me she expected as much by the he made love to her. To her it was painfully funny. The Brit shared no more and attacked her mimosa and toast. I walked back to the condo and packed my things: two suite cases. I still could fit everything I owned in two worn suitcases. I put them in my car with the rest of my possession that never had the chance to taken out. I waited for her to come home and gave her the key. We exchanged weak hugs and I head out the door out and out of her life forever. She could return to Sex and the City, head wraps and cheap wine she swam in every evening, to drown out the dull drums of the pre forty roads she was crawling slowly. I went a few blocks down to the corner where the historical Villa Rivera stood. That Long Beach landmark would be my new home. I was supposed to meet my new landlord: the Brit’s friend and somewhat of a role model I was told. The Brit gossiped to me Susie had touched some money that did not belong to her and was now in the red. She needed an emergency tenant to take off some of the finical strain. I was supposed to sign the lease and all paper work that afternoon. Susie herself was a former classical dancer and a lover of the Long Beach art scene. The Brit had befriended her when she needed a pet sitter to watch her little dog she claimed to saved from a residential street were the beast probably lived. The problem with the doggie rescue was the Brit only cared about herself and her weed habit. She could barley take care of herself and that was with the many schemes constantly up and running. So it seemed she conned Susie into basically leasing her stolen dog. The kidnapping mother just lived downstairs high as an Afternoon Dragon kites weaving in blue cloudless skies. The Villa was a portal to old fashion, LA luxury. It could be viewed from all most all vantage points around the city. It was like a sentry to the Beach: an old, phallic and cement stone erection to the heavens. Gargoyles watched people at the four way intersection, as the stone monsters were perched high on a sloping steeple. The Penthouse sat onto top, screaming down everything dark and forbidden from the pointed roof to the waters below. I parked outside and was met by the Brit.
I had been there before on other visits and brief 420 toaking and wine session.
During one her little human puppet shows swore she was Jesus in between puffs and the continuous quoting
from the Four Agreements as though it was the Gospel. I nodded my head amused
as she bounced from her canopy bed to the floor acting out every word she
spoke. I peeked at the ocean, which could be seen from her window. It was like
a slice of instant paradise. How could this little monster have such a few? Why did she
wake up to such joy? Load with my things: we entered the marble lobby with the
mirrors and clean windows. Old leather furniture was carefully placed around
the room: It spoke of wealth and prestige. We jumped on the elevators lifted straight from
the thirties and took it to fifth floor. The moving box creaked floor by floor until we
reached our destination. We exited and Susan’s Condo stood
before us. The hallways were vast, dark and carpeted. Long, old vases and
plants rested against the wall. It seemed as if a sequel to the Shining was going to break out at any moment. The Brit opened the door, which was
unlocked and charged inside. She said hello to both the little lap dogs dressed
in canine sweaters and called for the mistress of the rented Condo. The inside
was jumbled yet classic, the furniture had an old fashion elegance but the
picture windows were the main attraction. The thick glassed, double windows
faced into the beach. The view of the sand and ocean and all its majesty stood
before my eyes. It was a gloomy day, yet I could still see the beauty. I sat on the round, section sofa and waited. I was calm and anticipated the next step in the moving process. Susie came into the living room: a
tall, red head with bright, rosy hair and a short, choppy gate. Her body was
awesome for a woman sixty plus. Massive breast greeted me as she sat on the
sofa. He face was the only part of her body that did battle with father time
and did not come out a winner. Her face had pale wrinkles like a notebook left
in a wet spot for a week. She was friendly and spoke with an accent
less voice. I usually could tell a person's origin after the first few vows. She
introduced herself, as did the two Shiatsus who fought for my attention. I will not go into too great a detail with the canine; I am not a lover of small hair beast. The Brit
watched closely from across the section furniture, from her own leather island
she reclined and tossed jokes. I felt as if it was a bad Benny Hill rerun. Being a real-estate agent she had the
contracts on stand by. I read them and they were the standard. I had seen them
many time before, this was not my first rodeo of renting living space in the Golden state.
She wanted me to put down a two hundred dollar deposit on an air mattress that
was already in the room. My face exhibited my reservation, so she
said maybe on a later date. My new landlord showed me the room, which doubled for her
office. She said she would be in and out frequently thus the low rent. I was
just happy to call a space my own. A small, thin door leads into my new lair.
There was my own small bathroom, a space where the printer was kept, and a
closet with drawer where I kept my clothes and a small room, to the back with
three sets of window facing the next complex over. I could see Ocean Avenue to
my right and the beach to my left. The small room was the nicest place I had
ever stayed. It was my own slice of calmness from that cold, cold universe. I
signed the agreement and paid the money. The Brit finished helping me relocate my things into the new spot. I should have known down deep inside that this feeling would not
last. I could feel the war coming, for this was the history when dealing with
troubled people suck as the midget. She grabbed a cart and loaded it with
my two bags and some boxes. I was on my way up. Not to the Penthouse, but the nicest
four walls I have ever had surrounding me. My life was on an upswing finally.
After so much struggle and uncertainty, now I could explore the land only
driven through on late morning commutes to various schools in the city. I had
begun to break the boarders of Retero Row while I was living with the Doc, when I
would take long walks and work on my book Exodus.... © 2013 Judas HammerAuthor's Note
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Judas HammerThe City of Angeles, CAAboutI like to write, live in La and write and make short films. and more..Writing
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