The Philippines

Move new apartment complex was a dream place until the characters started to climb out of the wood work...

The Philippines

 

 

     I was subletting an apartment on Woodman ave. It was way to good to be true: fully furnished with a sled bed and all the other bedroom amenities require for a man pad. It had wall-to-wall, tan, shag carpeting and a large bathroom. That was the nicest place I had stayed in LA by far. It was my home and home was where the heart and head was. The apartment was leased to a tall, light skinned black guy from Yuma.

     Eli was his name and he was a light brown skinned, ex navy man that loved to played pickup basketball, which was what he did most of the time. His girlfriend was a beautiful Latina wannabe actress. I always wondered how a guy like him got a girl like that. He must have had some kind of magical words or a dick way above ten inches but he was a good fellow, laid back and sparse with words.

     He had placed an ad on Craig list and I answered. I was nervously squatting on the floor of an ex’s property that had gone unrented. It was a small, one level, dirty house with wood floors and glass doors. It was up in the hills of Mt. Washington, over looking the streets of Eagles Rock.

     Once the new girl was brought around, the old girl got funny. The situation grew tense and I was a few days from living on the road. I had hit the housing ads like a madman. On Saturday it reached the point of desperation and I was ready to take any place that took me. The night before in Glendale over Barbeque Chicken wings, the Ex told me she rented the room to a hipster couple whom worked for a named magazine and I was on my way out. It was the typical LA ambush, but I was used to it by now.

Even though I had been paying a little bit, for the barley livable conditions, there was no more fight in me. I knew eventually everything would be okay.

      I had called Eli’s number before and thought he sounded like an average height white man. The situation sounded good, but I needed better. Out of necessity, I took the place anyway and paid Eli seven hundred dollars a month.

     My roommate was a short, squatty mulatto named Jay. He was another almost actor from Maryland that could never keep on his shirt and spoke volumes rougher, than what he actually appeared to be. The micro, mixed man was a human pig and never had the thought to clean up after himself. I found out later that was a point of contention, which might have led to Eli’s sudden exodus but it was not the only one. The other reason was Eli needed money and was illegally subletting the apartment without anyone’s knowledge.

LA. LA. Big city of schemes.

         I didn’t find this fact out until Eli told us our days were numbered and to start looking for other places. I put my faith in the ‘Big man upstairs’; he had gotten me this far and would take me the rest of the way. Well I hoped: faith and me were new friends.

I again hit the ‘searching for rooms’ circuit.

     I sat in Greg’s coffeehouse off Victory blvd in the city Van Nuys, scanning my computer. I found a few places and began to call. Apartment hunting in the Valley, was like pulling baby teeth from a living, mean baby: painful and heart breaking. I had horrible credit and couldn’t pass a rental application is written in Gold ink, so I was down to renting rooms from the desperate.

The desperate seeking desperate leads to desperation. Desperate person renting, to anyone with a pulse. 700 dollars a month with no deposit. Please just don’t kill me in my sleep. Split bills and medication.

     I found a potential place in Sherman Oaks. It was up the street, still on Woodman but in the nicer zip code. The apartment was in a cul-de-sac area, which was hard to see with the naked eye. The owner had to guide me via cell phone and landmarks. I pulled up and parked my car on the outside on the street. The complex was a hidden court in the back, while the entrance was flanked by palm trees and fake, bamboo poles.

     I walked inside and was immediately surround with tropical, Southern California vegetation (the reason I gave the complex the name Philippines was because the first rain of the year flooded the interior so bad it seemed as if I lived in a SE Asian Village.) The apartment itself was spit into two sides with two stories.

     The small, paved path only came inches from the lower porches and made it a tight fit for any car driving toward the back. It was as if I had stumbled into a different country. I went to the rear half of the building and climbed the left, narrow staircase to the second level. Upon knocking, a tall, athletic, white man in his twenties opened the door. He stood an inch above me, with a sturdy body and brown, sleep styled hair.

      He introduced himself as Colt from the great state of Vermont. I tried to tie in an East Coast connection and be a decent politician to secure the room. He showed me the space for rent; it was a small area facing the LA River, which didn’t bother me. I would have taken the room if it faced the gates of Hades.

      I was tired and wanted to rest my head and feared the homeless world. Across from my soon to be room was Nate: was a chubby, Black Albino stand up comic from Florida. Oh yeah, and Colt was an actor. It was the Valley and everyone wanted to entertain or posed small resumes with smaller accomplishments. The Albino’s eyes shoot side to side like ping pong balls, he wore a Pittsburg Penguin hockey jersey and baggy black shoot. He examined me up and down as Colt, while gave me the spiel on the roommate situation. Seemed as if the small, Asian roommate before had left them high and dry. Moved in for one month and then left.

Desperation leads to more desperation.

     I though for sure the room was mine and had done my best: I will be the greatest roommate routine of all time. It had worked before and I was sure it could work now. For being an introvert, I could turn on the sugar words when against a wall. We shook hands and they let me know they would call me. I still had a week to be out of Eli’s room officially.

     As the days started subtracting themselves from the week, my nerves hit the ceiling. I couldn’t understand why they were taking so long to call. I had struck out with all the other places and waited nervously, nursing my nerves with forty ounces of forget. Two days before the move out day, while cleaning up the room, I got a call from Colt. He told me to come down and get the key.

I had won.

     I still kept in contact with my Ex from the last place and asked if she knew some movers. No hard feeling, it’s just the way of the beast in the city of Angels.  I had bought Eli’s sled bed for a very, cheap price and wanted to move that and the rest of my possessions to my new abode via Elaine’s Spanish speaking movers.

     I drove to the complex and made my way to Apartment number Eight. I knocked on the door and waited for an hour, before I realized I was at the wrong Eight. The Albino went outside and guided me back to the proper place. The mover assembled my bed and moved my sparse few objects to my space. I started out the LA River through my grimy, metal blinds, finally relaxed. I avoided another situation that seemed to be heading toward drama and turmoil.

     The second day there I met Charlie Mac, a six two light brown skinned, Jamaican from Baltimore. He was a young guy no older than nineteen. The B more Yout’ was dribbling a worn basketball in the parking lot. He noticed me then introduced himself and asked if I smoked weed. I told him I used to but was trying my best to smoke in the Holy Spirit. He laughed out loud,

“I’m gonna get you smoking again son!”

“You play basketball?”

“Yeah son. A little bit. Enough to break your ankles.”

“Let’s play right now!”

“Naw son I have to go play this dude in the next development in ball.”

The teenager pick up his ball and skipped to the adjoining fence, hoped over and disappeared.

A tall, stout, coffee epidermis lesbian and her tall, brown skinned, gay brother from New York raised Mac. The teenager stayed directly below our apartment and was filled with energy and mischief but had a good soul.

     I liked the complex and the fact it was hidden from the world. For the first week and a half, I stayed in my room and only ventured to the corner coffee shop, my favorite in the valley. It was not uncommon to see a known actor reading or sipping on a latte. It was a favorite place among the professional scribes of Sherman Oaks. It also was a waiting room, for every almost actor and musician in the nice part of the SF valley. It was a small piece of heaven and my escape from the heat of the intense afternoon sun, when I could find a table.

      Usually on my way out, I would see Mac dribbling his basketball. Sometimes, he challenged me and I would always tell him tomorrow. Most of the time, he smelled of bud mixed with cologne.  One afternoon he stormed up the stairs seething mad. I asked him what was wrong as he stalked the living room floor back and forth.

“That dude Sergio will not give me my money! I did a job for him and now he will not pay!”

     I didn’t find out until later that he pinched a handicap plagued, from the inside of a parked car, for forty dollars he of course would never be seen, felt or spent. I asked him who Sergio was.  Nate and Colton both swore Sergio was bad new and had reminded Mac on numerous occasions, to keep clear but the seasoned Sergio took advantage of the teen’s trust.

     Sergio stayed in the apartment across from me, directly on the bottom floor. I had not seen him and could only go by the stories and legends, much like a Sherman Oaks Big Foot. Mac informed me that Sergio had been to jail (yet do did Mac.) My brain went back the Mexican gang members in San Pedro: baldheads, tattoos, long shorts and high, white socks. Their cold stares would freeze a man in place and the lord help the man who belonged to a Black gang. They would rain down gun powered inspired confetti. So, naturally this was how I picture my new neighbor.

“We man when you step to him your going to have to knock him out. You will have to show no mercy!” I told him as I gave a tutorial on the art of street fighting. He soaked it all in like a curly headed sponge. The Yout’ high stepped down the stairs and I heard the door slam. I ran the image of the Ex con through my gray matter.

Was he a beast! Did he kill! Was I now involved in this? I was training the young cub to be a vicious bear! What’s going on Jersey boy!?

     Colton and Nate didn’t warm up to me right away. I was still an outsider and kept to myself. I didn’t mind.  I liked staying to myself and went go to the coffeehouse, then to one of the Local YMCA was I got a weeklong membership. I traveled to the Y for split session during the day to kill the boredom and escape the hell heat. At night drove to Balboa Park and ran with the Coyotes and human animals that stalked the dirt track outside of the Golf course.

      That Sunday I prepared to attended church. I had been dunked in the Holy Water a few weeks, before and was ready to get this God thing going. I dressed in a button down shirt, black slack and grabbed the good book. The night before I had come home to find a strange car in my spot, so I sought out another one. I thought that was the way things were done in the Philippines. I didn’t see any number, so I thought it was first come first get.

      I discovered my mistake that Sunday on the way to the manager’s office. A tall, mole faced, inbreed Bulgarian came to the door with a crooked haircut: shorts and a stupid expression on his face. He bellowed out in a strong foreign accent,

“You park in wrong spot and you car get towed!”

“But I live here”

He stared at me lost. It seemed as though Colt forgot to inform him about me moving into the apartment.

“I let you get away with it all week! Now you get towed!”

He brought me to the front and showed me the sign. I still protested loudly.

“But I live here!”

Evil thoughts of smashing this mountain climbing idiot came to me, but I was clutching the Good book and refrained. Seem liked old Scratch launched an attack. I went to church and then went to North Hollywood to get my car.

When I returned Colt apologized and told me one of Sergio’s boys stole my spot.

I instantly disliked Sergio and now wanted his head as well. The spiritual tests had started. I was trying my best to be a good church boy; it was a new approached to an old attempt that I tried over and over again.

      The Ventura Blvd nights were cold and quiet, which was what I liked. On boring evening, I took long strolls on Ventura, while staring into the expensive cafes and dark bars. I gawked at the million dollar homes based at the bottom of the Sherman Oaks’s hills. I had been on that side during Hanukah with the Black Mormon. He had an Israeli friend that was visiting for the holiday and went by to check him out. We smoked spiffs on the porch, while watching an Israeli war movie, as I examined a dreidel close up for the first time.

     I snapped out of the moment and walked the final turn until our block. Colt’s truck passed me by. Earlier then went to Nate’s comedy competition and asked if I wanted to attend. I declined. Having had my fill of the comedy scene years before, I didn’t want to relive it on a minor level. The truck doors opened up and three people exited. Colt, Nate and a third passenger from the backseat: A shorter, fat Latino, mound with thick glasses and a tight hipster, leather jacket struggling to fit around his waste. He had a close haircut and a stupid look on his chubby face.

The trio giggled as they engaged in a three man high-fived. Colt introduced me to the round, blob with the satellite seekers.

“Yo man this is Sergio. This is out new roommate Dave”

Sergio! This is Sergio! No freakin way! This is the Ex con!

He took my hand weakly: I felt as though I could have broken his wrist.

“You man what’s up! You must be the new roomie.”

He was so non-threatening it made him likeable. He was a cute and cuddly, Latino teddy bear. I laughed to myself than out loud.

This is Charlie’s Challenge! I have to give him a different plan of attack! He will kill this dude!

     Sergio from that day was like a constant fixture in my existence. He asked me over his apartment, across from the Bulgarian Supers. He was having some sort of get together. Something was always happening down at his apartment. He stayed with a rich, Jewish kid from the North side of Chicago: Brion. He was thin, blonde and liked to eat pork, when no one was watching. His roommate was a recent grad from Purdue, but was waiting on a six-figure job waiting in Germany.

Germany…. hmmm.

That weekend I stopped by Sergio’s. He invited me inside for a beer. I saw the dominos on the table and asked him,

“So you play bones?’

     He did. We played for hours and I destroyed him. They I saw a video games consol in the corner.

“So you play Madden?’

He did. So we played Madden for hours. It was like the same cycle of life I enjoyed before but at a different place. Beer, Dominos and Madden: I was falling back into ancient destructive way. I was still living off of unemployment money. Through loose-lipped conversation I discovered his family was from Venezuela and owned a slave ship (so he said). They moved from South America to Indiana to Burbank.

     After the long historical tutorial: about how the weaker slaves were dropped in Latin America, I exited the apartment. On my way home, I saw a small, petite woman under five-feet that appeared like a little girl. She had an exotic white and Asian mix look. She was with a tall, blonde man whose attire screamed surfer. He was overly friendly as if life had given him a get out of jail and he was using Mr. Rodgers inspirational phrases. I entered the apartment and Mac came in a couple of minutes later, overly exited.

“You that girl downstairs. I heard her having sex through the window. I think she was with another girl. I heard them screaming and stuff.”

I dismissed it as an over stimulated teenager sexual rant.

“You know she’s a porn star right?”

I couldn’t put the two together. That little girl was in hardcore adult films?

“She’s nasty man! She does all types of stuff.”

“No way man!”

I dismissed Mac and changed the conversation.

“Hey man, don’t fight Sergio. He’s weak like a big baby. You will kill him.”

     Mac laughed, “Naw Dog he’s going to give me my bread.”

I saw I had given Mac a peep talk I could not bring him down from.

“Light man. I’m just telling you. You will kill him.”

Mac gave me hard handshake and walked out with his chest puffed out.

I had created a monster!

I was tempted to look her up but didn’t. I knew that would have thrown me into porn watching festival and I was trying to walk a proper line. I could not backslid to a stroke fest.

     I went to the store, bought two forties and carried them to Sergio’s apartment. I knocked on the door and opened it quickly.

“You ready to get these bones going?”

“Hell yeah, but first let’s get this Madden going. I got the Eagles.”

     We sat on his leather sofa and seized the controllers, then cracked open our beers. Thirty minutes later I destroyed him. We moved to the small, wooden table in the kitchen. He pulled out his laptop, put on Pandora and started playing music. I liked his taste. I asked about the small girl.

      Sergio told me she was from England and was an artist not a world famous porn star. He saw her art hanging around the complex. I shrugged it off and focused on the game. The rounds started and the beers were done. He pulled out two shot glasses.

Oh man! My sinful nature! I fall to temptation like cheap paper. Please Gabriel intervene!

“Come on man! You have to take a shot! House rules homie.”

He poured rotgut Vodka into the two shot glasses.

“Come on man, everyone that comes inside had to take it to the head.”

That’s exactly what we did. I felt the rush, I had not drunk in a little while and the thirst came back that quick.

I scored a twenty on the board and slammed the domino with a joyous laugh. A sudden knock happened at the door. Sergio rose and went to check on the origin of the knock. He opened with door with the delayed smile.

“Mac.”

    The teenager entered with a cocky stroll, like he knew something the world didn’t. He came over to the table and shook my hand.

“You play bones?” I shot to him.

“Hell yeah!”

He sat down and we started the game over. I was slaying both of them, leaving them with their bones stuck in there hands.

“Come on more shots.”

     The three of us hit more shots like veteran of the hard drink. We finished off the vodka and moved on to cheap Brandy. Sergio fixed us drinks, hot dogs and sandwiches. I was drunk, for the first time in a while. Mac and Venezuelan argued about the professional of the short, British girl.

I had enters the land of the sinner. Again!

     We drank and played dominos for a couple more hours. During the game, both of us admonished Mac for not living up to his potential. I guessed that was what older people did when drunk, was tell the younger generation how much greater we were than they, and how the fix the problem was easy as Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

      I was ready to leave and I still to this day didn’t know my motivations for this action. Maybe it was for the younger generation. I called us together to pray in a circle: drunken circular madness. God probably had his fingers in his ears so it didn’t listen to our foolishness:

‘LALALALLALALLALLALLA’

     We stumbled side to side: hitting the walls and almost the floor. I

 Forgot the prayer I started. The only part I remember was Amen. We released out grasps and Sergio slapped Mac across the face-hard.

The younger generation should not be slapped! They have guns!

     A weird, uncanny feeling arose in my gut. I had my fill of foolishness and choose to leave. As I walked out of the door, the two of them wrestled on the floor. Sergio unaware there was a rabid cub with intentions of getting his respect, money or even blood. I drunkenly tripped out the front door to the pool area.

      I leaned against the wall and called a girl I used to date. When inebriated, I loved to discuss everything that came to my hops and rum soaked mind. I whispered sweet words and said loving thing. I would regret these things and have to take back later. I fell asleep for about an hour and limped back to the apartment. I forget about the insanity in Sergio apartment.

Sleep…

     The next morning, Mac requested me. Nate told him I was asleep. Mac asked to use the phone and the Albino granted his request. Colt came out and I heard a mumbled version of a story being retold. I was relieved when the door slammed shut. I came to the living room and asked Colt what happened.

“Dude you didn’t hear the noise last night? You didn’t hear the cops?”

“Naw, what happened?”

“Sergio and Mac got into it. Mac beat his a*s so bad his own mother called the cops on him. He has a big black eye. The whole complex was filled with police. You didn’t hear it? Sergio said he was trying to kill him”

But we prayed!

     I went back to my room and lay on the sled bed staring at the LA River. Somehow I knew this was going to get worst. I grabbed the laptop and typed in her name. She was a porn star…

 

 

 

Author's Note

please comments and suggestions always welcome...along with questions. From Backpfeifengesicht due out this fall

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I never like room-mates. Hard to share a house with a stranger. I like the characters in the story. The big cities. Hard to find a cheap place to live. I like the building of friendship and you left a open ending. Thank you for sharing the excellent chapter.
Coyote

[Judas Hammer]

Always great to hear from you my friend. Thank you for the read and review it always means alot.

[Warrior]

Great story telling. This did justice in the realm of getting the message across. Great message. There's lot of times where a story can have a great message to aim for, and have a lot of under lining things but then no one gets it, and if no one gets it, then the point has failed. But in my opinion this did well to get the message across. You made it clear, which is why I think it's good. Keep up the good work. What was also great was that I could imagine the story as I read it, and that is also a strong point of stories. The ability to have the reader imagine it because after all we're reading not watching it, but it was as if I was there as I read this, and that is great. Great visuals and great story telling. It had plot and substance. When you add substance to writing it gets that much better. It gets the reader hooked on it and make them feel as if they are part of it. As long as their is that emotional connection between the reader and the story then it's good. The connection you were able to established in the writing gives the reader a sense of comfortably that they are in tune with the writing. So that way when the writing is over, the reader wants more, and wishes it didn't end. I feel the same way when I watched a movie or tv series that I get so attached to, I never want it to end. And for this writing, I didn't want it to end. You had me hooked, and I am sure everyone else who read it was hooked as well. That is good, that is what you want for people to keep wanting more. The way you put the story together makes me feel like my life is different for that moment in which I read your story. I love it, and it was beautiful. Just keep posting stories like this, and you'll have a good following.

[Astro]

Hey man, sorry I took so long. I read your chapter the other day and commented but then my PC went a bit bonkers and it didn't get through. So here's my take. I love the Bukowskiesque sort of feel of your work, the characters are always interesting and the situation is always a gongshow but leading to a point or another gongshow. One thing I liked about this one was the offsetting of religion to the events and characters in this chapter, I think it worked well. One thing I personally thought was a bit forced but may not to others is the fact that your characters seem to run the gambit of races. What I mean to say is that the characters are all different racially, which kind of seems like you're trying to get everyone in there for a more mass appeal. I know L.A. is a very multicultural place so, this may simply be a reflection of that. Aside from that and some editing with respect to spelling this was another great write my friend. Peace.

[Judas Hammer]

It's cool. Always nice to see you here. Thank you very much for the read and the review and the honesty is always a nice touch. Thank you again my canadian friend.

[Astro]

Cheers buddy, you'll always get the straight dope from me.

[TL Boehm]

rotgut and roommates make for a stellar story.

[Judas Hammer]

Your very kind with the marking the piece as stellar. Thank's again TL

[Leslie Philibert]

a fine writer who deserves a reviewer with more time than I have, but, a writer I scan with pleasure !

[Judas Hammer]

LOL but you are are good at reviews. Thank again for the read and review.

[Baby Ricochet]

You are a good writer but I kept drifting off. Maybe to much detail or to much going on.

[Judas Hammer]

I guess I have some cutting to do. I have a habit sometimes of too much. Thanks for the honesty and the read.

[Dayran]

I remember a place on Sunset blvd. that served a pizza called Ventura Highway. Its a seafood mix with everything in. Your story has the flavor of that pizza. You bite into something and wow ... great ... and then you go through several chomps without anything resembling seafood ... and you wonder.

The Washington sniper had a kid tagging along who obviously admired him. A writer would take on such a kid and bring a message of sorts to him ... a contemporary perspective for instance ... a social message of some kind. It would have made a difference to the story. A fair attempt.

[Judas Hammer]

I can't accept fair. I have to work to make it better. Thanks for the read and your candidness.

[Dayran]

Somehow I didn't think you would. Nose to the wheel compadre.

[Marie]

You're a really good writer, and I like your style. But you take naterial that would make three or four stories and try to cram it nto one. My attention tends to drift, as I lose the point of what you are saying. For me, the best story you wrote was about a boxing match. It focussed on one thing, got straight to the point, and finished up neatly.

[Judas Hammer]

I guess I'm one of those people who need a good editor to help advise them what to keep and what to chuck aside. Sometimes I do get a little wordy with the back story I can agree. This story is actually a teaser to a bigger story. I was going to end the book with this one. Thank you for your read and honesty, sometimes the medicine don't take good, but it makes us better writers...