Fiction
-- BAY AREA STEW --
by
Mike Lambert
by
Mike Lambert
It was a Saturday night, just after midnight, and I was waiting for a bus. Joe and I had just closed the Iron Horse Bar and Restaurant, downtown, after a slow evening. He was going home to his amply pregnant wife. I was going home to – – – well, I wasn’t sure.
Lola had invited me to come upstairs to her place after work, even if it was late. She usually got home about the same time I did, after her shift as a waitress at the Red Garter Saloon.
You probably remember that place, don’t you? On Columbus Avenue, near Broadway. Where you could throw the peanut shells on the floor, and throw the empty baskets at your drunken buddies, and sometimes, the empty beer bottles too. It had a sing-along banjo band. Late Sixties. Remember? It was the Summer of Love.
My buddy and I had dropped out of college in Iowa and come out to Frisco that spring where everything was happening. I had met Lola the previous week in the laundry room at my apartment building, out in the Haight. I was doing a big load of jeans and sweats and towels and socks and jockeys. She was taking her two separate loads of whites and darks out of the dryers. She was shaking out the whites and folding them carefully: a lacy slip, a camisole, several pair of pastel colored panties, and then the bras. Large ones.
I couldn’t help but look – she was right next to me. She saw me looking at her. “What, you never saw anything like this before, Kid?” she asked.
“Excuse me,” I stuttered. “I didn’t mean to stare at you.”
“No? Then why were you looking?”
That led to coffee and conversation across the street at the Ashbury Coffee Shop. Which led to a cheap dinner date at the local diner. Which led to a night in her bedroom.
When I headed to her door the next morning, she came up to me in her silky blue nightgown and her flowing, long, brunette hair, and said, “Here, Mikey. Why don’t you read this before the next time? Chapter two.” She patted me on the cheek, kissed me with a slightly open warm mouth, and then opened the door for me. It was a dog-eared book entitled The Joy and Comfort of Sex.
“Really?” I asked.
“Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets, Little Man.”
* * *
The bus finally arrived out of the fog. I climbed aboard and headed home. On the way, I took the book out of my back-pack and reviewed Chapter 2 one more time. I didn’t understand some of it. My girlfriends back in Iowa hadn’t been so cooperative. Or, instructive.
I was nervous as I stood there ringing Lola’s doorbell. Would she remember our date? Would she be so kind to a country rube like me?
She answered the door, wearing a pretty, pink negligée. Then, she served me a delectable dish that night.
* * *
I had fallen in love the first night. The second night sealed it. Looking back, I could do it again. If she would show up in my dreams tonight.
Photograph provided by author
Lola had invited me to come upstairs to her place after work, even if it was late. She usually got home about the same time I did, after her shift as a waitress at the Red Garter Saloon.
You probably remember that place, don’t you? On Columbus Avenue, near Broadway. Where you could throw the peanut shells on the floor, and throw the empty baskets at your drunken buddies, and sometimes, the empty beer bottles too. It had a sing-along banjo band. Late Sixties. Remember? It was the Summer of Love.
My buddy and I had dropped out of college in Iowa and come out to Frisco that spring where everything was happening. I had met Lola the previous week in the laundry room at my apartment building, out in the Haight. I was doing a big load of jeans and sweats and towels and socks and jockeys. She was taking her two separate loads of whites and darks out of the dryers. She was shaking out the whites and folding them carefully: a lacy slip, a camisole, several pair of pastel colored panties, and then the bras. Large ones.
I couldn’t help but look – she was right next to me. She saw me looking at her. “What, you never saw anything like this before, Kid?” she asked.
“Excuse me,” I stuttered. “I didn’t mean to stare at you.”
“No? Then why were you looking?”
That led to coffee and conversation across the street at the Ashbury Coffee Shop. Which led to a cheap dinner date at the local diner. Which led to a night in her bedroom.
When I headed to her door the next morning, she came up to me in her silky blue nightgown and her flowing, long, brunette hair, and said, “Here, Mikey. Why don’t you read this before the next time? Chapter two.” She patted me on the cheek, kissed me with a slightly open warm mouth, and then opened the door for me. It was a dog-eared book entitled The Joy and Comfort of Sex.
“Really?” I asked.
“Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets, Little Man.”
* * *
The bus finally arrived out of the fog. I climbed aboard and headed home. On the way, I took the book out of my back-pack and reviewed Chapter 2 one more time. I didn’t understand some of it. My girlfriends back in Iowa hadn’t been so cooperative. Or, instructive.
I was nervous as I stood there ringing Lola’s doorbell. Would she remember our date? Would she be so kind to a country rube like me?
She answered the door, wearing a pretty, pink negligée. Then, she served me a delectable dish that night.
* * *
I had fallen in love the first night. The second night sealed it. Looking back, I could do it again. If she would show up in my dreams tonight.
Photograph provided by author
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