Brokenhearted in Bakersfield

 

57 - FROM THE MOUTH OF BABY

Baby Harmonica bravely fought back tears so she could go on with her story.

“Mother was a very famous dancer, and Father was a very rich and respected businessman.  For the first several months of my life we traveled all over together, as Mother and Father felt strongly that I should expose myself to everything the world had to offer.

“That’s why, when I was so young, they sent me off for proper training.  They decided I would enroll at Miss Daisy’s, which, as you probably know, was a very prestigious and exclusive school for instructing young girls in the arts of charm and dance.  Girls aggressively competed for admission to Miss Daisy’s, but I was awarded a scholarship.”

(I didn’t inform Baby her pride was a little misplaced.  It was our Great-Granny who really packed her off to that dancing school to become an artiste, but I decided it best to save that nugget for later.)

“The training was extremely rigorous,” Baby blew her nose on another Bark’n’Bowl cocktail napkin.  “I mean, day in and day out, a big ballroom filled with young girls dancing their little hearts out for mean old Miss Appleberry.  And all the time our Founding Mother, old Miss Daisy, stared down from a painting above the mirrors.

“Appleberry was constantly yelling at us girls to kick and turn, and kick and step, and touch our toes, then touch the sky, and grab our heels, and hold.  And those cameras and lights, always those cameras and lights.

“I remember how Appleberry would order, ‘Smile, girls, smile!’  Oh, how I hated the bitch.  My training was exhausting but, you know, it was strangely exhilarating at the same time.  I have to admit, old Appleberry taught us well.  All that instruction I received at Miss Daisy’s combined with my own hard work and being able to perform in front of a room full of strangers would pay off later.”

“So then what happened?” I was fascinated.

“Hey, like, I’m trying to tell a story here,” Baby scowled.  “Shut the fuck up, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” I apologized.

“One day, out of the blue, Appleberry called me into her office.  And I’m, like, ready to piss in my pinafore on account of the night before.”

I shot her a wordless, questioning glance.

Baby leaned forward.  “Oh, this is good.  One night I snuck downstairs to steal some food out of the cafeteria.  Appleberry had us on a diet of Diet Cokes and brownies.  That didn’t stop me from craving fresh greens once in a while.  I walked into the kitchen when who do I see but Appleberry and Uncle Bumpy wrestling on the butcher block.  Uncle Bumpy was the cameraman, director and gofer.  Can you believe it?  I didn’t think they saw me, but why else would I be called on the carpet?

“Anyway, the next day I’m sitting in Appleberry’s office, and, like, she goes postal on me about my parents.”

Baby leaned back.  “For some reason Appleberry was mad at me because Mother and Father got killed in a boating accident.”  Baby started to dab her eyes.  “I was hurt Appleberry didn’t show more sympathy for my feelings under the circumstances, but I was also secretly relieved this wasn’t going to be about her and Uncle Bumpy.”

Baby stretched forward, “Appleberry was going on and on and on about my parents dying at sea, and I started to cry, so she cussed me out some more.  Oh, she could be a real bitch.  Then Appleberry started howling about some kind of contracts, and she shouted how I was gonna be in a big hit.  And that’s when I really got confused.  You see, I thought she’d be proud of me instead of yelling at me while she was busy shredding all of her office papers.”

Again, Baby wiped away tears with her moist napkin.

“Then Appleberry got right to the point.”  The powerful childhood memories caused my little sister to blow her nose into what was left of her napkin.  “She said I had to go on the road before some guys from back east found me and the academy.  She mentioned something about them bringing the heat.”

Baby’s eyes grew dark.  “But, like, I couldn’t really make any sense out of what she was saying.  So I decided to ignore Appleberry and put the news about the deaths of my parents behind me.”

Baby emptied her drink.

“As I was saying, I wasn’t exactly sure what Appleberry was talking about, but the next thing I knew she was grabbing me by my arm and hustling me outdoors toward a parked bus.  You can imagine how nervous I was.  I mean, I’d trained my whole life for this moment, and I didn’t want to screw anything up.  Appleberry loaded me onto my tour bus with just the costume I was wearing, and my show was finally on the road.”

While Baby talked I ordered a couple more libations.  I also dipped into my pocket and pulled out a fifth of Cuervo Gold.  “Do they charge corkage here?” I whispered confidentially.

“Nah, they only charge for the wine and beer.”

I poured Baby a generous portion of tequila into one of her empty wineglasses as she continued her tale.

“Oh, I remember how excited I was to see how my tour bus was gorgeously decorated with flowers and plants and beads, but once I looked around inside at my supporting cast, my first thought was, ‘Heyyy, they don’t look like dancers.’”

Baby slugged back the shot of tequila as I gave her a refill.

“But before I could find my director to pull him aside for a discussion about artistic differences, I began to cough.  I remember I could hardly see from one end of the bus to the other through all the blue haze, and suddenly I felt the need to lay down.  When I woke, my bus was parked somewhere else, and I was all alone.”

As our next round of drinks arrived, I just pushed the bottle of Cuervo toward Baby and she replenished her glass.

“I awoke to find the smoke had cleared and I was in a bus surrounded by tie-dye and batik and Indian prints and dream-catchers and crystals and fringe and velvet and wind chimes and incense and herbs.  Oh, it was all so amazing for a little girl with dreams of her own.  The thrill of waking up to a life on the road, at the start of my promising theatrical career, was thrilling.

“I sat up and steadied myself on the carpet-covered platform in the back of the bus, and I peeked through the purple lace curtains.  I saw a whole bunch of lush green ferns sprouting from a floor of orange pine needles, and trees so big a little girl like me could easily get lost behind one.

“Then, I smelled something cooking and I realized, like, I was totally starving.  Barefoot and wearing only my sheer little uniform from my alma mater, I climbed down the steps of the bus and looked for some food.  I remember how the pine needles felt soft and cool and wonderful under my feet as I walked around outside the bus.  I figured if I just followed my nose I’d find the food tent my roadies set up.

“I soon discovered there wasn’t a food tent at all.  Instead, there was an open fire surrounded by my supporting cast.  They were cooking in a pot over a campfire, and I remember it had the most irresistible aroma.

“I hung back for a moment, just watching.  It was all so impressive to an impressionable young girl, you know?  I watched as some of my crew held hands, some played music, and others were sitting in a circle and pounding on their laps like drums.  They seemed very friendly, although, in my professional opinion, their musical talents left something to be desired.  I loved their costumes though, and how they were dressed up like pirates and gypsies and Indians.  Oh, the world of theater can be so magical, you know?

“Then the tall, thin, gray one spotted me.  I thought this guy might be my producer because he seemed like an authority figure to the others.  He towered over me as he approached in his mirror-studded caftan.  Flowers had been braided through his long gray hair, and as he reached down to me dozens of silver and gold bracelets jingle-jangled down his arms.  He locked me with his shiny eyes and called out to everyone in the company, ‘Look, our little Princess is with us.’  Everyone turned in my direction and smiled and nodded.  Then, he reached down and took me by both hands….”

Baby gestured like she was assuming the dramatic role of a character in a play, “…and he says, ‘Come, Princess, I am your Queen Dada.’  He opened his arms,” Baby opened hers to convey the moment, “and he goes, ‘I am Queen Dada to all my children.  I am also the dresser-of-hair, the arranger-of-flowers and the collector-of-recipes.  Now, come hug your Queen Dada, dearest.’  I ignored him and pulled away.  I was more interested in getting a bowl of brown rice and veggies.”

Baby suddenly stopped her story and gazed at me with those big, wet eyes.  “Say,” she smacked the table as she hiccupped, “I’m so hungry I could chew the butt off a buffalo.  Whaddaya say we order nachos, an’ have another round?”

“Whatever you want, Baby.”  I waved to the waitress.

I have to admit, as I watched her eat, I was blown away by the amount of nachos this little girl could shovel into her mouth at one time.  My eyes grew wide watching her lips stretch around a stack of dripping chips, after which she impressively slugged back another tequila triple-shot.  Then she forged on with her incredible story.

“I’m, like, trying to get my first meal since leaving the academy,” she erupted in a little ladylike burp, “when Queen Dada calls to this short, fat, brown guy wearing a buckskin dress and feathers in his hair.”

Baby started dramatically speaking again, as if she was playing in a drama.  “Queen Dada goes, ‘Princess, this is my cosmic cohort, Running-Makeup.’  Queen Dada smiled and wrapped his arms around the dude and kissed him on the lips.  I’m thinking to myself this Running-Makeup guy doesn’t look like he’s missed too many meals along the way, so maybe I should stick close to him.  Anyhow, I’m real busy stuffing my face with brown rice and zucchini and, like, I could care less what Queen Dada was talking about.  When all of a sudden, the whole troupe started blowing bubbles and flutes started playing and they banged on their tambourines and everyone danced around me and they sang about how they never had a little girl.”

Baby’s elbows suddenly slid across the table and her voice lowered like she was gonna share a confidence.  “I thought this might be our first dress rehearsal, but it turns out I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

She popped back up and took a chug of wine and chased it back with tequila.

“Anyhow,” Baby delicately wiped her lips, “while I’m just standing there watching them dancing around, different ones come up to me with little gifts, you know?  Queen Dada puts this crown of flowers on my head and then his friend, Running-Makeup, slips beads around my neck.  Others came up to offer me bracelets of woven flowers, embroidered scarves, and Indian blankets.  The rest of the cast danced around and blew smoke in my face.  Next thing I know, I’m waking up on the bus again, only this time we’re parked out in the middle of some big green field.  The light was bright and clear, and you would’a thought the air would be crisp and clean, but instead there was a nasty stink on everything.  It didn’t take long to figure out where the stink came from, either.  The bus was surrounded by a herd of dirty, filthy goats.”

Baby paused to take a hit straight from my flask as she pushed an empty wine glass at me.

“I pulled all the dead flowers outta my hair and stumbled outta the bus looking for something to eat.  But this time, instead of soft pine needles to walk on, I stepped right into a pile of goat shit…or, well, I’ve always wanted to believe it was from a goat.

“Queen Dada saw me right off, and he motioned me over for a bowl of brown rice and veggies.  While I was eating, he called over one of the crew, and he turned to me and goes, ‘Princess….’”

I interrupted and asked Baby, “Why did they call you Princess?  And where did your name Lorleen Littlesum come from?”

Baby rolled her eyes, “Whose story is this anyway?”

“I’m only asking.”

“As my tattoo says, the name’s Harmonica, Baby Harmonica.  That’s my birth name.  Queen Dada called me Princess because I think he wanted a daughter, and I kept the Princess-thing in my routine in homage to Queen Dada.”

“So what about Lorleen Littlesum?”

“Many years later, when I was out dancing on my own near Aberdeen, I kind’a accidentally came across this credit card with the name Lorleen Littlesum on it.  I liked the card and I liked the name, so I kept both.  There, are you happy?”

“Okay, okay, I’m just asking,” I signaled my apology with raised palms.  “What happened next?”

I noticed Baby was warming up to another theatrical presentation of the events from her past.

“So Queen Dada sat me on his lap and he goes, ‘Princess, we have to have a little talk.’

“So I go, ‘About my production?’

“And he goes, ‘Exactly.’

“So I go, ‘I know how to pack ‘em in.’

“And he goes, ‘Well, that’s good.’

“So I go, ‘I’ll start with a little tap number;  that works every time.’

“And he goes, ‘Tap number?’

“So I go, ‘Yeah, tap.’

“And he goes, ‘I’m talking about the goats.’

“So I go, ‘Goats?’

“And he goes, ‘Yeah, goats.  Goats.  Get it?  This is The Mary Men’s Farm, and we’re The Mary Men who make The Mary Cheese at The Mary Men’s Farm.  And you, little Princess, are going to help The Mary Men by herding and tending goats.’”

Baby pushed the empty Cuervo bottle back in my direction, and I ordered more beer and wine.  (I determined next time we’d go Dutch.)

“Queen Dada pointed to what I had assumed was a production extra, and he goes, ‘Princess, this is Loaded-Basket.  He’s going to be your teacher.  He’ll show you how to milk a goat.’

“Now I have to admit, I wasn’t too thrilled to hear that piece of news.  But Queen Dada goes on, ‘Princess, although our little commune is part of Mother Earth and our higher consciousness is worthy of universal reward, there is a certain amount of labor involved.  You must always remember, even though The Man keeps trying to bust us, The Mary Men must continue to produce the best herbal cream cheeses money can buy.  This is how we support ourselves.  So basically, I’m saying you need to get with the program, Princess.’

“After Queen Dada put it that way, I realized my career was on indefinite hiatus.  Everything was gonna take a backseat to goats.  It turns out The Mary Men, as you might guess, were not my supporting cast, and I wasn’t part of a traveling road show.  The Mary Men were in the forefront of counterculture and the production of organic herbal cream cheeses.  Their motto was ‘Spread This,’ and, like, spread it we did.  We even branched out and sold herbal cream cheeses from Maui to Jamaica.  And I helped.  But, like, it seems nothing good lasts forever, you know?”

Baby slammed back her glass of wine in a single gulp.

“You know, life in the commune was really wonderful in the beginning but, like, isn’t that always the way?  Queen Dada and Running-Makeup and Loaded-Basket and Cologne-Too-Heavy and the youngest one who was about my age, Tastes-Like-Chicken, and all the other Mary Men, really did make me feel, like, I was a part of their family, you know?  And sometimes they would, like, dress me up like Heidi or Little Bo-Peep, and we would, like, sing and dance and put on shows for each other, and for the first time in a long time, I felt like I really was a goddamn Princess.

“I came to truly love those goats, too, even if they, like, stunk up the joint.  Myrna, Bette, Joan, Judy, and all the rest.  I loved them all.  Well, except for Liz.  Anyhow, thanks to a very patient Loaded-Basket, I got pretty good at milking.  I also did my fair share of shoveling and feeding and churning too, you know?  I could do it all.

“The Mary Men grew the herbs that made our cream cheeses so delicious and popular.  They grew the stuff up on the side of a mountain somewhere in Oregon, about fifteen miles from the commune’s base camp.  I could never understand why the herb farming had to be done so far away, since we had acres and acres all around us, but I guess it didn’t really matter.  Like, all that mattered was the product.  We had a whole list of varieties too.”

Baby’s eyes got dreamy as she reminisced, “There was Me & You Spreading Boo, Dream Churner, Surrealistic Basil and, you know, my favorite, Lucy In The Sky With Chives.  We even offered a special side product we called Duck Butter.

“Don’t get me wrong, like, there was plenty of tough times too.  I don’t know how much you know about the wholesale herbal cream cheese business, but in retail it’s, like, all about location, location, location.  And in wholesale, you know, it’s your fucking distribution network that holds the whole fucking thing together.  No matter how heavy the herb, if you can’t fucking deliver the cream cheese, you’re fucked.”

At this point, Baby had me totally lost but I could tell she wasn’t near done.  I decided if I was gonna make it through this story I needed to order more cold beer and chilled white wine.

“Then one day the whole thing, like, started falling apart, you know?  Without saying a word to anybody, Queen Dada spent, like, half the cream cheese profits from that fiscal quarter on bribes for some politicians to give our commune Native American status.  He said, like, we was children of the Earth the same as any other indigenous Americans and, like, we should have our tribal rights recognized and our tax status rescinded.”

Baby belched.

“But, like, the other local tribes, especially the Wackyishis and the Pawmees, didn’t agree.  And they were rude enough to ask us to leave their hunting grounds, can you believe it?

“That’s when these unmarked helicopters started appearing and gassing our position.  Queen Dada, like, bought this bullhorn and he would wake everybody up in the middle of the night, telling us to search the skies for unmarked helicopters.  Of course, it’s not like anybody ever actually saw any black helicopters at night but, like, Queen Dada said he could see ‘em.  You know?  And he, like, insisted he could hear ‘em, too, even when no one else could.  He was so inspirational, y’know?

“Eventually, Queen Dada said we’d all be safer if we went down to Mount Shasta and waited for the crystal ships to come.  So we pulled up everything and went to Mount Shasta and, like, we waited to be taken up in the sky.

“Not long after that, the worst thing happened. It happened, like, during the harmonic Equinox party.  At first no one was really getting into it, but like, after some cream cheese and crackers and several jugs of wine, everyone’s mood changed and we danced and sang and waited for the saucers to come while having a real good time.

“All of a sudden this one dude, Whiffs-The-Air, noticed that a bunch of The Mary Men was like—pffttttt—gone.  All their stuff was still in their tents, and their pots and pans still sat over the fires, but they were gone.  It was, like, they’d been mysteriously abducted.  We also noticed a large bag of cash and some of the cheese product was also mysteriously abducted.”

I gazed into my sister’s pretty face.  I couldn’t help but notice how her left eye was lookin’ at me directly and her right eye was wanderin’ outwards.

“With a larsh part of The Mary Mens, like, taken up inna shky, y’know, an’ a big ol’ chunk of the liquidity gone with ‘em, the magic began to dishappear real fasht.

“Freakin’ Running-Makeup went corporate and lasht I heard he wuzza vish preshident a’dishterbushon an’ pushing lactose-free cheeses, whatever the fug that is.”  Baby’s eyes spiraled in disgust.

“Baby,” I asked my little sister with all the tender interest I could muster, “what happened next?”

Struggling to focus at least one of her wandering eyes, Baby spat out, “Shame ol’ shtory.”

“Huh?”

“Hey, dickhead, I’m a shtripper and par’time pish-lizard collector.  Like, who the fuuuck are you...?”

With that, Baby Harmonica lurched up, fell forward, and landed face down into a carton of cold, hard nachos.

While staring down at her, my heart brimmed with brotherly love and affection.  I laid my hand on the head of this poor creature whose journey in life had been as twisted and as strange as my own.  I finally had someone to care about.

I pulled myself up from our little table at The Bark’n’Bowl and gently stroked Baby’s hair.  As she laid passed out before me, I softly whispered in her passed-out ear, “Don’t you worry none, your big brother’s gonna take care of you from now on.  I got our birthright right here,” I patted the document, “and I promise I’m gonna take care of everything.”

After reaching into her purse to see if she had enough money to leave the waitress a tip, I walked out of the darkness of The Bark’n’Bowl into the blinding Bakersfield light.