Brokenhearted in Bakersfield

 

56 - CAN WE TALK?

I admit, I’d tried to find courage at the bottom of a bottle and failed miserably.  (Edna Peevy’s experience in this regard should’ve proved instructive, but then, maybe I’m doomed to repeat history.)  I knew I had to muster enough courage to go find Lorleen Littlesum and reveal the truth to her.  Lorleen only knew me as an ex-neighbor and paying customer, but as Baby Harmonica, she did not know I was her half-brother.

I finally resolved to set the record straight.  I sprung for a cab ride over to Stardust Acres and I’ll be dipped if she wasn’t coming round the side of that renovated fleabag motel she was staying at.  Her blonde hair glowed in the sun.  I could see she was wearing her off-duty uniform of little short-shorts, strap-on heels, and a skintight T-shirt with the ecological message:  Preserve the Three Horned Piss Lizard.  All I could think of was how pretty she was.

“Hey, Baby!”  I waved my arms and whistled to attract her attention.

She stopped dead in her tracks and squinted in my direction.  (Being too vain for glasses, and not able to afford contacts, I knew she had a little trouble with her vision.)  “Is that you?” she hollered.

“Yeah, Baby,” I hollered back.

She turned her nose up.  “The last time I saw you I was looking up from the dance floor where you dumped me!”

“Sorry,” I apologized.  “I was having issues at the time.”

She pouted, “And then you were running out on me!”

“Sorry,” I sheepishly added, “it seemed like the thing to do.”

She stuck out her lower lip.  “That’s the last time I’m showing you my tats.”

“You don’t understand,” I pleaded, “I got something real important I gotta tell you about.”

“Talk to the hand,” was her chilled response.

“C’mon, Baby, look at me,” I tried to persuade her to let down her resistance.  “C’mon, let’s get out of this damn sun.  I’ll buy you a beer.”

“Suuuure,” she sounded suspicious.

“No, no, I really mean it.  I’ll treat.”  I could see she was weakening.

“All right,” she said.  “I know where we can go.”

“Where?”

“The Bark’n’Bowl.”

“What the hell’s that?”

“Well, duh?  Just the coolest place in Kern County.”

I could see she was getting more refined since moving out of Broken Heart Park and into the more gentrified confines of Stardust Acres.  Lorleen seemed determined to impress.  “The Bark’n’Bowl’s the old kennel out back that Mr. Smite’s turned into a real classy bowling alley serving wine and beer.  And they have my favorite kind of wine.”

“What’s that?”

“White,” she sniffed.

Lorleen was definitely getting sophisticated, which made me swell up with brotherly pride all the more.  She indicated with a wave of her hand that I should follow her lead.

Out of the bright Central Valley sunlight we eased into darkness, into a world of chic redneck recreation, The Bark’n’Bowl.  We felt our way over to a small table and called out for one cold beer and one chilled glass of house white.  As our eyes adjusted to the dimness inside, we could see all three lanes was empty.  Obviously everybody and their brother was out hunting them damn piss-lizards.  Except for us.

A frosty longneck arrived with a glass of wine, and I began. “Baby….”

“Yes, Daddy?”  She lowered her head and batted her eyes at me.

“Baby, you can’t call me Daddy no more.”

She giggled in mock retaliation, “Then you can’t call me Baby no more.”

“But that’s your name.  Your real name is Baby Harmonica.”

“Yeah, I know my name.  What about it?”  Baby glared.

So I figured I might as well just spit it out.  “I knew your Mama.”

Baby let out a little gasp.

“I knew your Mama the hard way.  She was my Mama, too.”

Another gasp.

“Liar!” she shouted.  “I may not know much about my family, but I know I’m an only child!”

I tried to soothe her, “It’s true you was the only child of our Mama and Johnny Harmonica.  But Baby, your Mama was my Mama also.”  (I wasn’t convinced she believed me.)  “I am here to tell you right now, little half-sister of mine, you ain’t alone in the world no more.”

I paused to let Baby soak it all in.  I knew how hard it was to comprehend relationships as complicated as ours.

“I have lots to tell you about our family.  But before I get to all that, why don’t you tell me about yourself?”

Baby started to sniffle.  I gave her a mostly dry bar napkin to blow her nose.  I then reached out and held her hand as tears welled up and began to trickle down her rosy cheeks.  Baby’s lips quivered and her voice began to crack, “I was born in a trunk in the Princess Theater….”