JW - A Life of Surprises: Splish Splash I was having a bath

JW - A Life of Surprises: Splish Splash I was having a bath: Working in California was fantastic, everyone was really nice to me (oddly), and some of the jobs introduced me to very interesting peop...

Splish Splash I was having a bath

Working in California was fantastic, everyone was really nice to me (oddly), and some of the jobs introduced me to very interesting people.  Sherry and Jim owned a beautiful house in the area of Hillsboro that lay just to the west of El Camino Real, they were not in the “hills”, but their home was worth a few bob.  They’d had a 2 storey extension built (using redwood) off the rear of the property, with a decking balcony off the master bedroom.  The whole rear interior had been stripped and oak kitchen cabinets had been fitted.  The wood was raw, so we had the job of lacquering it.  Every day Sherry would be waiting with fresh coffee (before we even started painting) and muffins (a selection), all very civilised.

They had a 17 year old daughter Stacey, who was studying dance and I would be dodging muffins and her dances all morning as I manoeuvred my way around the kitchen units.  Stacey would wear her leotard and would prance around the open plan living area, saying this was her new dance, what did I think.  As to the sight of a voluptuous 17 year old twirling around?  Stay strong Jonny, stay strong mate.  The carpenters were still on site and we’d been there 2 weeks, as they completed the decking area and balustrade.  One smoke break we got to talking about the family.  The father was a pilot with Delta and had been in the USAF, flew jets in Vietnam, and was apparently a Top Gun at Miramar Airbase.  We hardly ever saw him as he was always flying a plane somewhere, and I mentioned how nice the girls were (mum and daughter).  One of the guys made a snide comment about how I was the only one getting muffins and was I muffing the mother?

I laughed it off, but Paul said it was true.  The mum obviously had a crush on me and did I not see that.  “Oh yea!” I said.  And the daughter to they said, “Bollocks” was my reply.  Over the next few days it became apparent that something was going on.  One morning, I had to go upstairs to the deck balcony and knocked on the bedroom door.  Sherry called out “who is that”, “Jonathan” I said, “oh, come on in” she replied.  I walked into the bedroom, which had a corridor leading to the bedroom, behind the left-hand wall of which was the bathroom, I moved into the main room and walked towards the new double doors leading to the balcony.

“Don’t worry about me” she said, through the open bathroom door from behind the glass shower door.  I turned and got an eyeful of a forty year old mum of two, slim, still curved in the right places.  She held the typical “woman in shower pose”, arms up lathering her hair, to make her tits look higher............

“Ok” I shouted, nearly cracking up and walked out onto the balcony and shut the doors.  She was nice, but not THAT nice.  A few days later, I worked a Saturday morning and as Sherry let me in she said she had to go out, but that Stacey was in her room if I needed anything.  Stacey’s room was on the ground floor, off the kitchen, down a corridor.  The corridor had a second bathroom and utility rooms leading off it with Stacey’s bedroom at the very end.  The bathroom door was directly opposite the door leading to the kitchen, the door handle and locks of which, had yet to be fitted.  Ok, got the layout ok?  Good.

I got coffee and a pastry (no muffin here) and told her I was lacquering skirting boards and door frames.  She smiled (she was very fit and especially so in tight shorts, crop top and bobby socks) and walked to her room.  I was working my way around the open plan living room, up and down the new wooden double doors leading to the lower deck and along the skirting to the doorframe of the corridor door.  Up one side I went, along the top and down I went, passing the hole in the door where the handle and lock should be.  I had heard water being run in the bathtub as I was working and my eye was draw (!!!!) to the hole in the door and a clear view of Stacey on her knees, naked, bending away from me over the bath, as she swished the water, swish swash, swish.  I was frozen as she swished, I wanted to swish to.  Then I looked beyond her backside and the thing was, she was looking directly at me, and smiling.  She had been waiting there for me to reach the door frame.

“Fuck” I ducked back from the hole; I was no peeping tom, but fuck!  I wiped up the spilt mess, of lacquer, (aw c’mon on people!) that had dripped from my brush.  I coughed loudly (I thought if I made a noise she would cover up) and said “er hi Stacey, I er need to paint this door frame, so I am opening the door”. 

“OK” she called.  I pushed open the door and she had not moved.  “Fuck me!”  I said aloud.  “Yes please” she said.  So I did.  In the army, during training, we often had quick change parades, where we’d assemble outside in fatigues, then told we had 5 minutes to get into Combats, then told we had 5 minutes to get into overalls, etc.  I was therefore, very quick at getting debagged.  But I exceeded all records that morning.  I was in the bath with her for ages, creating suds and squeezing every drop of lather out of her sponge.  In fact, we only stopped just in time, as her mum came home minutes later.  “Your hair is wet and you have a rosy glow to my cheeks”, Sherry said.  I explained that I had gotten lacquer in my hair, when it brushed against a door jam and had washed it in Stacey’s bathroom.  She looked at me as if I thought she was mad, but said nothing.  She couldn’t really, given that she was up for it as well.

A few days later, Paul told me there had been a big argument between Sherry and Stacey.  Apparently Stacey had told her mum she loved me, her mum had said she was stupid and why would an English guy want a 17 year old Californian sex bomb?  Well not quite like that, but you get the gist.  We had to stop working there for a few months until the next bit of the job was completed, (the front room, and staircase).  Sherry said she was looking forward to a break from the paint fumes....I agreed a break was needed.

Around this time, my mate Rick contacted me from Norwich.  He had a friend (female) who had been living in Florida and was now travelling across the states.  Could I meet her and put her up for a couple of nights.  Her name was Jackie; I was to meet her at the BART (Bay Area Rapid Transit) station in Daly City.  I waited at the station, at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the platform.  At the top appeared Jackie.  To say she was stunning would be a serious understatement. 

Long hair, small pretty features, slim, long legs, I stood there waiting, probably looking like a dickhead, as my tongue lay on the pavement.  We drove to the apartment and I gave her my room.  I bunked in with Mark and we lay chatting about how fit she was.  Mark was in a sleeping bag on the floor, as I told him my back was playing up, so he gave me his double bed (Muppet).  There came a knock on the door.  “Do you mind if I come in here and talk with you two for a while” she asked.  “No” came the unified response.  “Is it ok if I get in bed with you Jonathan as I am cold”, “no” came the singular response.  Cameron looked at me as if to say “I fucking hate you”.

She lay next to me, just an inch away, my arm to hers.  She had on a T-shirt and panties.  I had on my grots (army talk for under-crackers), and we talked.  I lay there wondering whether I had the guts to take her hand in mine.  Did I dare reach out?  If I did would she cry out, or take my hand in hers?  Mark chatted away like a politician, small talk being his speciality, whilst I fidgeted and fought the urge to touch the goodies next to me.  In the end, after what was a couple of hours, she took herself off to bed, either quite content to have had a nice bedtime chat, or disappointed that I did not try it on.  I like to think the later.  But the thought of what could have been, (should have been?) stayed with me for the few days she stayed.  She left, unsullied and unadulterated by seedy Weaver.

Not so Roya.  I had been working in Pacifica, along the Pacific coast of the Bay Peninsula and had met her whilst renovating a community centre.  She was of Arabian/American descent, dark and dusky, smoky eyes and hair that went on forever.  The charm pedal was pressed fully down as I chatted to her, whilst asking questions that checked out whether she was open to dates and dancing, and more?  She was, especially the more bit.  In fact, I had a real nutter on my hands, after only a week or so she was talking marriage and settling down.  What?  I did my best to make her understand that I was all about a relaxed attitude to relationships, but to no avail.  I ended it.  Had to, it would have been unfair to continue, I did not want to lead her along and despite her assurances that we could just be friends with benefits, I saw it for what it was, a trip to the church. 

I had pretty much moved from one short relationship to another and was not exactly looking for anything deep and meaningful.  I knew my mum wanted to come out in the summer and the plan was that she would stay for 5 weeks.  I would take time off and she said she would be quite happy sitting in the apartment whilst I was at work.  I was worried she’d get bored on her own, stuck in an apartment with nothing nearby, shops etc.  It would be nice I thought if she had some company. 

Then I met Tammy.  Tammy was a lively, pretty, all American girl, who reflected the current fashion trends at that time (1988), namely big hair, tight jeans, and tight tops.  We met through mutual friends, she was a waitress in a bar, and we got on.  

Tammy

Tammy lived in San Jose and we saw a great deal of one another at weekends and after work.  Most nights she come over and we would put on MTV and tell one another our stories (well not all my stories obviously, “yea let me tell you about the time I screwed this girl in Germany” not!!)  MTV was great and a sample of the artists and bands we listened to includes: - George Michael (of course!), INXS, Guns n Roses, Terence Trent Derby, (see poster on my bedroom wall in blog, http://jw-alifeofsurprises.blogspot.com/2011/12/loves-labours-lost-or-played-for-sucker.html), Richard Marx, Michael Jackson, Robert Palmer, UB40, Rick Astley, Breathe, Duran Duran, The Pet Shop Boys and Icehouse.  A fairly eclectic selection I am sure you will agree.

June was fast approaching; I had plans to fly home. Tammy and I had settled into a nice boy/girl relationship, just drifting along, going to see bands and out for drinks, and dancing. We spent a lot of time in my room, (of course) and her mum and dad were very friendly and welcoming. Life was great and most importantly, Mark, Andrea and Tammy all got on well.   An added bonus was that her mum said she would take my mum out, shopping and sightseeing. Fabulous.

Mark and Tammy on my bed - note shitty posters

Mark and Andrea were discussing moving in together and his friends at the Karate studio were often at our apartment.  I had a haircut, and CeCe my friend, waitress at La Piñata and hairdresser, decided highlights would be the way to go.  I put on my Crocodile skin cowboy boots, leather jacket, faded 501’s and favourite T-Shirt with a picture of Hokusai’s “The Wave” on the front, and headed to SFO airport and a BA 747. 

Tanned and healthy I was doing my damndest to look like George Michael by now and I wanted to see if my sister, mum and nieces Claire and Katie would recognise me at Heathrow.

The Small Ones can get Nasty!

In the early spring of 1988 I was leading a fairly debauched lifestyle.  As my sister commented, I was a shallow git back then.   Well tanned, healthy, long hair, well built, a real hunk.  (Or Wanker) 

For example;
there was the time I went watch a movie and was amongst only a handful of people in the theatre.  I sat with my popcorn and Big Gulp Pepsi in the middle of a row, three quarters the way back from the screen and a girl, attractive, hard body, brunette, sat down in the row in front, to my right.  The lights had yet to go down and she turned and began to make conversation.  She had soon walked down her row, along mine and we sat discussing movies and our other “interests".

Pretty soon she was telling me of her interest in the Rocky Horror Picture Show, and I was feigning my interest as I can’t stand musicals.  Pretty soon, she was telling me about her meeting a group of friends at a small theatre in Belmont, where they re-enacted the film and sang the songs (!!), and I was all “wow, how cool,” and “do you dress up” and “how soon until the next one?”  Pretty soon, she was showing me pictures from her pocketbook (purse) and pretty soon after that, she was blowing me and in-between mouthfuls, saying how turned on sex in the movie theatre made her (the lights HAD gone down by this time).  Pretty soon after that I was making a hasty retreat from the cinema, as I did not want a Rocky Horror oddball following me around, making demands of my time, I mean, seriously! 

But life was great, spending time in San Francisco, using the trams, going to Alcatraz, visiting Salsalito across the bay, every weekend was fun and the weekdays were'nt to bad either. 

Mark, Jamid, and I were good friends and hung out most weekends, the Union Street/Pacific Heights district in San Francisco was a popular location.  Cafes and restaurants stood alongside bars and clubs, Balboa’s was a cool place, plenty of singles and good music.  We’d walk along the streets and intersections, Union, Fillmore, Lombard, and Broadway, while Limousines, hired by fathers for teenage daughters to impress whoever they wanted to impress cruised past.  The girls would scream, laughing hysterically, poking out of the sunroofs, the cars looked like they were vomiting women out of their roofs. 

If you are under twenty one, you are not allowed to drink alcohol in California, so many of these “Limo Chicks” would be drinking fruit punch and acting as thought they were drunk.  Nearly everyone would be carded (asked to show ID), upon entry to a club/bar and once inside, the music and atmosphere would soon take affect and I would be off, eager to seek out and chat up the next girl.  Mark was behaving himself as he and Andrea, (his friend Frank from the Karate’ Studios sister), were fast becoming an item, but Jamid and I were always eager to meet new friends.

One Saturday evening, we were wandering through the Fillmore District and Lower Pacific Heights after a day’s fun at Stinson Beach.  The spring weather was warm and we were already in shorts and T-Shirts.  We’d been to see Jag and Jack, whose house in town was just around the corner and we were now looking for a place to eat, drink, and relax.  Smoking was allowed in all establishments, I smoked (the only smoker amongst us), but I have been a considerate smoker all my life.  I tend to ask in company if people mind and don’t smoke if asked not to.  As we ambled down the sidewalk, we arrived at Harry’s Bar (http://harrysbarsf.com/index.php) and wandered into its vibrant atmosphere, young “San Franciscans” laughing, drinking, eating and generally having a ball.

It was very busy as we squeezed our way through the throng to the bar and ordered beers.  It was easier to stand away from the bar, so we went back towards the doorway and there were seats at a table to our left.  The girls sitting there said they were free, so we sat down and began talking, and I inevitably pulled out the Marlboro Red’s.  I knew that Mark and Jamid did not object, so being the gentleman turned to the girls across the table and asked whether they’d mind if I lit up.  Two of them said “Go right ahead”, the last looked at me and said “that’s a disgusting habit”.  I looked at her and saw a petite brunette, very pretty but with a sneer across her mouth and a hard stare in her eyes.  I thought, “This is going to be hard work” and we began a debate on smoking (me for, her against), and to be fair I was enjoying winding her up. 

The usual second hand smoke argument (fair point) came out along with the always popular, smelly clothes, smelly hair, bad skin, cancer, blah blah blah.  I knew all this and was not about to start smoking in front of these women, a) for fear of bodily injury B) I couldn’t be arsed to get further into this, there were better things to do.  Problem was, the ardent non-smoker was becoming more vocal, and I hadn’t even lit up!  She was giving me both barrels, for fuck all reason.  In fact, she was starting to piss me off, so Mark stepped in to calm matters and change the subject.

Harry's Bar - San Francisco

I decided to ignore her totally and while Mark was valiantly working to make the peace, I devoted my attention to a more worthwhile study of the other women in Harry’s and wandered off to chat to few women at the bar.  Jamid arrived with more beers and the evening became more relaxed.  I went outside to smoke and came back in, sat down and was about to pick up my beer, when “Miss Vocal cords 1988” started up again.  I ignored her or tried to but she was insistent, in that she was speaking directly to me and in the small space we occupied it became impossible to not take notice.

The problem for me was that seeing past her nagging, she was actually very attractive.  Deciding upon a different tactic, and as one of her friends had left the table, I sat down next to her and asked her name?  Brooke was the answer.  Where do you live?  Los Angeles.  What do you do?  I am John Travolta’s PA.  “What, the failed actor” I asked.  At that time Travolta was not doing well, his recent films had flopped and it was a year before he would star in “Look Who’s Talking”.  She gave me an icy stare and then laughed, I laughed and we started over, talking about movies, music, I told her I was buying clothes mail order from a shop on Melrose Ave in LA and was interested in going to the shop itself. 

Suddenly we were getting on like a house on fire and we moved on to another bar and yet another bar.  Come time to go our separate ways, I had her address and phone number and had been invited down to stay.  “I asked her what had changed” and she said it was because I didn’t give a shit, had ignored her and pretty much did what I wanted.  Nice!

A few weeks later, after a very long week at work, I was walking off a plane at LA X airport and towards Brooke, who was there to meet me.  She jumped up (she was short remember) to kiss me and we walked to her car and drove to her house just off Venice Blvd.  A small one bed apartment, it was neat and tidy and as soon as I had put my bag down, she was on me like a police dog.  In fact, it was a little bit scary, as she was ripping my clothes off and pushing me through the room and onto her bed.  We spent the early evening testing the springs on her bed and then showered, dressed and drove to a very nice Ocean front restaurant that served BBQ. 

The following morning we went shopping along Melrose Ave sight-seeing along Rodeo Drive. In the early afternoon a group of her friends met up with us and we headed off up Highway One to Santa Barbara. The parents of one of the group were stars on TV, but when I asked who, or what programmes they were in, everyone declined to say, as if it was some big secret. I did not actually give a shit, but the majority of them were stuck up and held far too self-opinionated. Once we reached Santa Barbara, we turned in-land and headed up the hills that overlooked the town below.

We drove along tree lined roads, passing beautiful villas and bungalows, perched on the edge of ravines and hillsides.  We turned off the road and into a cul-de-sac and drove to the end, where we arrived at a sprawling estate, a large single storey residence sitting amid well manicured gardens and pathways; it was all very feng-shui.

Brooke led me into the home and we were allocated a bedroom, in fact it was an office and we had an inflatable mattress to blow up and sleep on, with a blanket or two for good measure.  How posh!  We gathered in the lounge, low level furnishings and bare wood floors, open plan living.  The rear of the property was made of glass doors, leading to more gardens.  I was knackered and feeling the need for a good sleep.  I told Broke I was going into our “office” for a while and promptly lay down and dropped off.  Brooke woke me when she came to bed and had a real go about my rudeness.  I apologised, but guessed that we were no longer going to be making the beast with two backs anymore and rolled over and went to sleep again.

Sunday morning, I was up early, refreshed, and eager to go.  Well; eager to have a go at Brooke, who tried to evade my advances, but succumbed once I’d gone south for a few minutes.  She was quite a vocal girl, not only when arguing the point about smoking and I was encouraging her along in making as much noise as she wanted. 

We appeared in the kitchen, helped ourselves to coffee and as her friends were all looking down their noses, made our excuses and left.  Heading back to LA, we stopped in Santa Monica and walked along the beach looking at the homes of the rich and famous.  We agreed that whilst the sex was great, we were not made for each other, and that we were better off staying friends.  (I never saw her again).  But as my flight was still a few hours away we went back to her place and we tore into one another like a starving man eating a bottomless bowl of pasta; messy, noisy, lots of sauce and you force yourself to keep going just in case someone takes the plate away (which they eventually did).

I arrived back in San Mateo and set about tiding myself up and readying myself for another weeks painting.  My mum had written that she wanted to come and see California for herself.  I said that I would come home in June for my twenty third birthday and we could fly back together late June.  This was still three months away and I was about to meet a new girl, Tammy.  Life was great, wine, women and even song to some extent.  I was working with the Garcia family still and it was all coming together nicely.