Day Thirty (Monday, July 26, 1971)

At dawn I felt chewed up and unsanitary. Mosquito bites covered my face, hands, and arms. My veins felt juiced. My forehead was damp. We evacuated after we heard someone on the phone calling the police. The back door sprang open as we sprinted down the street.

“This trip is not all glamor,” I said to myself from the public restroom while taking a dump.

I showered under one of the outdoor nozzles at the beach.

I went to the nearest receptacle and chucked out most of my possessions. This included the entire contents of my green duffel bag— plus the bag. That left me with one basic outfit in one basic bag, plus diary, camera, long pants, maps, toothbrush, soap, and sleeping bag.

“I needed a reduction in aggravation,” I explained.

Breakfast was at a Danish pastry house. Otto and I anchored next to a quilted tapestry in back. I supplied myself with three sticky buns and a cup of coffee and opened my diary with a pen.

“Hey Roger.” Otto diverted his eyes. “Don’t look now”—he reduced his voice to a whisper, “—but we’re gettin’ the eye from a couple nice lookin’ girls.”

“Yeah? Where?”

“Over by the counter. They’re facin’ this way. I smiled at one, ’n she keeps smilin’ back.”

I got a refill on my coffee. What was Otto crowing about? They were two girls from the Kiddie Brigade, barely into their teens. They sat squirming and giggling in their seats, twirling spoons, flicking sugar packets at each other, bursting into hysterics over nothing.

Otto leaned forward when I came back. “What’s your evaluation, scout?”

“What else? Minor leaguers. They’re not for us. When did you start dipping for talent below the major league level?”

“No way!” He looked irked. “They might be rookies, but you can never tell about their playin’ ability until you’ve given ’em a tryout. I like the one on the left. She’s been givin’ me the eye every five seconds.”

The girl was precociously tall and baby-faced, gawky, undefined. She was shining her lips with some kind of pink roll-on gloss. Her small friend had long ears and moles and looked like an aardvark.

“What do you say, huh Roger? Let’s make a move.”

“Go ahead, man. They’re too green for me. Let me relish my victory with Cindy. I don’t feel the need.”

“The one on the left doesn’t thrill you?”

“But you claimed her already, didn’t you? And I’m certainly not going to tangle with the creature on the right.”

“Come on! They’re about to leave. We can’t let ’em get away. Here’s our chance.”

“Go ahead, Brackston! I don’t object. My lust subsided yesterday. I’ve got writing to do.” I turned and concentrated on the next sentence in my diary.

Otto banged the table. He half stood, nearly toppling over my coffee. “Damn it, they’re goin.’”

The tall girl was up, waist in and breasts out, dishing a dollar bill from her pocket. Her friend scampered out of her seat behind her. Height and figures aside, they were both cast from the same mold: chopped, pony-style hair; costumed in sailor shirts and white shorts, panty hose, and sneakers. Both were caked in enough Max Factor to join the circus.

They glided through the front door. Otto summoned nothing more than to bite his lower lip and observe.

“You can’t hesitate on something like that, man. Once the moment passes, it’s gone.” I tapped the table with my eyebrow raised.

“They wanted us to come over, too.”

“Hey George—do me a favor and stop all this ‘us’ talk. I’m not an ‘us’ and neither are you. You’re calling your own shots from now on. Those girls are your project, not mine.”

They unlocked their bicycles from the rack outside and coasted past the window. The tall one, knowing she was being watched, turned her body to give potential suitors the most advantageous view of her rear end.

“What did I tell you?” Otto reached over and grabbed my shirt. “She was tryin’ to get a message across.”

“. . . And you let her get away, you dope.”

“Temporarily, maybe. There’s a larger picture to this, Winans. I’ll tell you that. Tie your shoes. Let’s go.”

We sat under a palm tree near the beach, relaxing, soaking up life. Otto suddenly blurted, “I’m not doin’ no beach activities today.”

“What do you mean? We’re at Huntington Beach.”

“Just what I said, dumbbell.” He crossed his arms. “I ain’t gonna roast on no beach, and I ain’t gonna do no swimmin’. Take it or leave it, wise guy.”

“What’s got into you? Why am I a wise guy?”

Eventually, he came around with the specifics. He intended to sit up on the curb of Highway One—all day if he had to—to see if that girl would ride by on her bicycle. If she did, and if he could get her to stop, he was going to ask her out.

“Well, have fun playing Romper Room. I’m going to use the beach for its proper intention.”

“Go your own way, Mr. Know-It-All.”

“You think you’re being highfalutin. But you’re just being silly.”

“I’m bein’ the me I need to be, fart face. And your poetry sucks.”

I switched to solitary mode and took off. True, there was endless activity on California beaches. I made the acquaintance of two guys from Oregon and Washington who hitched to Huntington Beach from Ventura the day before. The three of us went body surfing. I used their nerf board, which was like a light, stubby surf board. We played round- robin volleyball with a 50-member church youth group who stormed the beach en masse. Food and soda were provided at no cost. I chatted with dozens of girls, my smile affixed to my face. My jaw got sore from so much smiling. When that was over I rambled around the shops on Main Street. I went into clothing shops, record shops, beach accessory stores. I even found an acceptable place to sleep at night, right in town, a clever new spot where there’d be no problem.

Toward the end of the afternoon I spotted Otto, stationary, on the curb under a palm tree. When he saw me coming, he stood. He bounced on his toes with a facetious, spiteful smile. When I got close enough, he began with his high-pitched falsetto laugh.

“He-he-he! He-he-he! Kelly Cooper, ain’t she sweet! He-he-he! He-he-he!” He danced a jig on the sand.

“What happened? You saw a little action?”

“Action? Action?” Otto backstepped onto a sand hill and looked down at me, still dancing. “Sons, I had a ballgame! Yeah. Yeah, I say yeah, brother. Kelly Cooper. A resident of Whittier, California. Winans, she’s beautiful.”

“For someone in the Bobby Sherman crowd, maybe. You should’ve stuck with Denise Latourette. She had mature beauty. But you blew it with her. Sons.”

“I didn’t blow this one, sons. This is a meant-to-be situation. I’m in, and before I’m through, I’m gonna be in as far as one man can go.”

I backed away from his flying spit.

“Lord above, is she beautiful.” He clasped his hands above his head with a snigger. “Things are gonna be nice. I jumped right into the number one position on her squad. She was ready. Do you hear me, Winans? She was ready for some reelin’ and rockin’ and rollin’!”

“Just tell me the facts without the editorial comment, please.”

“You’re jealous. Aren’t you, Winans?” Otto wheeled around. “You wish you were in my shoes, don’t you? You can’t stand to be upended, can you? You can’t stand when the spotlight’s not on you.”

“I’m just glad I’m not wacky, like you.”

“Wacky nothin’! I got a woman.”

“Are we witnessing the great conquest of Otto B. George? Underwhelm me some more, why don’t you? You won’t even tell me what happened.”

“She showed—that’s what happened. She showed.”

“That’s all?”

“No, as a matter of speakin’, Winans, it ain’t all! She came up to me a-lone. That’s right, all by her lonesome. You hear that, Hercules? I’m talkin’ ’bout one-on-one. Heart to heart. Eye to eye. Peace, love, and understandin’ be with you.”

“Cut that crap out.”

“You cut it out, dirt hole! I been puttin’ up with too much shit from you for too long. You been manipulatin’ me this whole trip.”

“Get real! I followed your lead across America day and night. That is, until I smartened up.”

“Well, someone had to look after your naiive ass.”

“Every suggestion you made was something that would ultimately benefit you. Right, pal?”

“You’re so damn cocky, Winans. You’re fucked up.”

“How old is this new love of yours? Still under child protection laws?”

“She’s a big one-five, fifteen, goin’ on twenty-two. But that don’t matter. She wasn’t too young to
come up to a lonely man and take him in.”

“You never seek them out, do you, George? They have to pursue you, isn’t that fair to say? You let them take the risk. That’s your whole style to life, isn’t it, the coward’s approach.”

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it? That’s the only way you can tell they want you. Look how she penciled me on her squad. I drew the number one seed.”

“Well, where is she?”

The cool shine of his eyes retreated. “Home.”

I gobbed on the sand, the biggest I could muster, and covered it with my foot. “Sounds like a lot of effort for nothing, to sit up here in the heat all day just to say hello. That’s where boiling in the sun got you—one hello?”

“Hello, nothin’! That shows how much your arrogant ass knows!” Otto clenched his fists. “We got plans. This kid wasn’t standin’ idle. I got a date, Winans. Tomorrow. I’m on my way to Whittier, California. I got an address and I got a phone number. How you like them apples?”

“I thought we were leaving California tomorrow to start our hitch back home.”

“Not yet we ain’t. You’re gonna spot me one extra day. And you’re gonna do it whether you wanna or not. That’s the least you owe me, after that big delay you caused in Hanford.”

“Aren’t you chasing a promise in the wind?”

“Hell no, Winans. I’m chasin’ love. Do you got the map in your back pocket? I wanna look up where Whittier is from here. I think it’s close by. You’re invited, too, you know. Kelly’s friend, Bristol, wants to show you her azalea garden. She’s an officer in the 4-H Club. We’re gonna go together.”

I waited for a car to hiss by. “Look man, this is all your idea. Now hear me out. There’s no way I’m getting involved in this kind of wild goose chase. It doesn’t work for me. But since you brought up that crap about my eye injury in Hanford, your tradeoff is valid. It’s not exactly the same, but go ahead. I’ll spot you the extra day. I’ll hang out here. Go to Whittier and have a good time. I’ll watch our stuff so you won’t be bogged down. Fair? That’s the best I can do. But get her out of your system because I’ve had enough playing King Of The Hill. Take it or leave it.”

Otto stuck his nose out. “Fine! That’s all I need! I’ll be havin’ a great time with one of California’s true beauties, and you’ll be here by yourself, beatin’ your meat.”

“You’re serious about this, aren’t you, George?”

“Serious as a heart attack. Don’t worry about me, sons. I’ll be here tomorrow night, all safe and sound. You won’t have to call out the National Guard. I’ll come back. But it’s time for this man to show his ability on the field of play.”

“You’re totally crazy!”

“Eat my grunnies, dork.”

“Why don’t you . . .”

“Shut your yapper, Winans! Don’t talk to me.”

Getting through the evening was rough. We played miniature golf in total silence. Otto won, 63-71. He gloated over banana splits and Cokes, saying several times, “It’s me who’s the peoples’ champion on this trip, Roger. The crowd is rootin’ for me. Not you. You’re the peoples’ wank. You ain’t got nothin’ on me, Winans. I’m the hero. You’re the zero.”

“We’ll see about that.”

I led him into the backlots, through an older residential section. Down a common pathway stood smaller-sized water tanks—an outmoded cistern system, I guessed. Constructed around each tank
was a three-foot high protector wall made of cinder blocks. Sleeping quarters were in there, in the space between the tank and the wall. Just enough room existed for two people and gear. It was quiet, adequately clean, and secluded.

We unpacked and bedded down without a single word.

“Goodnight,” I said.

No answer.

“Goodnight, Otto.”

“Bad night.”