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From: RAM <R_A_M@bigfoot.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Sunflower Alley: Blue Train - 5th and Central
Date: Sat, 16 Jun 2001 06:10:04 -0400
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Comments may be sent to R_A_M@bigfoot.com

This story is an excerpt from Sunflower Alley.
The entire Sunflower Alley series may be found at:
  From the Corner of 1st & Rowan to Sunflower Alley,
  http://www.bigfoot.com/~R_A_M , a non-commercial site.

-----------------------


Blue Train - 5th & Central  
(c) 1998-1999 by R.A. Mendoza

   
A hip looking, light skinned, young Negro guy, neatly dressed in a sport
jacket and slacks, sitting in the middle of the porch stairs of a large
Victorian-like structure spots me. The second time I drive by, he stands
and waves at me and I pull over to the curb right in front of the
building.

The guy walks down the stairs, around to my side of the car, and stands
in the street. "Looking for something?" he says, bending down, sizing me
up through the open window.   

"Girls?"   

"Yeah? You come to the right place." He cocks his head over, then he
twists it slightly and takes a glance at the building whose front stairs
he had been occupying. "Just follow me," he says as he moves away from
the car door to the sidewalk.   

I roll up the window, get out of my car and lock it. "You been here
before?" the guy asks as we stroll up the wooden stairs of the
building.   

"Not here. Another place around here. A couple of years ago," I say,
appreciating his casual friendliness. "I just got out of the service,
last month. I was in Japan for three years."   

"That so? Got a lot of good pussy over there, I'd bet," he says, turning
his head to look at me, a smile on his thin lips.   

"That's for sure."   

In the building, we travel through the entrance hallway and turn into a
small bath room. "Wait here, I'll be right back," he says. I've done
this stuff before; but in Japan it was usually an old Mamasan who would
disappear and return with a younger woman.   

***   

He pulls the door closed. "What kind of girl are you interested in?"   

"I don't have a preference."   

"Well, we got white girls, colored girls, Spanish girls. Whatever you
want."   

"White, I guess."   

"You got money?"   

"How much is it going to cost?"   

"It's fifteen."   

"I got a twenty." I open my wallet and pull out the twenty. I hand it to
him.   

"I'll get you change. You got any more money?"   

"I already gave you twenty."   

"Oh. No. I'll get you your change. It's just that if you have more
money, we don't want the girls taking it from you. You know? Sometimes
they think they can rip off the customers. We'll just keep it safe for
you until you're done."   

"All I've got is five more bucks. That's it." I show him the five.   
   
"That's all? Well, we'll keep it for you." He reaches for the five and
takes it out of my hand.   

A knock at the door is followed by its opening; a young Negro woman
pokes her head into the little room. "Terence, you got another
customer," she says. "Come on, he's waiting," she whines as she backs
out of the doorway and disappears.   

"Bitches," the guy mumbles. "Always in a hurry." He gives me a look,
raising his eyes and looking at the ceiling in apparent exasperation. I
smile at him and nod my head, knowingly. "I'll be right back with your
girl," he says and leaves the room, closing the door behind him.   

I wait.   

***   

I push the door open. The hallway is empty. I walk to the front door.
It's locked. There's a slot for a key, but no latch. The door locks from
the inside; I can't get out. I walk back up the hallway and find a
stairway. On the second floor, I stop in front of a window facing the
street and look out. No fire escape. Too far to jump. The place is a
firetrap.   

A woman walks by. I look at her. "Miss. Do you know how I can get out?
The entrance door is locked."   

The woman steps to the window and stands with me, looking out at the
street. "Gosh. I don't know," she says. "Mister Morris locks it up at
night. Once it's locked you can't get in or out without calling him."   

"Can you call him for me?" I say as I face her profile. At last I am
talking to a real woman, warm flesh and blood.   

The woman turns her upper body and looks at me. Her dark face is inches
from mine; her warm breath splashes my face. There's just the two of us;
our paths have crossed in front of this window overlooking dark Central
Avenue, L.A. It will never be more than this between us, I know, but in
this still moment we comprise the entire world, a brother and sister,
Adam and Eve, alone together. I want to kiss her big red painted lips; I
want to commit incest with her, to engender a new race in her African
birth place; I am ready to face the hostile world with her exotic
darkness at my side.   

She casts her eyes down and turns from the window, toward the hallway.
"Come on," she says, stepping out quickly. I follow her to the top of
the stairway where she stops at a door and knocks at it. A muffled voice
is heard through the closed door.   

"Mister Morris?" the woman calls, tentatively. Then in a slightly louder
voice, "Mister Morris? There's a gentleman here needs to get out."   

"Thanks," I mumble.   

The door opens. A middle-aged man, his eyebrows and forehead crinkled as
if in pain, looks at me. "How'd you get in here?" he says, with the
emphasis on "you."   

The woman walks away into the dark hallway, out of my life. Our liaison
is over; a new race will not be created.   

"I came in with a guy. I can't remember his name, Terence maybe. I was
waiting for him but he never came back."   

"Terence? I don't think so. You gave him money didn't you?"   

"He was going to make change for me. He never came back."   

"It's happened before," the man says, a perceptible sound of disdain in
his voice. I don't know whether he is angry with me or at the phony
pimp. "I'll let you out," he says as he steps into the hallway.   

I follow Mister Morris down the stairs to the front door. He inserts a
key; the door opens.   

"Thanks," I say, popping out in the warm L.A. night. I skip down the
stairs, two at a time, to my car at the gray curb and stick the key in
the door.   

I gave that guy twenty-five bucks. I'll bet he and that girl are
somewhere together, probably having a drink, maybe smoking a joint,
laughing out loud at my gullibility. I twist the key and yank the door
open; I flop in behind the wheel. The door makes a lonely crunch as it
closes. I jam the key into the ignition switch. I'm so fucking naive;
I'm a fucking idiot. At least I didn't get assaulted.   

I turn the key, thumb the starter and floor the accelerator; the engine
snarls, sounding a lot stronger than its six cylinders. I turn the
wheel; the car pulls me quickly out into the street. I grip the steering
wheel with both hands; I am in command again.   
   
Street lamps scatter dingy yellow over lonely sidewalks. I roll past a
Negro walking in the same direction that I am driving. I slow and twist
my neck to look at his face; it's not the guy that took my money; this
guy's too dark, too ugly, and not well dressed. The guy catches me
scrutinizing him; his blank face becomes a scowl; his lips move, I can
see his teeth. He jabs a tightly balled fist at the air in my direction.
I can't hear what it is that he's yelling, but it is obviously not very
nice things that he is mouthing.   

I'm forty or fifty feet past him now, I'm safe. "Fuck you,
motherfucker!" I yell at his image in the rear view mirror. He probably
can't hear me either.  


(c) 1998-1999 by R.A. Mendoza


This story is an excerpt from Sunflower Alley.
The entire Sunflower Alley series may be found at:
http://www.bigfoot.com/~R_A_M

Some stories. Some almost true. Boring if you don't like my thoughts.
But, what the hell, it's my page, I can do (almost) anything I want.
Stories, nostalgia, about GIs, their life, their women, in the Cold War 
Era, c.1955. From East LA to Japan. The way it was, way back then.
Maybe these tidbits, these spicy morsels, will jostle your mind. 
Maybe they'll give you some joy, I hope. 
                                          RAM

  From the Corner of 1st & Rowan to Sunflower Alley
  http://www.bigfoot.com/~R_A_M 

-----------------------

  From Celestial Reviews 317 - February 28, 1999

"I'm never really sure how far afield I should go when I look for 
stories to review. I suppose if I can't even keep up with the stories 
that are posted on a.s.s. and a.s.s.m. I shouldn't waste my time 
tra[i]psing all over the place looking for even more stories. But this
excursion wasn't a waste of time. One of Mendoza's lead-ins caught my
attention, and his home page roped me in. This is good stuff. It 
doesn't run as a continuous story, but the deliberately disjointed
presentation is highly effective." 

"I encourage you to take a look"  

Ratings for "Sunflower Alley" 
Athena (technical quality): 10
Venus (plot & character): 9
Celeste (appeal to reviewer): 10 

Celestial Reviews 317 - February 28, 1999 

-----------------------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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