by Ken O'Steen
Bathed in southern California morning light, after partaking of the unexpected opportunity to bathe in water, my second such opportunity in as many days, I contemplated how sublimely democratically sun and fun were spread among the inhabitants of the City of Angels. My bountiful night, even the high points of the nearly completed fortnight were demonstration enough for me that even the lowly could be Kingfish for a day in Los Angeles: sex, pot and chicken in every karma in the city.
Together, my new fuck-bunny Sonia and I sipped coffee at the breakfast table while watching the Today Show on the portable television atop her kitchen counter. Fully alert, we moved past the exchange of the biographical factoids appropriate for pillow talk, and laid out some hard facts of personal background. I stated my place of current employment as Pyramid Publishing in order to spare her from the ignominy of having been sexually gratified by a brief-standing, but member nonetheless of the pariah class. For a similar reason I listed my current address as my former West Los Angeles residence. The solidity of my citizenship soundly established by gainful employment, and a roof over my head in an acceptable zip code, the virtue and integrity of Sonia’s orgasm was duly protected. I remembered Rolf, but of course, had no idea what his destination had been in the middle of the night. If he still was inside, or within proximity of the building, I might run into him when I made my exit.
Sonia, curly auburn hair shampooed, fair freckled skin scrubbed, looked fresh as a bowl of peaches and cream sitting in the chair across from me.
“God I was blasted,” she blurted, running her hand through her hair and blowing on her coffee before taking a sip.
“I was on alcoholic autopilot myself.”
“Want some toast or anything?”
“I think I’ll wait a while on food.”
“Me too.”
“Quite a night.”
“A good time was had by all I presume.”
“I have to presume since I don’t remember.”
“Well, we’re a somewhat awkward pair. You’ve probably heard this one somewhere before, but I don’t do this very often at all. Familiar huh?” she added grinning.
“Normally, I only end up with people who do it on a continual basis, some of them even without pay.”
She laughed, fortunately.
“I must have clubbed you over the head and dragged you up here.”
“I was just now thinking how violated I feel this morning.”
“Once I’ve set my sights on something I usually don’t beat around the bush…that sounds awful…you know what I mean.”
It was my turn to laugh.
“I’m pretty sure I was pre-clubbed by the time you found me. I doubt I needed dragging.”
“I remember enough to recall you being more than a willing victim.”
“Always.”
Sonia asked me how I ended up at the party in the first place, so I told her my invitation to the party had come from the woman who normally cut my hair.
“How about you?” I asked. “Neighbors I guess.”
“I know Sam downstairs from work.”
“The guy who teaches at USC?”
“Um hum. That’s what I do.”
“What subject?”
“Journalism.”
“A college journalism teacher. It’s the devil’s work.”
“You think so? Really? I also do a little bit of script work on the side…for sitcoms…just polishing generally. Before that I worked in public relations, or media relations as it’s typically called in political campaigns. I last did that on the Dole campaign, the national campaign in 1996.”
“You’re a Republican?”
“You’re not?”
“Don’t even think it.”
“I knew something about you seemed really different last night.”
“I know, I was a whole lot better looking then, right?”
“No, you’re still nice looking today. You seemed smarter last night, that’s what it was.”
“I was thinking the same about you, oddly enough.”
“Uh huh. Looks like we’ve got ourselves back to awkward.”
“Well you know what they say: bedfellows make strange politics.”
About that time, Matt Lauer complimented Orrin Hatch on the senator’s necktie. “Weather,” she said, and changed the channel to local show, “Good Day LA.”
When Sonia finally asked, “Will you be able to get home okay?” I recognized the signal and replied, “My car is out there somewhere.”
Outside, I felt lucky again, all buttered up by the sun. Rolf was nowhere to be found. But I reminded myself, anything can happen.
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