“All the best cowboys have Chinese eyes.”
Pete Townshend
The moon was coming up full over the Sierras in the east when I crossed I-5 over to Three Rocks. I’d slipped into a melancholy mood and despite my better judgment, I stopped at the Halfway Store to grab another tall Bud. Not the best of ideas because I still had work to do. Even worse, Three Rocks is no place for a lone gabacho to be hanging around.
The place got its name from three nearly identical sandstone promontories overlooking the area. Tres Piedras. There are stories about those rocks. 150 years ago, the fabled bandit, Joaquin Murieta and his men hid out up in those hills. In fact, Joaquin and his compadre Three Fingered Jack were supposedly shot down about three miles from where I was sitting drinking beer. People still see lights up there at night and some attribute them to an inbred remnant of Joaquin’s band still living up there. I personally believe that most of those freaks actually live in the house right next to the Halfway Store, the one with their Christmas lights arranged in a pentagram.
Inbred mutant Satanistas? Fuck them I thought, as I took another long, cold pull on the Bud. I was descending into a stupid, mean funk and had slipped my Grandpa’s .38 into my folio. Sipping beer out on that picnic table, the old revolver loaded to the brim with six +P Safety Slugs, was a source of comfort and familiarity. I loved the hot summer evenings in the valley but something dangerous was dancing in and out around the edges of my conscience.
Claudia.
I met Claudia at a little bar called the Surf and Saddle down in Solana Beach back in 1995. It was a strange time in my life that was going to get a lot stranger. For one thing, there was this kind of Rockabilly/Vampire scene shaping up so we’d started calling ourselves Luke and The Drifters. We just massaged the set list a bit and started wearing dark thrift store polyester suits and bolo ties. I was even thinking about getting a tattoo. None of those damn piercings for me though, things were getting weird enough. I was 35 years old with a daughter in kindergarten and a rhythm guitarist that looked like Eddie Munster.
Maybe it was because of the vampires, maybe it was just her being a good mom, but Jennifer didn’t come to our gigs much anymore. We were playing more in the middle of the week now and I’d fallen into this routine of work – bar – sleep – work. I was still out at the 94 checkpoint, even been promoted to Supervisory Patrol Agent and was well on my way to a supervisory beer belly. I missed the border and my binoculars and my Blazer.
It was a hot October Friday night with those Santa Ana winds blowing hard. I was right in the middle of “l Put a Spell on You” holding down the bass line during Stacy’s guitar solo when Claudia walks up all clean and gorgeous in her blue jeans, fitted shirt and suede boots. She made me lean way down and put her hand on my shoulder and her mouth right up to my ear and asks “can you guys play some Merle for me?”
The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. I immediately loved everything about her. Her voice, her smile, the way she smelled. I nodded my head and later we did “Lonesome Fugitive” and followed it up with Waylon’s “Only Daddy That’ll Walk The Line” just to let her know who she was dealing with. I made a quick mental note that we’d just played two hardcore Country songs in a row and the regulars didn’t seem to mind a bit, but that wasn’t important. This new lady seemed very pleased and that’s all I cared about.
After that set, I noticed she went out to the parking lot with Geoff -Eddie Munster- and some of the usual vampires. I followed and eavesdropped while they all shared a joint. I figured out that she had showed up at Geoff’s invitation and I found myself concerned about that all of a sudden. Geoff was telling her about how Stacy had grown up in Bakersfield and me living not too far away in Fresno, making it sound like we were fishing buddies or something with Merle Haggard. Old fishing buddies. But Claudia caught my eye just then and smiled “would you like some?”
Oh honey!
I hadn’t smoked pot since the early 80’s and this shit was strong. After my third toke I had a bad case of the Chinese eyes and I just had to tell all those kids “you know…they don’t smoke marijuana in Muskogee.” The vampires weren’t amused but Geoff and Claudia and me just laughed and laughed.
I got home that morning and couldn’t get Claudia out of my head. I’d playfully given her my pager number so she could “phone in her next request ahead of time”. What the hell was I thinking? I was shocked and thrilled to the bone when she actually called me a few days later and asked me if I could drive her to Lou’s Records up in Encinitas and gave me her address. ”I’d like you to recommend some Waylon Jenning’s albums for me”.
When I got to her place on Pacific, she offered me a Pacifico and gave me a tour of the place. It was a nice house, not real big but right atop a bluff overlooking the ocean. She told me she was from Toronto and had some kind of house sitting arrangement for the next few months. We went out onto the patio, I set my beer on the small windowsill bar with my barstool swiveled around to face her as she stood with her back to the Pacific, looking at me with those dark, honest eyes.
All I could manage was “God what a beautiful view”.
“Are you really from Bakersfield?”
“No that’s Stacy, only he grew up in Taft”
“That Geoff, he’s full of shit”
“No, no, he’s just…really enthusiastic. Taft…it’s still in Kern Country.”
“Oh that explains it then” she nodded.
Then that random laughter came up to a boil just like the other night only this time when it simmered down, I got up of my barstool, took three steps across the patio, took her slim waist in both hands and kissed her right on the mouth. Her lips parted and I moved one hand around to the small of her back and the other traced the curve of her hip. She was unbuttoning my shirt, kissing my neck and chest and then she pushed me away a little and said “lets go inside”.
She led me down the hall by my belt buckle to the bedroom where the whole thing turned into a blurry missionary tangle of denim and cotton sheets.
Later we drove up to Lou’s where they had Waylon’s new box set, The RCA Years and she let me buy it for her. Driving back south on the PCH, Waylon was singing…
“It sure as hell looks just like rain I know where to go on a cloudy day”
“Don’t tell anybody I told you this, but Waylon doesn’t really have any great albums. He’s always been more of a singles guy.”
“Maybe it’s just that you’re more of a singles guy. Have you ever thought of it that way?”
“Nope.”
“Well either way, your secrets are safe with me Luke”
I called in sick the next morning, kissed my wife goodbye and drove off in my green uniform, pistol, handcuffs and all and spent the whole day, smoking dope, playing music and making love with Claudia over at her house. The next day I called in sick and spent the whole day fishing, drinking beer, smoking dope, listening to music and making love with Claudia out at Lake Miramar.
Fishing was slow and we talked about nonsense.
“What’s with the Bakersfield fascination, have you ever even been there?”
“No, what’s it like?”
“It’s just a regular town. Real hot and dusty in the summer. Merle doesn’t live there anymore but Buck Owens is like the Pope or something. He owns radio stations and shopping centers. That honky tonk scene died out a long time ago. Used to be, if you were looking for a Fender amp we’d just drive down. There are these pawnshops on 19th street, you could find whatever you wanted cheap. Blackface, Silverface…not anymore though.
“Those were the days hey old man?”
“Shhhhhhhh! We’re getting a bite”
“About fucking time”
We caught three small channel catfish that day and Claudia wanted to keep them and give them to some friends over in Hillcrest. They were some fun people. We drove down with the ice chest and Brad and Henry got a kick out of me cleaning and skinning the fish. They had a guitar and we messed around with “Ode To Billy Joe” and “Sunshine Superman” and some of Henry’s cocaine. I didn’t stick around for dinner. Claudia said she’d get a ride back home and I told her I HAD to go to work tomorrow but I would call her.
Back at our home in Poway, Jenn had dinner, a kiss and a hug ready and rearing to go. I spent the evening reading with Michelle on the couch.
“One fish – two fish – red fish…………BLUE FISH!”
