I
first saw Kiki at the Summer Arts Festival, a Counterculture event
of the first order. It takes place each year, when most of the "Community"
(a favorite word around here) manages to get out of the pot patch
and down to the river, to dance and buy local crafts, and to support
community efforts by eating strange food offered from little booths
around the grounds.
Kiki
was selling tofu enchiladas for the "Midwife and Breast-Feeding
Society and Anti-Nestle Corporation Baby Food Action Committee."
The hand lettered sign on the booth took up so much space that I
had to crouch in order to catch a good look at Kiki's fantastic
breasts, which bobbed and bounced engagingly while she put the enchiladas
together. I ate three. It wasn't too bad after I got the knack.
Most of the first one went down the front of my shirt.
Kiki
admitted later that I'd turned her off right away. My sloppy eating
habits combined with my dark good looks had reminded her of the
father of Rainwater Energy, who was also a sloppy eater, and a dark,
handsome Italian. He'd also sworn to her that he'd been vasectomized
to protest world overpopulation. Nine months later, the population
expanded, via one Rainwater Energy.
Myself,
I think she was immediately smitten by me, and was just using self-defensive
tactics to keep from throwing herself over the counter into my arms.
I
hadn't been in town very long when this fated (maybe fatal is the
word I want) meeting took place. I'd been hanging out at Brenda's
and Eagle's place while I looked for land, an arrangement that wasn't
too great. Looking back, I think things took a turn for the worse
when I offered Eagle the use of my shaving foam. (I was still clean
shaven back then.) The lady...excuse me, woman, did have a moustache,
and where I come from, females were generally clean shaven. Under
their arms, usually; on their faces, always. Anyhow, upon this exhibit
of my rank anti-feminism, Eagle proclaimed that she was sure the
Mother Goddess was offended by my male armpits, which even 'Right
Guard' couldn't help. It was then Brenda suggested I split to the
Arts Festival; that in fact I should maybe stay in town the weekend
while Eagle forgot what a prick I was.
So
a few hours later, there I was, dripping tofu enchiladas down my
fairly clean shirt, and staring at Kiki's magnificent mammaries.
Then this little kid came running up to the booth, and she picked
him up and swung him around, smiling at him in a much warmer way
than she had at me. He turned his little saucer face towards me
and chirped, "Ah so." I asked her if the kid was speaking
Japanese. She got a good laugh out of that. "No, he's talking
English. He's just not too good at it yet. He was calling you asshole.
He calls all men assholes." Unaware of the story of the unvasectomized
Italian stud, I was somewhat taken aback. "Far out," was
all I could manage in the way of an answer. If it hadn't been for
those breasts, I would have walked away right then. Instead I stood
my ground, still staring, until she grinned and asked me if I was
going to be at the Boogie that night.
The
featured group was "Crawdad Leroy and his Bayou Babies,"
who, according to the posters, played authentic Cajun Rock. The
hall was loud and crowded, the beer was cheap, and there were the
usual trips to the parking lot for joints and occasional snorts
of coke. It was too early in the year for a real "snow storm."
That had to wait for the marijuana crop to be sold. I was never
much into coke. Kiki says it's my Jewish inheritance that makes
me reluctant to blow money on cocaine. All I know is that my vices
are sex and booze, in that order, and that's fine by me. Before
I started to grow my own, I never even smoked much dope.
I
couldn't get Kiki back to my motel room before the final set by
Crawdad Leroy, who she claimed was her absolute favorite. And since
they didn't break up until well after 3 A.M., not much of the night
was left. By then Rainwater was sound asleep. Luckily, he stayed
that way when we transferred him to the couch in the room. We then
had what I would call a pretty good fuck; I mean considering the
hour and all. But Kiki had to inform me afterward that I hadn't
lived up to her expectations, whatever they might have been. I wouldn't
have minded that so much; I've learned to roll with the punches
of the feminist movement. But I wish she hadn't gone into such detail
as to how and where I had failed while we were having breakfast
in the Woodrose Cafe. And in a voice loud enough to carry to the
front booth where my sister Brenda was sitting with a gaggle of
dykes, who were also hung over from the night's celebrations.
Brenda,
in order to spare me further humiliation, started telling a stream
of dirty jokes from her incredible repertoire. It's a trick she's
pulled before on my behalf, one guaranteed to get everybody's attention
and to spare me a fate worse than death, which I seem prone to.
While all this was going on, Kiki wolfed down an enormous breakfast
and Rain spread a lot of food all over the table. After that, they
went back to the fair to sell more tofu enchiladas.
It
was as good an introduction to Humboldt County as any innocent could
ask for.
