Duxford Airfield (the band) Pt. 03

___________(3)__________

KATHRYN DALLOWAY

"...Why aren't you up yet? ...It's late in the morning now and there are things to do!" the large brown eyes seemed to say to me with genuine bewilderment in them.

"Hmph!" I mumbled, rolling over toward Andrea's side of the bed again and reaching out for her.

Instead of finding Andrea however, I was greeted with a face full of Horse Feathers.

"What thufff -?" I mumbled, opening one eye.

Horse Feathers, - now lying on Andrea's pillow, was sprawled out and didn't seem to even notice me.

Raising my head slightly and looking all around the bedroom now, I realized that Andrea was gone and had been for quite some time. ...Her jasmine scent was still evident as it lingered within the room and I suddenly sensed an empty house, except for myself, Kitty, and Horse Feathers.

"Hmph!" ...I closed my eyes again in defiance and laid my head back on the pillow, even though it was nine-thirty in the morning already.

Kitty came around to the other side of the bed and sat down, gawking at me all over again.

Sensing that I was being stared at, I opened one eye again and looked into Kitty's large eyes...

(***sigh***) ...I patted the bed beside me.

Before I knew what was happening, Kitty was on the bed and standing over Horse Feathers and me both, as she began rapidly planting kisses all over the two of us. This immediately evoked a loud and extremely annoyed yowl coming from Horse Feathers while I simultaneously tried in vain to hold my own ground and ward off the onslaught of Kitty kisses that were now coming at me faster than I could push them away.

I was soon laughing out loud with Kitty's assault of kisses and the annoyed reactions coming from Horse Feathers as he began boxing Kitty with lightning speed.

However superb the cat's boxing skills may have been, they seemed to have little or no effect on Kitty...

With a final frustrated yowl, Horse Feathers quickly bolted off the bed with Kitty in hot pursuit of him, the two of them tearing through the house at ninety miles an hour and carrying on like a couple of young siblings.

"Partners in crime..." Helen had said of the two. I wish Andrea could have been witness to that little sideshow, I now thought.

Still laughing somewhat at the sudden ruckus, I laid back down again and closed my eyes but quickly realized that Kitty had done her job, and done her job well. There was no possible way that I'd ever be able to go back to sleep now.

I'd never been a morning person in my life and at fifty-eight years of age, it was unlikely that I ever would be. With a feigned sigh, I reluctantly rolled out of bed and slowly sauntered over to Andrea's and my private bathroom. Turning on the vanity lights and glancing in the mirror at myself, I leaned forward and inspected the purple bruise above my left eye which was about an inch long and half an inch wide. This was the spot where Gopi had nailed me, the evening before last.

"Little moron..." I muttered as I thought of Gopi, disgust running through me all over again.

I seriously doubted if Gopi or Wendy, either one, even remembered that little incident inside their hotel room. The two of them had been so completely blitzed out of their minds that night that it was a wonder they'd been able to function at all. I thought of the trashed hotel room and felt a degree of sadness that anyone would choose to live in such a pathetic way.

I ran a finger over the bruise.

...Pat Donovan - The Old Man, would have looked at me right now and said "I would imagine that Mister Gopi's got some bruising of his own to contend with this morning, Tim."

(sigh...) Yeah probably, I answered the thought with a slight nod.

...For the majority of my life, I had believed Pat Donovan to be Ricky's and my biological father, until the relatively recent and unintended posthumous discovery of Rick Sheffield, our actual biological father. Andrea and I had made this startling discovery only a few years ago, but by that time Mom had already been gone for a full year, leaving behind many unanswered questions about the man Rick Sheffield...

Andrea and I had been in the process of removing some of the sentimental items from Mom's old house during that particular visit to Seattle when we had inadvertently discovered dozens of old photographs of Mom and Rick Sheffield together as a couple, during the nineteen sixties.

After learning of this man Rick Sheffield, my wife and I had then slowly pieced together the romantic story between him and my mother. During the months that followed, and working together like police detectives, Andrea and I had eventually found the answers to most of our questions and we were eventually able to discover Rick Sheffield's true identity.

Close inspection of these recently discovered and antiquated photographs, along with a love letter, had soon made it blatantly obvious that Rick Sheffield was the actual father of Ricky and myself. This sudden knowledge had left me perplexed with many more unanswered questions, as Mom had never once made any mention of Rick Sheffield to either Ricky or me. Neither of us had even known of the man - although I did eventually recall meeting Rick Sheffield once or twice, but only briefly when I had been an infant. Ricky had never met the man at all.

With more of our detective work, Andrea and I later discovered that Rick Sheffield had also fathered a daughter from a previous marriage. My brother Ricky and I now had an older sister named Asia whom Andrea and I had met briefly, later that year.

...Mom's house had since been demolished with a city reclamation act, along with the rest of the entire neighborhood of Stony Brook, where Ricky and I had grown up...

- Standing now within Helen's guest bathroom, I leaned forward again and studied my reflection in the mirror a little more closely now. The bruise above my left eyebrow looked similar to a smudge of paint on one of Bob Ross's paint pallets - a "Majestic Purple" as he would have undoubtedly called it...

Andrea was a huge fan of the late Bob Ross...

...Looking at the bruise above my left eye made me think of Bob Ross's famous line "There are no mistakes - only happy accidents."

(***sigh***)

"Welcome to L.A," I said to the mirror as I turned and grabbed Andrea's green towel. It was time for me to get into the shower now and then find some coffee in this house.

...

Damn it, Helen, I muttered as I raised my chin and began tying my tie. I was freshly showered now and dressed in the only clothes I presently had available, one of my suits. Since I was going to be wearing a suit then I might as well wear a tie, I reasoned with pragmatic logic.

I glanced at all the cabinets that I'd opened within the last few minutes and sighed deeply. ...I'd just spent the last fifteen minutes opening every drawer and cabinet within Helen's entire kitchen looking for coffee. I had essentially turned the whole place upside down and found nothing even remotely caffeine-related. ...Great, Helen's a health nut.

...How do people live like that? I asked myself incredulously and shook my head.

In all honesty, Andrea and I were both trying to eat healthier and we also loved physical exercise such as bicycling combined with other forms of outdoor fitness, but this had its limits. Caffeine was the one thing I refused to give up and I was adamant about it. Shrugging to myself now, I knew that within the medical community there were age-old arguments from both sides of the aisle, both for and against caffeine, so be it, I mumbled.

Finishing my tie, I gently closed all the drawers and cabinets in Helen's kitchen before picking up the little green plastic tag attached to Helen's house key. Glancing in the mirror again, I found that by slipping on my sunglasses my bruise was relatively well hidden for the most part. Nodding to myself within the mirror I made my way out the front door, locking it behind me. Stepping out onto the sidewalk and walking in the direction of the second-hand store now I immediately noticed the fresh, clean scent of the recent storm. The morning sun was shining brightly and it was warm outside today, perfect for walking.

The vehicular traffic was relatively light for a Monday and the general mood of the populous among me seemed industrious yet not hurried. After two days of rain, it seemed that the general public was simply happy to have clear skies and warm weather again. I continued walking briskly for several minutes when a large neon sign for the second-hand store started coming into view, yet I was suddenly distracted by another, smaller sign, closer to me which simply read "The Coffee House."

...Within a few minutes, I sat down with a large light roast coffee and pulled out my phone from my breast pocket, and reread the earlier message from Andrea:

"With Helen be back to get you at 1:15 this afternoon. The secondhand store is just west of Helen's house: Love you XoXo!"

I now smiled and texted Andrea back:

"I know what you're doing this very moment...

-You're looking at your phone! XoXo!"

When was I ever going to grow up? I asked myself as I sipped some of the delicious brew and smiled at my text to Andrea.

Looking around me now at the interior of the building's architecture I realized that the little coffee shop which I was currently sitting in was quite old. Built of red brick it had undoubtedly been remodeled into the quaint little coffee house only relatively recently. The storefront boasted large foyer windows facing the street and most of the interior walls had been knocked down, creating a large cavernous single room and openly exposing the steel support pillars. The entire interior where I now sat, had been brightly painted in multiple colors including the wooden chairs and tables throughout the entire room. I also saw an open set of stairs that led down to what looked like a well-lit basement.

I also noticed that many of the coffee shop's patrons were a younger crowd and most likely students from a nearby school of some sort. Many of these younger people had their eyes glued intently to one form of screen or another while they tapped on the keyboards of laptop computers or texted on cellphones. It was certainly a different world than when I had been in technical school back in the early eighties. Admittedly, I was old-fashioned and had just never gotten into the technology buzz that seemed to sweep everyone else so completely off their feet.

Taking another sip of coffee, I glanced upward again at one of the support beams now and noticed a yellow mimeographed poster commemorating the life of Danny Wickersham, his unmistakable image drawn in a black marker pen.

That's a very good likeness of him I thought, admiring the work of whoever had drawn the image on the mimeographed page. Danny had lived within a very few blocks of here for many years, Helen had mentioned.

My phone suddenly pinged with a reply text from Andrea.

"How clever you are, gunslinger" it simply read.

I chuckled aloud at her reply and instantly imagined how Andrea must have rolled her eyes at my text to her and shown it to Helen.

Setting down the phone again I continued to sit quietly drinking my delicious coffee and, quite literally, watching the world go by outside the large windows. ...Yeah, Danny Wickersham, Andrea, and Helen must have been quite the infamous trio back in the day. I could just imagine the sight of the three of them walking into such a place as this.

I remained seated for five or ten minutes and just observed people walking along the sidewalk as they went about their day, some hurrying, some not. There were also delivery vans, transit buses, and cars of every description. I saw several bright yellow Kenworth end-dump trucks going by the large plate-glass windows, back and forth, loaded with gravel one way and empty the other. Obviously, there was a construction site somewhere close by where gravel was needed. Los Angeles was a busy city filled with people of many different ethnic backgrounds, from all walks of life, and every imaginable size and shape. All of them were interesting, to say the least.

I hope Helen's doing better today, I thought as I glanced at the time.

After a few more minutes I rose from my seat and proceeded out the coffee shop's entrance en route to the second-hand store a block away.

...

I spent forty minutes at the second-hand store and now carried home with me a bright orange bag containing three shirts and three pairs of Levis jeans. My entire purchase had cost a total of twenty-eight dollars and fifty-one cents. I had, in particular, selected one shirt off the rack which was green in color and depicted an antique Jaguar sports car, I liked this shirt, I'd seen its likeness before. My best friend Andy, whom I had grown up with, had possessed this same shirt once, many years ago.

I thought of Andy now as I walked along the sidewalk, I'll have to call him this week I suddenly thought as I neared the little coffee house again.

On a spur of the moment, I decided to stop in again and have another cup of coffee and maybe even a doughnut...

Walking back into the little shop I was soon standing in line again with several other people, all of us now staring into the large glass counter at the delicious doughnuts and other pastries. - "You can have ONE!" I seemed to hear Andrea say within my mind. Smiling at the thought of her, I made a small nod of my head in affirmation - I can have one.

Standing within the queue, I saw another one of the mimeographed fliers celebrating the life of Danny Wickersham. The yellow flier was taped to the glass display case directly in front of me and I was able to see it in detail much more clearly, now. A pot-luck in the park to celebrate the life of Danny Wickersham was scheduled for the fourth of July weekend of this year - Contact: Helen Lunsford the flier read.

I sighed with the thought that Andrea and Helen had lost a dear friend. Walking to and from the second-hand store this morning, I had seen many more of these yellow fliers posted along the sidewalk. Danny Wickersham had been well-liked by many, many people. "The Gentle Giant" was a moniker that probably fit the man very well I imagined.

I purchased another cup of coffee and a glazed doughnut as I slowly made my way through the queue of people toward the cashier, which was a young brunette lady in her early twenties I guessed, she wore no name tag.

"You're back again!" she smiled.

"I couldn't stop thinking about these doughnuts and coffee" I replied, returning her smile.

"That's what they're there for. Five dollars and seventy-five cents, please. Were you friends with Danny?" the girl asked noticing my interest in the yellow flier.

"I never met Danny but my wife was well acquainted with him and she has nothing but praise for the man" I answered as I counted out the exact change and handed the girl my money.

"I already miss Danny and the neighborhood isn't the same without him," The girl said sadly.

"My wife says essentially the same thing" I answered with a sympathetic nod.

"What is your wife's name? if I may ask" the girl replied.

"It was Andrea Millhouse back when she knew Danny" I answered proudly.

"Doesn't ring a bell with me but Danny knew so many people, he was in here all the time and always talking to everyone," she said.

"My wife mentioned something like that" I replied.

The girl silently handed me a coffee card with one hole punched. Her mood seemed to have suddenly become melancholy with the mention of Danny.

"Danny's in a better place now," I said gently.

"I know, thanks for saying it though" she nodded quietly.

"You have an awesome day now young lady and thank you for being here to serve us these wonderful doughnuts and the coffee. It is indeed a comfort simply knowing that you are here - a public servant of the highest order, selflessly enrichening the lives of we, the caffeine-deprived masses!" I said smiling brightly at her, trying to lift her spirits.

The girl and several people around me now laughed at my rambling litany of praise.

"You remind me a lot of Danny and it's my pleasure to be here when someone like you stops by. Nice suit and tie, by the way! Your wife is a fortunate lady because you're a very handsome gentleman," the young girl said smiling at me again now.

This statement by the girl caught me completely off guard and I suddenly felt color come to my cheeks with her appraisal of me. I think she noticed this.

"Thank you for the compliment, you've made my whole day with your kind words" I answered earnestly and returned the smile.

I dropped a five-dollar bill into her tip jar.

...The young girl hadn't even mentioned the bruise above my left eye, Bless her heart...

...Still smiling, I sat back down in the same seat which I had occupied earlier, the coffee and doughnut were delicious and there was now a more relaxed atmosphere within the little coffee shop. It was going on high noon and people were starting to loosen up a little bit with the knowledge that another Monday was already halfway behind them in the rearview mirror.

I reveled in the wonderful tasting coffee and thought again of the young cashier's compliment to me a few minutes before.

Chewing my doughnut, a more sober thought suddenly dawned on me, I picked up my phone and texted my brother Ricky again. "Where at now?" my message asked. I then sighed heavily and set the phone down as I picked up my coffee and doughnut again. What am going to do with that guy? I asked myself as I began to look out the large foyer windows again.

I sat there for several minutes just sipping my coffee and nibbling at the wonderful doughnut. I hadn't spent time around this many younger people for quite some time and it was a welcome change of pace for me. Some claimed that there was a "generation gap" between people my age and the younger crowd but I'd heard that very thing myself when I'd been in my teens and twenties.

People my age may not always understand all the hype surrounding personal technology that younger people seemed to have incorporated into their lives today but human beings hadn't changed much in the last thousand years, I didn't believe. With this thought, I suddenly smiled as I inadvertently remembered the party-line system that had been incorporated with Mom's rotary telephone back in the late sixties. A party-line was essentially two or three houses with the same phone number, a network, of sorts. To make a call, a person would first pick up the phone to make sure that your party-line neighbor wasn't already talking to someone else. If someone next door was already on the phone, then you politely hung up and waited your turn, trying again within a few minutes.

Smiling again now, I remembered one morning when Mom had been trying to place a call for seemingly a whole hour. Every few minutes she'd pick up the phone receiver and then set it back down again. Finally, she had gotten frustrated and asked "Excuse me, but are you, ladies, going to talk all day?" A few seconds later Mom abruptly hung up the phone with a disgusted huff. She then grabbed me and my toy trucks up off the floor and we drove to a nearby gas station where she'd used a payphone to make her call. ...I could still vividly remember sitting in the back seat of the car and watching her as she had stood inside the phonebooth.

Somehow I didn't believe that people living in today's world would be able to cope very well with party-lines...

...Sipping my coffee and staring out the coffee shop windows I also remembered that while I was growing up it wasn't uncommon to see girls, in groups of two or more, carrying small portable record players with one hand and a stack of 45 RPM vinyl records in the other hand. Somehow there had always been something sweet and innocent in that recollection for me.