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THE VENICE POST OFFICE: HANDLE WITH CARE

The Venice Post Office: Not For Long

I never would have thought that Venice, would loose its historic Post Office... but it is. One of my first memories as a child (back when I was; "That Kid Ray... From Venice") is walking with my mother from our little duplex on Venice Blvd. (off of Pacific Ave.) and down to the Post Office at the Venice Circle (the area had once been the main canal of Abbot Kinney's American Venetian recreation at the turn of the century.) The building at 1601 Main Street, features a wonderful piece of art; a mural (painted in 1941) "The Story of Venice," by artist, Edward Biberman... which is so burned into my mind; I'm sure, it'll be one of the final images that will flash through my mind, when I leave this world for the last time.



The History of Venice Mural (featuring, Abbot Kinney) by Edward Biberman

We've all heard that the Postal Service has been loosing business due to the Internet (email, electronic bill paying.) It's funny, everytime, I'm at the Venice Post Office, I find myself standing in a line for at least ten to fifteen minutes. Venice is prime real estate and sadly USPS, is trying to make some quick cash off of the community it serves. But, to do something as dirty, as taking away a community landmark, is really worthy of villainy in my book. As a second generation Venetian, I really take this sale personally. I'm not going to get into all of the USPS's reasons for its closure and sale, because in the long run it's all about dollars ($7,5000,000 of them.) I remember when MGM Studios in Culver City shot themselves in the foot, by selling all of their magnificent back lots in the 1970's (and now, they no longer have an actual studio, just an office in some building somewhere. And what's left of the studio lot is now owned by Sony Studios.) I joked yesterday, that I would personally buy property and rent it to the city, if I won last nights, roughly $300,000,000 Mega Lotto jackpot... but, I defiantly would. I just hope, whatever entity gets the building shows her the respect that she deserves... she did serve us well. Venice, is my hometown, and I would like it to stay being, "Venice." But this situation does remind me of that old Pretenders song; My City Was Gone. This little Post Office is part of the character of Venice. I hate to wonder what's gonna be left of this old town fifty years from now? I know someone who relocated to LA, and  keeps images of her hometown on her bedroom wall, to look at when she's homesick. It's ridiculous, that I might have to do the same thing, without even leaving, Venice! Well, it's a good thing I have a camera.

THE TENDER OF SPIRITS / BY RAY RAMOS / PART NINE / COPYRIGHT 2012

The Townhouse, Venice, Ca, 2012

Karen's hair was still damp, she had to hoof it a couple blocks to her car. Finding parking down at the beach wasn’t easy or cheap. Her car was sandwiched between a BMW and a rusty old VW van. The time she spent with Bob, sent her back and she was in a rush not to be late for work. Soon, she was behind the wheel and on her way to her office in the Fox Hills area of Culver City. As she drove, she thought of her predicament, and then she tried not too. She didn’t know what to do? She’d be putting on a brave face for the past couple days, and he reunion with Bob had been a great distraction. Now, she was faced to wonder, what if Bob, can’t get rid of this thing in her apartment? She knew that she couldn’t continue to stay with Bob, as much as she’d like to entertain the thought. What was her option; move? And what if it followed her? The thought, made her sick to her stomach. Bob had to pull through for her; there was no other option in her mind… Bob had to be the man... her, George Peppard.

Bob followed Sawtelle’s advice and made his way down to the Venice Library. He decided just to walk the mile or so there. It was only the second time Bob, had set foot in the new library. As a boy, he used to go to the old one on California Avenue. The new library was bigger, it was housed in a modern looking building that sat on the middle of a cement island, which ran all the way down to the beach. It used to be where the old Pacific Electric Railway Red Car ran back in the old days. When Bob walked in, he noticed the reception desk to the left and asked the fifty-ish woman sitting behind it.

"Excuse me, where your computers?"
The woman was in the middle of something, and just pointed to the right, to where a bank of Dell pc's sat. Bob rolled his eyes when he saw that they were all being used. He then realized that he needed a new library card to access the Times archives. Bob had no choice but to bother the pointing woman again. By the time he finished doing what he had to do a computer opened up. Bob went and sat down at the computer, he looked at the woman sitting next to him, he didn't know why? But he suspected that she was a vegetarian.
 Before he could get what he needed from the site, he found himself going through the usual ritual of having to get a user name and password. Bob wondered how many of those damn things he had floating around out there in cyberspace that he couldn't remember? After a little more fumbling around,he was in. Then after about twenty minutes or so of poking around; Bob punched in the name Willa Reese and hit pay dirt. She just popped up like a weasel.
“Bingo!” Bob said a little too loud for the public library. Then next thing he pulled up, really blew his mind... and then some.
“You gotta be fuckin' kidding me?” He said, even louder, that didn’t go over well with woman sitting next to him on the other computer, who gave him a dirty look that made him think of Nellie Olson on Little House on the Prairie.
"Sorry."
Bob sat there and stared into the monitor, there she was on the front page of the Times dated April 12,1949.
“Notorious Hollywood Madame’s Day in Court.”
A photo of the thin faced woman, sporting dark glasses, she was dressed in garb that worthy of Barbara Stanwyck in a old film noir.  The photo captured her walking down the steps of the Hall of Justice downtown, next to her was a portly man, who the caption had identified as her attorney Edward J. Packard.
“Whaddaya know, before there was Heidi Fleiss; there was a Willa fuckin' Reese," Bob said to himself, even though it didn't stop him from looking over at the presumed vegetarian lady sitting next to him.

 Bob scratched his head and sat there, carefully reading the old scanned newspapers. He read that they had nabbed her for twelve counts of pandering. What Bob found out next really blew his freaking mind.
“Oh, no, fuckin’ way!” Bob said, way too loud.
“Can you please, control yourself,” said the lady at the other computer.
“I’m really fuckin' sorry... I mean sorry,” Bob said still shaking his head in disbelief of what he just read.
What blew Bob’s mind was; the paper stated that Willa Reese had ran girls out of... and been a part owner of the Townhouse, the very placed that he now tended bar at.
Bob just sat there slack-jawed, looking at the computer screen.  Bob needed the walk back to sort out this strange information in his brain; to try and figure out. Was it a coincidence? How could it be, he thought? What the fuck?  He headed west on Venice Boulevard, it was a warm day, with a slight breeze. Twenty minutes later, he found himself standing outside of the Townhouse. He didn’t immediately walk in; instead he just stood there, looking inside. Bob jumped when his cell phone rang. The sun was too bright to see the read out of who was calling? Bob answered.
“Hello?”
“Where yat?” He thought he heard on the other end.

“Mamma, is that you?” Bob found it hard to hear with the background noise coming from the other end.
“I’m here!”
“Huh? What?”
“I’m at lax,” Mamma Basco called it, not using its initials.
“Lax? You mean, L-A-X?”
“Ain't dat what I said!”
“You’re here? In Los Angeles?”
“Well, ain’t dat where lax is?”
“But how?”
“How do you think sweet child? I was on a plane. I came to help ya out! So come and gets me!”
“What airline?”
“Southwest, the one with them yellow and red planes.”
“Okay Mamma, stay put, I’m on my way!
“I’ll be right here,” she said.
Bob hung up his cell and let out a sigh.
“Shit!"
As Bob crossed Windward, when something whooshed by him, grabbing him by his arm, as it did.
“Hey!”
“Gottcha!” Bob recognized the voice and its accompanying giggle.
Isabel jumped off a skateboard. She had her Venice Beach garb on, a green and pink crochet bikini top and brown khakis . Bob thought; if Karen finds out Harry Potter girl travels by skateboard, he'd just never gonna hear the end of it.
“Where have you been?”
“What do you care?" She said with a hint of attitude.
"Do you miss me?”
Bob wanted to answer her carefully. He always believed that it’s better to say less with such questions. But he often, forgot to follow his own rule.
“Something like that?” he told her.
“You did! Admit it, Bob!”
"I'm glad you're okay."
Bob smiled, and started walking toward Speedway .
“I gotta go get somewhere, pronto… LAX.”
“Since you missed me so much, can I come along with you?”
“Sure,” Bob said, not really exactly knowing why, except maybe she was right?
“And then when get back we can go to your place and have sex.”
Bob didn’t break a stride.
“I don’t think that’s gonna happen”
“Why? Do you still have a woman at your place?”
Bob looked at her and chose not to answer that one.
“I’m in a hurry to pick up an old friend, actually an old woman.”
“How old?”
“Pretty damn old. so if you come with me, you gotta be cool… promise? She enough to handle on her own.”
“Sure.”
“Thank you.”
“Hey, why did you call me a Unicorn the other night?”
“Well because, I think you’re special,” Bob said before he could stop himself.
Isabel stopped walking. Bob stopped and turned around.
“What? You do?”
“Well, you're not Princess Diana or anything like that... ?”
“Hey, you can't take it back!
Isabel threw her skateboard up in the air, then caught it.
"Nobody’s actually ever said that to me before.”
Bob looked at her, he thought she was joking.
“What you? You just scream; I’m special!” Bob said.

“Awe, now I r-e-a-l-l-y want to have sex with you!”
"Not happin'."
Bob started walking again at a faster pace.
“No more talking. We gotta get to the fuckin' airport.”

Linda Ronstadt was belting her way through Tumbling Dice, as Bob drove his gangster mobile up Lincoln Boulevard to the airport. He never took the freeway to LAX, in his book that was strictly a non-native Angeleno move.
As they drove halfway up the hill to Westchester, Bob's mind was still zoned in on what he found on Willa Reese at the library. Isabel picked up that he was mentally out of his body. Then Isabel smiled at him and exposed her right boob. When noticed a woman sitting in the passenger seat of the car besides then looking her way, she quickly covered her boob back up.
Bob cracked a smile and thought to himself; what was it about that passenger seat in his car that made women act like they were on Bourbon Street.
 "I'm really starting to miss New Orleans, remind me to give you some beads for that later," Bob said.
He appreciated Isabel giving him a little break from his brain-lock, and then found himself mentally comparing Isabel's breasts to Karen's. They were booth about a C cup, but Isabel's nipple was pink-ish and a little larger, with freckles; he liked them both.
Bob’s Monte Carlo was stopped at the red light at the entrance of passenger pick-up.
Southwest Airlines was situated at the first terminal on Los Angeles International, and there was no missing Mamma Basco… she was the only old voodoo woman leaning on a baggage cart. She was dressed in a bright red skirt and a teal colored blouse, with a multi-colored scarf on her head.
“See that old black lady over there?”
“Uh..oh, yeah,” she said.
 Jump out and run over there and help her with the baggage cart and I’ll swing over to the curb.”
“You got it!”
Isabel swung the car door open and did a sprint like the Bionic Woman. Bob was amazed at her speed. She was all ready talking to Mamma Basco and pointing at Bob’s car before the light had turned green.
Bob pulled over to the curb jumped out of the car to open the trunk.  Isabel was all ready on it, she had Mamma big green canvas suitcase already pulled halfway out of the cart.
“She’s wild,” Isabel said to Bob.
“Thank you, dear,” said Mamma Basco as she approached the car.
“Hi Momma,” said Bob.
“Don’tcha "hi "Mamma me! Get over here and gives me a hug!”
Bob smiled and hugged the old woman, just as Isabel slammed the car trunk closed.
“You lookin’ good sugar,” said Mamma.
A second later an airport cop blew his whistle and started waving his arms for Bob to move his car.”
“Thanks Mamma, good to see you. I gotta get this car out of her or I’ll get a ticket.”
Mamma leaned over a whispered to Bob.
“She’s a cute little thing,” Mamma Basco said. Bob just looked over at Isabel and smiled. Isabel helped Momma Basco get inside the car, where she sat shotgun. Isabel came around to Bob’s side of the car to get in. He just couldn’t help but to smack her fanny as climbed in the back seat. She sat back and stuck her tongue out at him and smiled at him.
“So, Mamma...?” Bob said as he pulled on to the swirling airport traffic. She looked at him and raised an eyebrow.
“I done figured you be needing me…"
She rested her arms on her big purse.
" I’ve been meaning to come out here again, before they give me dat second line… last time I was here, I went to the Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum. I saw them Rams play those San Francisco 49ers. The Rams whopped they're butts that day... so, now was a good a time as any to get out here? But Bobby, if you wanna to contribute to my trip, I wouldn’t about that complain none.
Bob laughed, “Well, thanks… I’m sure that I can kick in something. I’m sorry, my place is a little messy at the moment.”
“Well, dat’s okay, honey.”
The Monte Carlo stayed on course on Lincoln and crossed Manchester Boulevard.
 I remember seeing Sammy Davis Jr. at the Coconut Grove… anybody good playing there now?”
“Coconut Grove? Sorry Mamma, that place is long gone…. LA ain’t New Orleans, if it’s older than twenty years,they  tear it down… that's how our politicians pay for their campaigns here… mostly from contributions from developers.
Now you tell me where you at with dis here spirit?” Mamma turned to the backseat at Isabel, who looked a bit confused.
“Not her, Mamma. I'll tell you, I found out some shit today that's still got me spinning.”
“Oh, she ain’t the one with dat problem?  I feel so dang silly now! I told her back at the airport that she needed to surprise you with a blow job.”
“She did,” said Isabel from the backseat.
“ I’m so embarrassed now.”
Bob felt himself turning a red, as he heard Isabel laughing with delight from the backseat.
“I’m sorry child,” Mamma Basco said.
“Wait, so what is all this spirit stuff?” Isabel said.
Bob can of worms was now opened.
“That’s on a need to know basis, and you don’t----“
"Hey, that's just wrong!"
Mamma poked he head in the backseat.
“Bobby, is this the girl with the Harry Potter tattoo on her butt?”
Both Isabel’s’ eyes and mouth got real big.
“Bob!! O-h-m-y –G-o-d!”
“Gottcha, we’ll talk about dat later,” Mamma Basco, looked at Bob and then she looked back at Isabel and winked at her.
“You was already been givin’ Bobby some! Naughty girl.”
Again she looked in the back at Isabel, who was turning a bit flush with embarrassment .
“Don’t be embarrassed, if Mamma wasn’t so old… " Mamma Basco motioned her eyes over Bob's way, then gave Isabel a saucy look.
"You know… I’m just sayin," Mamma said, then she cackled with earthy delight. Isabel’s eyes got large again, and she made a face, as if she didn't just hear what Mamma Basco just said. Bob just shook his head in again in embarrassment, he didn't want to see what was going on behind his back... he just hoped he could get through this ride without Mamma showing her breasts.  Bob just kept driving down the hill on Lincoln Boulevard toward Marina Del Rey.
“Redhead… huh, Bobby?… you two are kinda like, Lucy and Ricky Ricardo," Mamma said as she looked through the windshield at the view of the Playa Vista.

CASA de mi PADRE… The Insanity of Will Ferrell Continues… Thank Goodness!

I had this whacked out dream; I was watching a Mexican soap opera and Will Ferrell was in it, and he was speaking perfect Spanish (and only Spanish!) Well, that sounds like dream, but actually it’s a real movie… starring, Will Ferrell speaking only Spanish! CASA di me PADRE, is a comedy, mixed with Sam Peckinpah (no make that Robert Rodriguez El Mariachi style violence) and some Sergio Leone close ups. I must admit, the first time I viewed the trailer for this film, I was laughing at Will Ferrell so much, I didn’t even realize that the whole preview was all in Spanish with sub-titles. I just heard about this movie, less than a week ago… but I knew, that I just had to see it! Nobody today makes me laugh harder than Senor Will Ferrell… the guy just kill’s me. I have fondness for comic actors who can say or do the silliest shit, while playing it totally straight (the late Leslie Nielson could do it like that.) But, I don’t think anyone’s ever pushed the envelope this far and did it in another language like this? Since his old SNL days, Big Will Ferrell has always had that commitment when he becomes a character (no matter how ridiculous the circumstance) that even the waterboarding torture of Dick Cheney and Donald Rumsfeld, I don't think could even break.

In the film, Ferrell plays Armando Alverez the youngest son of rich Mexican rancher played by Pedro Armendariz Jr., who’s not exactly his father’s favorite (the reason is told in a sepia flashback, with Armando as a child. His father ever since he's been hi father's whipping boy and even once gave him away to the circus. Regardless, Armando has a big heart and loves his life as a rancher. But his simple ranching way of life becomes threatened when a drug war makes its way on to his fathers beloved land. To make things worse, one of the drug traffickers is Armando’s own brother, Raul (played by Diego Luna) and who unfortunately for Armando can do no wrong in their father’s eyes.

Pitted against brother Raul, is the stupidly cool, Onza (Gael Garcia Bernal) who's channeling the suave French actor, Alain Delon from the 1970’s, as a white suited drug kingpin who really enjoys smoking two cigarettes’ at once. Onza also has a thing for Raul’s fiancée, Sonia (the seriously caliente, Genesis Rodriguez) who just happens to also be his niece (and the woman, that Armando actually loves) Both Luna and Bernal, became stars ten years ago in the international hit, Y Tu Mama Tambien, really get to do the goofy as these two slick rivals; with the un-slick, Ferrell caught in the middle. I found it funny, how these two smaller sized actors (who seem to be playing parts, ten years older then the actually are) refer to the hulking Ferrell in the story; as “Little Armando.” Like the 70’s iconic hero of past Billy Jack, Ferrell’s Armando, must go on the hero’s journey to become a man... and he does this with the help of a talking animatronic white panther (also called, the Onza.)

Nobody in this film uses a cell phone?

Casa De Mi Padre is a pseudo foreign (it was filmed in Simi Valley, California) and a send up of the telenovela’s and Peckinpah’s, Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia, and to add a dash of authentic Peckinpah-ness, the gravely voice of Kris Kristofferson, gives the audience the heads up that every one's gonna be speaking Spanish in this movie. Plus, it’s a nutty Will Ferrell comedy…and some occasional wild musical numbers... so you’re getting three things for the price of one. You can't say; Will Ferrell doesn't take creative risks!

I joined the Landmark Theater Film Club (it’s free to do) and every once in a while, I’ll read an email they send me… I just happened to read the latest one they sent, announcing an upcoming showing of Casa de mi Padre, featuring a Q & A with the producer & star, Ferrell that was it for me… how could I not? So I went last night (Sunday, March 18th.)

So, let me tell you about the Q & A, while it’s still fresh in my head. The theater was sold out with Ferrell-fanatics. Even the Landmark Theater staff donned burgundy shirts in homage to Ferrell’s famed Anchorman character Ron Burgundy (okay, I’m stretching… but it sounded good.) Ferrell as expected came out to hardy applause, and proceeded to be, Will Ferrell. He did give the audience insight to the production. As well as the tale of his semi-mastering of the Spanish language (Ferrell had three years of high school Spanish, and two semesters at USC.) Farrell also, explained that the major studios passed of this on this movie that was shot in Mexicoscope, and was financed independently. When, Case de Mi Padre was finished, they still couldn’t get a distribution deal with any of the major studios.  He said "they" thought it was a funny picture; but they all took a pass on the films wild concept… no, huevous rancheros. Ferrell said that this picture will have a bigger opening in the Latin market, then here in the U.S..  Part of the fun in the film is it’s purposely meant to look cheap with horrible continuity, bad effects and so on. But some of these silly flaws have a pretty cool surrealness about them. Ferrell said that acting besides, Luna and Bernal was a great experience, and also with the late Armendariz, (who passed away in December) who Ferrell said was like acting with the Mexican Marlon Brando.

Legendary Mexican Actor Pedro Armedariz Jr.'s Final Film.



She's not in the movie... I just put her in here because she Mexican & in a bikini... butt maybe, Casa de mi Padre II?

When the questions were opened up to the audience, one of the best was about the Casa de mi Padre's big passionate love scene, which used a butt double, but for who? I’m not saying, but given Ferrell’s past flair for reckless nude scenes, I’ll just leave it your imagination. Ferrell did joke about telling his wife about the scene (which included giving a woman pleasure doing karate chops on a certain part of the body) “My marriage is on the rocks," he joked. So is Will Ferrell gonna be the next big Latin film star?… well, let's hope so; he’s got the huevous rancheros for it!

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THE TENDER OF SPIRITS / BY RAY RAMOS / PART EIGHT / COPYRIGHT 2012

Bob closed up the Townhouse that night, as he turned the lights out in the almost century old bar. He looked into its quiet blackness that seemed as indistinguishable the shaft of a Pennsylvania coal mine. He listened to hear if any voices wished him a goodnight… but he heard nothing.

It took Bob about fifteen minutes to walk home that night. He thought about the advice Sawtelle had given him, and he was gonna give it a shot. Bob had also found out some information about Isabel. One of her little beach pals came by the bar looking for her. She told Bob that she was on the couch surfing circuit these days. And mentioned the last time she saw Isabel was last night, when she had told her friend that she planned to stay at Bob’s for a while. Bob thought that a little presumptuous, but felt a little bad that he had to turn her out. He found himself kinda worried about the little Unicorn. He hoped that she’d found her self a safe place to lay her head. Then he thought to himself; a pretty girl like Isabel could probably always find a warm place to bed down. But still, Bob worried a bit. Venice was a great place in the sunshine, but there were still people lurking in the shadows ready to snatch the young and innocent one’s when the sun set in the West… even a old local like Bob, needed to watch his back in Dogtown.

When Bob got to his apartment, he found Karen in his bed, she was asleep; the TV was still goings strong with an infomercial about how women can get a butt like a Brazilian. Bob found Brazilian butts interesting and sat down and watched the majority of it. Then he crawled in bed with Karen.

“Be warned, I had a chili cheese dog for dinner tonight,” Bob said to a curled up Karen, as he shut his lids.

A couple hours later, Bob woke up for some reason? And there he was; sitting on the chair that Bob had hours earlier had sat watching the Brazilian butt commercial… it was President Roosevelt. At first, Bob thought he was just dreaming, until Karen kicked him in her sleep. It was him, the third head on Mount Rushmore sitting there staring at him…Bob was speechless, and then the apparition smiled and disappeared. Bob didn’t move or sleep, until Karen woke.

“Morning Bobby,” said Karen.

Bob didn’t say anything.

“Your hurricanes really hit me.”

“I gotta tell you something.”

Karen got a worried look on her face.

“Don’t worry… it’s not about your thing… it's something to do with me.”
Karen sat up.

“Uh, I guess… can you wait until I rinse out my morning breath and pee?”

“Yeah,”

Karen went into the bathroom and came back a few minutes later and got back in bed. She had a naughty looks on her pretty little mug.

“Do you want to tell me your story or would you rather get a hand job?”

“I’d like a hand job, but I really need to tell you this story.”

“Can you tell me the story, while I give you a hand job?”

Karen reached under the covers, but Bob deflected her.

“Boy, must be some story?”

“Karen, remember when you said, that I might think you were nuts?”

“Uh huh.”

“Well, you’ve got nothing on me.”

Bob just looked at her for a minute before he spoke next.

“Last night, I shit you not… Teddy Roosevelt was here... right there.”

Bob pointed over to a chair that was truly not worthy of the ass of a President... especially one as monumental as Roosevelt. Karen didn’t say anything.

“For a moment, he was sitting in that chair last night,"

"Bob, what is it with you and Teddy Roosevelt? Are you sure that you weren’t dreaming?”

“I was hoping that’s what I was doing? Until, you kicked me in your sleep.”

Bob looked over at the alarm clock; it was 6:25 AM.

“There are certain things… that I’ve never shared with anyone? But, I feel that I have to tell someone, and considering certain circumstances, well it might as well be you.”

“Gee thanks.”

“I do have… I don’t know what you might call it? I sense things…things, that were formerly I guess living people.

“Yeah, you told me about that time in New Orleans... ”

“Yeah, but it’s been happening way before that. I just never really knew what to make of it?”

“What, are you like Hailey Joel Whatthefuck in the Sixth Sense? Just how… way before that?”

“Well, let me tell about this time…”

“At band camp,” Karen said.

“Will you shut the fuck up? I’m being serious.”

“Sorry… I was testing to see if you were messing with me?”

“Well, I’m not. So shut up.... maybe, I was wrong to try and share this?
“No! I’m sorry; I’ll shut the fuck up! Promise!”

“You probably don’t remember this, but when I was in 9^th grade, a bunch of us in Government class raised enough money to go to Washington D.C.. Two teachers that went with us Mrs. Farrell and Miss---

“Leoni?” said Karen with wide eyes.

“Yup.”

“You were right about not getting a hand job... I would have stopped right here.

 Karen did a quick jerk of her hand, with a sudden stop.

“We did the whole D.C.: Washington Monument, Lincoln Memorial, everything.”

“The White House?”

“Yeah, I’m getting to that; The White House. We’ll, we do the whole tour bit… … anyway we were walking down a corridor, following the tour guide. And we pass an open door and I stopped and look in the room. And I see a guy standing by a big wooden desk, studying a globe and he’s dressed like just like Teddy Roosevelt… looked just fuckin’ like him.  He stops what he’s doing, and looks at me, then gives me this nod of acknowledgement, then goes back to what he was doing. Miss Leoni see’s that I had fallen behind… so she comes up to get me. But first she looks in the door to see what I was looking at? And I thought she saw, what I did?  But, I didn’t say Miss Leoni, do you see Teddy Roosevelt standing there? So we catch up to the tour. Later, I said to her how cool it was that they had people walking around The White House dressed like the old Presidents… and she said what are you talking about? When I asked her about Teddy Roosevelt, she said she didn’t know what I was talking about? In fact she thought I was kidding. I was freaked out the rest of the trip.

“You’re saying that you’ve been seeing him since you were fourteen?”

“Well, no… I saw him that day, that time at your place, and last night here.”

“Bob, you’re right that’s a crazy fucking story… what is he your guardian angel or something? That’s both awesome and fucking weird?”

“Well, he did come to my rescue at your place.”

“You summonsed him, remember?”

“Yeah, guess you’re right?”

“So, since you’re bearing your soul to me… what’s with you and Miss Leoni?"

Bob let out a sigh and a half.

“What was her first name again?” Karen asked.

“Cheryl.”

“Cheryl Leoni…  Bob, are you in contact with her too? Somethings going on?”

Bob was thinking in his head, if he really wanted to go there.

“You are! Tell me!”

Bob pinched the bridge of his nose and made a face, like he had a bad migraine.

“Yeah, she visits me in my dreams… "

“Often?”

“Often, enough.”

“How long has she been doing that?”

“About twenty,” Bob said.

“Times?”

"Years."

Karen made a strange of noise.

“Now, when you say visit… what do you guys do?

Bob chose to ignore that question.

“Miss Leoni was the first woman that I ever became infatuated … no make that, in love with. The first time I saw her was at a school dance in 8^th grade… she had just started teaching, she walked over to me and just said hello. She was wearing this pink, kinda checkered dress… she looked so young and beautiful , I almost thought she was a student. I swear it was like cupid hit me with a stick of dynamite; She just blew me away. I didn’t have her as a teacher until the following year, but I made sure she knew who I was.
Bob laughed a little.
"I thanked my lucky stars, when I got in her class the following year… "

“Geez Bob, you had it bad for her. Hey, was she visiting you during our honeymoon in Vegas?”

“No, I think you were keeping me pretty busy for those ten days.”

“Twelve.”

Bob nodded.

Yeah… I spent most of my time in her class daydreaming, about how I was going marring Miss Leoni after I graduated. We actually became good friends, I even got a B plus in English that semester. We took that trip to D.C. and all.”

Bob’s thoughts seemed to taper off.

“We even stayed in touch when I went to Venice High. It was two week before senior prom... when she was murdered… raped and murdered… still unsolved. I was in shock during that whole time of graduation… I couldn’t believe such a beautiful soul had been taken away like that… I had never felt so much grief... I thought I'd die of heartache.”  

Bob sat there with his wound open for Karen to see. She reached over and put her arm around him.

“Did you go to her funeral?”

“No, she was from up the Grass Valley area, Northern California. I had no way to get there at the time… When I got my first car, an old Corolla… a year or so later, I made the trip up there… I sat there for hours… talking to her, crying… I didn’t care if anyone saw me. I told her how much I truly loved her, and all the silly plans I had... I stayed there until it got dark and they made me leave. I slept in my car that night… I only had enough money for gas and food…  it wasn’t long after, that she started to visit me. At first I thought they were just dreams, but they felt so real, and they made me fell good… and maybe that’s still all they are… but they help… because, I can’t just pick up the phone and say; Cheryl do you want to have coffee.”

"You're still in love with her, aren't you?" Karen said.

Bob turned away from her, but she took him by the hand, and gingerly led him to the bathroom. Karen turned on the shower and took off her clothes, and then helped Bob remove his T shirt and underwear.They stepped into the steamy shower, and washed each other's familiar bodies in silence.

THE TENDER OF SPIRITS / BY RAY RAMOS / PART SEVEN / COPYRIGHT 2012

Bob opened his eyes only to find Karen laying next to him in bed staring at him. Her head was resting on her hand that was being propped up by her right arm.

“Hey,” Bob said.

“Hey, I hope you don’t mind me crawling in here with you? I woke up last night on the couch and couldn’t go back to sleep… I didn’t want to be alone.”

“No problem. I understand.”

Karen continued to stare at him.

“You’re a nocturnal farter, did you know that?”

“So I’ve been told on occasion.”

“And you also talk in your sleep.”

“Yeah?”

Bob hoped that Karen wouldn’t continue, but she did… of course.

“Yeah, you were talking or saying something about Miss Leoni? You must of been having a dream about Miss Leoni from Junior High?

“You don’t say?”

“Yeah, don't you remember that? She was pretty... wasn’t she killed... murdered?

“Yeah,” Bob said.

Bob rolled over and then sat on the side of the bed, looking out the window at the morning sun.

“I’m gonna go for a run on the beach, get some sea air in my lungs. You wanna come along?”

“I really don’t have anything to wear?”

I’m sure I can find something for you to throw on. Come on, it’ll be good for you.

Bob gave Karen a T shirt and a pair of shorts that were left by a former female guest at Casa Bustamonte. They walked across the Boardwalk from Speedway (it was still hours away from its weekend chaos) and on to the soft sand and soon were at the surf.

“Are we gonna run to the right or left?” Karen asked.

“I guess that depends on which way you’re standing? Let’s run up to Santa Monica Pier.”

The two were about a quarter of a mile in the run when Karen, started to become female.

“So Bob,” she cleared her throat for what almost seemed theatrical reasons, “Do you remember anything about that dream last night?”

“What dream?”

“The one about Miss Leoni? “

“I never remember my dreams,” Bob said.

“Well, you should… you sounded pretty happy… you even had a crazy looking smile on your face… it was quite fascinating.”

“I’m glad that you enjoyed watching me sleep.”

“Sorry, I just couldn’t sleep… watching you kept my mind off my shit. Any idea’s on my problem professor?”

“Not at this very second, I guess your gonna have to stay at my place a little longer and listen to me fart in my sleep.

Karen shut up.and the two continued to run in silence, watching the morning surf.

“Thank you,” Karen said.

“Yeah, sure... what are guy's name Bob for?”

Bob liked that Karen had acknowledged all of his efforts for her… he didn’t ask for much, but a simple thank you… well, that worked for him. It made him feel good. Bob loved the having the beach so close, it was the most spiritual thing he could think of. Right in his own backyard.

“See Karen, this great! Nothing can fuck with you out here!”

Karen felt it. She made a silly face and then out of nowhere Karen did a cartwheel on the wet sand.

“Wow, Karen!” Bob said impressed.

Karen laughed, “All those years of gymnastics paid off.”

When the two finally made it to the pier and they planted themselves on the soft sand. Karen stared at the pier, then looked at Bob.

“Bob, did we run to the pier on purpose?”

“What do you mean?”

“Because of that scary picture?”

Funny, Bob hadn’t even thought of that.

“No, not at all. It was just a destination to run to that's all... this is our territory now, baby, not Willa Reese's. Come on, let’s go down to Dog on a Stick and get a lemonade."

 At the last minute, Bob had to go into work and cover a shift that afternoon, which was fine with Bob; it gave him time to think… some times he did his best thinking while he was tending bar. Bob, left Karen at his place, with a full pitcher of the concoction he called Hurricane Hernandez’s; he figured they’d either keep her mellow or knock her out.
The afternoon crowd was unusually light for a Sunday. Bob was doing his usual bar duties, but all the while he was thinking about Willa Reese… and what the fuck her problem was? Then Bob suddenly saw an out of place silhouette cast by the bright sunlight by the front entrance. The figure cruised in as cool as Siberian Snow Leopard, then sat down at the bar. Bob though it takes a seriously, stylish cat to walk around Venice in the middle of the afternoon (or anytime for that matter?) in a sports coat and a raincoat, which looked like it was right out of a 1960's European spy flick. But that was Simon Sawtelle, if you were in the know? He was Venice’s go to private investigator… or so it was said? Simon sat at the far side of the bar in the shadows.

“I’ll have a Knob Creek on the rocks,” Simon said.

Bob took care of him right away.

“Would you like to start a tab?”

“Thanks, not sure yet?” Simon put a twenty on the bar, which Bob scooped up.

“Funny, seeing you here in the afternoon.”

Simon was more of a night customer. He was rarely seen in the Townhouse before 10pm. And he usually ended up taking a little “birdie” home with him. Like Bob, he had a local place somewhere in walking distance from the bar.

“I’ve had a trying twenty-four hours… this place seemed liked the perfect place to try and forget about it for a few minutes.

Bob wanted to tell the P.I. that he could relate, but didn’t.

A drunken sunburned Lout walked past Simon on the way to the men’s room, and just had to say something to him.

“Dude! You’re at the beach! What’s with the fucken’ clothes?”

Simon ignored the Lout, and picked up his glass of bourbon and ice and made it twirl, like a washing machine when it cycles. He studied it carefully, like a chemist; before he even took one sip.

He was still doing this, when the Lout passed by again…. only now, he sat on the bar stool next to Simon. Bob was just about to say something…

“I like it when the bourbon and the ice coagulate perfectly.”

Simon finally took a drink of his drink. Then her turned to the Lout.

“Tell you what my friend, I'll get you're next beer or whatever you’re drinking? If you pretend I’m invisible.”

The Lout at first didn’t know what to make of the offer… but then smiled.

“Hell yeah! That works! Bartender, I’ll have another Bud,” the Lout pointed to the other end of the bar and proceeded to walk down to wait for his free beer.

As Simon was starting to push the money he had sitting at the bar Bob’s way, Bob waved him off.

“Don’t worry, I got this.”

Thanks,” Simon said with a shrug just as the opening cords to Brown Sugar came on the jukebox. Bob came back to Simon's end of the bar.

“It can be a real bitch looking for someone who doesn’t want to be found… got any peanuts back there?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bob produced a small bowl of peanuts from behind the bar.

Simon was caught off guard by Bob's random question, but played along.

“Let me ask you, how would you find out about someone long gone?”

“How long gone?” Simon asked.

“Like long, dead gone… 1940’s?”

“Local person?”

“Yeah.”
Bob was glad that he didn't question him deeper.

“You can go down to the Hall of Records downtown… do you just want general shit or what?

“I'm not sure what I’m looking for to tell you the truth?”
Simon gave a little laugh and looked down at his glass.

“I say that to myself everyday?”

“You should make a stop at the library? You can do a search from there to the Times archives… punch in the name of whoever you’re interested and see what it pulls up? Then who knows where that'll lead you?”

“Thanks, I’ll do that… let me get you another Knob Creek.”

Simon looked over and saw the Lout waving to him from the other end of the bar.

“What part of invisible didn’t that asshole understand?” Simon said to himself under his breathe, as he jiggled thie ice in his glass, before taking another sip of bourbon.

THE TENDER OF SPIRITS / BY RAY RAMOS / PART SIX / COPYRIGHT 2012

“I want you to just relax and breathe… just clear your head,” Bob said. He took a shot of Jack Daniels himself, just to take the edge off… he didn’t feel like thinking about the events of the day… so he wondered how Karen must be feeling? He was impressed with the character and grit that she had shown. He knew Karen had spunk, but she really proved that she was tough, and most important that she had something that you can’t fake; she had faith... the problem was, she was puting it all with him. Bob knew that so far, that he’d been had by this spirit ... this former Santa Monica Pier patron, named Willa Reese. He took a deep breath and then slowly let it out, as he concentrated on what he did best… and that was make a terrific cocktail. Karen was not witness to this magic, as she just lay there with a cold compress over her eyes.

Before him, Bob had all the makings for a French Quarter staple the hurricane: light rum, dark rum, amaretto, pineapple juice, grenadine, Maraschino Cherries, and so on. He thought it would be the perfect drink to mix, because of his history with The Big Easy and also because of Karen’s old tongue and cheek nickname… He was gonna put a little personal spin on it… he was gonna invent something special: a Hurricane Hernandez, just for her. Bob’s ipod was on shuffle, Bing Crosby had just finished crooning about Irving Berlin’s Blue Sky’s, when Louie Armstrong and his horn proceed to do a number on Hoagy Carmichael’s Star Dust. Bob was getting lost in the notes of Satchmo’s trumpet, when he heard a little knock. Bob stopped what he was doing and walked over to the door. The little knock came again and when he opened the door, he almost shit himself.

It was the unicorn; Isabel. She stood there in the moonlight, dressed simply in a purple paisley blouse, white cotton genie-looking drawstring pants (that were pretty much see through) and tan leather sandals… together with her red hair and emerald green eyes, she reminded him of something delicious, just plucked from the garden.

“Surprise!” Isabel said with pure glee in her voice.

Bob knew he had to be cool, but the sheer mental exhaustion of the day left him a bit out of step from his usual quick glib wit.
“Yes… yes it is,” were the words that came out of Bob’s mouth. He really wanted to be happy to see her, but timing was everything… and bad timing, was just painful… like a kick in the nuts. Bob nonchalantly blocked the door to his apartment with his body, so she wouldn't just glide past him.

“We don’t have to do it tonight…” Karen laughed. “Oops, that sounded funny,” she laughed.… I brought the Harry Potter box set, all eight movies!”

“Really… they made eight of those things?”

Isabel didn’t notice at first, that Bob was speaking in a quite overall tone.

She smiled as one of her delicate hands palmed the center Bob’s chest.

 “I thought we could watch them together sometime?”

Bob smiled, that would be great, but uh, can we do it another time?”

Isabel retracted her hand.

“Well, I can leave them here?”

“Sure, I wish that I could invite you in… but I’m just not up to it tonight… I’m sorry, I hope you understand.”

Isabel started to get the message that something was up.

“Oh, sure… well, do you want to hold on to these… or not?”

Bob reached for the HP box set.

“Yeah, I’ll hold on to them; that’s cool?”

“Sorry that I surprised you… maybe that wasn’t such a good idea?”

“It was a great idea, on any other night... but tonight.”

Bob started to walk Isabel away from the door and hopefully out of Karen's earshot range.

“Look, I got something goin’ on right now… kinda hard to explain in fact… come by the bar next week; you gotta couple free drinks coming to you remember?”

“Yeah, sure… ” Isabel said… she kinda sounded like a little girl who just found her pet gold fish floating at the top of its bowl..

As she walked away, Bob could see her Goblet of Fire tattoo through her thin white pants. He called out to her.

“Isabel!

“She looked up, Bob was smiling at her.

“You’re a unicorn!”

She didn’t understand… but she smiled back and continued to walk down the stairs.

Bob walked back into his apartment; he was expecting Karen to be standing there ready to give him grief over Harry Potter girl. But when Bob came back he found that Karen was down for the night. He put the Harry Potter box set out of sight, and then went over to check on her. He removed the damp compress. Bob then inspected the red marks that were still faintly visible on her face, he softly touched her cheek, he felt the air coming from her nose on the back of his hand. For a moment he sat there and just watched her. He prayed that her sleep was peaceful; he was going to need her sharp, for whatever action they were going to do next?

 Then Bob’s thoughts then turned to Isabel, and how he might have really enjoyed sitting on the couch watching the adventures of this guy, Harry Potter with her… and finally Bob thought of the other one…the girl of his dreams.

She stood over Bob, as he slumbered on the beach in the warm sun.
“I knew, I’d find you here Bobby,” a serene voice said. Bob opened his eyes and smiled… the happiness he felt hearing her voice, warmed him more than the sun ever could.

“I feel asleep waiting for you. I was worried that you wouldn’t come”

“It is me, who always has to wait for you. Here, look what I brought for you.”

A pair of long slender legs knelt down on the sand next to him. An elegant hand, slowly put the most plump and juicy, red strawberry up to Bob’s lips.

“Take a bite.”

Bob did, and a burst of brilliant red strawberry juice ran all down his chin. Miss Leoni laughed.

“You’re a messy boy,” she giggled, and then licked the juice off him. Bob laughed, “That tickles,” he said. Miss Leoni fell on top of him and the two playfully wrestled in the sand. Bob was having fun, as parts of Miss Leoni’s bright bikini kept falling off in one place or another. Miss Leoni finally managed to jump up and she made a run to the water; the sound of her playful laughter was like a sirens song to Bob's ears. He followed her, and he caught her around the waist. And like a boomerang in the wet sand, he spun her around and then kissed her... and she kissed him. Bob had never felt such pure joy, as when he was with her.

“Don’t you ever get tired of kissing me, Bobby?” She asked.

“Never ever,” Bob said. “I’ve always wanted to kiss you, Miss Leoni … and I would only stop kissing you,  only to tell you how much I love you.”

Miss Leoni smiled and looked deep into Bob’s eyes.

“I know Bobby, it’s your love for me that bring me to you… you’re the only one who remembers me now… as long as you exist, I do.”

Bob stared at her, he felt a tear on his cheek. He slowly put his hand up to Miss Leoni’s face... there was no other that he loved more.
"Remember Bobby; to sleep... perchance to dream." She said to him.
He nodded, then proceeded to explore and study the angles and shapes of her divine face, as if it was a priceless work of art. When his hand got to her lips, he traced them with is index finger, until her got the center of them. Miss Leoni opened her mouth and invited his finger inside; she then closed her eyes. Bob watched in silence as she sensually began to suck; like it was the most delectable piece of hard candy… the two stood there alone on the empty beach; and made their own heaven.

Clint Walker arm wrestles Peter Graves

THE TENDER OF SPIRITS / BY RAY RAMOS / PART FIVE / COPYRIGHT 2012

“Shouldn’t you have a cross or something?” Karen said.

“I’m not an exorcist, I’m a bartender.”

Bob then lit up the sage with his cigar and walked around the apartment blowing smoke as he went, Karen followed behind him closely, and she repeated every Catholic prayer that came out of Bob mouth, and when Bob finished all of them, Karen even started singing the 70’s tune Spirit in the Sky. Even when Karen forgot certain lyrics of the song, she'd hum and hurry to the part about "you got a friend in Jesus."

“Clever thinking, Hurricane,” said Bob impressed.

“Norman Greenbaum, one of my tribe,” said Karen with pride.

Bob made sure that he was getting the corners of the room.

“They like to hide there,” Bob said to Karen.

As Bob continued to sage away and soon, it was a smoke filled.

“Do you think it’s working,” Karen said? “We’ll see? I’m sure; it’s a good time though to slap on a pair of panties and some pants.”

Karen hurried in her smoky room and grabbed some clothes and quickly put them on.

Bob stood there and looked around the room. He didn’t mention to Karen, but he usually was able to feel when there was a presence… but this one was sneaky … so far he’s had a hard time getting a read on it… and that really bugged him.

“Okay, now do you remember buying anything old and creepy recently?”

Karen stood there with one hand on her hip, looking around the apartment, scanning for whatever it was or possibly might be?”

“Most of the stuff I remember buying are clothes… I’d don’t think I have a haunted cute blouse or a funky possessed hat?”

“Well, it’s gotta be something? Uh, creepy thong perhaps?”
"What? Like it would creep up my ass?"
"Well, that is the point of those... I guess? What else?"

“Okay, this started about three weeks ago…what yard sale was it?”

“How many yard sales do you hit?”

“Enough.. it’s one of my things.”

“Whatever you ever you can think of, just put it in a pile, and we’ll go from there.

Karen had been searching her apartment for an hour, when Bob cell phone rang.

It’s Mamma Basco,” Bob said answering his cell.

“Hi Mamma, your timing is perfecto.”

“Not really,” Karen said as Bob told her to shush!

Mamma Basco was back sitting at the counter at the Déjà Vu Bar and Restaurant drinking another Abita beer.

“What you find out about En Vogue, Bobby? Ah huh? Okay, you don’t forget now, here. You okay, baby? Did you do what Mamma said to do?”

Bob was looking at the pile of stuff that Karen had piled on her bed.

“Yeah, I saged the shit out of the place, but we had a little trouble before I got to it. It scratched a warning on Karen’s ass… Mamma that’s not funny….”

“She thinks it’s funny?!”

“Shush! It was a warning, it looks like big G O… Yeah, she’s okay… I think?”

Karen just turned and looked at Bob really annoyed, then continued looking.

“She’s actually pretty tough Mamma... you might like her?”

“I bet this is it!” Karen hurried over to Bob; she was holding an orange -ish colored frame, it looked kinda plastic… but not. It had an ornate flower design to it.

Bob took it and gave it a look over. A photo of Karen’s father was placed inside.

“Mamma could an old frame be possessed?”

Bob listened to Mamma on the other end.

“Karen where did you pick this up at?”

“I wanna say I grabbed that at a yard sale in East Hollywood, Los Feliz area, a couple months back. I actually forgot about it until a few weeks ago, when I cleaned it up and put my dad’s picture in it.”

Bob studied the picture of her dad; he wasn’t an attractive man he thought.

“You look like him.”

Bob’s remark confused Karen… she wondered what he meant by that?

Bob relayed what Karen said back to Mamma, and then listened to what she was telling him on the other end.

“Was there a picture in the frame when you bought it?”

“Actually there was… a creepy looking woman… ah shit… what did I do with it?”

Bob was already taking apart the frame to see if it was underneath Karen’s dad photo.

“Damn,” Bob said. There was no old picture, Mamma heard him.

 “Oh, damn,” Mamma Basco said all the way from New Orleans. “I hope she didn’t throw dat ol’ picture out?”

“Karen, where’s the picture that was in the frame?”

Karen was moving around her bedroom frantically.

“I don’t know off hand? I put it with some papers… they were around here somewhere? Shit!”

Bob was watching Karen and trying to talk to Mamma Basco at the same time.

“If she done threw dat picture away, you might have a whole other ball of wax to deal with Bobby. You sure you don’t want fly me out dare and help you all… Always wanted to see dat Pat Sajak, ” said Mamma Basco from 1,650 miles away.

“Bob, I think I might have thrown it out with some papers a few days a go… they should still be down in the dumpster,” Karen said.

“Mamma, call you back in a few. We gotta go dumpster diving,” Bob said hanging up.

Bob and Karen soon made their way down to the back carport, where the two apartment dumpsters resided.

“It’s in this one,” Karen said pointing to the one on the right.

“Are you sure?” Bob said as he heaved back the heavy black plastic dumpster lid.

“Yeah, I always put my stuff in that one… habit

 A rank smell permeated the area.

“Pew,” Bob said. Karen pushed Bob aside.

“I’ll go in. I’ll recognize my trash bag.”

Bob was surprised how agile Karen was, as she climbed into the dumpster, “It looks like you’re an old hand at this?” Not bad for a thirty-five or so year old chick, he thought.

“Ha, ha, very funny… Pilatus,” Karen said as she went over the side and disappeared in the darkness.”

As Bob listen to Karen root around in the dumpster, he saw the headlights of a car driving in. He was trying to figure out how to look nonchalant, standing by the open apartment trash dumpster. A blue with Ford Neon pulled in the only open spot, right next to the dumpster. A twenty- something Latino man stepped out of the car, his eyes watching Bob cautiously. He looked like, as his grandma used to say that he was from the old country a.k.a. Mexico… … but, truth be told he could have been from El Salvador or Ecuador… or anywhere?  The fact was, it didn’t matter where he was from; the fact was, where he was standing right now... just a couple feet away from Bob and the dumpster.

“Ola! How ya doin tonight?” Bob said.

Bob’s Spanish was spotty at best… he was a product of his times, even though he was of Mexican decent, he never picked it up as a kid… he just knew the cuss words.

Before the Latino man could acknowledge Bob, he jumped when he heard Karen moving around in the dumpster.

“It’s smells like shit in here! Gross!”

The Latino man looked over at Bob, whose hand was now resting on the corner of the dumpster, like he was kinda leaning on the corner of a fireplace, the only this missing from his pose was a pipe. Bob gave the man slight smile.

“We kinda threw something out by accident… do you know Karen, in apartment fourteen?”

Before the man could even think of responding, the dumpster lid slammed down hard! I just missed getting Bob’s four fingers. He and the Latino man jumped back. Bob immediately knew this was bad. Inside the dumpster Karen started screaming and cussing like a banshee. She sounded like she was fighting something; hard! You could hear everything in it being shoved around the metal container. Bob fought to open the lid, but it seemed to be locked down tight. The Latino man rushed over to lend Bob a hand. Bob finally managed to pry his fingers under the lid, and between him and the Latino man they were able to open dumpster lid. Inside, they both saw two sets of eyes… Karen’s and some others… that were reddish in color. Then Karen jumped out of the dumpster as if she was set afire, she practically jumped in Bob’s arms.

 The Latino man’s eyes got buggy when he saw her; she had looked like she’d been back sparring again with Rhonda Wallace.

Then Karen let out a loud primal scream… just too clear hear lungs and vent her frustration and anger. Bob saw a few people peering out of their apartment windows.

“What the fuck happened? It fucking followed me!” Karen said crying.
Bob was wondering the same fucking thing? He thought the sage was gonna be a sure thing. Bob was giving Karen a quick naked eye examination; she had some redness on her face... like slap marks... he chose not to mention it to her then.

Bob looked at Karen and then the Latino man… who didn’t know what the fuck was going on? Bob was trying to comfort Karen, but also felt he needed to give the Latino man some sort of explanation.

“La llorona,” Bob said, pointing in the dumpster. It seemed like the easiest way to describe what they were dealing with. Not taking a chance whether or not she was the actual scary ghostly Weeping Woman of Latin folklore. The Latino man made a sign of the cross and backed away in the direction of the apartment building… “Gracias,” Bob said, he was still trying to do his best to comfort Karen, who was still pretty shakin' up and going on adrenaline.

“Don’t ask me if I’m okay… okay?” Karen handed Bob a white plastic bag of papers.

“Tell your Mamma Tabasco, the sage was a bust!

Then Karen just collapsed in Bob’s arms and broke down crying.

“I’m never gonna get rid of this thing am I, Bob?”

“Karen, you did great in that dumpster, I heard you kickin’ some ass! You took that thing on without any help…” He did not dare mention the other set of eyes that he saw in the dumpster with her.

“I was praying for Teddy Roosevelt… he didn’t come,” she said weeping.

“I’m so proud of you.” Bob said as he gently gave Karen butterfly kisses on her forehead.

“We gotta get out of here; you screamed pretty loud… someone might have called the cops?”

 Karen was wiping the tears from her eyes.

“Who’s got the better ass, me or Harry Potter girl?”

Bob stopped the gentle butterfly kisses.

“Well, hers is… and yours is…”

Bob was trying to demonstrate with his hands, but wasn’t doing a good job of it.

“Oh, shut up, Bob… you just had to blow the moment,” she said.

“They both have there merits, Karen. We’re getting off track here; let’s just find the damn picture.”
Bob grabbed Karen by the hand and was trying to lead her away.

“Should we even bother? This thing is just… I don’t know?”

“Never give up kid, you know that?”

“This, coming from the man who walked away from our marriage.”

“I hope you’re joking? You are joking Karen?”

“Maybe? I don’t know? I’m feeling very vulnerable at the moment,” Karen said flopping her arms up and down.

“I know that move.”

“What move?”

“The arms thing.”

Bob proceeded demonstrate for her, he looked like a spastic penguin. Karen was trying not to laugh.

“I saw it often during our twelve days as Mr. and Mrs..  it’s a cute move, I liked seeing it again after all these years,” Bob said.

The two sat in Bob’s car and looked through the bag of papers, until Karen found the old yellowing photo. “EEW!”  She handed over for to Bob to see, he stared at the image frozen in time of a very stern looking lady in a black hat.

“She kinda reminds me of; remember Miss Hathaway from the Beverly Hillbillies… remember her?” Bob said he started to hand Karen back the photo.

“I don’t want it! You hold on to it,” Karen said.

Bob flipped it over and examined it again; he noticed some faint writing on the back.

“What does this say? Miss Willa Reese… Santa Monica Pier 1948. Wow, we have a picture and we have a name.”

“I don’t want know her name, Bob! I just want her out of my fucking apartment!” Karen said.

“Karen... I’m just trying to help you… remember baby? Let's go back to my apartment and I'll make you a cocktail that'll make you chill.”
Bob was serious, even started to think about what kinda alcohol he had at it place, to make good on his word.
"What if "it" follows us to your place," Karen said.
"Well, Willa Reese is just gonna have to make her own damn fucking drink," Bob said with a wink and a smile.