Do You Hope to Pluck This Dusky Jewel?
Part 1: Hashish, Harness Racing, and "The Chinaman": High Times in 1975
Part 2: Raisin' Hell, Chasin' Skirt, and Closin' Bars: High Times in 1975 Continued...
As soon as we entered Georgia, Kenny pulled over, and I got behind the wheel of the Gran Torino. Kenny sat shotgun, and Moose got into the backseat next to the Styrofoam cooler, which by then only contained a half-dozen cans of beer swishing around in some not-so-cool water. I was careful to drive the speed limit, which was 55. I'd heard that Georgia cops weren't exactly fond of northerners, and with Massachusetts plates in plain view, we were definitely easy prey for any redneck cops wanting to meet their quotas.
Despite that, we continued drinking and smoking our way through Georgia, and Moose passed out in the back seat just an hour in. Kenny and I held a conversation, which was good because otherwise, my focus may have waivered, and who knows what might've happened. It only takes a few seconds to wander out of your lane, and once the trailer starts swinging it can be hard to straighten out. I could feel the weight of Moose's 750 Norton Commando and my 500 lbs. of iron in the U-Haul, which served as a constant reminder to go easy…
When we were getting close, Kenny helped me navigate the last few miles until we pulled into the circular driveway in front of his parents' small single-story home. His parents were happy to see him. After he took everything of his out of the U-Haul, we shook hands, and he wished Moose and me a safe journey to Miami.
The Florida Turnpike is flat, straight, and monotonous, and I was doing everything I could to remain focused on the road. My lone traveling companion was curled up, sound asleep next to me.
I couldn't help but think about what Dennis said before we left Massachusetts, "Listen, Vinnie, Moose is my best friend, but I don't trust him, and you shouldn't either. Watch yourself-"
I glanced over at Moose, who appeared harmless, at least while he slept next to me in the front seat of the Gran Torino.
Moose suddenly woke up several hours later and looked confused. We were getting close to Miami and my parents' condo on Biscayne Boulevard. Before we left Massachusetts, my mother told me to park out front in the guest parking lot when we arrived, and that my father would take us to his factory in Hialeah later so we could push the stolen U-Haul into his warehouse, where it would be out of sight.
When my parents sold their house in Massachusetts and moved to Miami, I was 19. Despite not wanting to make the move south with them, and the condo in Miami not feeling anything like home, it was strangely comforting to be there. Maybe it was the long ride, or the beer, or the pot, or my own insecurity…
My mother made Moose and me a home-cooked meal the next day, which we devoured like castaways. I didn't know it then, but that would be the last time I'd have my mother's stuffed veal brisket and chocolate mousse pie, two of my favorites growing up.
That weekend, my parents were going on a short trip, and along with the use of my father's car, Moose and I had the condo to ourselves for a few days.
Then Moose got a call from his former girlfriend, Cindy, who was landing in Miami International and needed a place to stay over the weekend. Moose asked me if Cindy and her friend Mary could stay at the condo. I reluctantly said yes.
Moose's nickname for Cindy was "The Drift" because she was a free spirit who never stayed in one place for very long. Her current boyfriend, Butch, was getting released from a Florida prison the following week, and we'd get to meet him Monday afternoon when he picked up the girls…
When Moose was getting ready to head to the airport, I told him to go himself, that I wanted to stay in the condo and relax a bit. I handed him the keys to my father's car.
I was a little uneasy about having Moose's ex and her friend, two girls I didn't know, stay at my parents' condo. I went looking for some booze, and I found half a bottle of Drambuie. There was a time when my buddy Mick and I drank Rusty Nails, so I already had an affinity for Drambuie, and drinking it straight up out of a shot glass was fine by me.
I sat at a small round white Formica table in the eat-in kitchen and started doing shots. Drinking alone isn't normal, even for me, as fucked up as I was at that time, and I felt a little weird doing it, but I was stressed thinking about the difficult position Moose put me in.
Moose was gone a while, and by the time he called me from the airport to say he had the girls and was heading back to the condo, I had downed 14 shots, and I was starting to feel it. I always had a high tolerance for any type of alcohol. I could drink most people under the table. Sadly, it was less about bravado and more about self-medicating.
After I told him I had 14 shots down, he said when he got back, he was gonna catch up, and I said, "Then you better stop and pick up another bottle and some beer because by the time you get here, there will be nothing left…"
A little over an hour later, Moose was back with the girls and the booze. They weren't carrying much luggage, just one small suitcase each and their leather pocketbooks—one of them was fringed. But the smell of cheap perfume was in the air, and it was a wonderful smell…
Cindy was about five foot three with medium-length strawberry blonde hair, a lightly freckled face, a round ass, and huge tits. I mean, she had a nice smile and big round blue eyes, but her massive bust dominated her appearance. She was very confident, a bit boisterous, and needed to be the center of attention. That's what having an outstanding rack can do to a girl. She was not shy…
Mary was very different but intriguing nonetheless. She was five foot six, thin with long legs and long, dirty blonde hair. She was not the least bit busty, but what she had looked very good on her. She was a typical hippy chick of the early '70s, the kind of girl who could pull off wearing flowers in her hair. Her facial features were sharp, her eyes were narrow, and she was more guarded than Cindy.
Where Cindy was loud, demanding, and in your face, Mary was quiet with a soft voice and an understated smile, and I was immediately drawn to her…
She holds her head so high
Like a statue in the sky
Her arms are wicked, and her legs are long
When she moves my brain screams out this song
Sidewalk crouches at her feet
Like a dog that begs for something sweet
Do you hope to make her see you fool?
Do you hope to pluck this dusky jewel?
To be continued…