WILDWOOD - CHAPTERS 3&4
Mike Strom
by Mike Strom
(chapters 3&4)
copyright 1991
all rights reserved
published by Skylight Communications
Port Hadlock, WA
~3~
From the vinyl and chrome barstool at the center of
the bar, I stared into a carnival atmosphere of
surrealistic images, grotesque figures, pigs, and horses
dancing... a scene out of a madman's nightmare. No, it
wasn't too many red ports. It was an oil painting hanging
behind the bar of Cappy's Tavern, a sleazy downtown tav-
ern on the main drag. Cappy's, a wino and derelict bar,
was long and dark. Scattered peanut shells littered the
floor. A line of fake marble tables stretched parallel to
the bar. A neon covered window blinked blue and red next
to the grill. The blonde, twentyish barmaid slopped a Bud
down on the dark mahogany bar. She leaned over and wiped
up the residue with a bar rag and gave me a lipstick
smile, while exposing an amplitude of feminine charm.
"Be a buck twenty-five," she said.
"Price on everything keeps going up," I said and
tossed a twenty on the bar.
"Not everything," she laughed, showing perfect white
teeth.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You figure it out," again she laughed, then went to
serve the derelicts at the end of the bar.
Breaking my eyes from her swinging ass I returned to
the painting. It was bizarre. I took a hit of the brew
and liked the painting better. It fit the atmosphere. I
was thinking about upgrading to red port when the door
opened and this big dude walked in and looked around. He
caught my eye then strode down the bar and claimed the
barstool next to me and ordered a Miller. I looked him
over. Tall, he looked to be six-foot-five, with a gray
streaked black beard and long black hair swept back in a
pompadour. I figured him to be about 40.
"You new in town?" he asked, looking straight ahead.
"Yeah, just got discharged from the Navy."
"You like that painting?"
"It's far out. I like it. It's not the standard crap
you find in these little seaside towns... sea gulls and
lighthouses and shit like that."
"Thanks. It's one of my best."
"You think so, eh?"
"Yeah, and it's for sale... fifty bucks."
"Cheap."
"You think so? You interested in buying it?"
"Come on! I don't even know you."
"Well, we can fix that. I'm Rex Magus and I'm an
artist," he said, looking me in the eyes and offering his
hand.
"How about I buy a pitcher instead?" I said, shaking
his hand.
"Excellent! We start negotiations."
Rex and I drank half-a-dozen brewskis before I broke
down and wrote him a check for fifty bucks. The painting,
the joint and the atmosphere spelled art to me. You go
with how you feel and I felt good. I checked down the
bar... a couple of long hairs were talking to some old-
time wino's. Not a yuppie in the joint... a change from
San Diego. Rex suggested we take a table. Sure. Halfway
through the second pitcher this knockout redhead walked
up and set her black snakeskin purse on the table.
"I was wondering where you were," she said to Rex.
"Really? That musta taken a hell of a lot of detective
work. Grab a glass and sit down. Have a beer. I sold a
painting."
"I'll get my own glass."
"Help yourself."
"I will."
She walked over to the bar swinging her hips in a way
that nailed my concentration. I hadn't been in town a few
hours and things were picking up.
"You like that, eh?" Rex said. "That's Tanya... my old
lady."
"Doesn't look that old to me."
"You got eyes. Leave it at that."
Tanya returned and sat in the chair between us. She
smiled at me with ruby lips as I poured her a beer.
"Tanya, let me introduce you to Derek Wildwood.
Derek... Tanya Borchette," he indicated with a nod then
continued." Derek is an art collector and, if I can talk
him into it... my agent."
Okay, I was stunned. Agent? Tanya? Okay, Tanya first.
"Nice to meet you, Tanya. About being an agent,
though... come on. I just got out of the Navy two days
ago."
"Don't worry about it," Rex laughed. "We'll make a
million."
"Rex is always looking for someone to sell his art
work. It's good work, but selling art's tough," Tanya
said, green eyes sparkling.
"I don't want him to sell it in Astoria. I want to
send Derek to Portland, San Francisco, Los Angeles... the
artistic capitals. I will be recognized as a great
artist. It is my destiny."
"Destiny is we gotta get the money together for rent.
That's fate. Fifty bucks helps... I gotta give you that."
"Thanks, But this money's already spent."
"We'll talk about that later."
"Sure... later," Rex smiled broadly, showing strong
tobacco-stained teeth.
Rex hammered the check and bought another pitcher.
Tanya refilled my glass... ivory skin.
"Look, why don't you come over to our place for a
glass of wine? I'd like to show you some more of my work.
I think we can work a deal. I've got a dozen paintings at
home," Rex said.
"Can't hurt to look," I said.
"Never does," Tanya commented, dryly.
We finished the pitcher and I followed them onto the
street. Rex's drove a red Mustang convertible. Rex and
Tanya hopped inside the Mustang and I followed then down
the waterfront and up the hill to their pad. Art is a
strange.
~4~
At Rex's pad things got stranger. The agent project
took a left turn amid the potted plants, Persian rugs,
antique furniture, and surrealistic oil paintings of
Rex's studio. Tanya offered a chair in the living room
and a glass of wine. I accepted both. Rex sat opposite me
in a wicker rocker smoking unfiltered cigarettes and
sipping burgundy. I toyed with my glass of wine,
nervously. I was feeling good, but there was a tension in
the air. Something was happening and it made me edgy.
"Now, let's get down to business, I need an agent,"
Rex said, eyes glistening.
"Don't we all."
"No, we all don't. I do. You see, people won't
understand about my past."
"What about your past?"
"I just got out of six years in the slammer."
"Oh, what for?"
"Armed robbery. You know..." he held his hand like a
poised pistol. "Give me your money or I blow your head
off... that kind of thing."
"Oh, I see."
"I'm through with that now. But, people will never
understand."
"Really?"
"They won't!"
"Sure! Don't take it personal."
"It's very personal."
"I can see that."
"Good. I see you understand, not everyone does. You
can help me sell my work. I sold it before. Down in LA. I
was in galleries. I had money, but things went wrong. I
don't want to talk about it."
"You've done your time. You deserve a second chance."
"I agree. But most people don't see it that way. Once
you're a con it's all over. I have to sell my paintings.
You understand?"
"Yeah, I understand. Maybe, I'll give it a try. What
the hell?"
"You're doing us a big favor," Tanya said. "Thanks."
"Tanya stay out of this! I'm giving the paintings
away. He should be thanking us." Rex spit out.
"Hey don't get in a fight on my account. This is
business... strictly business."
"Yes, business. Tanya, open another bottle of wine."
Tanya held up a bottle of Bordeaux '83 and asked,
"This one do?"
"Yes, that would be fine," Rex said.
Things were moving fast. The worst thing that could
happen was that Rex's painting wouldn't sell. Rex's bad
reputation was a plus. It added to his romantic appeal.
Tanya refilled my wine glass as Rex leaned a half-dozen
paintings against the wall. Forcing myself to ignore
Tanya I checked out the paintings. They were of prison,
bar scenes, grotesque characters agonizing... alcohol and
drug induced... crazed, but vibrant. I slammed the
Bordeaux. It was flat with a taste of the earthy French
lowlands. Tanya filled my glass again.
"You can buy any of these for fifty dollars each." Rex
said, resuming his seat.
"Fifty?"
"I'm giving them away! Don't argue with me. I hate
negotiating. I'm an artist, not a businessman."
"Relax... I might be interested. Tell me about the
paintings."
Rex smiled, then slumped back in his rocker. He
indicated one of the paintings with a sweep of his arm,
"The one on the left there... that's Johnny Mingo. I knew
him in prison. He's doing life for killing a man during a
burglary. He had the bad luck of getting caught trying to
escape. Silent alarm you know. They're bastards."
"Interesting characterization," I said, examining the
painting of a weasel-faced character staring out at me,
in prison dungarees.
"Yeah, Johnny was quite a character. Spent his days
planning spectacular escapes, but he had no nerve. Never
tried to break out, even though he was a second-story
man."
"Seems like killing a man would take nerve."
"Seems like... but Johnny had no nerve, believe me.
Imagination, that's all. The second painting there, I
call it Carnival of the Mind. It shows how I feel, the
anger, the frustration... the agony!"
Agony? Sounded like hype to me. I didn't mind hype. I
bought Carnival of the Mind and four other paintings. As
I handed Rex the check Tanya refilled my glass of
Bordeaux. An auburn tip of her hair touched my forearm
and I looked up and saw a spark in her eye. Rex slipped
the check in his wallet, then leaned back and examined
his wine in the afternoon light that slanting through the
window behind his chair.
My eyes were drawn out the window where the Columbia
River rippled past a green and orange Japanese log ship
anchored at the edge of the channel. The ship hung on a
rust-dripping chain that kicked up a swirl in the ebb. A
double ended wooden gillnet boat drifted by with the boat
puller pulling net. The scene was too perfect, too much
like I'd dreamed. Something had to be wrong, perfection
was impossible. Rex sighted down his wineglass across the
varnished coffee-table.
"To art," Rex said, moving his wineglass towards me.
"Art!" I rejoined, clinking my glass to his.
"To art," Tanya joined in raising her glass in salute.
"Art," Rex said reclining, "art is my life. I live for
it. The paintings you bought, you know, you got dirt
cheap. But you will sell them and I will paint more. I
don't like to deal with the public. They never understand
the artist."
"You don't think so?"
"No! People will never understand me... Never!"
I was intrigued by the picture before me, a man at
ease and in comfort attended by a beautiful mistress.
Misunderstood? I didn't think so.
"Is it your past?" I asked.
"Of course, it's my past, you fool! Can't you see
that I am not like other people? I don't... Listen to me.
I don't want to bring my past into this."
"If you insist. But, we could use your past as a
marketing tool. You've led a romantic life... burglary,
armed robber, prison."
"I said," he looked at me, calculating, angry, "my
past has nothing to do with it! Do you understand?
Nothing! You sell the paintings, I paint them. It is a
simple as that. I want nothing to do with the public."
"Come on... art is art. The world is full of fine
painters. Marketing is the key."
"The key?" he asked, cocking his head curiously.
He looked at me long, his blue eyes wild with light,
as he ran his hand through his salt and pepper beard.
Reaching forward he picked up a pack of cigarettes from
the table, tapped the pack twice against the glass, then
offered me one. I declined. Rex popped the cigarette in
his mouth, then flashed his lighter expertly. He took a
long drag and settled back in his chair. His eyes locked
on mine.
"Yes, the key," I explained. "Look, genius is genius.
Nothing more. The world is full of creative people. The
critical factor is marketing, putting your genius in
front of the public."
"I am genius!" Rex proclaimed.
"Come on. You're good, there's no doubt about that.
But, the world is full of creative people, and most of
them are not rich. Look at it realistically."
"Realistically? Sure, I'll look at it realistically.
Realistically, I've tired of this conversation. Why don't
you and Tanya go out and have a drink?" he said,
punctuating one smoke ring with another.
"What?" I asked, glancing at Tanya.
"Yeah... You and Tanya. Why don't you two go out and
have a drink somewhere and just leave me alone?"
Tanya curved her sensuous body against the bedroom
door jamb. Soft corduroy pants accented her form. She
watched us, sidelong. I wasn't sure what was going on. I
wondered if Rex and Tanya were trying to deal me into
some sort of sophisticated game. After all, I was fresh
meat in town. I drained my wine glass then said, "Only if
she wants to."
Rex exploded from his chair, "Take her, dammit! Take
her! Go out! Have some drinks together! Have a good time.
Enjoy yourselves. She wants to. You want to. Why don't
the two of you get out of here, and leave me alone?!"
Rex stalked past Tanya, throwing bead curtains awry.
"He gets like this sometimes. It's better you leave.
He'll talk about marketing the paintings later." Tanya
said, walking towards me.
"Take her! I said take her!" Rex crimsoned, slashing
the beads apart with his hands. "Can't you people
understand what I'm talking about? You're just like all
the other fools in the world."
Rex released the beads and disappeared. Tanya sat
down in Rex's rocking chair and looked at me. She toyed
with the spear shaped leaves of a tall tropical plant by
the window. I looked at her loveliness. Tanya was great,
but being Rex's old lady put her off limits.
"Really, you'd better go. It's no good when he acts
like this. He gets impatient with people and has to be
alone sometimes. It goes back to his time in jail. Prison
had a great effect on him. He can't talk about it. Words
aren't enough." Tanya said.
I looked at her thinking. What was happening? Who was
Rex? Who was Tanya? I really didn't know... and didn't
know if I wanted to.
"Would you like to go out and have a drink?" I asked.
"No. But, thank you. Maybe some other time."
"Yes... some other time."
Tanya rose and led me through the kitchen to the lace
curtained door. Outside, the rain was swirling around the
lamp posts. She opened the door and I stepped outside.
She followed me onto the porch and closed the door. The
setting sun silhouetted a big fir tree with a pale orange
luminescent glow on the western horizon. Tanya fingertips
touched mine.
"Good-bye."
Later, that night, I laid in bed smoking a cigarette,
watching blue smoke angle towards the ceiling listening
to the rain fall... wondering.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mike Strom, born in Astoria Oregon in 1948, lives in the
backwoods of Port Townsend in an old fiber glass shop he's
converted into an art studio where he hawks paintings and stories,
living the life of the Bohemian artist...
Strom work shows a strong sense of the street. He's a man who's working addresses have spanned the world, The Bowery & Canal Street =
in New York, Mill Valley and Sausolito in the days when the No Name Bar was the place to be. A member of the Regal Knights of the Ga=
lapagos, Strom has been a Royal Iguana since the inception of the club sometime in the late '70s or early 80's, he can't
remember the date, exactly... but that's the way he is... off the wall.
MIKE STROM'S WORKS
PUBLISHED BY NORTH COAST PUBLISHING.
WILDWOOD: Action adventure in the Pacific Northwest... lust, passion and revenge amid the artistic set-$15.00
WILDWOOD: the screenplay -$15.00
REFLEX ACTION: a screenplay of power, money, and beautiful women-now making the rounds in Hollywood-$15.00
SHORT SHRIFT: Four short stories! The River, Cougar, Damion and the Nymph, and This Ain't Broadway-$5.00
*********************************************************
To Order send check or money order to 193 West Kinkaid, Port
Hadlock, WA 98339
*********************************************************
SOON TO BE RELEASED
BOHO LIVING: Northwest street living in the seventies
communes... awakening artistic dreams... and lost souls searching
for an answer... any answer.