Chapter 4
Half a mile down the road, Ruth came upon a weather-beaten building with La Honda Grocery painted on a chipped sign hanging out front and pieces of broken down rusted motorcycles and car engines scattered on the patch of grass to the side. Its owner eyed the disheveled looking girl suspiciously as with suitcase at her side, Ruth thumbed through the telephone directory, her slender finger sliding down the M's when she suddenly raised her head and frowned. In the eleven years since her sister had left home, mysteriously disappearing overnight, she might have married or moved. Her forehead smoothed again as she found her sister's name DONNA MONSON, but that composure faded quickly as she realized she hadn't a dime to drop into the hungry telephone.
Timidly, Ruth asked the grey haired store keeper for directions to her sister's house. "Donna Monson, huh?" the stern-faced woman asked, looking askance at the pretty blonde girl on the other side of the counter who nodded meekly, almost apologetically. "Hmmmph ... just what this town needs ... another little slut to tear up this town." Ruth gulped, and stared incredulously up into the woman's unfriendly face. "Might as well give you directions, if you're bent for hell, you'll find it fast enough." Ruth didn't know how to answer that statement that echoed of her father's negativity, so she stood politely while the woman drew a map on the tattered corner of Ruth's train ticket.
Mumbling her appreciation, the blonde haired preacher's daughter walked out of the creaking floored store and into the brilliant late afternoon sunshine, puzzled by the store keeper disgruntling attitude. Was all of California like this? she wondered, tromping down the road, suitcase in hand, squinting against the blinding sun and trying to forget about the ache of exhaustion that weakened her from the tension taut sinews in her swan-like neck down to her tiny toes. Her stomach retched with hunger and the glass of water from the fountain in the train depot wasn't enough to satiate her cotton-mouthed thirst. Oh, for a good meal and a soft bed, thought the hopeful preacher's daughter coming upon the fork in the road which on the map signalled as the last turn to Donna's Way Side.
When Ruth raised her hand to shield her eyes, she refused to believe what she saw. The Way Side was a dingy, rundown two-story clapboard building with a restaurant below and what looked like living quarters above it. Walking further on, the dampness of the shrouding Redwood trees cooled her perspiration beaded forehead and Ruth set down her suitcase to study the moss-covered wood-shingled roof that dipped down to meet disconnected eaves troughs and dust covered windows, most of which were cracked or replaced by corrugated cardboard. It was a depressing sight, compared to the primeval beauty surrounding its little sphere of squalidness.
Stepping over bits of broken beer bottles and discarded snap tops from beer cans, Ruth stared open-mouthed at the rusted coca-cola cooler on the sagging porch, next to which lay a fat tomcat on a tattered mattress with its stuffing bursting out. The orange cat opened one marbly eye as if to inquire about Ruth's presence, then stretched languidly and passively buried its nose in its furry belly. Except for the buzz of a dragon fly, there was silence.
Facing her fate, Ruth struggled with her suitcase, staggering up to the front steps, looking at an enormous Harley Davidson motorcycle which was parked in the yard ... the only usable thing on the junk covered grounds. It looked even larger and more dangerously criminal with nobody on it.
The weight of the suitcase dragged on Ruth's aching shoulder as she stared fixedly at a chipped beer sign, pondering how to approach a sister she hadn't seen for ten years. What if Donna her little sister tagging along in her new life? In those seconds Ruth tried to piece together the sketchy details of Donna's mysterious disappearance, recalling one night when Donna and the Reverend were at each other's throats worse than usual, and the young impressionable Ruth hovered in a corner, listening to her father's heavy belt crack across her sister's backside. Next morning Donna was gone and inquiries brought no results. "Donna's gone," the Reverend had said staring at the wall. "God sent her away." That was that...
The butterflies in her stomach took off in a stampede as she set her bag down on the groaning front porch and, watching a slimey yellow banana slug inch its way up the moss covered eaves trough, Ruth placed one tiny hand on the bullet riddled door and eased it open to peak inside at the damp, musty smelling interior.
Everything inside, from the cracked jukebox and the three legged pin ball machine propped up on a bark skinned pole, appeared beaten and tattered, showing signs of decay and a shameful disregard for cleanliness. The Reverend definitely would not have approved!
Ruth's amber eyes traversed the unpainted room and she wrinkled up her pretty nose and cringed. Above the broken jukebox hung a mounted moose head with a pair of ripped pantyhose dangling victoriously from one proud antler. To the right of that, above the bar piled high with beer mugs, was life-sized painting of a naked woman with her legs spread wide to show off an exaggerated pink vagina that was three times the size of the hand that fingered it. On the other battered walls hung calendars from two-penny nails showing off naked women in every conceivable pose.
This place isn't fit for people, judged Ruth, wondering if the place was condemned and Donna had moved elsewhere.
Those suspicions were quickly waylaid by a man's howling laughter echoing from inside ... followed by the softer giggle of a woman. "Ohhh... Lash, don't..." and more tittering. Then bellowed: "Who's theref"
"M-Me!" answered Ruth feebly, her lower lip trembling a little in self-pity as her ears thundered with the loud booted footsteps thumping across the creaking floor boards inside . .. coming closer, closer until the door banged open, nearly flying off its rusted hinges.
He was absolutely the meanest, crudest looking person she had ever seen, and Ruth was prepared to swear after one terrifying glance that this man was a killer... somebody who tortured little kittens for the fun of it and tore wings off of helpless butterflies. Ruth's frightened amber eyes travelled from the tips of his black dusty boots up the long legs of his filthy levis, passing quickly over the fist- sized bulge of his crotch, up to the sweaty dampness of his grease-stained T-shirt where black bearish chest hair spiralled out from the neckline ... up to the beady eyes that glowered down at. her as though she were an ant to be stepped on.
Ruth gulped dryly, cowered, and managed a lopsided grin.
"What the hell do you want?" he grunted, grinding his lower jaw, his massively calloused hands resting impatiently on his hips.
"I-I'm Ruth Monson," she stammered in a little girl voice ignoring his hand that shot down to his crotch to readjust his well developed equipment. "And ... I've ... I've come to see my sister."
Without moving a muscle, the biker turned his head slowly toward the dingy interior of the cafe and snarled. "Hey, Donna, get your ass out here!" Ruth shrank inside, feeling the burly man's eyes raking over her bosom, and she lifted her hand to her breasts as if that would protect them from his leering gaze, while listening to the softer footsteps pounding toward the porch.
Donna Monson was buttoning up her blouse as she came to the door. "Well, I'll be damned. Ruth ... ? What the hell you doin' in California?"
For a second Ruth couldn't speak as she made a cursory appraisal of her older sister. Donna hadn't aged, really; she still wore her blonde hair long like Ruth's, only with more curl. Evidentally Donna had worked hard to preserve her figure because at twenty-nine she was no more than an inch or two bigger around the waist and hips, although she was smaller in the breasts. Well-tanned and healthy looking, her appearance was spoiled only by a little wrinkle of hardness around the eyes and the corners of her mouth, telling the story of a woman who had lived a hard life and known many hard men in her time.
"I-I hope I won't be any trouble."
Donna followed her sister's gaze down to the suitcase sitting at Ruth's sandaled feet.
Ruth didn't know what to say next. Her sister stepped down off the doorstep apparently equally unsure of herself, and offered her hand, a gesture which Ruth found a little absurd with her own sister; but an exchange of hugs seemed equally uncalled for considering the ten years of separation. Everything else in California seemed unfriendly, why not her sister?
"Come on in, we'll talk later. And, oh, this is Lash." Ruth dutifully shook hands with Lash while her sister picked up her suitcase and led the way into the ramshackle cafe where in the center hung a single naked lightbulb from a string, and in which small tables were scattered in no predetermined order. Most of the chairs, noticed Ruth, were missing rungs or were splintered. She pulled one out to sit down, and sneezed from the dust. Donna went to. the bar and filled three glasses with foamy beer.
"So Donna's got a baby sister, huh?" guffawed Lash irritatingly. Ruth suspected that her sister was a little embarrassed about being the daughter of a minister-considering her rowdy friend-so Ruth decided to say nothing about their father. There sounded a large thud and Lash rose from his chair and walked around the newly arrived girl as if she were a motorcycle he was considering buying.
"Good looking cunt," he commented. "Got bigger tits than you, honey!"
"Never mind her tits!" snapped Donna shortly, but apparently not particularly shocked at this vulgar reference. "It'll be nice having a lady around here. I think she's come to stay. Is that right, Ruth?" she asked, setting a beer down for each one of them.
Ruth nodded her head.
"Well, that's rosy. They guys are gonna cum in their pants when they get a load of this chick!" His grimy, stubby fingers gripped the mug handle and he lifted it to his mouth, pouring down the beer in one gulp. Then he belched, scraped back his chair and headed out the door. The last Ruth heard of Lash that day was his Harley Davidson screeching down the road.
Once he was gone, Donna seemed more relaxed ... and more of a sister. "Okay, tell me why you're here." She took a long sip of her beer, her blue eyes staring over the rim at her little sister who toyed with her glass, finally taking a tentative sip.
Ruth bit her lip, embarrassment etched on her face. "He ... kicked me out."
"Old bastard's up to his old tricks, huh? Sonofabitch turned me out on the streets when I was nineteen years old... had a scholarship for college and everything." Bitterness and anger edged her voice.
Years of curiosity welled up into one question. "Why?" asked Ruth.
Sardonically, Donna threw back her head and laughed. "Because I caught him in the choir loft screwing Mildred Bates half to death, that's why! Christ, he took a whip to my backside ... then I came here."
That's when Ruth quit listening. Daddy making love to Mildred Bates? Even in her misery, she let out a little giggle, then chugged the rest of the beer, listening half-heartedly to her sister.
"Listen, Ruthie ... I suppose you're wondering about Lash. Well, he's one of the Angels and they take good care of me. While back we had some troubles with a rival gang com in' up from LA and breaking the place up. Angels made sure everything was cool... you know." She shrugged her shoulders and scraped back her chair, then lifted her bare feet to rest on the table top. "They're nice guys, really, but they get a little rowdy now and then." Donna wagged a finger at her younger sister. "But let me warn you. Don't ever refuse them anything, or they can get mighty nasty, hear?"
Dumbly, Ruth nodded her head, her mind back on the earlier conversation about her father and Mildred Bates. The hypocrite! The dirty rotten hypocrite! The effects of that news combined with the wooziness of a two-day empty stomach plotted against her and she suddenly felt weak.
Donna laid a comforting hand on her sister's arm. "Honey, you got a roof over your head and a place to sleep as long as. you don't cause any trouble." Suddenly, she swung her feet off the table and squinted hard into her sister's watery eyes. "But so help me God, if you mess things up between me and the Angels, out the door you go ... right back to Papa!"
Ruth tore her eyes away from their blank stare at the wall, wondering if there was anything sacred in this crumby world. "I-I'll be good," she promised.