Crazy

"Let's not talk about politics."

I cried, "You're a Bush supporter!" It was too bad -- he was kind of cute. And, he paid $5,000 a month in rent for a house in Beverly Hills, which had a 180 degree view of something or other. He had also read Nietzche. (I found that out in the first minute or two...and again in the second and third.)

"No, it's not that."

"Then what is it?"

He looked at me as if judging my sobriety level. I either passed or failed; he asked, "Do you know who was in charge of the Bay of Pigs? Bush Senior."

"Oh really? I knew he was in charge of the CIA during Ford. That was supposed to be a political dead-end job for him."

He looked like he was trying to raise one eyebrow, but couldn't. "Do you remember how Nixon lost the presidency to Kennedy?"

"No." I was rather offended, as I was younger than him. "But I know he did. Because of his five o'clock shadow."

He smiled and shook his head sadly, although I'm not sure it was in disagreement.

"Bush was working for Nixon. When he was supposed to be working for Kennedy."

"Oh my god. You think Bush killed Kennedy!"

He looked around furtively, as if he were a celebrity wanting to retain his anonymity. "And everyone else."

"Martin Luther King?"

He nodded. "And Bobby. Everyone."

Then it became a has-been guessing game, as I came up with alcoholic, dead celebrities: "The Doors guy?"

"Yes. They killed Jim Morrison."

"That woman who drank a lot?"

"Janis Joplin? Yes. And Jimi Hendrix. Bush's father dealt opium. He got them all hooked. But, I don't like talking about this. Let's talk about something else." He seemed a bit embarrassed about his theory, as if it were a gauche relative he'd like to disown. "Did I tell you I just moved to Beverly Hills?"

"Yeah, you mentioned it. I have a friend who lives in Beverly Hills. Around Wilshire and La Cienega."

He didn't quite sneer. "I live in the hills. I can see Jack Nicholson's house from my window."

"Does that improve the view?"

He looked confused. I explained, "If I had to look at Jack Nicholson everyday, I'd want my rent lowered."

My friend, K, was talking to his bald friend, who had originally seemed the crazy one...just because he was bald and wearing a sweat suit. But, in a whispered aside, she assured me he was normal. She asked me, "So what do you think about B., huh? He's kind of cute."

"He's fine. Except for being insane."

When B. went to the bathroom, I asked the bald friend: "Who do you think killed Kennedy?"

He sighed. "Look, I just know him from elementary school. But, he really does live in Beverly Hills."

Anyway, I still danced with B. But, when he and his friend invited us to another bar, K and I said no. And, after a while, we headed for my car. We were laughing about something or other when a man jumped out at us from some parked cars, crying, "What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing."

He stared at us in an insane fashion. We started speed-walking. K said, "Union Cattle!" and we turned right. He followed. We started running, and he ran. We got into the bar just in front of him.

"Sorry, we're closed."

The crazy guy was standing right next to K. I whispered to the manager guy, "He just chased us in here."

They then did a shoulder butting, stare-down thing. Eventually, the crazy guy left, and the manager walked us to my car.

All in all, I prefer the first kind of crazy.

Female hostage

From Drawings