Gus's Party Clothes

GUS’S PARTY CLOTHES              by Gil Harris

“Looks like a great day. Fog has blown away. Sky is blue. I’ll do a few things around here until lunch time, hit the food truck downtown for some tacos, then come back and meditate. Need to recharge my brain after last night’s partying. Then an afternoon for body surfing at the Main Beach.” Gus told himself after sleeping in and standing on the porch at 10:00 on a Saturday morning. Last night had been a late one. He and his friends had caroused at their favorite dive bar in Huntington Beach to catch the Paul Butterfield Blues Band performing on their annual west-coast tour.

Gus began by cleaning yesterday’s dishes that had accumulated in the sink. Then he swept the floor of the efficiency apartment over the garage he rented from Nancy who lived in the ranch house on the property. She was a pretty cool landlady, didn’t mind when Gus turned up the tunes, as long as he quieted down after nine o’clock. Gus respected that her seventy some year body needed its beauty sleep, as she called it. Gus figured she had missed a lot of sleep in years past. Her wrinkled, prune face spoke of too many days in the sun, consequences of beach town living for the past umpteen years. Her unkempt grey hair reflected her don’t give a damn attitude about most anything else. Her only care was that her garden bloomed in the spring and the hippies living over her garage behaved themselves, for the most part.

“Couple of fish tacos with extra guacamole.”

Rafael picked up a tortilla and ladled a hefty spoonful of the spicy avocado spread into it. “The usual, huh” he said. “Rice and black beans on the side? That was also part of the usual.

“Perfect” Gus replied.

He ate his lunch at the picnic table next to the truck that was positioned beneath the trees next to Waterfront Park. Back at home, Gus stretched, put a John Coltrane record on the changer, gulped a glass of tap water and sat on the  pillow in his usual meditation spot.

Meanwhile, on the sidewalk in front of Mystic Arts, the local head shop, alternative book store and general hang-out of the counter-culture crowd, Chip and Crazy Horse were talking to a couple of girls who had driven in from the suburbs to spend a day in Laguna Beach, hoping to locate a party after escaping from the hum drum work life they tolerated five days a week.

“Afternoon, ladies” Chip said as Marla and Lisa walked by. “What brings you to our lovely paradise?”

“Just a little fun in the sun” Marla replied. “What’s happening around here today?”

Kevin and Jerry the Boxer had just shown up and joined them.

“We’re heading to our friend’s place for a little partying. Wanna come?”

“What kind of party?” Lisa asked.

“Gonna pick up bottle of red wine, smoke a few joints and listen to the new Howlin’ Wolf album” Chip declared. “Gus just bought it yesterday. Say’s it’s the most radical blues disc he’s heard in a long time. Can’t wait to hear it.”

“What’s Top of the World? Lisa asked. She wasn’t familiar with the Laguna scene as this was her first trip. Marla had been a weekend hippie before and had bragged about some of the parties she’d found herself at.

“So, you wanna come?” Chip repeated.

“Sure” Marla said. “We came here to party.

“Who’s got wheels? Crazy Horse asked. “It’s a long way to the Top.”

The Top, to the locals, is Top of the World, a steep hill full of houses on postage stamp size lots, some bohemian, some more upscale. Some downright mansions. The Pacific sends its waves to the shore. The beach ends at the Pacific Coast Highway. The road to the Top climbs and climbs until at the Top you can see the ocean to the west and the valley of farmland to the east. Gus’s place was at the very top, across the street from the fire station.

“Lisa’s VW can fit four” Marla said.

“Four, hell” Kevin said. ‘You can fit an army in a Beetle.”

“Well, OK, then” Lisa said. “Let’s go. Car’s around the corner, Hope I didn’t get a ticket.”

The steep climb, the weight of the sardine canned occupants, and the many curves kept the VW in first gear most of the way to Gus’s place. The Bug pulled up and parked by the fire station. Through the open cottage window, the Coltrane sounds serenaded them as they walked toward the door. The crickets stopped chirping as the throng came up the walk.

Chip opened the unlocked door. The aroma of sandalwood incense wafted out. A guy was sitting in the middle of the floor. Eyes closed. Legs crossed. Naked. Bare naked.

“Hey Gus” Jerry the Boxes said, holding the gallon jug of red wine in front of him.

Eyes opened. Face smiled. Gus unashamedly stood up. As the group came through the door, Lisa’s eyes widened with surprise. “What did Marla get me into” she thought.

Gus took the jug from Jerry.  “Looks like a party. Entres vous.”

He sat, still naked, on a chair by the table that was really an old door covered with a tapestry. There was a tea pot and a candle on the table, along with a couple of books, the Tao Te Ching and Timothy Leary’s newest. Posters and drawings were on the walls. The floor was bare wood, mostly empty except for the pillow Gus had been sitting on. Lisa tried not to stare. Marla tried to act like nothing out of the ordinary was going on. Actually, nothing out of the ordinary was going on.

People sat, some on the few chairs in the room, others on the floor. The gallon of red was passed. A match flared and a joint followed. Gus held court, expounding on chakras and yoga and Kerouac. And Timothy Leary’s new book.

“Put on that Howlin’ Wolf album, Chip said..

Gus took the album out of the sleeve and put it on the changer, then sat back down.

Lisa was sitting on the chair next to Gus, still trying to act like everything was cool. Still wondering what the hell Marla had gotten her into. Her eyes gave away the fact that nakedness is not the typical suburban party affair she was used to. After the bottle and joint make a couple of rounds, though, the apprehension began to dissolve. Everything had become normal. At least normal by Laguna standards.

“Angel Mike’s coming by with some more people in a while” Crazy Horse mentioned.

“Guess I’d better put my party clothes on, then” Gus said. He stood and reached for his Levis, pulled them on, took a toke and sat back down.

After the party had subsided, everyone piled into Lisa’s VW. The drive back down from the Top was much quicker. After dropping everyone off at Mystic Arts, she drove back to Gus’s place at Top of the World. The VW left the next morning

Gus slept in again Sunday morning. No plans were made for the day as those he had made the day before had been supplanted by the proverbial shit that seems to happen more often than not. Gus was used to this type of happening. “Its Laguna” he told himself.