Jenny
Savior, messiah, maybe just good Samaritan, Jenny Cossey. This is only the first Jenny in this tale that serves in this capacity. I couldn't, wouldn't, rather not stay another night in the hostel but I would have to if it were not for the benevolence of Jenny. She's my good friend Jay's ex-girlfriend ala the last chapter. Kind of far removed for such a display of kindness.I arrive at her house at 129 Clayton Street for a dinner that will determine my immediate future. Jenny lives alone but has invited some friends over for this evening meal inspection. She has agreed to let me stay in her flat for one week if we get along. I know its more whether or not she feels safe with me. Jenny is beautiful and richly smart. She has invited her friend Erin over and she arrives right after me. We need courgettes for the pasta that Ms. Cossey is preparing. Erin and myself, that's myself that is, go down the hill to the Haight Street to the community grocer for the courgettes. She is a tall beautiful affable soul and she sets my mind at ease. Not that she's trying to set me at ease, neither do I think I show signs of needing to be coddled. Her demeanor however makes me feel reinvigorated in that I've taken such a bold and foolish leap of faith. The night is enveloping the world.
Erin tells me that, "This city's great, it either opens itself up to you or spits you out."
I wonder what will be my fate.
The dinner goes swimmingly and we play some board games afterward, Balderdash or something of the like. Jenny tells me that I can stay for one week. I am overwhelmed, I thank her and ask if its okay if I just stay the night and collect my things from the hostel in the morrow. She says that's cool and my way seems paved.
In the next few days, there in the comfort and hospitality of Ms. Cossey, reality sets in and seems to weigh down on me like a medieval torture. "Add another stone," say the fates, "he will give up soon." Searching on the internet for jobs to work and rooms to rent. Walking the streets of this new town, my new home. The fog and the cold. The park and the beach. High up on Haight. Lot's of time alone. I don't really even know anyone 'cept for Jenny and her dog.
A little desperation sets in. I had imagined I could at least secure a room to rent within a weeks time. It dawns on me though that I don't have a job or any verifiable source of income. This minor detail might make me a less attractive candidate for a possible roommate. Bad equation to workout too late.
There are, I find, hordes of young people trying to secure new diggs in this city of change and of transience and of possibility and all right there before the fall. I am invited to an open house. Some nouveau riche yippies have completely refurbished an already great flat. Saltillo tile and mauve textured walls, some marble splashes her and there and an updated fireplace, luscious. The event is like a party with a lot of candidates and losers. Not conventional losers, only losers by the fact that the room up for grabs is only one. One storage-esque space right off the kitchen. A room that is an afterthought really, no tile no marble no mauve, only white. Bare wood walls and barely enough room to lay down diagonally. The selling point, roof-top access, oh and extremely posh, proper, oh and beautiful, roommates. Three roommates all fabulous. And the winner's room was indeed once the pantry. All for the low low price of 750 a month. American dollars. But that is the state of Babylon at this time.
Do you want to stay here or not? Look at all the other candidates politic - ing. You better get busy if you want to stay here in Babylon boy. And then the desperation changes its modus from a slow weight to a sudden crash.
I leave the "open house" dejected. Tough life this one. I return to an empty flat that's not my own with a six pack of Anchor Porter. I watch TV, I drink the beer, I fall asleep, alone, far from home.
<< Home