Friday, July 12, 2013



Hot July on the Russian River. Bathers and Bohemians. Encampment. We posed as hookers as Bohos slaked their thirst on our side of the river. Northwoods Lodge: FBI agents, Bohos and us. Only there were no cameras. Maybe stealth ones.

Rose refreshed her lipstick in the mirror, looked me in the eye, said: I don't know if you gals are working tonight, but there's a bust going down. Tonight. Was I undercover, or under the covers?

Poet Karla Anderdatter was talking to the river on the Monte Rio Bridge. That's where we bonded. Beauty queen-activist Mary Moore rallied us. Things got ugly at the protest. I was clubbed on the back as I outran the law, camera in hand. Snap!

Did we cross the river? We went skinny-dipping, and the Bohos came to us to slake their thirst. The famous optometrist returning from Russia. Nothing wrong with his eyes. Leering at our flesh, he fed us the news.

Simone got her story on Helmut Kohl. I hardly knew who he was. I took photos. No need for words. Judy Bari also wrote for The Paper (Now The North Bay Bohemian). Newspapers and Bohemians. Full circle! These wild wolf women. Somewhere I have the negatives. Somewhere.

While we angled for more stories at the oasis, someone said sneak into the Grove? So I dropped my cover and we blew the joint. A US Olympic swimmer, he broke a world record for the backstroke. He also could've been lying. Somewhere I have notes. Somewhere. He took me in after midnight. Not much to see in the dark. A large parking lot. Lights in the distance. Maybe atomic ghosts. We howled at the moon.

Not much else to tell, so I took him home. He was sleek as a seal. We did the backstroke and the butterfly and the breaststroke. Dropped him off at the gates at dawn. Was I sleeping with the enemy? All that water under the bridge. Tide coming in. Moon falling into the arms of the sea.



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