Part 4

(Continued from Part 3)

 Forget that, Arnie says. That's years off. You gotta pay your dues first like I'm doin'. This city is a ball-breaker. I know what you're goin' through, and he slaps me on the back and laughs. We photographers gotta stick together, right? Hey, why don't you move outta that fleabag motel and into my place. It's a big old house and there's an empty room that's been sittin' there for months. The landlady digs me and I'll bet she'll give ya the room for free till you find your own place. She loves artists, 'specially photographers. Hey, don't thank me, man. We photographers gotta stick together. Our mugs clink and Arnie's heap follows mine down Sunset to The Stardust. I ask him to wait outside so he won't see how cruddy my room is and be tormented by the smell of mildew and by the cockroach that has no respect for people's toothbrushes.

The old wooden rooming house is atop a hill, looking dark and foreboding against a fiery twilight of streaked clouds. All I can think of is the Bates Motel in Psycho and I'm wondering what I've gotten myself into. It's fabulous, isn't it? Arnie says leading the way along a winding cobblestone path. The front door creaks open slowly and we enter the dim musty foyer. I'm half-expecting a deranged Anthony Perkins to fly out of the shadows, and apparently Arnie senses my apprehension. Beggars can't be choosy, Frank. Damn, the landlady isn't in. Take the empty room in the meantime. Sure it's okay. I told ya, she loves artists. Hey, where are your bags? Better bring 'em in if somebody hasn't ripped 'em off already. You gotta be more careful, man. This isn't San Diego.

When I return, Arnie sees my portfolio tucked under my arm and takes a look. I know its not up to LA standards but Arnie mutters, Not bad. The beauty shots are hot. A strange intensity comes to his shadowy face and he goes over to the door and shuts it and I'm wondering if he's going to rob me. Of what I don't know. He starts the staring again, and says, I see you like the tomatoes. Personally I prefer an occasional banana. Hey, man, don't freak. This your first time with a guy? Okay, okay, I'm going. Take it easy.

I slam the door shut and wonder how many photo assistants he's lured over with the promise of work. Maybe that's just part of life in the big city, like audacious cockroaches. I'm pacing the room feeling violated and stupid for being taken in. When I discover there's no bed I grab a blanket, roll myself into a cocoon, and start to drift off. Suddenly the door explodes open and standing in the doorway like a human Rock of Gibraltar is a massive woman with flabby arms folded tight. Who the hell are you?! A pair of mangy cats are doing figure eights around her swollen ankles. You're goddamn right I'm the landlady! No, I didn't talk to Arnie. I haven't seen that fool in days and I like it that way. No doubt he's out drinkin' and pissin' away my rent. You're lucky I didn't plug you, and from under an ample arm she pulls out a 45. Of course you scared me. What was I to think comin' home to a complete stranger. You could be a rapist, an axe-murderer, a pervert molester. You're what?! Oh, Lordy! Worse! Another goddam photographer! That means you don't have one cent to your name, right? I want you outta here this minute. No, you can't stay till morning. Out!

(to be continued every Tuesday)