Friday, April 6, 2007


The Wound in the Sphinx

I can be reached by my e-mail at:
elisha.moor@gmail.com
Perhaps I tend to overstate the obvious

Aside from having my shoes lovingly inspected and caressed both inside and out by the extremely portly security matron at SFO departure, my flight had been uneventful. It being a very bright and early Good Friday, my brief 1 hour and 20 minute scheduled 'express' arrived on time. And what a most wonderfully named destination: 'LAX'! I shuddered to imagine the meaning buried within the acronym.

My first impression was one of incessant 'hype', this being after a land where the auto has become 'God' and the manufacture of dreams an entire industry. The latter obviously a most important commodity in an imagination starved world. As for the first? Well.

After retrieving my few modest pieces of baggage and awaiting personal transport to arrive, I decided to move to the outer world so as to take a deeper breath of the local ambient 'nox'. Eventually I found myself standing within a region of pavement whose circumference had been carefully marked off by bright 'yellow' zebra stripes and the word, 'PEDESTRIAN ZONE' imprinted boldly across its extent. I organized my few pieces of luggage as best I could within its boundaries in hopes of decreasing the likelihood that they would be either confiscated by the uniformed security teams, or stolen by the more indigenous inhabitants.

Then quite unexpectedly a fellow who had also been standing next to me was immediately struck down before my very eyes by a bright yellow and black rental car shuttle bus. The unfortunate man had obviously explored just a bit too far outside the 'PEDESTRIAN ZONE' and suffered the consequences. He survived it well enough and attempted to straighten his eye glasses and dust himself off. In relative terms I imagined his being waylaid was more a gentle reminder by the moving bus than an actual vehicle assault. Almost polite in the mobile universe that is Los Angeles. I took notice of the world-weary bus driver cursing the apparently 'rude' intentions of the gentleman who had been so bold as to 'hit' one of the outside mirrors, and quickly drove off. "Hertz?" Yes, I'm certain it did. There was no apparent moral to the incident save to say that one does one 'not' walk nor even stand in LA without risking life and limb.

Within moments of the near tragedy, my transportation arrived in the form of a large black limousine being driven by of all people, I latter learned was 'Jesus'. He screeched to a stop and immediately leapt from the large 'black mariah'. Whilst apologizing incessantly for the lateness of his arrival, he quickly fetched and stored my things and off we were.

Jesus was such a gentleman! One could not have wished for a more experienced and gracious chauffeur... save for the detail that he was somewhat uncertain as to which way precisely he was to proceed to reach the Pacific Ocean, this being an important detail as my prearranged lodgings were located in Manhattan Beach. But as I'm always game for serendipitous exploration, I patiently awaited his eventual discovery of a passage to 'el Océano Pacifico '. Though Vasco de Balboa he was not, true to his word, my sweet Jesus eventually made good on his quest. and there at long last was the rather brightly painted and thoroughly vacant, ocean-facing bungalow just as I had remembered it, with the shifting sands of the Manhattan Beach literally scratching at its very steps.

Somewhat rudely, I immediately pushed wide the limousine door and exited. Jesus flew to my assist as quickly as possible only to have me motion for him to fetch my luggage from the boot. I bid him an abbreviated 'buenas noches' while I grasped the bags and stepped directly towards the bungalow. I'd absolutely no interest in joining in any small talk to be offered up by my GPS-impaired escort at this point. All I truly desired at this leg of my journey was merely to enter said bungalow and immediately remove purse, shoulder bags, shoes, blouse, skirt, slip, bra, suspender belt, knickers, stockings, and then to an emergency shower. This was to be followed by a crash upon one my awaiting bed.

I lie above the cool sheets for many moments letting my mind wander slowly through the events of the day. My ears were still humming with a near white sound mix of jet and surf and traffic, as I took stock in what my day had revealed to me. Jesus! Had I actually been so crass as to have 'stiffed' that very kind but somewhat miss-guided chauffeur? Alas, I had indeed, and this being Good Friday as well. Never fear Jesus, I shall find a way to make amends.

For the next fortnight, this lovely Mediterranean styled bungalow situated midpoint along stylish Manhattan Beach was to become my seaside hone. As it was still clearly early afternoon, I decided it might be a good idea if I performed my standard routine of checking 'e' and 'voice' mails and...but no. Something in me felt the desperate need to step out immediately and reconnoiter the muscle bound reaches Manhattan and the sandy points beyond.

For all my travel tours, I essentially have two outfits at my wardrobe's disposal. I always believe in putting one's best foot forward, even if that foot happens to be a half size larger than the other - a pointless but personal detail about myself. The first is what I call my 'Normandy Invasion' outfit - an absolutely socially-proofed ensemble wonderfully suited to any event from 'freshly' disembarking a pleasant eighteen hour flight at Chicago's relaxing and pleasantly scented O'Hare Airport or a night on the town in Paris. It consists of a dark, crisp, un-wrinkleable and very easy sitting skirt partnered with a simple, though heavenly sheer and brilliantly white, silk blouse. I love them both and together, socially, they are near bullet-proof.

The other is a rather more involved affair consisting of off-white linen pants suite offering ample leg room with matching blazer and colourful neck scarf. Though I personally love this particular wardrobe option more than any other at my disposal, I've yet to identify a suitable venue for its proper display, so for today it was to be the 'Normandy Invasion' ensemble as I was taking absolutely no chances. Whether living or dying in LA, I was going to be comfortable.

First, as always, to the beach. The beach is the one ever unchanging theme throughout my profitless excuse of a life. I'm told life itself started initially upon our world in the sea, though my personal view is it should have chosen the beach. Weather? Perfect, as usual, though perhaps a touch cooler than is typical this time of year, but that shall only make for better strolling conditions for my walks and explorations. On my life, I've absolutely no way of knowing how the locals are able to define the seasons here as on almost every journey I've taken to Los Angeles it has always looked and felt exactly as it did today. Sunny and warm with the Pacific Ocean drawing everyone out.I spied a distinctive pier to the south with a growing knot of people, so I set course for the unbroken strip of sand running north. On paper this beach is in fact broken into segments marked south to north as, Redondo, Hermosa, Manhattan, Venice and Santa Monica Beaches. One could walk the entire distance to San Francisco itself along these ocean placed sands without interruption, or so I often imagined.

The locals were certainly out in force today with several lovely women of about mine own age, but outfitted as if the dates of birth printed on their California driver's licenses were somehow in error by two decades. Their collective ensembles were simple, repetitive yet effective - various and brightly coloured spandex with feet equipped either as wheels or sneakers. A few of the somewhat younger examples were enthusiastically pushing about small children strapped sleeping and secure in wonderfully designed three-wheeled versions of 21st century prams. It was all quite impressive.


I spotted several similarly dressed gentlemen approaching along the path on the trot. They were perhaps on the high-side of thirty or low-side of forty and all quite handsomely garbed in colourful metro-sweat garb. One or two offered a brief and breathy 'hello' followed by a quick look back over the shoulder, but they were obviously in far too big a hurry to stop and chat, though perhaps I would have been inclined to myself at the moment. I positively told myself perhaps I'd be able to catch them on the way back, though the more I thought it about the prospect the more I began to appreciate what an artifact I must appear to their likes.

A second parallel path clearly marked for 'bicyclists only' had its own retinue of active and sweating citizens coming and going at high speed...but to where? I could not imagine. Eventually my restful march struck an intervening broad channel impeding any further progress northward. At this point I was almost immediately beneath the flight paths of the departing lumbering jets. I remained there for a few moments marveling at their apparently endlessly launching into flight out over the Pacific from nearby LAX.

Eventually I strayed from my aerial trance to begin watching the gathered Asian and Hispanic fishermen cast their lines and luck from a nearby jetty into the waters of the sea and channel. I walked to take a closer look and perhaps engage one or two in pleasant conversation, when I happened to look down and spotted what were apparently several disposable syringes spread across the sand interspaced with colourful but rather obviously used condoms. Though I fortunately had chosen sensible footwear for today's outing, I decided not to venture any nearer this particular section of beach. I smiled and reminded myself that I wasn't in Muir Beach anymore.

Though I had certainly been along these beaches before on many previous occasions, I was not always certain of the precise social and economic 'zone' I was possibly traversing at any particular moment. This can be more than of passing interest to a single woman as myself at moments and places such as this. Even so, I felt somewhat secure, this being early afternoon after all, though perhaps I was just then paying less attention to my emotional baggage as well as the present rate of murder and rape in this City of Angels. Either way, I would have to return and capture something of this in my paintings and writings before departing to home. But before that, I had my long anticipated and very unavoidable business meeting with an old associate, though that meeting was to be at the end of my stay in LA.

I received a rude awakening early Easter morning

On Easter Day a telephone call from dear Jesus, my arranged chauffeur during my stay in LA. He had rung me up to inform me that we was at my dispose for the entire day as driver if I wished. How thoughtful. My own personal Jesus indeed. As he was 'prepaid', if not always prepared, I decided to take him up on his kind and most generous offer. I wished a tour of the town prior to my scheduled 'business' meeting set for that very evening in the hills overlooking the City, so I told Jesus to stop by the beach house at 10 and we would be off together. He was delighted.

He arrived, as was his way, 25 minutes late but most anxious to be of service. As I met him at the door, the sweet dear tried to make amends by immediately offering to take my very small shoulder case for me, but I assured him the burden was light and wished to manage it for myself. He grudgingly conceded and stepping quickly ahead opened the limousine's passenger door for me. As a prepaid gentleman, he was unsurpassed.

Jesus smiled, 'Where to senora?' I hadn't honestly considered where we might squander this Easter morning together, though I was adamant there should be no museums, art centres, missions, ranch nor monument on the itinerary. That being said, I offered least-ways 'til this evening I would be most grateful if he could improvise something suitable, though my most fervent hope was that my dedicated chauffeur should not decide to offer me a tour of his own barrio, colourful though it may be. He looked a bit puzzled at first but after giving the matter some thought smiled and offered up a confident 'Si senora', and thus we two were off together in search of adventure in this land of LA-LA.

We quickly headed away from my temporary Pacific Ocean beachfront home and pursued an elaborate course from feeder ramp to freeway, exit ramp to boulevard eventually choosing side street and finally to the entrance of a questionable alleyway. My driver began appearing increasingly agitated, quite different from his normal sublime and confident self. Looking intensely to and fro as if in search of some landmark, we continued along through the alley way. Having once already enjoyed his unique manner of navigation, I was becoming more than a bit concerned. Actually, though I'm as open and diverse minded as any pure bred Californian, though not by history pure, bred, nor Californian. However, I began to experience a bit of anxiety bordering on trepidation as our surrounding landscape was becoming decidedly more problematic, leastways to a woman of my ilk. Cultural diversity aside, I gently tapped upon the sliding glass pass-through which separated passenger from driver and motioned for Jesus to permit me a question. Jesus looked more agitated than ever and even removed his smart chauffeur's cap beginning to wipe his now heavily perspiring forehead.

Then quite suddenly the limousine came to a rocking halt as if met by an impediment. I strained to catch a glimpse of what might be across our path in this uncharted East LA back-of-the-garden's alleyway. A pair of rather serious looking fellows approached with gated almost swaggering strides. They were equivalently costumed in heavily messaged loose undershirts with oversized low hanging dark coloured trousers. The one's head was shaven as if attempting to mimic the perfect 'five o'clock shadow' and his partner was sporting a tight fitting black watch-cap affair. Jesus lowered his drivers side window as the pair approached. My chauffeur and the mysterious pair began to exchange some animated words combined with hand and finger gestures, none of which were even remotely understandable by myself, even with prior experiences in the neither regions of London. The loud broken English/Spanish exchange persisted until one of the pair standing outside the vehicle reached through the open driver's window and briskly shook the hand of my driver Jesus.

Then a third heretofore unnoticed young man approached from the opposite side of the alley way. He was holding something in his hands, though what precisely I could not clearly make out through the somewhat restricted vision afforded by the privacy glass of the limousine. Jesus turned, slid open the cabin's pass-through asking me to lower the right side passenger window. I was frozen not knowing what to do next. He continued smiling and using the vehicle's master panel set in the centre counsel my window began to descend on its own. The 'third man', as he was, with smiling face at the now open window quickly reached into the back of the limousine holding out a beautiful bouquet of the most luscious and brilliant long stem roses wrapped in green tissue paper. As he presented them beckoning me to take them very politely doffed his black watch cap. 'Por favor senora' he offered and continued with his toothy but sweet greeting. I bid him a halting thank you as I accepted his wonderful though somewhat unexpected gift. Then a small set of hands appeared from below the lower part of the window and up popped the lovely face of a very small girl with shining black hair. Her hair was done up in pigtails capped by lavender ribbons. At the 'third man's' urging, she popped out down and out of sight momentarily only to reappear a moment later holding out a small basket of brightly coloured eggs set amongst some beautiful oranges. I politely accepted them and set my prises on the seat next offering as smoothly as I could, 'Gracious senorita, señor . Mucho gracious', which was about as much Spanish I had ever offered in a single continuous sentence. I was charmed.

All the while, Jesus had been engaged in some negotiations with the other two young men and they all seemed to have arrived at agreement. He bid them farewell, rolled up the windows to our limousine and once again we were on our way. I believe I could see him stealing glances of myself marvelling at the basket and bouquet through his rear-view mirror. I conceded to his infectious smile and lipped a slow 'gracious' in grateful reply.

The remainder of the that Easter Sunday was spent trolling across and around the City with brief stops for light window shopping as well as a most wonderful lunch apparently served from an unique dinner constructed in the form of a giant frankfurter and oversized roll. Though not an aficionado of such unusual dietary adventures, I partook and thanked my ever thoughtful friend and guide, Jesus for the most wonderful Easter I had experienced in memory.After exploring regions of Los Angeles culture which would have impressed Margaret Mede herself, my loyal driver at long last motioned to his wristwatch offering 'Ocho, senora. Ocho.' My goodness, was it 8 PM already? It seemed our grand tour was now at an end and we would presently have to get 'up' to business. I motioned in agreement and asked Jesus if he knew the way to the 'clients' home located up in the hills. Jesus suddenly lost his characteristic smile, and with a simple nod began to proceed towards the winding hills that dot the northern part of this region.

The large houses were becoming ever more exquisite and exaggerated as we drove higher amongst the ever higher hills. It was becoming quite dark as the limousine slowed, turned and proceeded down a tree and shrub lined lane which lead eventually to a terminating circular drive before a large and comfortable mansion. I imagined decidedly Neo-Classical, though architectural history is perhaps not one of strong points. Jesus slowly brought the limousine to a stop immediately in front of the broad and well lit steps, got out and managed the passenger door as I gathered my things and exited. I asked if he would be so kind as to await my return, and lowering his head, he quietly nodded in agreement. He seemed to appreciate the details of my 'business' with the 'client', though I've no way of knowing quite how. Perhaps Jesus just knew the hearts of men and women. I paused for a moment looking at my loyal driver who was by now quite intentionally avoiding my gaze. I smiled, reached into a pocket of my bag withdrawing some folded bills, and pressed them in his hands. Still gazing down he silently responded, 'Mucho gracious senora'. I strained forward and gave him a light kiss upon his cheek and his smile returned temporarily, though he refused to look up. It felt almost as if he expected my imminent crucifixion, though this was surely Easter after all, and not Good Friday.

I turned and approached the large heavy twin doors marking the entrance to the 'client's home. It was impressive far beyond the needs of mere intimidation. I stepped up and stood for a moment in search of a bell-pull or door-knock when the great door unexpectedly opened. I was greeted by a small pleasant looking Asian woman dressed in white and black service garb who smiled and bid me to enter. I turned briefly to see my loyal Jesus standing motionlessly by the limousine. I recalled this morning as certainly being a 'pleasure', but now onto 'business' and entered the mansion's doorway.

My work, writings and 'art' invoke a whole range of life quite frankly outside the experience, understanding and appreciation of many who encounter it. I make no apologies for this as it is what life has brought me and in the end, it is what it is - my personal and varied world. And yes, perhaps there are limits in my abilities to pursue certain threads or subjects and events, but I very seldom falter. In my dealing with the 'client, however, all description fails me and I constantly work to recall as little as I am able.

'How long has it been Elisha?'

Too long.

'Too long for us both I can assure you my dear.'

I nod in agreement.

'Has your stay at the beach house been a pleasant one thus far?'

Pleasant enough.

'And your driver?'

Pleasant enough.

'Please don't be in such a rush to leave this company dear Elisha, as we have so much to share and discuss. Do you imagine for even a second that a return to San Francisco or even perhaps to your island would improve any of this, some how making it easier for yourself?'

No answer.

'Shall we get down to cases then?'

Yes. Please, by all means. Let's get on with this.

'I thank you for coming as you have my dear, it has been quite some time'.

I'll thank you for not inviting me more often.

'So, where shall we start?'

At the beginning.

You may reach Elisha by e-mail at: elisha.moor@gmail.com
All writings and images © Copyright 2010 by the author, Elisha A. Moor