18 Town&Country “Special Advertising Section”

Ross was on the phone with Alain de Tochigi, the legendary but elusive Frisco Ninja.
“Hey, Chops- . . .”
“Not like nickname!” Frisco wanted to be called Frisco or Monsieur de Tochigi, or Alain.
“Just getting a rise out of you, mon ami. In case propinquity with all those sedated ladies was coolin’ you.”
“Not happen!”
“Getting any results? Maybe I should say are they getting any?”
“Listen, man,” Ross said, all business. “I don’t know the drill yet about enforcing Covenants, Codes, and Restrictions, but bucolic Kent Woodlands has turned into a construction site. You know that song, ‘They Paved Paradise and Put In A Parking Lot’? Close. It’s all about fences and gates, big, pneumatic, Fortress Kent Woodlands gates, and long, high don’t-look-don’t-touch fences. Is this Marvelous Marin or is it ol’ East Berlin?”
“Stop joke!”
“It’s either the Modern Bride Magazine view of life, or maybe a sophomore-year-abroad aesthetic. The new homes here after the tear-downs are dreams come true, then paranoia is tacked on retroactively. Very like schizophrenia like that, where the poor souls maintain their facial aspect, the deepest part of their expressions, that they had when their first breakdown occurred. Either way, a rut is taking root.”
“See what you mean!”
“Yeh, walling off humanity and nature, you dig, my beautiful ninja brother?”
“Not brother! I humble San Francisco gardener! You very rich, live high on hill!”
“That’s the way the wind blows,” Ross replied, to even the playing field. “So how is your garden growing?”
“Today,” said the Frisco Ninja, with the current turned down, “six lovely ladies. Very nice ladies. Looking for love in all the wrong places. Forget San Francisco, try Milwaukee, I tell them. Then I tell baseball and beer joke about Mel Famey. Half hour later, laugh.”
“The Valium version of Chinese food.”
“Ah so.”
In an effort to steer them back to concupiscence, the Frisco Ninja had taken the ladies to the top of Telegraph Hill to view Coit Tower up close.
“I say, stare hard! Lovely long granite shaft!”
Ross asked if it really was granite.
“Don’t know! Hard enough whatever! Stick straight up! Everyone like!”
“So, they’ll see the tower, jutting like it’s snapped to attention, and maybe some memories will begin to come forward . . .”
“Ah so! I make doctors give permission! No psychotropic meds today! Today, ham and cheese sandwich!”
“Down to earth,” agreed Ross. “A deli in North Beach, I have no doubt.”
“Ah so.” The Frisco Ninja demanded: “Why you want talk! Time to give lecture. ‘Al Green, Prince of Love’.”
“Think they can relate to that old time stuff?”
“I quote line: ‘My baby loves the one night stand, and so does all the fellas in the band.’ Make ask questions! Have energy! Ham and cheese!”
“Well,” Ross demurred. These alternative therapies. . . . But the Frisco Ninja’s succeeded when all the others were just quixotic.
Ross continued, “I need some insurgency, some sanctions, some way to give the Kent Woodlands Property Owners Association fists of stone. You. But you’re on a job that ain’t going to quit. I don’t know how many straight women there are in San Francisco over twenty-one, but I think you’ve got a job for life. So I want you to just block out some time, for a consultation only. There’s this kid in San Anselmo . . .” Ross told Frisco what he’d heard, that baby Drew had the chops, “. . . but legally, morally, ethically – even if he is fully suited to carry out some, ah, aesthetic cleansing – I cannot ask him to work until he’s christened.”
“Ah so,” Alain de Tochigi, the Frisco Ninja, said with equanimity. He interrupted what he was about to say to Ross and shouted, “Mayonnaise! Okay! Mustard! Okay! Ketchup! No!” The sudden directives were outlets for consternation which the calm conversation with Ross had suppressed. There was especial antipathy deep in the Frisco Ninja’s soul for white trash who would degrade the landscape of Kent Woodlands. Rich wankers, he called them, in the patois of San Francisco gardeners. If it were true that this baby Drew was successfully emulating Alley Oop, then it would be the Frisco Ninja’s imperative and privilege to work with the flywatter-empowered “mean motor scooter and bad go-getter” soon upon a long-awaited baptism.


One Response to “18 Town&Country “Special Advertising Section””

  1. Peter Smith Says:

    …Can’t til he’s christened. Valium version of Chinese food. I’m hooked!
    Can you give us some description of voice sounds? This is hilarious.

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