Norwegian Wood (a fantasy)
- Category: Dr. J's Blog
- Published: Friday, 07 October 2011 17:07
- Written by Gary Johnson
I was peaking on the acid I dropped at the Flamingo by the time we reached the Scotch of St. James. Burdon always had the best L.S.D. I’d been taking it several times each week since George, Pattie, Cynthia, and I had been dosed at a dinner party given by my dentist. Cyn had been scared to death, but I quite enjoyed it.
It’s a good thing Mal drove the Aston-Martin as everything had dissolved into a blur of color and sound. We were laughing hysterically as we stepped off the lift. I had briefly panicked and screamed loudly when I thought it had burst into flame after the doors had closed. It seemed like minutes, but Mal assured me it took only seconds for me to discover that it was a small red light on the lift’s console.
The music was pounding as we entered the club. Chas Chandler was managing a new band featuring a spade guitarist from America, and Burdon had insisted I check them out along with a tab of “sunshine”, as he called it. Jagger and Marianne stopped by our table to say ‘hello’, but I couldn’t understand a word they were saying. Were they speaking French? Chinese? I needed a brandy or three to take the edge off and mellow things out a bit.
Aaah yes! Brandy soothes a trip out. Mal had guided me to one of the reserved booths and had gotten the drinks. It was all I could do to sit up straight and maintain some semblance of detached cool. Chandler’s new discovery was incredible, or was it the acid? His guitar was melting as he played, and it reminded me of Dali’s clocks, causing another bout of uncontrolled laughter.
I first saw her from behind as she danced near the front of the small stage. With her long blonde hair, mini, and boots, and in my inebriated state, I initially thought she was Marianne. As she strolled over to our booth, I still believed she was Marianne and I was briefly overcome by the desire to shag Mick’s luscious bird.
“You’re one of them are you?” Was she asking a question or making a statement? She smiled sweetly at me with one hand on her hip as she used the other to brush back her hair.
“Would you care to join us for a drink, Luv?” I felt like I was talking underwater, but she seemed to understand and sat down next to me. “Mal, fetch us two brandies if you will.”
“Make mine a rum and coke” she laughed lightly, “I have to work in the morning”. She said her name was Maureen (Mo for short) and that she worked for the London Guardian. We spent the next thirty minutes talking about our favorite authors and films and enjoyed another round of drinks. The brandy had helped put a nice glow on things, and I confess I was completely captivated by the sparkle in her eyes and the sound of her laughter.
At midnight, she asked if it would be too much trouble to give her a ride to her flat in Richmond, on the outskirts of London. Mal went for the Aston-Martin and then followed her directions on the ten kilometer ride. Maureen leaned her head on my shoulder as we snuggled together in the back seat. “Would you like to come up and see my flat?”, she whispered in my ear as the car drove through the nearly deserted streets.
Mal dropped us off. He knew the drill very well after all these years. Her flat was small and very tidy, but I noticed that it was completely devoid of chairs! Maureen was especially proud of the Norwegian pine bedroom set she had just purchased. Still tripping on the acid, it seemed like my eyes could penetrate into the very fiber of the furniture as I peered at it closely. “Isn’t it good, Norwegian wood”, I suddenly exclaimed. My little rhyme brought a delightful laugh from her and she said, “Sit anywhere. I’ll get us some drinks”.
I sat on a Persian rug in the middle of the floor as she opened a bottle of wine and lit several candles. The flickering candles had an intoxicating effect as we continued to talk about our shared interests in books, films, and, of course, music. She had a small portable record player and I selected albums by Dylan and Donovan to provide a suitable soundtrack to our conversation.
We talked until two, when suddenly she announced, “It’s time for bed”. She laughed lightly as she undressed before me and said “I really do have to work in the morning, you know”. Was it the acid, the alcohol, or the exhilarating woman? I don’t know for sure, but I did come in colors that night!
Sometime during the night, I got up to use the loo. For some reason that I can no longer recall, I decided to lay down in her bath tub and proceeded to fall asleep. When I awoke in the morning, she had already left. I found her note on the kitchen table.
Good morning, Luv:
I confess you are the first man to ever fall asleep in my bath. Tea is in the cupboard over the stove. The night was totally fab! Write me a song some time.