Troubled Diva with a Tote Bag

 

Troubled Diva with a Tote Bag: Stories

Nobody rides for free.

Not even a talented opera singer . . .

My initial encounter with the diva had been on a Hollywood Blvd bus in the mid-70s. I was sitting in the middle somewhere on my way to another nothing job interview that I doubted I had a chance to land. Nam vet, you see. With a case of PTSD.

She had boarded and claimed the bench seat across from the driver. Next thing we knew, she was squatting. . . . Well, let’s just say the air suddenly turned toxic. And the lady? Thought nothing of it, as she calmly climbed down from her perch and got off at the next stop.

My next, much closer encounter, with the person was years later. And this is when I discovered that she, indeed, was a Diva of considerable ability and could belt out a number. I was a cabbie by then and had been flagged down in West Hollywood by her. To avoid getting burned at the other end, I’d requested to be paid up front (for a ride to LAX). Instead of producing cash, the tote bag-toting passenger commenced belting out opera at the top of her lungs.

It’s fair to say I sensed that I was in trouble. Didn’t even realize it was the same babe from the bus that time, but did know for a fact I was in a situation. Fortunately there was a cop car nearby and the soprano was bagged and hauled away.

Time passed. I was on the taxicab stand at the world-famous hotel up in the Hills of Beverly, hoping to snag a decent trip. A fire engine, bomb squad and police cruisers pulled up near the lobby entrance. Turned out the diva was hiding inside somewhere. Not only refusing to vacate the premises, but had threatened to blow the place up with a bomb she claimed she was in possession of.

This is the wacky titular tale, one of many, in the collection. I’d spent many years driving a taxi in Tinseltown and dealing with colorful peeps like the opera singer was par for the course.

Going over these stories these days makes me chuckle and shake my head. Might not have been a bit funny at the time, though. What it comes down to, you do what you have to to put grub on the table and subsidize a dream. Mine was the writing jonze.

So climb in. The rate is reasonable––and, hopefully, more fun than a toolbox full of loose nuts & washers. K.A.

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