Oscar's Island.

Well we finally got over to Oscar’s island. I’ve been feeling a little down since Nyum left* so I’m hoping Oscar can cheer me up. I thought I’d surprise him. Regular readers will remember Oscar de Borcceri. I met him in California. He got me into the porn business.  Made a few million on that we did so I suppose I should be grateful. We’ve kept in touch over the years so I know he’s done well for himself. The porn industry has changed a lot of course but he got a few other things on the go. Keeps his fingers in lots of different pies does Oscar. He was buying and selling domain games for a while then he started an anti-virus company and dabbled in real estate. First thing I notice about Oscar’s island is a kind of lagoon with a wooden walkway across it ending in a jetty. Next thing I notice is Oscar himself standing on the jetty in his birthday suit. He’s excited to see us I can tell. “Welcome, welcome,” he says giving Ning and Nong a good flash of his coat of arms. Plonker rampant on a field of greying pubic hair. The girls put their hands up to their mouths in Thai girl embarrassment. You’d think it was the first time they’d seen one. “Dick! I’ll be buggered. What brings you to the Caribbean?” “The wind Oscar. What do you think? It blows me around.” Same old Oscar. Horrible as ever. The question then arises does Oscar look horrible because he is horrible or is he horrible because he looks like a lascivious toad? Or is it just me that sees him that way. Girls like him. Maybe they see an amusing old goat with money to burn. Anyway there he is. In the flesh. As we walk along the boardwalk Oscar points out his flamingos. There are 5 of them and tell the truth they look a bit scruffy. Feathers missing here and there and they aren’t really pink either. More sort of orangey brown. “Phoenicopterus ruber “ says Oscar in italics. “Only five?” “Ah,” says Oscar, “this is just a start. I’ve only had them a few weeks. Now the trick is to get them breeding. I’m doing something about the colour too. Diet is important. I need to get them some shrimp.” “Good idea Oscar,” says I, “would that be any particular kind of shrimp you’re using?” “Brine shrimp Dick. I’m getting it flown in from Venezuela. You aren’t taking the piss are you?” “Course not. What’s special about the Venezuelan shrimp?” “Carotene Dick. And canthaxanthin. In the wild they normally get it from crustaceans and algae but if you want your flamingos a real bright pink get the shrimp.” “I’ll remember that Oscar.” There’s a narrow zigzag road up to his house and Oscar has laid on some golf carts for guests. Very nice views everywhere you look. The house reminds me a bit of his Malibu place, but more open and airy. There’s two young ladies waiting outside where we park the golf carts. “Come in, come in,” says Oscar, “oh, let me introduce my two assistants. Fantasia and Fabiani,. They are from Brazil Dick.” Well I could see that. Typical, sleek, wavy black-hair, with blonde streaks, chocolate skinned Copacabana numbers flashing their teeth and wearing bits of coloured string. Up the ‘Help Disco’ end of Avenida Atlantica was my guess. Could be Ipanema I suppose at a pinch. “Leblon.” Says Oscar. “Close.” “They are a bit shy with strangers,” Oscar explained, “that’s why they got dressed up.” “Are they good with flamingos Oscar?” I ask. “Oh very good indeed Dick. Glad you asked,” says Oscar scratching his bulging gut, “Fantasia has a degree in ornithology and Fabiani is a leading authority on brine shrimp. If there’s anything you need to know just ask them. Lovely aren’t they?” Lovely? Well I suppose they are. They have lovely smiles. How long before he offers me a swap. Two Thais for one Brazilian. To be honest I’m in the mind to just give Ning and Nong to him for nothing. They are getting on my nerves or perhaps I just don’t want to deal with women anymore. Does that make me a misogynist? This might be a good time as any to mention how I met Oscar. Late sixties it was. I’d gone to California with a girlfriend of Sam’s who will remain nameless. She wanted to go to San Francisco, where the flowers grow, so very high. Well brought up girl she was but bloody clueless. Lucky for her I went with her or she would probably have ended up on the Spahn Movie Ranch with Charlie Manson. Anyway we were having a stroll through Haight Ashbury (lots of sunny people walking hand in hand) and somebody told us about a free concert that was supposed to be happening in Golden Gate Park. Which is how come we found ourselves at the Altamont Speedway one hot dusty night in 1969. I had a bad feeling about it from the beginning. Just getting out there was a nightmare. Hippies with sleeping bags all whacked out on every drug you can think of stumbling through the gloom. The vibes were not good. I’d been to a few of these dos with Sam before so I knew what to expect. Usually she’d be off interviewing stars and I’d be sitting backstage on big black boxes smoking joints with roadies. That’s how it was at Altamont. Behind all the lights and the amps was all the hustlers, drug dealers, promoters, musicians the usual freak show except for one bloke in a Paisley velvet suit, shades, beard, beads, big hair who was passing out sugar cubes. He seemed to take a shine to me. Had I been at Woodstock? He asked. Did I like Santana? What’s happening in London these days? I’m Oscar by the way. “Dick.” “Nice outfit Dick. King’s Road?” “Yes. Granny Takes A Trip.” “Thought so.” Hallo I’m thinking. What have we got here? Jumping Jack Flash is it? Suddenly we both noticed something was going on in front of the stage. “Stay here and look after this,” said Oscar, sticking a joint in my hand. Then he was pushing his way through to the front where things were starting to get weird. Everything was happening in slow motion, people were screaming and it was hard to make out what was going on. I vaguely remember seeing Hell’s Angels bashing people…with pool cues it looked like. Beer cans were flying around like fucking cannon-balls. Oscar came back and said, “I think the party’s over. I've got a helicopter round here somewhere. Want a ride into town?” Well that was then. Now here we sit on his terrace drinking rum and watching the sun set over the Caribbean. He’s already explained the sleeping arrangements. I’ve picked out a nice bungalow . “Right Dick. Time for some kip as you Limeys like to say.” Then he finds a coin somewhere. “The girls should get to know each other don’t you think? Your call. Winner gets first pick.” Oscar wins and takes Ning and Fabiani off for a bit of cross-cultural interchange. Me and Nong and Fantasia wander off to the main guest cottage. I won’t bore anyone with the details. *Nyum went to New York and didn’t come back. I heard later she got a job with Madonna.