February 7, 2011

Except for the first few paragraphs of each chapter, I took Dead Ginny off the net in 2005 but if you want to read and/or listen to the sucker for free, click this. Thanks. G.


Gerard Jones

Chapter Eleven
Navarre Guest House

The day after Ginny and I became boyfriend and girlfriend I unceremoniously abandoned Marnie McCracken, quit my job at the toy store and moved up to The Navarre Guest House. Well, I didn't have to quit, exactly. Kay Bee's fired my ass for not showing up the day after I spent the night with Ginny. And as for Marnie, that we had the lack of snow in common only went so far. We'd done about everything there was to do with one another by then, anyway. She ended up marrying the Mafia guy her brother-in-law had in mind. They had three kids, all sons, and the Mafia guy was a two term Congressman from an unnamed district in an unnamed state. Sue me, yeah, go ahead, knock yourself out, but I ain't naming no names on no Mafia guys. Things worked out. We taught each other a trick or two, Marnie McCracken and me. The Mafia guy should have been grateful that we hung our for awhile. I'm sure he would have thanked me. Had he ever known. Which I can't imagine he ever would have. Thank God.

The Navarre Guest House was on Stockton Street, near the south end of the tunnel between Union Square and North Beach, like, right in the thick of things—a little ways down the hill from the historical plaque commemorating the spot where Sam Spade's partner, Miles Archer, was shot and killed. I washed dishes and filled in as a part time desk clerk in exchange for room and board and a little spending money. I got to know San Francisco by wandering around while I wasn't working or over at Ginny's. North Beach. City Lights. Chinatown. Union Square. Macy's. The St. Francis. Powell and Market. The Tenderloin. Maiden Lane. Lefty O'Doul's. The theaters. The topless joints. Upper Grant Avenue. The fish and chips counter between Fifth and Sixth on Market. The only way you really get to know San Francisco is by wandering around.

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Gerard Jones
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