Hobbits Across America

As the cab zoomed away, Frodo-Anne Baggins waved to the driver with his crisp, white hankie. People were so much nicer in the big city than he thought they’d be! As he dragged his luggage toward the steps of the converted San Francisco Victorian where he was about to begin his new life, he thought about everything he’d lift behind; he was really going to miss Connie, Teeny, and Laura, his girlfriends back at Pan Am. But he wasn’t going to miss St. Louis, and even though he was sad to say goodbye to his friends, he wasn’t going to miss his hectic stewardess life. Tomorrow, he would begin the search for a job.

Standing on the front porch, Frodo rang the buzzer. A tall woman wearing a sort of hippie dress answered; it was mint green, had bell sleeves, and was made of velvet or — Frodo shuddered — velveteen. “Greetings,” said the landlady. “I’m Arwen Evenstar.”

“How do you do, Miss Evenstar?”

“Actually, it’s Mrs. Evenstar. But you can call me Arwen.”

“Well, Arwen, how’s Mr. Evenstar?”

“There is no Mr. Evenstar,” Arwen said saucily. “Not anymore.”

“Oh?” said Frodo, but she didn’t tell him any more.

X

“Let me show you around the house,” Arwen offered after Frodo had put his many bags away. “You’re in 1A. In 1B is your next door neighbor, Meriadoc Brandybuck. Upstairs are Fred Burrows and Sam Gamgee. I live on the top floor.”

“How come you rent all of your rooms to men?” Frodo asked.

“Well, I don’t,” Arwen answered. “Now that you’re here.

“Yeah, about that,” Frodo mustered, beginning to sweat.

“Well, I have to be going. Things to do! People to see!” And then she was gone.

Just then Frodo heard a loud racket from upstairs. A door slammed and a high pitched voice screamed, “Fred Burrows, you’ve screwed me for the last time!”

A deep, slow voice replied, “Pippin, come back inside the room. You’re creating a scene.”

“I know you’re cheating on me with that Trixie Malloy,” Pippin snortled.

Fred retorted, “She’s my best friend. We’re not sleeping together.”

“Look, she’s like the town slut,” Pippin screamed. “Everybody sleeps with her! She’s got those feminine wiles.”

“You know I don’t go for that stuff.”

“Look, if you want to stay with me you’re going to have to never see Trixie again.”

Frodo heard the door slam. A curly haired fellow ran down the stairs in tears and out the door. Frodo tried to offer him his white hankie, but it was to no avail. Pippin had already left the building.

X

The next morning, Frodo set out to find a job. First, he had a healthy bowl of granola with Mrs. Evenstar for breakfast. When she handed him his cereal bowl, Frodo noticed there was a big joint sitting on top of his granola. “What is this?” Frodo asked, sniffing it.

“Consider it my welcome basket.”

“But it’s not in a basket. It’s in rolling papers.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Arwen sassed. “Takes one to know one. Now get the hell out of my boudouir!” Frodo began to laugh, but then she cocked her shotgun and glared at him. Frodo stopped laughing, put his doobie in his pocketbook, and skeedaddled.

X

Frodo was coming downstairs when he saw a man with straw-colored, longish locks coming out of the apartment across the hallway from his. “Hello there!” Frodo cried, waving his hankie. “I’m Frodo!”

“The name’s Merry,” said Merry, as he locked his door with a key that was on a keychain that said “MERRY” in huge block letters. “You must be new.”

“Yes, yes I am!” Frodo blushed. “Mrs. Evenstar told me about you.”

“What did she say?”

“That you existed.”

“I sure do.” There was a moment of awkward silence.

“So, where have you moved from? Are you a local?”

“No, I just blew in from St. Louis. I came for a week-long vacation and after a day I called up my Uncle Bilbo and said, ‘Uncle Bilbo, I’m moving to San Francisco.’ And he said, ‘No you’re not.’ And I said, ‘Fine, then wire me some more money.’ And he did, and I haven’t spoken to him since.”

“Great,” Merry yawned. “Have you got a job?”

“No, but I’m looking for one.”

“Well, I think I might be able to help you out.”

“Really? I would love some help!” Frodo slack-jawed.

“Well, you see...”

“What? Tell me!”

“I run this sort of ‘escort’ service. We’re always looking for new pieces of meat, I mean … personnel.”

“What do you mean by escort?”

“Well, you know ... you’d be a hooker!”

“You mean, a lady of the night?”

“No, a whore.”

“Well, I guess it’s a step up from a Pan-Am stewardess...”

“You can say that again!”

“I’ll have to think about it, but thanks.” Frodo turned around and fled the scene, scampering down the street like a Pomeranian on steroids. Thirteen blocks later, Frodo bumped into a tall dark man in a floor length leather jacket. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Frodo apologized.

“No problem. Want some heroin?” the man asked.

“AH!” Frodo screeched. He turned around and fled. The city was such a big scary place. Frodo ran until he found a temp agency: Grima Womtongue’s Bait, Tackle, and Temp Agency. Frodo went in, and 40 minutes later he had a job, working for Gondor, Gondor, and Macdougal, a prestigious law firm downtown in the TransAmerica Pyramid. Frodo had no idea where that was, so he had the temp agent drew him a poorly articulated map on the back of a cocktail napkin.

X

Back at the house, Frodo ran into Merry again. “Great news, you crazy pimp!” he said heartily. “I’ve got a job.”

“Doing what?”

“I’m going to be a secretary at a law firm. Finally, I’m really living the sexy singles life in San Fran!”

“Well, word to the wise, Mary Jane McLame, but no one here calls it ‘San Fran.’ Never call it that again.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s no problem. So, what’s a hot babe like you doing without a date on a Tuesday night like tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Frodo confessed.

“Well, let’s go hit up the grocery store. That’s where I met my last three hookups.”

“Was one of them Trixie Malloy?”

“How do you know Trixie?”

“A girl picks things up in the city.”

Frodo was proud of himself. He had managed to get a job and impress his neighbor with his knowledge of the local sluts. He scurried to his room where he hurriedly shut the door. He collapsed on his bed in tears. Then Frodo remembered that he wasn’t currently unhappy about anything, so he dabbed at his eyes with his kerchief and picked up his purse off the floor.

Inside he found his bright red lipstick. He applied it to his lips, then rubbed some on his finger and used it as blush. He picked his perfume off of the vanity and started dousing himself in it.

Frodo had decided he was going to go out and try to pick up men at one of the local saloons. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Frodo heard wheezing and coughing on the other side. He slowly opened the creaky door.

“Who are you?” Frodo warbled.

“Cough. I’m Sam, your upstairs neighbor. Cough. Cough.”

“Oh, Mr. Gamgee, what a pleasure it is to meet you! Are you all right?”

“No. I’m not all right. My room is right above yours and we share an air vent.” A loud sneeze erupted from his nose. “And I think I’m allergic to your perfume.”

“What? This one?” Frodo said as he playfully spritzed Sam’s face with the perfume.

“Stop it!” Sam eeked out of his rapidly closing throat. Hives began to appear on his face.

“Oh, dear!” Frodo itsy-bitsied. “You must be allergic to something, because you’re breaking out in hives!”

“Yes, I’m allergic to your perfume,” Sam choked out as his throat closed up.

“I wonder if the pollen count is high today,” Frodo verbally contemplated.

“Perfume!” Sam tried to cry, but he was now turning blue so it just kind of got squeezed out as “Er-foom!”

“I’ve never been inside a court room,” Frodo said. “And anyway, I doubt there’s anything I can do for you.” He shoved Sam out of his apartment and slammed the door. Sam began to bang on the door furiously, screaming things in another language, or at least they might have been because they were terribly garbled. “What a nice man,” Frodo shouted. The knocking went silent, and then Frodo realized what he could do to help his neighbor and reopened the door. To his elation and relief, Sam was crumpled up in a pile in the hallway.

“I tell you what,” Frodo said to Sam’s almost-corpse. “I don’t know what’s causing your allergies to get all a-fuss, but if you back to your apartment like a good boy and get in bed, I’ll bring you come chicken soup in the morning.”

“Nobody eats chicken soup for breakfast,” Sam’s cadaver-thing croaked.

“They sure do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with ... well, I’m going to a bar, where I hope to find a date. Feel better!” Frodo slammed the door conclusively this time.

X

A few weeks later, Frodo was strolling down Castro Street with his head held high when he bumped into Sam again. “Sam! My neighbor!” Frodo exclaimed vapidly.

“Oh, it’s you,” Sam said as he took a few steps backwards.

“What, no hug? No kiss?” Frodo disappointedly inquired.

“Remember? I’m fatally allergic to your cologne.”

“Per-fume, Sam. It was perfume. And I’m not wearing that particular perfume today. You’ll learn this, Sammy-boy, but I go through perfume like I go through men.”

“Um, I don’t think I understand...”

“It’s not important. Now, what brings you to this part of town?”

“Oh, nothing. I wanted to buy my mom one of those glass paperweight thingies for her birthday. None of the stores here seem to sell them, though.”

“Oh, how disappointing for you. Walk with me, dear.”

“Okay. So, Are you liking San Fransisco, Frodette?” They started to walk down Castro street together.

“Fro-do. It’s Frodo, not Frodette.”

“I’m sorry. Arwen told me it was Frodette.”

“Well, she’s a little bit batty.”

“Yes, she sure is. I told her to see my therapist, Dr. Bill Ferny, but she would have none of that.”

“Oh, you see a therapist?” Frodo intruded. “That’s so hip now. Therapy is like the new...” He thought for a moment. “...marijuana.”

“For you information, yes, I do see a therapist.”

“What for?” Frodo wanted to know. “Daddy issues? Mommy issues? Anger-management issues?”

“Um...”

“Some sort of issues? It’s issues, isn’t it?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“Well, I think you’re perfectly normal.”

“Oh, that’s saying a lot,” Sam sussed.

“What could you ever mean by that?” Frodo asked daintily, touching his kerchief to his mouth in shock.

“Oh, please. You’re a man.”

“How dare you!” Frodo fake-was-insulted. “Just because I have broad shoulders...”

“Look, Miss Mary Male, I know a thing or two.”

“And why would that be?”

“There’s only two types of guys who hang out in this ’hood: Women like you, who are actually guys, and guys like me, who like women like you who are actually guys.”

“Which kind of guy is Fred Burrows?”

“The former.”

“And Merry?”

“He’s the kind who likes women who are actually women, but he probably likes you because he likes women so much he just assumes you’re a woman. You get me?”

“Yes, I get you ... into bed!” Sam was just disgusted.

“No, you haven’t. What makes you think I would want to sleep with you?”

“But you just said...”

“Look, I just said I liked men who dress like women, not you specifically.”

“Do you like me?”

“Well, yes. But that’s beside the point.”

“No it’s not.”

“You’re right. You wanna go to my room or yours?”

“Mine. No, yours. I can never make my mind up.”

“It’s true. You can’t. Let’s go to my room, I’ve got a water bed.”

“Really? That’s so cool.”

“No, it’s a straw filled twin mattress, just like yours.”

“Oh goody!”

X

“Oh, boy,” Frodo sighed, inhaling gracefully on his post-coital cigarette. “That was really something. Was it good for you?”

“Moderately,” Sam shrugged. “I was sort of expecting you to do something other than just lie there.”

“Look, I can’t be expected to get giddy with enthusiasm for every single lay,” Frodo quipped. “I mean, a girl gets tired as the day goes on.”

“Okay, you’re not a girl.”

“I’m a girl with a penis.”

“Closer, but still incorrect. B-O-Y, boy. You are a boy, Frodon.”

“It’s Frodo.”

“Yeah, I guess Frodon is a kind of dinosuar. Anyway, get out.”

“What?!” Frodo almost inhaled his cig. “Aren’t you going to sing me soothing melodies, and pet my hair?”

“Absolutely not. For one thing, your hair is a wig. For another thing, I can’t stand you.”

“But I thought you said you liked me!” Frodo whined.

“Yeah, I like your sex. I hate your personality. Now, scoot. I’m late for my 3 p.m.”

“You’re having sex again?”

“No, I have to go to the dentist. Where are you going? I need to specifically make sure it’s not in the same direction so we don’t walk together.”

“I guess I’ll go to the baths or something, I don’t know.”

“What is it with you?”

“Look, Sammy Miami, I told you: I have a lot of sex. I’m trying to beat my own personal record, which is six in one day.”

“Which am I?”

“Right now, you’re four. I’d stop at four if you’d just pet my hair like I always wanted.”

“Look, I’m not petting any hair.” Sam picked up Frodo’s nylons from behind his head and tossed them at his erstwhile mate. “Now scram. You’re making me nauseous.”

“Nauseated. I’m nauseating you.”

“Just go!”

X

Weeks later Frodo was trying to get his brand new slinky to work on the stairs when Sam almost tripped over him.

“Oh, you’re still here?” Sam asked, a bit crudely.

“Yes. I live here now. Just like you.”

“What, are you stalking me now that we slept together?”

“Sam, I lived here before we slept together.”

“Oh, I didn’t notice.”

“What are you, retarded?”

“You’re the one who can’t get a slinky to work,” Sam uttered as he gave the slinky a gentle nudge with his foot. It cascaded down the stairs perfectly.

“Harrumph!” Frodo harrumphed as he crossed his arms gingerly.

“Look, Frondine, I gotta get to work. If you’ll just move so I can get down the stairs...”

“You broke my heart, Samwise,” Frodo cried dramatically.

“Whatever, I’m out of here. Ciao.” Sam stepped over Frodo like he was a dog turd on the sidewalk.

“Bye, sweetums!” Frodo shouted after him ironically.

After Sam had left, Frodo burst into tears. He was sitting in the hall sobbing when he heard the door open downstairs. “Hello?” called a friendly voice. Frodo didn’t want to talk to anyone, so he began to cry louder. Merry walked up the stairs. “Hey, Frodo,” he said softly. “What’s the matter?”

“It’s Sam!” Frodo wept, wiping his mascara-runny eyes on Merry’s hot flannel. Even through his tears, Frodo thought Merry was sort of a babe. “He hates me!”
“I don’t think he hates you.”

“Have you ever been around both of us at the same time?”

“Well, no.”

“Then how the hell would you know?”

“I guess I wouldn’t.”

“Damn right you wouldn’t,” Frodo sniffed.

“Why don’t you tell me all about it,” Merry said comfortingly, petting Frodo’s hair. Frodo smiled for a moment, but then he got sad again as he started to talk about his pain.

“Oh, we slept together,” Frodo moaned. “I thought he loved me. Oh, how could I have been so naive!”

“You slept with Sam?” Frodo nodded. “Listen, Frodo, I don’t mean to get you upset, but...” Merry looked around to make sure Frodo and he were alone. When the coast was clear, Merry leaned in and whispered: “I don’t mean to get you upset, but Sam is one of those homosexuals.”

“Yeah,” Frodo sighed.

“You knew?”

“What? Oh, um. No! No, I am outraged. How dare that homosexual sleep with me! I’m just a girl, not yet a woman, and he took advantage of my naivety!”

“Naïveté.”

“Yeah, whatev. What a douche.”

“Why don’t I take you out tonight and you can tell me all about it.”

“I thought I already had.”

“Well, then I’ll just take you out. Deal?”

“Yeah!”

Later that evening Merry and Frodo were busily chewing on chewing gum as they walked away from their delicious dinner at Chez Pomodoro. “That was delicious!” Frodo sing-songed, mashing his gum loudly.

“I know, and this gum is out of this world.” Merry answered slyly.

“Isn’t peach flavor just delicious? I love all these Asian groceries. They have such interesting food. And such great coffee drinks.” Frodo winked as he took another sip of his Men’s Latte.

“So, you want to come up to my room for coffee?”

“I’m drinking coffee right now.”

“Oh.”

“But I’ll come up to your room anyway.”

“Great!”

X

Up in Merry’s room, Frodo admired Merry’s far-out plastic chairs. “They’re cold to the touch and you stick to them!” Merry enthused. “Who could want anything more from a chair?”

“Not me,” Frodo said coyly, slipping his robin’s egg blue cardigan off of his shoulder to reveal a very slammin’ mock turtle-neck, champagne-colored satin jumpsuit with no sleeves.

“I am so glad you came up,” Merry slurred, taking another sip on his Harvey Wallbanger. Frodo smiled and inched away from his date; his date inched closer. “I’m really glad we’re getting to know each other better, too.” Merry began to reach in for the delicate petals of Frodo’s womanly blossom, which unbeknownst to Merry actually didn’t exist, prompting Frodo to say the following:

“Hold on, Merry,” Frodo said, standing up suddenly. “There’s something you need to know.”

“If by ‘something’ you mean ‘someone’ and that someone is you, and you also mean ‘know’ in the Biblical sense then yeah, I totally got to know something,” Merry power-sanded.

“Well, I agree, we should have sex. But first you have got to know this academic fact.” Frodo cleared his throat and adjusted the tissue paper that was spilling out of his bra. “I’m a man.”