1 year ago

Slipstream - October 2017

The monthly newsletter of the Maverick Region of the Porsche Club of America


©2017 Porsche Cars North America, Inc. Porsche recommends seat belt usage and observance of all traffic laws at all times. The heirs to over 60 years of a racing legacy. Divided equally. The form varies. But the racing bloodlines, the undying dedication to pure sports car performance, the marriage of power and efficiency embodied in the Porsche principles, do not. And that truth is revealed in that moment you turn the key. Discover it for yourself with a test drive. Porsche. There is no substitute. Experience every form of Porsche performance. Porsche Plano 5924 W. Plano Parkway Plano, Texas 75093 Tel. (214)576-1911 ©2017 Porsche Cars North America, Inc. Porsche recommends seat belt usage and observance of all traffic laws at all times. 24 October

Big Noise from Winnetka By Hammer ig Noise blew in from Winnetka, stole each fella’s B heart. Big Noise blew in from Winnetka; Big Noise blew right out again. I was working a $50-a-day breeze, looking for a 17-year-old runaway from Oak Cliff. She was an honors student, majoring in men. And she had all ‘’A’s’’ too -- none of them on a report card. She had only one other interest: dancing. “I am the one they call the Big Noise. I got to dance my way to fame. I just blew in from Winnetka; that town will never be the same”. Her parents reeked of old money, the kind of money that’d been stashed away in private Swiss bank accounts since before that Archduke in Austria-Hungary got assassinated back in ‘14 to start WWI. Remember that one? It was in all the papers. I scouted the standard dime-adance joints on Harry Hines, but nobody would cozy up to me. Go figure. After spreading around a few sawbucks, a local hipster in a bathtub Porsche tipped me off to a little known speakeasy far north of the City where she could be spotted. It was hidden in some fancy garage complex, known only as “Jack’s Place.” To get in, you needed a passcode for the gate, and a fancy sports car to boot. For an extra fin my tipster gave me the passcode, but I knew my old heap wouldn’t pass the smell test. Needing something fast, I checked out some cheap sport models at the local used car lots -- you know, the ones run by white collar crooks; the kind of people you’d find smoking joints in the trailer office of a repossessed car lot on Garland Avenue. Then came a change of plans. My client offered me his pristine Jaguar XK120 for a night out on the town; provided I brought his daughter, and the Jag, back in one piece. With the canvas top down, and the wind blowing against my fedora, I motored up to Plano. “When Big Noise waltzes through the door the bouncer has to clear the floor, ‘Cause everybody wants to see the girl get down.” “Jack’s Place” turned out to be everything everyone said it was, and more. The lights were low, the music loud, and the booze strong. Everyone who was anyone was there: Romo, Dirk, Beyonce, Tiger, even Seattle Slew. Word had it that Seattle Slew was there every night . . . damn, that horse could drink! The only thing missing was sultry Ingrid Bergman urging Dooley Wilson to “Play it again, Sam.” “She loves the bass. She loves the drum. She loves to stay out late and dance the samba, samba, How she loves to samba, rhumba, salsa, limbo and pachenga.” It was hard not to notice her from anywhere in the joint. She sure could dance, and she was cute too; cute as lace panties. All the men were transfixed by her. The air was so thick with testosterone that a flat-six chainsaw couldn’t cut through it. And when she stopped dancing . . . it was like watching a kitten trying to crawl out of a woodchipper. “She’s so restless; she’s on every guest list. None can please her. She’d say no to Caesar.” When I approached her, she had already made me, and knew exactly why I was there. “My parents sent you, didn’t they? I’m not going.” She declared defiantly. “Look, do you want to dance your way out, walk out, or be carried out? Makes no difference to me.” We waltzed by the drooling guys lined up against the wall, walked out to the Jag, then headed back to the City. She sat quietly at first, but after a while she opened up like a clam trapped in a sauna. She told me the rabbit died, and was deathly afraid to tell her parents. I sensed that she considered her options, but it was not my place to interfere; I was just delivering the mail. Then the waterworks opened up. If I had any paternal instincts, they bubbled up to the surface right then and there. I offered her the handkerchief in my jacket to cry into; the one for showin,’ not blowin.’ We pulled into the driveway of the family manse. By then a light rain had started to fall. After dropping her off and collecting my fee, I started to walk back to my office. The night rain was almost fog-like, a cold gray curtain that separated me from the faces locked behind the steamed-up windows of the cars that hissed by. I walked, and I smoked, and I flipped the spent butts ahead of me and watched them arch to the pavement to fizzle out with one last wink, all the while thinking about that poor little mixed-up kid starting her adult life on the back foot. It took me four days to find her, so I collected a cool 200 greenbacks for the job. I put the two C-notes in an envelope and stashed it in the top drawer of my desk. A few months later, I spotted the birth announcement in the newspaper. I took the envelope from my desk drawer, addressed it to her, stamped it and then dropped it the mail chute down the hall from my office. Once she was pickin’ up the big boys, Now she’s pickin’ up her little kid’s toys. I’m no sap, but sometimes even the smallest gestures can make a guy feel right with the world. For a brief moment I thought I was getting soft, but my secretary Velda convinced me otherwise and straightened me right out. She’s good at that; real good. Right then, life was good. Inspiration provided by the Divine Miss M. Check her out at: 25

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