Billie Chainey's Storefront

CHAPTER ONE SEDUCED His broad, confident smile and brown-rimmed glasses caught my attention. I paused before getting into my car to see if he was headed in my direction. The refreshing March breeze scattered the leaves on this afternoon in 1978. I quickly put my shopping bags in the trunk. I didn't know whether he was a Jesus freak, or someone who hit on every 26-year-old female for a date. I paused and watched him before I climbed into my car. My gut reaction told me to lock the doors. I watched him move closer. Oh no, here comes one of those Jesus Freaks, I thought. His big smile and the way he was zeroing in on me gave me every indication he was a religious fanatic wanting to convert me. Jesus Freaks, as I thought of them, were very easy to spot in the 1970s, especially because they were every place I went in Los Angeles. By the time he reached my Mercury Monarch, I was already inside with the doors locked. I had sized him up to be maybe 30 years old, 5'10” and 160 pounds. As he ran, he exuded confidence. His manner of dress was very sexual: his shirt was unbuttoned almost down to his waist, and a necklace. He had reddish light brown curly hair that was not too long but not too short, just slightly below the ears. He carried a man's leather pouch slung over his shoulder, and he had on tight-fitting pants, his feet clad in boots. He finally reached my car and started pounding his fist on the driver's side window while waving some pamphlets he held in his hand. I rolled down the window slightly to say politely, “I don't want anything to do with a Jesus freak.” He may have looked quite sexy, but I wanted him to know my distaste for religious fanatics. The stranger said, “I'm not a Jesus freak,” as he held up pamphlets that were sexual in nature; they showed the earth and the moon making love in a cute, comical way. “Do you think a Jesus freak would distribute literature like this?” “No,” I replied. “I guess not.” I could feel my resistance waning. “My name’s Gideon, I work for a Christian group raising money for homeless children and recovering drug addicts. Would you be willing to help us out with a donation?” He smiled as I took a dollar from my purse and slipped it to him through the crack in the window. In return, he gave me several pamphlets as well as a small book for me to read. Leaning into the window, he said. “Hey, what’s your name?” “Billie.”