Golden State Limited

Golden State Limited

David Galster

Copyright 2014 David Galster

Smashwords Edition

License Notes

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Foreword

The story unfolds during the Roaring 20s, when a lonely architect, Kent Stevensen travels from his home in Chicago to Los Angeles to visit his actress cousin, Ramona. During the train trip, a tragic accident occurs. But, Kent helps a cowboy rescue two women. Finally, he reaches Los Angeles to reunite with Ramona, just before her audition for a movie.

A flamboyant piano player from New Orleans pursues Ramona romantically, but during the movie filming, she meets a handsome stuntman, and becomes interested in him. She also encourages Kent to try to meet girls, but he lacks confidence, and struggles to find the right combination of words and approach for success.

The piano player and stuntman eventually learn about each other, and exciting moments follow when they vie for Ramona's love.

Chapter 1. Disaster on the Pecos

The glow of sunrise through the window shade awoke me. I had become accustomed to the clickety-clack of the rails, and the swaying of the Pullman sleeper coach. Lifting the shade, I saw the rolling countryside of northern Missouri. And, during the night, it had snowed. The landscape was covered in a clean, white blanket.

Quickly, I got dressed, and went to the dining car on the Golden State Limited, a transcontinental passenger train that runs from Chicago to Los Angeles. I informed the porter that he could convert my section back to normal daytime seating.

The coffee sure tasted good, and a generous plate of steak, eggs, hash browns, and toast lay before me. The feeling of luxury was wonderful. Saving money for several months had finally paid off. By the way, my name is Kent Stevenson, and I am an associate architect for Holabird & Root, in Chicago.

Back in 1924, my second cousin, Ramona Larosa moved from Chicago to Los Angeles. This was after her pilot boyfriend was killed in an air race crash. The events overwhelmed her emotionally, and her aspiring acting career was getting nowhere in Chicago. Since then, she has become a Hollywood actress, and now in January 1928, will audition for a part in the movie, Ramona. She is determined to become the leading lady, Ramona. After all, that is her namesake.

This opportunity is so significant, that Ramona invited me to come to Los Angeles to be with her during part of the filming. Reluctantly, Mr. Holabird granted me a three-week paid vacation. But, he needs me back as soon as possible, for preliminary work on the future Palmolive Building. He says he can't do the job without me.

The train slowed down as it headed into the station in Kansas City. Slowly, the train pulled into the train shed, and finally stopped. Although passengers were allowed off during the 45-minute stop, I decided to stay in my section, and read the sports page. Kansas City was the first of only four intermediate stops on the whole trip, which included Tucumcari, El Paso, and Tuscon. I hoped to remain the only passenger in my section. Finally, I heard the conductor announce the all aboard. What a sweet relief. Suddenly, the whistle blew, and the cars bumped as the train lurched forward. We were back on the road again.

It was after ten in the morning, and I was getting a little thirsty. As I rose to head to the dining car, a large figure appeared in front of me. Standing there was a tall, slim cowboy. He wore a huge Stetson hat, and beneath a handelbar mustache, he gave a big grin.

Howdy, is this here the 'Casa Monica' coach?

Yeah, I guess so, I said reluctantly. My stomach had a deflated feeling.

And this here is section five?

That's it, I said resignedly.

Ah sure had a hell of a time finding this place. But, I'm mighty pleased to meet you. They call me Horseshoe Hank Clemmons.

Glad to meet you, I said. I'm Kent Stevenson. Come on in.

Hank grabbed his suitcase, and placed it below the seats. He sat down in the seat in front of mine, and removed his hat and smiled. A red and blue plaid flannel shirt covered his slim, muscular frame. Worn blue jeans, topped with a big belt buckle, covered his legs. With striking blue eyes, he had an expression of honesty, determination, and optimism. But, I sensed some hunger in his look. Hank was a very handsome man, with short blonde hair, that lay smooth on his almond-shaped head. His blonde mustache seemed oddly out of place on what would otherwise be a clean-shaven face. He didn't even have long sideburns.

I'm going to get a Coca Cola or something in the dining car, I said. You need anything?

Naw, I'll be allright. I gotta get settled in a little, Hank replied.

I left for the dining car. I was disappointed to have a section mate now, but I didn't want to show any bad feelings. After I got a soft drink, I sipped it slowly in the dining car, and tried to gather my thoughts as to how I would adapt to this new development.

Returning to my section, I saw Hank sitting quietly and looking out the window.

Everything going okay? I asked.

Sure, Hank replied. Just enjoying the scenery.

Oh yeah, it's nice. But it sure is a vast, boring plain out here.

Yep, kinda like the Oklahoma panhandle. So, you headed to Los Angeles, Kent?

That's right, I replied.

What cha gonna do there? Hank asked.

Visit my cousin, Ramona. Hang out on their studio set maybe. I don't really know what all she has planned, I replied.

Is she in a movie?

Supposed to be, Hank. She auditions soon. We'll see. I really didn't want to tell him too much at first. I didn't like strangers knowing all my business.

You can just call me 'Horseshoe,' like everyone else does.

Okay, Horseshoe, I replied. I sat down and we continued chatting about the trip.

Finally, I got up the courage to ask: Horseshoe, how did you get your nickname?

Well sir, it's a long story. I was working on the Hitch Ranch out on the Oklahoma Panhandle. I had this horse named 'Crockett.' For some strange reason, that horse kept losing her horseshoes. I kept goin' back to the blacksmith, sometimes twice in a week, to git new ones put on that horse. Of course, with all the range ridin' and ropin' we had to do, I sure was in the saddle an awful lot. At any rate, one day I rode in by the bunkhouse, and Crockett was limping again. I looked over all her hooves, and dang it; the right front was raw from going without a horseshoe. I shoulda known, but anyway when I walked her over to the blacksmith shop, they saw me coming. One of the cowhands said something like - lookee here, here comes 'Horseshoe' or something to that effect. That name stuck ever since.

Interesting, I remarked. So what's happening for you in Los Angeles?

I hope to do some stunt work for the movies. You know, like jumping off horses, and falling from tall heights, and such, Horseshoe replied.

Sounds dangerous.

Yep, it is, but it pays good. I figure I can make more doing that than working on the ranch.

I hope it works out for you, I said.

We continued to become acquainted, and passed the time as we went through the Kansas plains.

At suppertime, the train passed through Pratt, Kansas, but did not stop. In the dining car, Horseshoe and I continued to talk about our lives, plans, and dreams.

I grew up on a farm near Gallatin, Missouri, Horseshoe said. That's in northern Missouri.

We went through that area, I said.

Yep. Too bad I couldn't have caught the train at Excelsior Springs. It's closer to home than Kansas City.

I grew up on a farm in DeKalb, Illinois, I said.

Why didn't you stay in farming? Horseshoe asked.

It's a long story, but I was in the 2nd Infantry Division in France in the Great War. And, after that, spent some time in Paris and other big cities in Europe. The farming life just didn't appeal to me after that. I became an architect, in Chicago.

That's okay. I guess everyone has to find their own life, and make their own way.

We ate our suppers, which were very lavish, including roast beef, mashed potatoes, snap beans, salad, and delicious bread rolls.

After supper, we returned to our section in the Casa Monica coach. It was already dark, and we hadn't even made it to Liberal, Kansas yet. We talked some more, but soon it was bedtime. We asked the porter to arrange the sleeping configuration, and Horseshoe was gracious enough to take the top berth. Despite the clickety-clack of the rails, and the swaying of the coach, I fell fast asleep.

KABANG-CRUNCH-KABOOM!!! The whole train shook violently, and woke me up. The nightlights went out, and everything was pitch black. The rails screeched loudly as our coach finally came to a halt, apparently a result of brakes. Horseshoe leaped from the upper bunk, and ran out of our compartment door. It was a good thing that he slept in his cowboy clothes. I threw on a pair of pants and shoes, and followed him close behind.

The noise had come from the front of the train, so we headed in that direction. Just at the front end of our car, I could see the silhouette of Horseshoe, leaning over the edge and calling out. Other passengers were standing around, looking around excitedly, and asking questions. One woman started crying. When I finally got there, I saw that we were on a bridge, but all the cars in front of us had gone off into the gorge below. Beneath us was a passenger car, precariously perched in an almost vertical position. It was sitting on top of another car among many stacked up in the bottom of the deep river gorge. The end of the car was resting perilously on a support column. It tetered, and was on the verge of falling with the slightest shove. Two ladies were at the top end of the coach looking up at us, and screaming. They were perhaps twenty feet or more below us.

Just be still! Horseshoe shouted down to them. I'll help you get out! He turned to me and said: Kent, just talk to them and keep them calm, I'll be back.

I was terrified, but instinctively called down to them. Be still, stay calm, help is coming. Don't worry.

A couple of minutes later, Horseshoe returned with a coiled rope. He jumped down from the car onto the tracks, which were now sagging under the weight of the train.

Kent, jump down here for a minute, Horseshoe said.

I climbed off the car onto the tracks.

Here, take this end and tie it off on one of the crossties, Horseshoe ordered.

I took the rope and reached down, and threaded it down between the crossties and brought up the ends and tied it with a square knot. When I looked up, Horseshoe was twirling a lasso, just like the way they do it