Oregonian, The (Portland, OR)   (1988-Current)
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BEER-FUELED FLIRTING TASTES BITTER & SUITE
Oregonian, The (Portland, OR)
October 19, 1988
Author: JONATHAN NICHOLAS - of the Oregonian Staff
Estimated printed pages: 3


I'm doing what a guy is supposed to do whenever he wanders into an unfamiliar bar -- hunch low on his stool, stare at nothing but his beer. I'm not four fingers into my brewski when the voice comes over my shoulder.

Do you come here often?

I raise my eyes to the mirror, and give her my best Bogart -- a look that's slow and sort of smoldering.

Lena, she says. Name is Lena. And I see in an instant she has about her the sort of hunger that has nothing to do with a burger and fries.

I signal the bartender to set up another round. Lena, I say, let's eat.

We'll never know just what might have happened next. For at that very moment in walks the kind of woman who makes a guy forget what he's doing. Tall. Skinny. Pants painted on legs that go on forever. Enough black curls hanging down her back for a guy to lose his past in.

She glances at me, gives me her best Bacall, then disappears into the back bar. Moments later the bartender pours me another beer. This one's on Melissa, he says. She's ready for you in back.

It was when Lena leaned forward to mention to the bartender that she was about ready to tear Melissa's ugly little heart from that pretty little body that I began thinking things were taking a turn for the dramatic.

And it was then that I remembered I had just walked on to the set of a play.

Charles Deemer, a big, blowsy, unshaven, unkempt teddy bear of a man, has never been described as conventional. He's a playwright, a breed generally associated with late nights and empty bottles. But ever since he discovered a penchant for a literary genre he calls ``simultaneous action theatre,'' his life has been even crazier than usual.

It all started up in the Pittock Mansion a few years back when Deemer penned ``Chateau du Mort.'' As the cast roamed throughout the mansion, theatergoers dashed hither and yon, upstairs and down, trying to follow the action.

With ``Cocktail Suite,'' playing this month at a bar called Petticoat Junction in Northwest Portland, Deemer is attempting something more ambitious still.

A trio of self-contained plays performed simultaneously in three areas of the bar has actors and audience alike wandering from one dramatic moment to another. There are squabbles over marriages and divorces, over affairs real and imagined. And there are arguments about money, religion and sex.

As on any Saturday night at The Rusty Pelican, some of these arguments have gone on longer they should. Which is to say that Deemer's latest literary effort is not entirely successful. But it does boast one attribute some theatergoers surely have longed for. If you get bored in the second act you can get up and go get a drink.

Oh yes, and if you show a little early, you do get to meet some interesting women at the bar.

BAD TASTE AWARD OF THE WEEK: Some tourist development types about town long have belabored the fact that too few Portland businesses take the initiative in gearing up for convention business. What, we wonder, will they say about this latest effort by Rafati's?

The restaurant on the downtown waterfront is highlighting this week a Chinook salmon dish it is billing as the ``Police Chiefs' 38 Special.''

GLEANINGS FROM THE GRAPEVINE: Steady growth continues to be the modus operandi for Vision Northwest, founded in 1983 by Portland psychologist Robin DeVour to serve as a support group for the some 500 Oregonians who lose their sight each year.

Newly installed as executive director is George Thompson, the inspiring leader who left such an imprint during his years as headmaster of remarkable Neskowin Valley School.

Friends and supporters of DeVour's effort will get a chance to meet Thompson Sunday afternoon when Vision Northwest holds its third annual wine tasting at the Home Builders' Association on Southwest Bangy Road. Music by DeVour and his jazz combo.

THE END OF THE ROAD: A guy who claims to have cycled through Sweden, Denmark, Holland, France, Spain, North Africa, Argentina, Mexico and Calfiornia came to a grinding halt last week in the Rose City. He dropped by a McDonald's on Union Avenue for dinner and someone stole his bike. Mike Schuster tells me he was riding am 18-speed Peugeot mountain bike with a blue frame and saddlebags. ``I've ridden 185,000 miles on that bike,'' he says. ``Every city has been wonderful. Except this one.''

Edition: FOURTH
Section: LIVING
Page: E01
Index Terms: Column
Copyright (c) 1988 Oregonian Publishing Co.
Record Number: 8810190216

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