San Francisco Sentinel
Street Talk
August 30, 1990
Wicked, Wicked Friends
By Doris Fish
Is your favorite friend the worst person you know? Until his death nobody was wickeder than Tommy Pace. But he was so beloved that his naughty antics were tolerated even by the victims.
One tale I heard was of the Angels of Light show where Tommy was in the back row with some lovely ladies, and every night he would goose the two gals either side of him, and not just for a second, but the women would have to keep singing out for the entire number with Tommy’s finger up their butts. He was always forgiven, and it seemed to make him more lovable.
For some reason he was a saint in my shows, probably guessed that I have actually have no sense of humour in real life. But everyone had a tale about him, and it had something to do with being the butt of his tricks meant he really admired you but couldn’t express it with flowers or nice words but with a horrifically badly timed prank.
So many of my friends seem to have a bad reputation and sometimes an attitude to match. I have been warned, “Careful what you tell ‘Bad’ Jan! She can be really evil.” ‘Bad’ Jan and I have now been friends for over five years, and she has yet to say anything I thought was evil. Perhaps my tolerance for wicked gossip is high or perhaps more to the truth is that others see evil in Jan when she’s really just a talker. And boy can she talk.
And Miss X is really a saint, too, but she has got herself this sinister reputation, mostly for being surly, which is often true. I lived with her for a while and believe me she does wake up under a dark cloud. I called her, “She who must be avoided.” But around 3 in the afternoon a sweet, lovely lass would unfurl herself and set about organizing the videos from the night before, labeling the latest Joan Crawford masterpiece. She never really did any other chores, nor was she employed at the time, and for a skinny gal she sure could eat.
But things have a funny way of balancing out. Now she has a good job and has had to support most of us through lean times, including a roommate whose employment evaporated just as rent was due!
Many readers have expressed concern about our friendship. “Can she read? You couldn’t possibly still be friends after all the terrible things you’ve written about her.” The truth is Miss X loves to see her name in print almost as much as I do. And with her reputation what’s a few more bad words matter. Without me she’d be just another aging, bitter and twisted, frustrated chanteuse giving her roommate hell. I’m doing her a favor telling the world what a witch she is.
But Miss X is not wicked, like Cockroach Claire. She would turn up at parties and start ordering people to leave if she didn’t like them. “Would you and your friends please leave. My lover and I want to go to bed now.”
Another of Claire’s favorite party tricks was to turn all the gas jets on (old stoves with no pilot lights) and then leave.
Cockroach Claire would often host small, bizarre dinner parties in her own home (which was always incredibly filthy). She would make delicious meals then sit back with a cocktail while we ate. “Vicki looks like she’s going to throw up; if you’re quick Doris, you can have another hot meal.”
Claire’s love of cocktails did her in. By the end she was drinking cough syrup and burning down her apartments at an alarming rate. I had to laugh when I heard she died in the gutter amongst the shoppers one morning. It wasn’t funny, but it was. She was 26. Sometimes the naughty ones die young, too.
There was Connie Slab, whose only truly wicked comment was to a cancer patient who’d just had his jaw removed, “Keep your chin up!” But Connie survived herself and is now living a quiet life in the country with offspring. It is said we’ve all been here before and perhaps the naughty ones were the victims in their previous lives and feel a need to get someone this time. Perhaps they know that life is some kind of a rotten joke with no happy endings, and you’ve got to go down making as much trouble as possible, leaving a slash across all our lives. Maybe that’s right but I hope the slash I leave is a happy one.
