The Roadhouse on Route 12

Part I

   It was a single-story cinder block structure, the white paint on the blocks washed pink by the red neon script that read "CHARLY'S SEXXXY GIRLS".



   It lay on the edge of the Pine Barrens in New Jersey.  It could just as well have been at the edge of the Great Dismal Swamp in Virginia or at any other place on the brink of civilization.  

   The place started in the late 1940's as a restaurant specializing in burgers, dogs and breakfast 24/7.  Truck drivers thundering along the two-lane black top would find greasy food, bad coffee and easy waitresses, then go tearing ass off to Trenton or where-have you.

   Charly MacDougal bought the place after the restaurant closed down in 1964.  He ripped out half the tables and booths, installed a T-shaped runway and found a bunch of lasses in Times Square, eager for change of scene.  Skinny junkie hookers gyrated to Sam the Sham and the Pharos, Ricky Nelson, Bobby Darrin, Fats Domino and whoever the guy who serviced the big Wurlitzer juke was pushing in his monthly visits.

   The juke guy was part of Christopher Travatorre's organization out of Philly.  Charly paid a grand every two weeks for ten new 45 rpm discs.  He got to keep the change the stooges dropped into the machine.

   In 1986, Charly went to his reward - if you consider multiple myeloma a reward.  

   The Travatorre organization took over the joint outright (cancer eliminating the middleman), and they installed a combination DJ/MC.

   Myron Kupferman looked and sounded a bit like a cross between Stan Lee and Groucho Marx.  He looked to be in his late 60's when he appeared, chain smoking and leering at the women.  Whatever his lifestyle choices, they seemed to work for him. Thirty years later and he didn't seem to have aged a bit, though he always looked older than dirt.

   Charly's was managed by a robust blonde named Ingeborg Gustaffson.  She was a tough cookie in her early 40's with natural blonde hair going a bit to gray, (when she missed her appointment at the Curl & Clip), and she packed a punch that could anesthetize the rowdiest biker and/or biker babe.  When the Swedish waters grew stormy, Inge's face turned beet red and everyone who knew her knew to watch out – bodies were going to hit the floor.

   She also rode her girls hard and wouldn't put up with stealing or too much drama from any of them.  The skinny Times Square junkie whores of Charly's day had been replaced by tattooed and pierced, (but much healthier) young lasses with hopes of making it in show business.  Some did move on to off-off-off Broadway productions, some went to videos shot at Motel 6 – but Ingeborg made sure they were paid a decent wage and weren't hassled or TOUCHED by the clientele.

   One of the girls showed a flair for accounts and became Ingeborg's bookkeeper.

   Every night, Grace X counted the receipts and set aside the week’s tribute to the Travatorres.


   TO BE CONTINUED....