Melinda Frank of LA Bohemia

I found a photograph of Melinda Frank in the University High School yearbook. She is on the left. I found Christine Presco, and Raphael Fouquet. Add Marilyn Godfrey to the mix and we have my Stable of Beautiful Women that surrounded this Artist. I have to thank Lara Roozemond for saving me yesterday. I was heading to my Old Cross I fashioned in high school. Lara reminded me how sexy and mind-altering being an artist and a artist’s model, can be. She opened up my third-eye!

After her overnight success as a world famous woman artist, Christine told me she did not feel like an artist. She asked me to help her. I was her role model. Our parents were parasites who took from us. I was the Family Giver.  I did, and I didn’t know how damn interesting I was – and sexy too! Christine would bring home these stunning young women for me to meet. She told them I was an artist. I had large empty canvases. After Marilyn and I broke up, Raphael came into the backyard on Glendon, in her bikini. She stood there as I took her in. I looked at the bow that begged to be tugged exposing her mound of Venus. I take her into my inter sanctum of the mind. She was posing for me. She wants me to see her completely naked.

I stop myself. She’s my sister’s best friend. That stopping is captured in both our minds. It is a Soul Ache. When Christine and I had our falling out, she forbid Raphael to see me. She knew with my sister out of the way………?

One day I come from my studio into the house, and there stands Melinda Frank. She is taking me in, letting me take her in. She has these beautiful freckles. She is dress like Anne Frank. She exudes intelligence. I feel her in my mind like a cook wave of brilliance. She was wearing Catholic clothes. She had gone to Catholic school in the middle of New Mexico. Her father is a Jew. She is on probation. I had to have her. She had to have me. It was an instant contract. To this day there is a reservation, a land we went to. The Land of Melinda. We almost died there. She was the Death of Me.

I took her out back to see my art. She stops before my Chicken Wire Man. She starts to sob. She has the same beautiful small contained voice that Lara has. Melinda was written up in TIME magazine for speaking sentences when she was six months old.

“What’s wrong?” I ask her.

“Look! A spider has made a tunnel right between his eyes!”

This is 1962. Melinda is sixteen. I am seventeen. Her father had her first lover, killed. His enforcers used a blowtorch on his face. I met Sky. He looked just like Jesus. He was twenty-four. Jesus and Anne Frank……The Purple Gang! I am being taken a couple of notches higher!

After she saves my life. Melinda comes from her shower wearing pink pajamas with Micky Muse all over them. Don Frank is telling me his philosophy about the Daddy Rat protecting his baby rats. Melinda puts on Bob Dylan’s album. Then lies on her stomach in the middle of the floor. I can not take my eyes off her beautiful ass. I think her father get it. I want to fuck is his daughter – real bad! I’m being put to a test. Frank has two daughters, and no son. I stood up to him. I showed real guts. He respects me, a whole lot. His wife adores me.

“You look like a young Gary Cooper!”

I want Melinda to have my baby. This is the first time I ever considered this. Ten minutes earlier I watched expose the wound in my lovers head, made when Frank gave her a ferocious yank, and she hit her head on the counter of the motel lobby, he found us in. She had hung on – for my dear life. Frank had been making calls to my family.

“When I find your son, he’s a dead man!”

“I’m not leaving without Greg!” Melinda cried, as the blood streamed down her face.

So, here it is, what is stored in a Superior Court of Monterey, the Great Fight – over me and Melinda, the True Arista, and his Femi Fatale, his Fatal Muse. This is why Christine did not feel like an artist. This is why she offered to teach me her style, so I could share in her wealth and fame. Christine would not be an artist till ten years later. She knew a Great Artist when she was sixteen. I was a Great Artist. My work was inventive and full of Mind-Drama and a Spiritual Awakening.

When Rosamond fans discovered she was not a man, they wondered if she was a Lesbian. What is this thing she has for women. They were my women. Christine adored me, but, could not be one of them. There was no incest. But, Christine lived vicariously through her friends. I was her ideal. To hide this truth with lying books and movie scripts, is the real story, which someone is wanting to steal! I feel for her as a woman who found herself in a unique place. Our true story will be told.

As I watched Melinda listening to Bob Dylan, while her parents took turns telling me The Family History, this white light grew from my stomach, then traveled to the top of my head. At seventeen I became enlightened. And there she is, lying on the floor, the unattainable Woman. The Sad-eyed Lady of the Lowlands. This is a Greek Tragedy! This is the Acme of L.A. Where do we go from here?

Melinda and I took it to the next level. After we broke up, she came into May Company where I sold art supplies, and said.

“Quit your job and come back up north. There’s something amazing going on.”

Two months later, I quit my job, and, quit being an artist. At eighteen, I was a Master Artist. So what? A whole universe grew from Melinda Land, and it filled with magical creative people on a journey of discovery!

Jon Presco

Copyright 2018

In 1964 at the age of seventeen I was offered a job managing an adult movie theatre on LA by my second girlfriend’s father who was the head of the Purple Gang. Melinda was very upset this offer was made, because Donald had her first lover killed. I considered taking so we could have some freedom. I did not wsnt to be virgin any longer. I really wanted to make love to Melinda for a very long time to come. She said THEY would suck me in. There would be nothing left of me, and us.

When I started dating Melinda Frank, my good friend, Bryan McLean did not approve.

“She’s a black widow. Because of her my friend Sky is dead.”

Melinda had become close with my sister Christine. She was written up in TIME magazine for speaking sentences when she was six months old. She wrote profound poetry, she influenced by her twenty four year old lover, Sky, who hung around the Beat Poets of Venice.

“What was
can never be
brought back

Killing, Raping, and Crucifying the Artists, their Lovers, and Model Message List
Reply | Delete Message #445 of 490 Killing, Raping, and Crucifying the Artists, their Lovers, and Models

“What do you want me to do – kill him?”

I spoke these words to Melinda Frank, my second girlfriend. She was sixteen
years old. She was my sister Christine’s good friend who dressed like Anne
Frank. I am sitting with her in the shrubs in front of her home where she had
gone to hide. She, Bryan Mclean, and I knew Melinda’s father had her first
lover, murdered! Donald Frank had called up my family and promised them I would
be dead by the end of the day. He had caught Melinda and I cutting school. We
made love for hours in my bed, we getting down to our underpants, and, we almost
went all the way. For this – I must die!

Thanks to Melinda I am alive! When I was in her father’s house listening to her
deranged father explain his brutal philosophy of life, that’s when I began to
leave my body. A white light came out of my chest and I felt like I was
floating. I felt that I could fly away. I felt that no harm could come to me –
in this state!

I had been looking at Melinda lying on the floor on her stomach, she completely
oblivious to what her father The Murderer was saying to me. She was reading the
jacket of a Bob Dylan album. I studied her wet hair, that not but a half hour
earlier was completely covered with blood. Blood streamed down her face in
rivulets as she held on to the door jam. Frank had hoisted his daughter on his
shoulder – his cross to bare. He had no sons. Just two daughters to carry on his
lineage. Donald and his brothers were members of the Jewish Purple gang. The
owned half of New Mexico. Why wasn’t Melnda taken to the hospital?

“I’m not leaving with Greg! Melinda cried as he yanked on her with all his
might. He was desperate to separate us so he could send his goons to kill me
like they did Sky, the beautiful twenty four year old lover of Melinda, who
looked just like Jesus. He deflowered her. Donald had Sky’s face disfigured with
a blowtorch. Bryan was Sky’s close friend, and was angry at me for dating her.
He called Melinda a Black Widow.

Melinda and I had gone to the motel in back of my house to call her grandmother
and have her wire money for her to take the bus to Texas. Earlier, sencing
something was wrong, Melinda had called home only to hear from her mother Donald
was out looking for us. The grandmother would later turn us is.

While sitting in the manager’s office waiting for a Moneygram, we heard the
front door bell sound, and the young manager got up to go to the desk. Now we
hear an angry voice and the manager is backing up into his office Donald right
there in his face, What a fucking animal.

“Where are they, cocksucker? Tell me, or I will rip your face off!”

I get up, and start walking towards Donald, whose head turns like a wild beast
to see who is in the room. He spots his daughter, and me. He comes rushing at
me, gets in my face and screams!

“C’mon, mother-fucker – hit me! I haven’t had some fun in a long time!”

There’s his sixteen year old daughter beholding her father on the verge of
killing her second boyfriend she loves. He can not be doing this for her sake!

Melinda sands up and gets between us. Donald’s eyes are black pits. There is
murder in his eyes. I do not flinch, or back down, but speak calmly to him. I
have dealt with his kind before. My own father committed insane and violent acts
of violence and derogation against members of his family – only for the reason
we were HIS family. There is an ownership issue here.

Donald grabs Melinda by the wrist and starts pulling her towards the door, but,
Melinda digs in her heals.

“C-mon, sweety! I’ve come to take you home!”

“I don’t want to got with you!”

Donald now drags her to the doorway, and when she grabs hold of the door jam he
gives her a violent tug that sends her head flying into the front desk. You
could hear the sound of her head hitting the edge. Blood begins to pour down her
face. Donald throws Melinda on his shoulder, turns to carry her out the door,
but Melinda takes hold of the door jam again.

I understand this is a struggle for my life. Melinda won, for now.
In looking at her on the floor in her pajamas, I flash back to an hour ago, and
see what really frightened me, and I was really afraid for the first time. A
very large man had come into the motel office. He was about six foot six. He was
wearing a white Stetson cowboy hat. He had an air of authority. I saw him as a
World War Two Veteran. He was appalled at what he beheld. There was blood
everywhere. He came at Donald, begging him to put the bloody girl down. Now it
is Melinda’s turn to look just like Jesus, like Sky did. Her big eyes were
pleading with the big man for help.

“This is my daughter! If you know what’s good for, you’ll back off!”

The big man stood there frozen, studying the murderous black eyes of a wild
beast. He was struggling at the very core of his soul, for he had never backed
down. Did he kill Nazi in Germany? Now……..he backed away, slowly, looking
utterly defeated, because he ascertained that Donald was carrying a gun, and had
made it clear his defence for killing the hero was to protect his underage
daughter he was rescuing from the Motel of Filth and Sin.

“The father rat has to take care of his baby rats, or, everything is chaos in
the world!”

As Donald lay his, kill or be killed, philosophy on me, I began to leave my
body, because, I was not out of danger. As long as Melinda and I were in sight
of each other, I was safe. But, how safe is that? How safe does that feel? And
then my angry brother knocked at the door. He had come to my rescue, or, so he

A week ago as I tried to fall asleep, I began to shake violently. After a half
hour I took some pain pills. I almost dialed 911 three time. I could not breath.
I was having a severe anxiety attack. In recalling things about my struggle to
have a normal and healthy sexual bond with a normal and sexually healthy woman,
I was going back and recalling why this was so hard for me. I loved Susie,
Marilyn, and Melinda so much. But, Donald gave me a very clear message; “Make
love to my daughter – and you are dead!” This 0ut of body experience would
contribute to my death on McClure’s beach

Melinda was hiding in the bushes because she was suffering from PTSD. I loved
her do deeply, and cared about her so much. I suggested I try to get along with
her father, who wanted to hire me to run a movie theatres he owned. After I was
working for him for awhile, I would ask for his daughters hand in marriage.

“I don’t want that! You don’t understand how much I hate him!”
“What do you want me to do, kill him?”

I got no reply, and knew our relationship was over. Melinda wanted a Knight in
Shining Armor to come take her away from her father.- any way he could!
As I talked abount Rena, I kept coming back to the fact she was just seventeen
years of age, and thus, underage. Rena had told me she was eghteen. I think I
was in Donald’s house to celebrate Melinda’s Sweet Seventeen Birthday.
Growing up on a ranch in New Mexico, the only school around was a small Catholic
School. The head Nun, would make Melinda huddle down in the space below her
desk, and take sharp kicks at her, telling the students;
“This is how you treat a Jew!”
Today is Ash Wendsday. Melinda was written up in Time Magazine for speaking
sentences when she was six months old. She could never utter these two word;
“Help me!”

“It may be many months after the ordeal when you feel like your life is just
getting back to normal when a heavy rain (after surviving a hurricane), hearing
a car door (after leaving an abusive spouse), or even the telephone ringing
(after a family tragedy) triggers you and your heart races, your body starts
shaking and you are literally terrified, all over again. ”
Jon Presco
Copright 2005

About Royal Rosamond Press

I am an artist, a writer, and a theologian.
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1 Response to Melinda Frank of LA Bohemia

  1. Reblogged this on Rosamond Press and commented:

    I am lucky to be alive – for all these years.

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