Tuesday, September 23, 2014

The Break (Part 5)

     We found a chain motel in Ventura, fairly close to the water, around dusk.  We were a bit tired, but didn't feel like crashing out yet, so we did a couple of medium lines and began figuring out what to do about dinner.  There was a Mexican/American diner a couple blocks up from the motel which the desk clerk said was decent, and that was good enough for us.  It was either that or McDonald's; I told Bekka we could hit the McDonald's for milkshakes afterwards, if there was no ice cream at the diner.

      "So what's with the ice cream kick, anyway?  You're making me paranoid," Bekka told me after we've been seated.
     "I dunno, I've just had this constant ice cream jones lately, particularly for soft serve.  And how is me eating ice cream making you paranoid?"
     "I'm afraid you're gonna try to get me bloated up so I can't work.  It's your plan to make me unemployable, and then you'll have me to yourself.  You wouldn't be the first man to try and sabotage my career."
     "Bekka?  Dear?  Darling?  Pookums?"
     "You're being paranoid.  C'mon, doing porn is part of who you are.  Why the fuck would I want to take that away from you?  You're my friend, I'm not going to sabotage you like those guys you dated.  Besides, if I was gonna do that, I'd be feeding you loads of dope so you'd look all torn up and strung out..... And don't even think it.  If it'll make you more comfortable, I'll hide the drugs so you have to ask me for them."  I smiled and put my hand on hers.  "I'm not your boyfriend, and I sure as hell am not an ex-boyfriend.  I am your friend, someone who cares deeply about you, and won't sabotage you in any way.  The worst I could do is try to get you bored of sex through overexposure, and I'm not egotistical enough to think I could pull that off, you know?"
     "So you promise you have no ulterior motives."
     "None whatsoever.  Your life is your own.  My one caveat is that if you start dating a guy, I get to render an opinion of the guy.... Especially if I detect signs of dickishness in his personality.  And you get to do the same if I meet a girl.  Neither of us can veto, but can express an honest opinion."
     Bekka said, "So if you started dating, say, Rio or Tawny, I'd be allowed to suggest you're playing with fire.  Both of those girls don't deserve you anyway."
     "Exactly!  Just like if you dated Vince or Rich or Chip and Dale, I.... Well, I wouldn't be able to stop laughing if you decided to date Chip or Dale, since you'd be barking up the wrong closet-cases.  Vince is dumb as a post, he thinks I should give my product away, and Rich missed his calling in life: he should have been a used car salesman.  One hundred percent smarm.... And wait a minute, why shouldn't I date Tawny or Rio?"
     "Like I said, you deserve better.  They'd be interested in your cock, period.  You may not be in love with them, not right away, but you're a class 'A' gentleman, with the good manners that go alongside.  They wouldn't care at all.  You think I've been jerked around?  They have been too, five-fold.  So they're just cynical."
     I asked, "so did they get truly hurt, or just kinda screwed over?  Is it wounding, or just them being bitter?
     Our waitress arrived and we ordered: chile rellenos for me, a carne asada plate for Bekka.  She answered: "I've been out partying with Rio, and I like her, but she shuts down guys before they even start.  Like some guy will walk our direction and she'll say loud enough for them to hear, 'Shit, here comes another bastard' .... and the guy was headed for the bathroom!  Rio is either wounded, closeted, or has to be in charge from the first second.
     "And Tawny, well, you know her story."  Bekka paused to chuckle.  "Think she's introduced her little punk rock boy to her husband yet?"

     While never a hardcore girl, Bekka bought music that interested her  and went to shows from sixteen to twenty-two.  She preferred non-heavy stuff like the Wipers, the Descendants, the Front, X, plus some odd stuff like Skinny Puppy and Big Black.  Early one afternoon a couple months back, we  were having a slightly hostile conversation with Tawny about the possibilities of me being a performer..... An idea I didn't care much for, but Bekka thought it made perfect sense.  Tawny was not down with the idea because I listened to that scary punk rock music, and was thus scary myself.  That squelched any chance of performing with me.  Bekka and I put up a strong argument in favor of punk rock, and punk rockers.  Especially in favor of trim, healthy young men in leather jackets.... Old enough to know what they want.... Young enough to go all night .... Old enough to know what they're doing .... Young enough to horrify Tawny's ex-husband.
     Tawny decided she needed some mental illness in her life and agreed to go to the next show that happened.

     And it was a doozy, too.  Charged G.B.H. headlined, with Battalion of Saints and three other bands (I forget who) playing at the Adams Avenue Theater.  I'd suggested Tawny not try to look like a punk --- she'd just look like a poser and get shit all night --- but we decided to do sort of a uniform: black Levis, Inana Productions t-shirts (skin-tight on the girls) left over from the most recent AVN event in Vegas, and we all got matching cherry red 14-hole Doc Martens; we cuffed the jeans about two-thirds of the way up, so we wouldn't look like skinheads but still have a good stark look.
     Tawny liked her new Doc Martens more than her Tony Lamas: "Damn, but these things are comfortable!" she declared.  "I'm gonna get a couple more pairs!"  And she did: 10-hole blues and 14-hole oxbloods.  For a gag, we all wore our new 14-holes  (with cuffed jeans, of course) the next day we were all working, to the distress and agony of The Director.  I looked him in the eye and said, "Next week: mohawks."
     He started to freak: "No!  Christ no!  Two of my best performers with mohawks!?  Are you trying to get me killed!?  The people in Los Angeles will put me in cement shoes!  Please, don't!!"
     I calmed him down, told him I was kidding.... Then pointed out what a hot commodity Lois Ayres was with her short hair (and shaved pussy)....
     "Lenny, you're trying to give me a coronary, aren't you?  You want your boss to just drop dead on the spot."
     "Absolutely not.  If I was going to kill you, I'd pick a far more creative method of doing it.  Exotic spiders, perhaps"
     "Oh thanks.  You're such a fucking comfort."

  I brought a Sharpie and tagged on every flat surface:


Inana Productions
North County Smut

     The show was loaded, packed, stuffed.  No surprise with G.B.H. headlining; they were the main voice of British street punk.  G.B.H. (and The Exploited from Scotland) were the fashion plates for '80s hardcore: brightly colored and spiked hair, painted and metal-spiked leather jackets, Levis, and Doc Martens.  In high school, the uniform-like sameness of the look was something I'd avoided, preferring to take the piss out of standard fashion: I bought a Members Only jacket, the height of straight fashion at the time, and utterly destroyed it.  I cut tears in it and safety-pinned it back together, painted bullet holes across the back, then added band logos and pins.  It was an act of hate toward contemporary fashion.  It managed to offend "straights" wherever I went, who couldn't understand why I would destroy such a perfectly nice coat....
     I never owned a leather.  Why would I?  I didn't ride a motorcycle and we were in San Diego, so what would be the point?  I was obnoxious enough to point this out to people in their twenties  while I was in high school (wearing my Members Only) and got looks that were abashed or venomous.
     Tawny, Bekka, and I had all doubled on the MDMA, so we were happy to meet everyone we saw.  I'd kept a promise to Tawny, giving her a half-gram bag with which to get things happening if she felt so inclined.  Out of force of habit, I had twelve or fifteen quarter bags to sell.  $20 per bag and of my usual good quality.  I saw plenty of friends, plus aquaintances who knew me for my drugs.  In a way, I was a pushover to get rolled and robbed, but it never happened.  I guess it would have been in such bad taste that even the total thugs wouldn't bother.
     Using brutal honesty, Tawny accomplished her goal of hooking up with a punk rock boy, older (barely) than drinking age and young enough to scandalize her husband.  His name was "Dutch," partially  for his heritage and partially for the phrase "Dutch courage."  I took us all out to Denny's, being the one leaving the show with considerably more money than I'd arrived with (I'd bought us all t-shirts)  after the show for a snack.  Tawny had to be honest.  She was still freaked out by punk rock music, but had a thing for punk rock guys, and saw no reason why she shouldn't pursue guys ten years her junior for her sexual pleasure.  Since one was getting his thighs massaged as we ate, her opinion of punk rock guys had increased greatly.
     Her openness surprised and delighted Dutch: a woman who announced her intentions with no games.  Her age threw him, but he adapted.  He actually got kind of a kick out of semi-cuckolding "some businessman asshole."
     She never told him what she did for her career, simply saying she "traveled a lot for work," so their physical-only relationship would be off-and-on.  He had no problem with that, and was looking forward to their next rendezvous, whenever it was.  If he asked what she did for a living, she wouldn't lie.  She also gave him something very private: her cell phone number.  Hell, I worked with her, and I didn't know her cell number.

     "I hope she does tell her ex," said Bekka, finishing off her rice and beans.  "The bastard deserves it, you know?  It's a burn he deserves, getting thrown over for some punk rocker in North Park.  Wonder what his roommates thought?"
     "Raging jealousy is my guess.  She's got a fantastic body, and she has no shyness about showing it off.  Probably wandered into the kitchen wearing panties and nothing else in the morning.  'Hi, I'm Tawny, I spent the night with your roommate Dutch, and damn but he's a good fuck.  You'll see me around off and on, so don't get bugged."
      Smiling, Bekka asked, "So did you brag about me?"
     I told her, "Not as such.  You know how demanding my customers can be, and when they asked where the hell I'd been all day and night, I told them, 'In bed with a beautiful woman.  You have to ask her for details'.  Yeah, the urge to kiss and tell was strong, but I consider that in horribly bad taste.  They can figure out the obvious for themselves: this isn't high school."
     Bekka said, "Fair enough," and stared blankly at the desserts.  She seemed disappointed.  "What's up?" I asked her.
     "I'm being childish," she said, "wanting to be the center of attention.  I want to be the the sex bomb, you know?"
     "I sputtered with frustration.  "What.... What..... How do you.... You're..... Dammit you are a sex bomb!  You spread erections like apple seeds!  You, girl, are a hard-on dispensing unit, so drop the fucking insecurity and angst. The only difference between you and Tawny is that Tawny goes to great lengths to draw attention to herself, while you're more restrained..... And personally?  That's preferable.  Sometimes Tawny comes across as.... I guess 'having an exhibitionist streak' would be the best description.  She needs that affirmation more than you do, you're more self-confident.
     I laughed and told her,  "So drop the insecurity bullshit and keep in mind about the tens of thousands of men who pay to watch you fuck on video tape.  They  could choose video of anyone, and they chose you.  Dammit girl, that means something.  And you turn me on like crazy, and I sure hope I get a vote, what with us being monogamous and shit."
     She smiled and gave a small sigh.  "Gimme a couple days to try and adjust, but I promise to try and kick the insecurity."
     "Atta girl.  Tell you what.  Whenever you're feeling insecure, we'll take turns going down on each other.  A bit of a challenge for whoever's driving, but we'll figure something out.  Promise."
     "And the this will accomplish..... What, exactly?"
     "A sense of confidence in the recipient.  Oh, and orgasm.  Can't beat orgasm when it comes to self-confidence."

     We paid our bill and walked up the street to the McDonald's in search of milk shakes.  I got a large chocolate, with Bekka choosing a couple apple pies.  Walking back to the motel, the subject of Tawny and her boy-toy came up again.
     "In a way, their age timing is about perfect," I said.  "Tawny is what, thirty-one?  And he's twenty-two?  It works well for a physical relationship."
     "I can see that, " said Bekka.  "He's old enough to know what he's doing and still had lots of energy, and Tawny is at the age where she'll appreciate both, and can give him tips on what to do that'll drive women nuts.  Who knows, maybe even romance could arise out of their little affair.  And that will be highly amusing to watch from her ex-husband's perspective."
     I laughed and said, "That will be too awesome.  Her calling up the ex and telling him that the punk rocker she's been fucking, well, they've really got a thing for each other, so they're having a commitment ceremony  and moving in together.  I have the feeling the sounds he would make would be highly entertaining."
     "Yeah, choking on one's own tongue while steam shoots out your ears is an entertaining sound.  Think they'd go traditional or leather?"
     ":Leather, no doubt.  Dutch already has a leather obviously, and Tawny  would get heavy spikes with either the Inana or Hustler logo painted on the back.  No love lost between Tawny and her folks.... For the same as there's none lost between me and my dad at the moment.  Tawny  blames her parents for her young marriage, and one to a jerk, she felt like she had no other opportunities.  Yeah, she genuinely gets off on being a performer, but there's a huge 'fuck you' factor so far as her parents go.  My Papa and I fight, but it's like you said, at least we're keepins  some form of communication going."
     I told her, "It's totally okay if I just..... Not go to your house."
     She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and shouted, "No!  That's bullshit!"
     In a quieter voice she said, "Dammit Lenny, you're one of the closest friends I've ever had.  I will not pretend you don't exist just to appease my father.... Like I won't ignore Chip and Dale, or Tawny, or Rio, or Rita, or the Steves, or The Director, or anyone else.
     "It hurt.  Like, a lot.  I have these people who are incredibly important in my life, and I have to keep them hidden away from a man I love, from my own father."
     "Personally? The person you should introduce him to first is Rita.... And no, I'm not being nasty.  It's just Rita is tiny and bubbly and cute and fun.  And I would say to lie about what she does, just tell him she's another performer.  But I can't imagine anyone being hostile to Rita, you know?  Then Calm Steve next: he's, well, kind of dorky, so your dad won't feel threatened  by him."
     "What about Tawny?" Bekka asked.
     "Seriously?  Honestly?"
     "No, not really.  Lord knows that girl has a barbed-wire tongue, and there is nothing to prevent her from uncoiling it at my Papa, if he said something that pissed her off.  I mean, you went 100% diplomacy with him, refusing to strike at bait, perfect manners..... You were a gentleman in the classic sense.  My Papa would make a crack about having sex with strange men, and she'd come back with a line about them not being just strange, but damn bizarre.  And how a stranger is just a friend you haven't blown yet.  And at least now she gets paid for all the anonymous sex she has, and does my Papa have fifteen minutes to spare?  She'd just keep calmly jabbing away until he snapped.... Then ask him, 'You seem tense, are you all right'?"

     We finished our desserts and walked into the lobby to schedule a wake-up call.  We didn't need to be out until noon, but I figured one of us could run downstairs around nine and grab some muffins and baglels from the "Continental Breakfast" as something to eat when we felt like moving around.
     There was one guy checking in in front of us.  He got his keys, picked up his suitcase, turned around.... And froze solid, staring at the two of us (but mostly at Bekka).  He finally said, "Excuse me, I don't mean to be rude, please forgive me, um, can I ask, uh.... Are you Becky Page?"
     Bekka gave a small sigh, smiled, and said, "Yes."

     It took me a minute for the penny to drop.

     I was too used to her real name: so adjusted that I'd forgotten her screen name of "Becky Page."  Her box art was analyzed for my own curiosity; the text meant nothing to me beyond whether it was laid out well: it was letters on a box.
     Bekka (Becky) was easily recognizable, though, for anyone who had a video with her front and center on the box: she had a slightly longish pageboy bob, nearly jet black due to her Sicilian heritage.  Due to her unique look she was hard to miss, not to mention that she truly was beautiful.  If you saw her once, she would stick in your mind, as it had stuck in this man's.  This was the height of his week, if not his month.
     "Please Ms. Page, if it's not too much trouble.... Could I get an autograph?  I'm a big fan, it would mean a lot to me.  I'll, uh, have to hide it from my wife, but, well...."  He began digging through his briefcase for pen and paper.
     "I understand, sweetie.  And I'm flattered you're such a fan of my videos.  Any favorites stick out?" asked Bekka.
     "Oh, any of your 'Midnight' series were wonderful.  And the ones you did with.... crap, what is her name, how embarrassing.... Oh! Tawny!  The two of you together are.... Um, they're beautiful. The two of you together are utterly majestic."  The man --- perfectly average-looking guy in his mid-forties, dressed well but not too expensively --- proudly presented pen and paper to Bekka.  She asked, "Sweetie, what's your name?"
     Oh!  Sorry!  It's Alvin, Alvin Phillips."  Bekka wrote:

Alvin honey --

Always happy to meet a fan!
Thanks for saying hi, cutie!


Kisses from Becky Page!

P.S. Keep me in your dreams.....

     I think the "Keep me in your dreams" line nearly gave the poor guy a coronary.  Bekka could certainly provide fan service, that's for certain:  That was definitely getting shown around to the guys in the office, and held close to his heart (and far away from his wife).
     "Ms. Page, may I be forward?  I promise I'm not trying to be a letch,  but these motels get lonely, and if you wouldn't mind , would you and your.... companion.... like to have a drink in my room?  I have a bottle of Johnny Walker Red I haven't touched yet.  I understand if you say no, we just met, I'm just some guy, but it would mean a lot to me if you did."
     I looked at Alvin, and Bekka and I looked at each other.  "I'm not gettin' any bad vibes off him.  Up to you, hon."
     Bekka said, "It's all right with me, on two conditions: you remain a gentlemen, and you call me by my real name."
     "Your real name?  I don't understand."
     "Prepare for a shock, Alvin.  Almost no names in adult films are real.  Seka is not Seka, and I am not Becky Page.  My name is Bekka Luchessi.  I ask this of you as a gesture of trust, and that you hold it in your confidence."
     He could have been told she actually had a penis, that would have brought a more disconcerting response, maybe.   Eventually, the shock of learning about the concepts of stage names was overridden by the chance to drink scotch with the source of countless masturbatory fantasies.  What the hell, he could hold it over his fellow smut fans:  "I know Becky Page's real name.... Sorry, she made me promise to keep it a secret."
      His room was about six doors down from ours, so if Bekka got too tipsy I'd be able to get her into bed  without a problem.  If she got really tipsy I could do a fireman's carry to our room.  However,  Bekka knew better than to get hammered around a stranger.
     Alvin was a salesmen, and claimed to be able to sell snow to Eskimos.  An idea dropped into  my head: : "Alvin, think you could sell porn to people who see it all damn day?"
     "If it's from the company that puts out Be--- Bekka's materials, hell yes.  Your product is is high quality, your stars are top notch, it should be no problem.  Some charm, some demo, it's a piece of cake."
     I wrote down my phone number and explained, "We're still a small company, and we could be bigger.  I can make no promises at at all, but it could be a good sideline if things work right.  We are on vacation right not, but call us in two weeks and we'll get the boss on the line  and see what we can do.  I'll warn you: you're gonna need to learn a whole new industry, man.  And you won't be able to baffle 'em with bullshit, okay?  We need to move a lot of units through different distributors..  Unless they offer the moon and the stars, and put it in writing, anyone wanting exclusive rights can fuck off, you know?"
      "That I get.  Aww, she fell asleep.  Need help getting her back to her room?"
     "Nah, she just needs a shoulder to lean on."
     "If you don't mind me asking, what is the relationship between you two?"
     I hefted Bekka under a shoulder and told him, "We are very close friends.  That's the most succinct description I can give you."  I bid him goodnight and carried Bekka out the door.


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