Friday, January 6, 2017

Fiesta (Part 11)

      After breakfast in the morning, Bekka and I helped clean the Dago area and stow everything in the Iveco.  This finished, we headed back to the amphitheater to socialize and nurse a bit of leftover keg beer.  Jane showed up after a while, alone.  She seemed a bit melancholy.

     "You look a bit blue," said Bekka.  "What's up?  A problem with Soda Pop?"
     "No, that was great.  He was great, too.  We ate downtown, then he took off, a bunch of Berdoo guys are going to visit Hearst Castle and he wanted to meet them.  We traded phone numbers, we're gonna stay in touch."
     "So why the long face?" I asked.
     Jane sighed and said, "I called Lance this morning.  I promised him I'd call, so he'd know I hadn't been murdered and gang raped, in that order.  Okay, he was at drama camp this summer, right?  And you know I'd given him permission to get laid while he was there.  Every time I ask him how camp was, he just sort of says, 'Oh, fine,' and changes the subject.  Today he finally told me that yeah, he did get laid at camp.  The thing is, he got laid with some bitch who lives in La Jolla.  I'd figured, what are the odds of him hooking up with some girl who also happens to live local?  Him and some chick from another state would bang boots, and it would be over when they went home.  Nope, he got busy with some rich bitch from goddamn La Jolla.
     "Okay, I'd told him to get laid at camp.  When he said he had, I was all, 'Hey, great, I hope you rocked her world.'  Then he says where she lives.  Then he says he wants to keep seeing her.  I told him fine, I don't mind sharing.  Then he says, 'Yeah, well, she does mind.  I told her about you.'  Um, okay.  And he goes on, 'I told her a lot about you, like what you're like, and your style, and you living with Lenny and Bekka, and some of the things you do to have fun.  She says you're a toxic person, and you'll end up making my life a mess if you're around.  You're self-destructive, and destructive to those around you.'  I told Lance I wanted to meet this bitch face to face, not to necessarily beat her up, but if she's gonna talk shit about me, she should at least meet me in person.  And who is she, anyway?  Lance says her family is old money, they've been in La Jolla for decades.  Also, her father in on the board of directors for the fucking Globe Theater in Balboa Park.  You know, the place where Lance wants to act, doing Shakespeare.
     "So I've got some spoiled cunt talking trash about me to my boyfriend, trying to make me look bad.  She's into Lance, and her dad can help him reach one of his big goals in life.  I asked if they'd been talking since they got back from camp, and he said yeah, several times a week.  He says he told her where I was gonna be this weekend, and she said that's proof that I'm self-destructive, I'm reckless, blah blah blah.
     "I asked straight out, 'Is the bitch at least a good fuck?'  He hemmed and hawed, totally not telling the truth.  After this long, I can tell when he's being dishonest with me.  Shit.  This cunt is a lousy lay, but she's got money and a connected father, so as a fucking life strategy, dating her would be a good move.  I finally asked Lance if we were splitting.  You know what he said?  He says, 'I want to pursue a relationship with Debbie' --- the cunt's name is Debbie --- 'but I still want to see you, too.  We just wouldn't let Debbie know.'
     "Now I'm getting really pissed, it's obvious how he's thinking.  I said, 'So basically, you want to have this La Jolla bitch as your 'real' girlfriend, but you still want my pussy available, because like all rich bitches, she's lame in bed.'  He didn't say anything for a minute, so I knew I'd nailed it.  He's all, 'I wouldn't put it like that.'  I told him, 'Look, I'm cool with open relationships, polyamory can work.  But you just want me as a mistress.  If she'll accept me, I'm cool with you dating both of us.  I'll even try to make friends with this chick.  But I'm not gonna be your dirty little secret.'
     "Lance is all, 'Uh.... I doubt she'd accept that, she has a really bad opinion of you.'  I just snapped.  I started yelling, 'And how the fuck did she get that bad opinion of me?  It could only have come from what you said about me!  Is that what you did all summer at camp, talk shit about your girlfriend?  Tell everyone how you're dating a nympho punk rock bitch who likes to party harder than you do?  Everyone hear about the slutty runaway swamp trash from Florida with blue hair that you fuck?  If this cunt's got a problem with me, it's because of what you said to her.  I don't know a Debbie from La Jolla, in fact, fuck anyone from La Jolla named Debbie.  You talked shit about me, don't lie.'  Lance doesn't say anything for a minute, then is all, 'I don't think this conversation is going to be constructive, I'm gonna go now.'  And he hangs up.  Asshole."
     Bekka wrapped her arms around Jane, so did I.  "I'm so sorry, girl," I said.
     "I know I'm gonna be all blubbery and weepy about this at some point.  Bur right now I'm just pissed off.  God, Lance is totally acting like he's from LA, he's fucking someone because they'll improve his standing, advance his career or whatever.  I hope the cunt at least appreciates that I taught Lance how to eat pussy like a champ, you know?  But she might be the sort of uptight rich bitch who's totally repressed, and would think that's gross.  I'll bet she never lets Lance come on her face.  And I'll bet she never comes at all, totally frigid."
     We let Jane go, and she went to get some beer.  We sat on the edge of the stage, not saying much.  Presently a San Luis Obispo sheriff's car rolled in.  Odd, it was the first time I'd seen a cop actually venture inside the preserve.  There were two deputies in the car.  They started to turn down the road towards the camping areas, then stopped.  They backed up, and aimed directly for us, coming to a halt six feet away and getting out.
     The deputies approached us, I recognized one as who I'd dealt with the previous afternoon.  He walked up to me and said, "Do you drive a blue hot rod, I believe a Ford Falcon?"
     "Sometimes, yeah," I answered.  "It's my wife's car, we both drive it.  Why?"
     "We're curious as to where you went and what you were doing late last night.  You left around eleven, and didn't come back until nearly two in the morning.  We'd like to know what you were up to."
     I stared at him, then gave my car salesman grin and said, "Well, gee whiz, officer, I just had to take care of some business.  First I dropped off the five pounds of China White I had in my trunk, then dispose of the bodies of three dead hookers we'd killed during a Satanic ritual in the afternoon.  After that I had to check on some child sex slaves I have in a safe house up in Avila Beach.  Then I went to the all-night gas station, robbed and sodomized the cashier, and got a soda.  I paid for the soda, though, and the cashier says he wants to see me again.  Does that answer your question, or should I keep feeding you bullshit?"
     "Think you're funny, do you?" said the other deputy.
     "No, I think I'm a sarcastic prick.  However, I also understand about knowing one's audience, so I figured I'd say the sorts of things you two wanted to hear.  It was certainly more interesting than the truth."
     The first one said, "You haven't answered us.  Where did you go, and what did you do?  And no more jokes, answer us straight."
     I shifted from my car salesman grin to my lawyer's smirk.  "No.  No, actually, I'm not going to answer you at all, for the simple facts that I don't have to, I don't want to, and it's none of your freaking business.  Whatever we were up to is of no concern of law enforcement in San Luis Obispo County. It's a dead subject.  Good morning, deputies."
     "Gonna stonewall us, huh?" the second deputy asked.
     "I'm not so much stonewalling you as I am ignoring you completely.  Yes, I'm responding to you, but I'm not actually giving you any thought.  I have other things on my mind.  I'm mentally reviewing what I need to get done at work tomorrow, I'm thinking about our cat Squeak, I'm wondering if I can talk my wife into sneaking off into the trees for a quick blowjob.  Things like that."
     Bekka said, "In order, stop thinking about work, Squeak is fine, and yes, but let me have another beer first..  Good morning, deputy, we spoke briefly yesterday.  You have long shifts."
     After a pause and a glare, the first deputy said, "We've had a lot to keep an eye on this weekend.  Good morning, Ms. Page.  Did you enjoy your evening?"
     "Very much so, it was a great party.  As you can see, I remain un-assaulted and un-gang raped.  I tried to sign up for a gang rape, but the roster was full."
     Jane added, "I offered to be the victim of a gang hand-job, but they turned me down.  That's all right, I don't have my wrist braces with me anyway."
     "So, all three of you are comedians," said the first deputy.
     "We're just in a chipper mood.  It's a lovely morning, and we intend to have fun today," I said.
     Directing himself at Bekka, the deputy said, "You were on my mind last night.  I took it for granted we'd be taking a report from you at the hospital by around three or four a.m., you telling us how you just don't understand what happened, how could so many people be so brutal to you.  You'd have been another violent crime victim, another statistic.  You insist on associating with animals, Ms. Page.  Sooner or later it's going to get you hurt."
     Bekka gazed at the deputy with a cool smile.  "Actually, there was one minor incident.  A young man was crude with me, a bit of verbal abuse.  The thing is, it wasn't a Hell's Angel, it was a young man from a fraternity house at Cal Poly.  He and his friends showed up last night so they could witness the human zoo for themselves, drink beer they hadn't helped pay for, and, in their words, score some pussy.  My husband dispatched of the young man who accosted me.  All four young men demonstrated a lack of tact, manners, intelligence, and even basic social grace.  They were drunk and obnoxious, being louts.  Their big mistake was how they would approach women at the party, they seemed to think women here would be impressed by a frat boy slurring at them, 'Hey bitch, I got something I wanna show you' while grabbing at their crotches.  True romantics, they were.
     "Another thing they didn't consider was that many of the women they were rude and lecherous with have boyfriends and husbands.  Those men took the crude treatment of their women as a challenge to their honor, and correctly so. I am full-blooded Sicilian, I know all about honor, it is a very important thing to me.  I have no idea what happened to those fraternity boys, it was like they were simply gone.  Perhaps they realized their error and fled.  Perhaps they were destroyed by angry husbands and boyfriends, and you'll find their corpses two weeks from now.  Perhaps they even had a collective epiphany about what horrible, useless people they are, and went somewhere to kill themselves.  Okay, I doubt that one is true, frat boys have the self-awareness of cattle.
     "So yes, at one point last night I was treated rather poorly, albeit verbally.  But that came from a fucking college student crashing a party, some dumb rich kid whose world view is distorted and blinkered, who thinks he can treat women like recalcitrant servants.  Every Hell's Angel has been a gentleman to me.  There are a couple in the Dago chapter who don't care for me, but they simply turn their backs, we don't interact at all.  Deputy, I hate to disappoint, but I am perfectly fine."
     Bekka finished her speech, and the two deputies just stared at her in silence.  Finally, the second one said to me, "You still need to answer us.  Where did you go and what did you do last night?"
     "Is there an echo in here?" I asked.  "No, I don't need to answer you.  It's none of your business, you're wasting your time repeating yourself.   Tell you what, here...."  I pulled out my wallet and handed my driver's license to one of the deputies.  "There's my information.  Have me subpoenaed, and make me answer your questions to a judge.  Then you'll have your curiosity satisfied.  Until that happens, you'll just have to live in mystery, okay?"
     The deputy flicked my license and said, "I'll be back. I want to see how clean you are."  He started walking to the squad car.
     "Take your time," I called.  Ignoring the other deputy, I turned to Jane and said, "So, what do you think you're going to do about Lance?"
     "I'm not sure," Jane frowned.  "I mean, we've been together nearly a year.  Will he really throw me over that easily?  Does he think I'm gonna be willing to put up with him dating this Debbie bitch, but keeping me as his little secret fuck toy?  I'm willing to try and make it work, we'll be poly.... Or he will be anyway.  But if that's gonna happen, that cunt in La Jolla had better adjust to me being around.  God, I can't believe he'd just talk trash about me, making me look bad to a bitch he'd just met.  I'm seriously questioning how much he really cares about me.  He could have --- should have --- told this bitch, 'Look, I've got a girlfriend, I have her permission to have some fun at camp, but this is just a fling for you and me, okay?'  I guess he learned about her and her family and decided he wanted to associate with a higher class of person or something, he can do better than a Florida gator bait bitch."  And Jane's tears started to flow.
     I wrapped my arms around her and said, "He's fucking up, big time.  I don't know, I never saw him as being that cold and objective, just willing to ditch one girl for another, because the other girl can possibly advance his plans.  And if he starts dating this broad but is still trying to get in your pants, have you as a mistress, I will happily contend with the legal problems I'd face for beating the shit out of a teenage boy."
     What are you talking about?" asked the deputy, moving a bit closer.
     Bekka responded for me. "Our friend here is having some drama in her romantic life.  Beyond that, though, it's none of your business, deputy."
     "Are the three of you always so belligerent with law enforcement?"
     "Belligerence?" I queried.  "How have we been belligerent?  Have I raised my voice?  Have I sworn at you?  Am I displaying any kind of bad attitude at all?  I'll freely admit to being sarcastic with law enforcement, but even that is situational.  You keep asking me questions about subjects that don't concern you, either as a cop or as a person.  Ask me about something I will discuss with a stranger, and I'll be happy to talk your ear off.  Otherwise, you're just wasting your own breath, sir."
     The first deputy returned with my license and handed it back.  With a dull glare, he told me, "You have no outstanding warrants, at least not in California.  But I wrote down your information.  Watch your mail, you just might get that subpoena you asked for."
     I shrugged.  "Doesn't bother me.  I'm more or less self-employed, so missing a day or two of work won't bother me.  But I'll bet the judge will be a bit peeved his time was being taken up by listening to a really mundane story."
     "So what do you do for a living?"
     "Well, you're familiar with who my wife is, and her career, right?  I run the studio that releases her features.  I also write and produce them.  Check our video boxes, I'm in the credits twice."
     "Yes, I'm familiar with Becky Page...."
     Bekka cut in with, "So which of my movies is your favorite?"
     For just a split second, the deputy actually flashed a smile.  "'Dangerous Desires,' ma'am."  Then he went back to me.  "So you're the one who makes the Becky Page movies?  And she's really your wife?"
     "Funny thing to lie about," I responded.  "Why would we bother?"
     "Huh.  So, I guess you two have what is called an 'open relationship.'"
     "We do, but not because of my career," Bekka said.  She then gave our stock response regarding the difference between sex and performance, and how her job didn't affect us as a couple.  The deputy took all this in with a studious frown.
     "Well then," I said, clapping my hands on my knees and standing up.  "We're going now, we're meeting a friend at Baxter's, downtown.  Good day, officers."
     "Who are you going to meet?" the deputy asked.
     I looked at him for a moment, then said, "You know what?  I'll bet you can guess my response to that question on your own, sir.  Come on, ladies, let's get rolling."  We started walking back to where the Falcon was parked.
     On our way down, we ran into Riley.  He was with a young woman who was dressed fairly preppy.  He said, "Hey, I was just looking you you three.  This is my daughter, Meredith.  Meredith, this is Jane, Lenny.... and I believe you're familiar with this girl."
      Meredith exclaimed, "Oh my God, you really are Becky Page!  I thought my Pops was yanking my chain when he said you were around this weekend.  I love your movies, you are too awesome.  So, how are you connected to the club?"
     "We're friends of the Dago chapter," Bekka replied.  "Their bar, the Hi-Lo in San Diego, is also one of the few places I can go for a drink without having fans interrupting me.  I'm happy to meet my fans, so long as I'm not eating, drinking, or playing pinball.  So, which movie is your favorite?"
     We stood and did the fan service routine, Bekka signing a sheet of paper the girl had in her purse.  As we were getting ready to get going again, Meredith said to Riley, "I'll call your office Wednesday to get the weekend arrest totals, 'kay?"
     Curious, I asked Riley, "So, uh, what do you do for a living?"
     Riley almost formed a complete smile with his mouth.  "I thought Id mentioned it.   I'm a criminal lawyer.  Jesus knows, I live in the right town for that work.  Come on, princess, let's go see if there's something left in the kegs."  The two started walking again.
    Both girls had expressions of surprise, I'm sure I did too.  Bekka said, "Okay then.  Never in a million years would I have guessed at Riley's occupation."
     "I wonder which happened first," I pondered.  "Him being an Angel, or a lawyer."
     Jane said, "Hey, so what happened last night?  Roach wouldn't tell me.   You guys were gone for a long time, did you end up offing those two frat boys?"
     "No, pet.  We took them home, down at Cal Poly.  And that's all I'm telling you right now."
     Bekka added, "We'll tell you what happened after we're home.  All I'm willing to say is that we committed plenty of felonies, not to mention a few human rights violations.  Now drop the subject."
     We drove down to Baxter's.  Even at noon, the crowd was thicker than it had been the day before.  Jane went to find more suckers to hustle at nine ball.  Bekka and I poked around until we found Terry in a booth with several Oakland boys, a few more standing up.  There seemed to be a fairly deep debate going on regarding the subject of piston displacement.  Very deep tech talk.  I didn't understand a fucking thing being said.
     Terry realized we were standing there, and greeted us.  "All these motherfuckers want to try out my putt," she said.  "I'm gonna let a few of them ride it, I figure we'll fuckin' draw straws or something."
     "An elimination round of Rock Paper Scissors," suggested Bekka.
     "Dick size!" an Angel cackled.
     Terry laughed at this.  "Shit, if we were gonna do it that way, be real fuckin' happy my friend Fucker ain't here.  He'd skunk all you bastards."
     "How do you know that?" asked another Angel.
     "Ever see the Becky Page movie 'Succubus'?  He's the motherfucker who played the Lone Scavenger.  He's a Dago Angel, the kid with the mohawk.  Shit, Becky's worked with him.  And his old lady is that tiny chick everybody calls Pint Size.  Jesus fuck, the fuckin' girl must be hollow or something."
     To be helpful, Bekka said, "Fucker has eight and a quarter inches.  We've checked.  And he is also rather, uh, wide.  I'll just say working with Fucker has its challenges, and leave it at that."  The Angels cracked up.
     I threw in my own two cents.  "Yeah, Fucker is just a kid, he's nineteen.  But he's an absolute professional at work, and all the Inana girls love working with him, because of his good attitude and manners. He really charms them."
     Terry continued, "Fuckin' a, women love him, period.  It's fuckin amazing.  He's got a lot of acne scarring, but he has really nice eyes, and he's got this fuckin' smile that....  Damn.  He can get me going.  He goes to strip clubs, and the fuckin' dancers are buying him drinks and giving him thier fuckin' phone numbers!  He drives the other dudes in Dago nuts, 'cos here's this kid who bangs hot chicks for a living, his old lady is a cutie, fuckin' strippers are throwing themselves at him....  And he's, like, the most chill dude you'd ever wanna meet.  Fucker is something else."
     "Yeah, I've spotted that guy around," said one of the Oakland Angels.  "Dude with a mohawk, right?  Shit, so he's a porn star?  They hiring where he works?"
     "I'll always interview," I said.  "Compared to other studios, getting to work at Inana is a royal pain in the ass."  I explained what was asked of performers, and about the series of interviews.  "For male performers, though, the big advantage is they actually can make a living wage at Inana.  They're not getting rich, but they do okay."
     "How much do porn dudes earn?" someone asked.
     "At Inana, they make $300 every time they come on camera while shooting loops.  Pay for appearing in features varies, depending on the size of a role.  Studs will work about four days a week.  Okay, livable money, but not big money.  But compared to the other studios, up in LA, it's a fortune.  You're only looking at $100 to $150 for a shoot, or even $75 and lunch.  Hard to live on that sort of money."
     Another voice asked, "So how much do those babes earn?"
     "Far more," smiled Bekka.  "It depends on what they're doing.  Straight suck and fuck is $750.  Anal is $1000, a double penetration is $1300.  And Lenny pays a $200 bounty on girls who take a facial.  Get your face sticky during a money shot, collect $200 from Lenny when you're out of the shower.  Our pay is average for the industry, although other studios don't pay that bounty on facials.
     "The reason for the discrepancy in pay between men and women is that it's a hell of a lot easier to find guys with decent-sized dicks who are willing to fuck on camera.  Most women would find making porn even worse than prostitution.  A prostitute turns a trick, it's in private and they're done in fifteen minutes or less.  In porn, you can be in front of the cameras for three hours at a time, and you're being watched by the crew, who've seen it all before and look bored.  At least prostitution has a vague semblance of intimacy.  A porn set is as intimate as the DMV, and with about as much romance."
     "Damn," said an Angel.  "I guess porn really is just a business, huh.  I never thought of it that way."
     "Almost nobody does," I said.  "You're not getting laid, you're not fucking, you're performing.  All guys think they'd love to do porn, and damn, are they in for a rude awakening if they try.  Okay, show of hands, how many of you can keep your dicks hard for three hours and not come?  Uh huh.  How many of you can ejaculate on command?  Exactly.  Your dick has to be trained like a doberman to successfully work in porn.  And the worst part?  After a while it really is just a job.  You may have been getting a thrill when you started, but in a couple months, it's just a grind, how you pay your bills."
     "Oh, thanks, you asshole," one of the Angels chuckled.  "Now porn is just gonna seem kinda depressing to me.  Thanks a lot."  The table cracked up.
     And who should walk up but Roach and Dawn (a.k.a. Fucker and Pint Size).  "Hey dude, we were just talking about you!" Terry said brightly.
     "Oh?  Who thinks I owe them money?" Roach quipped.
     One of the Oakland Angels said, "We were talking about your acting career.  Now we know how you got your name.  Over eight inches, huh?  Jesus."
     "How the fuck did you get it that big?" another one asked.
     Roach grinned and said, "Hey, I didn't do nothing, that's just how it ended up. Really, it ain't that great. You gotta be kinda careful during sex, 'cos otherwise you're gonna be banging your dick into the girl's cervix.  Unless you're an asshole, and you get you jollies hearing a chick going, 'Ow, ow, ow, ow....' while you fuck her, you gotta pay attention to what you're doing.  You're probably never know what it feels like to be completely inside a woman.  And it's still just a dick."
     An Angel took in Dawn and says, "You're his old lady?  And you two, y'know, get busy?  Ain't there a problem with proportions?"
     "I've got a lot of hidden talents," replied Dawn, cracking up the table again.
     Everybody finished their beers.  I stepped to the bar and cadged the correct number of drinking straws off the bartender, along with a pair of scissors.  I cut down three straws and mixed them all up.  The mob of us walked down to where Terry's monster putt was sitting.  Everybody drew straws, the winners looking pleased.  Terry fired up the bike to warm.  One of the test pilots asked, "So where the hell should I go?"
     Terry said, "Go up Price Canyon Road, like you're headed back to the fuckin' preserve.  Come back down here and head south on Cabrillo Highway for a little while, you'll be able to open the fucker up some.  And if any of you motherfuckers lays my putt down, I'm cutting you into pieces to feed to the fuckin' seagulls."
     The first rider got on with a confident grin.  He said to Terry, "Okay Terror, let's see how fast this scooter is. I know fast, I like fast.  You really think this thing is gonna impress me?"
     "Live and learn, dude," Terry grinned.
     The rider pulled into traffic, twisting the throttle hard.  He was gone like a shot, the massive noise ringing in his wake.  We could just make out when he turned on Hinds Ave., but could still hear him as he headed to go up the hill.  We all leaned against the building behind us and smoked.  Several minutes later the distinct blatting roar of Terry's bike was heard again, as the rider turned south on Cabrillo Hwy.  A few minutes later and he was back, walking the putt backwards into the space.
     He got off the bike and walked towards us.  His eyes were wide and his mouth was open slightly.  He said, "Oh my fucking God.  Jesus shitting motherfucker Christ.  Holy shit.  Terror, that thing really is your daily rider?  You take that bastard everywhere?"
      "Sure do," Terry answered.
      The test pilot paused, then said, "Woman, you are fucking insane."
     "Got a bit of pep, don't it?" snickered Terry.
     The other Angels were going, "What?  What?"  The test pilot said, "I've ridden drag bikes before, those custom jobs that only go on a drag strip.  That fuckin' thing launches even harder!  No matter what fuckin' gear you're in, if you twist that throttle, the bike is gonna try and shoot out from underneath you.  Terror, you ride that goddamn thing on the street all the time?  You are fucking nuts."
     The second rider got on Terry's bike with a determined look.  "Let's see what happens," he said and took off.  When he returned, he parked, got off, and said, "No.  Just no.  Terror, that thing is fucking wrong.  Nobody needs a putt that fast, unless they're trying to launch into orbit.  Are you sure it's still street legal?  Okay Terror, you win.  Sister, you got a bike I'd only ride on a track, with a helmet and full suit.  Jesus."
     All eyes fell on the third rider.  He looked at everyone and started laughing.  "Naw, I'm cool.  I just watched two bastards take that scooter out for a spin, and they both came back scared shitless of the damn thing.  Uh, yeah, I'll pass.  And God's mercy on your soul, Terror."  Everyone started laughing.

     We went back inside.  The booth had been forfeited in our absence, taken over by other Angels, so everybody stood around, sipping fresh beers.  Bekka and I wandered over to the pool tables.  Jane was in the middle of a game of nine ball, her competitor a Riverside Angel named Bozo.  He scowled at the table as Jane took her shots.  Noticing us standing there, Bozo commented, "This shit ain't right.  I'm getting my ass handed to me by some crazy blue-haired chick who ain't even old enough to vote, much less be in here."
     Bekka noted, "Yes, Jane is a girl with many talents.  She's a champ at pinball, too.  I lost a bet on a pinball game with her, and now she gets to fuck my husband."
     With a baffled look, Bozo said, "Okay.... Yeah, there's definitely a story behind that.  How ya doing, Ms. Page.  I seen you around at the preserve.  So you know this little chick?"
     "She lives with my husband and me, her name is Jane, or Gator Bait.  She is a straight A student, a wonderful housemate, an excellent cook, and routinely sleeps with me and my husband.  It's a bit convoluted, as you can guess.  Jane seems to pop up with hidden talents at the strangest times, like shooting pool.  How long has she been on the table?"
     "She took the money off at least three guys before me, and the goddamn brat looks like she's gonna get mine, too.  So how'd you end up living with a teenage girl, anyway?  She family?  Oh wait, she better not be, if she's crawling in the sack with you.  So how you know her?"
     Bekka was about to start telling the story, but I nudged her and said I was going to step outside, the ambient noise of that many people was getting on my nerves.  She kissed my cheek and said she'd be at the pool tables.
     I leaned against the wall next to the door, puffing a cigarette.  Presently I heard squealing laughter.  I look down the sidewalk and see eight people approaching, four guys, four girls.  Plainly college students, going by their youth and appearance.  The guys look didn't scream "frat boy," but they had the same clean-cut, white bread look about them.  The girls were the sort of vaguely ditzy broads you see on college campuses coast to coast.  They squealed when they were amused, and they were amused easily.  If I was dating one, I'd have put one of those dog training shock collars on her, to cure her of the habit.  All of them looked a bit excited, like they were in line for a roller coaster.  They got to the front of the bar and stopped, looking in like they were staring into a zoo exhibit.
     One of the guys said, "I told you!  This is where they're hanging out.  I'm glad my bro tipped me off."
     The girl with him chirped, "Oh wow, too cool.  Oh my God, there's, like, a ton of them."
     I decided to be helpful, and said, "If I remember correctly, this year's run had about 540 registered.  Labor Day is always a big event for H.A.  So, did you need help with something?"
     All of them took me in with mild suspicion.  I wasn't an outlaw, that much was clear.  One of the girls said, "Are you, like, a Hell's Angel?"
     "Not at all," I replied. "I'm friends with the members of the Dago chapter, but I'm not H.A.  My wife and I were invited by the chapter to join them on this run.  It's been a great weekend.  So, you seem curious about the Angels.  What have you heard about them that I can disabuse you of?"
     They continued to stare at me.  One of the guys said, "Have you been inside?"
     I stared back and said, "Uh, yes.  Standing outside of bars isn't very fun, being inside them is.  I just wanted a break from the noise.  Why wouldn't I have gone in?"
     "Is it safe in there?" asked a girl.
     "Why wouldn't it be?"
     "Just.... You know....  Hell's Angels and shit...."
      I put on my patronizing face.  "You seem to have lost me.  A large number of a motorcycle club's members are inside, talking and drinking beer.  A few of them are losing money to the girl who lives with me, she's a shark at a pool table, so she's fleecing dudes playing nine ball.  My wife is watching her, and chatting with club members.  A friend, Terry the Terror, is talking tech with dudes from the Oakland chapter.  So, Hell's Angels and shit.  What about them?"
     Another girl squeaked, "Come on, let's go get a beer!  It'll be so cool to say we hung out with Hell's Angels!"
     I said, "Are you all riders?  You have your own putts?"
     "Huh?" said a guy.
     "You want to 'hang out' with the members of this club.  That would require some commonality, a base line for communication.  A strong knowledge of Harley Davidson motorcycles is usually a good starting spot.  Simply saying you like beer isn't solid ground for striking up a conversation."
    Another guy sighed and said, "Let's just go in, this dude's a wingnut."   They all traipsed in, and began angling at the bar.
     I ground out my cigarette and headed back towards the pool tables.  Jane was now playing against a Vegas Angel with the moniker of Toad.  Given his physique, it was an apt nickname.  He was bitterly amused at his trouncing at Jane's hands.  It was his shot, so Jane scooted next to me, saying, "This dude says he's short on cash, but he's gonna give me some Percocet if I win."
     "Hey, your deal.  Just let me look at them before you take any.  I know what Percocet should look like, I don't want him feeding you bunk.  And don't take any until we're home."
     With a grumbling profanity, Toad missed his shot.  Jane studied the table briefly, then went to shoot.  Toad waddled up to me and said, "You know baby doll there?"
     "She lives with me and Becky," I answered.
     Toad looked at Jane, then back at me.  "Baby doll ain't of age, is she?" he asked.
     "She can't even vote, much less drink."
     "Well....  Rat shit.  That's trouble I don't need.  She's gonna get some of my stash, too, the way she shoots pool."  Toad considered me.  "Okay, I think I know you.  You're Becky Page's husband, people have pointed you out.  What a blast, man, married to Becky Page, huh?  Can you keep up with her?  She ever wear you out?"
     "We take turns wearing each other out," I said amicably.  "We're both fairly high energy people, so things work out.  It also helps I'm six years younger than her, I've got youth on my side."
     Toad nodded slowly.  Then he said, "I'd trade never getting laid again for one night with Becky Page.  That would be all I needed to last a lifetime, I'd be happy from there on out.  You're one lucky sonofabitch."
     I gave Toad a placid smile and said, "Don't I know it."
     About ninety minutes later I was heading to the bar for a fresh round.  Jane had finally lost, and was waiting her turn to play again.  Approaching the bar, I looked over and saw the passel of college kids.  They were engaged in conversation with Angels....  Sort of.  The girls were engaged in conversation with three Angels. the guys were standing there, looking slightly anxious.  I couldn't hear the conversation, but it was obvious the girls were being chatted up.  I'm sure the dialogue of the Angels was mannered and engaging, very solicitous, not hinting at the obvious: here's some strange pussy, young and fresh, and I'm gonna finagle my way into some of it.  The guys certainly recognized the behavior of the Angels, but weren't feeling up to telling the interloping Angels they were on thin ice.  Looking at the girls, it was clear they didn't mind the attention of the bikers, not one bit.  Here were very different males than they were used to.  These males were men, not college boys.  They had brawn and animal cunning, they were fearless, veterans of a thousand punch-ups, outlaws who did what they felt, not what they were told.  Hell's Angels didn't worry about things like student loan debt or campus parking permits, they lived for the moment, they had a savage concept of what "fun" is, and they would take no shit from anyone.  And God, they probably fucked like beasts from hell.
     Closer examination showed I knew one of the Angels.  It was Doobie from Dago.  He was about twenty-six, a bouncer at Pacer's, a strip club with a large clientele of sailors.  Decent enough guy.  He supplemented his income and acquired his name by shifting fairly large amounts of weed from Humboldt.  I went over and nudged him.  "Hey, Doobie."
     "Hey, Lenny," Doobie grinned at me.  "What's shakin?  How are you and yours doing?"
     "Becky and me are hanging out, watching Jane play nine ball.  That little girl is a fuckin' shark, she's gonna go home way richer than she arrived.  So who's your friends here?"
     "This is Donna, Racine, Tiffany, and Helen."  He didn't name the guys standing there.  "Helen says she's never been on a putt.  What do you think, should I take her for a cruise for a little while?"
     "What the hell, why not," I answered.  "Give her the novice rider lecture, roll around for a little while."
     Doobie tapped Racine and Helen and said, "Hey, you know who Becky Page is, right?  This is her husband, he's the one who produces all her movies, a real creative bastard.  In fact Becky's here too, she spent the weekend with us.  Becky is one awesome chick, she rocks."
     Helen and Racine both had five beer smiles.  Racine said, "You're married to Becky Page?  Oh my God, what a trip.  I love her movies."
     "So do I," said Helen.  "Becky Page is way rad.  She's really here?"
     Doobie gave me a slightly pleading look and said, "Hey Lenny, would you mind if I introduced these young ladies to your wife?"
      "Yeah, that's kosher," I replied.  "I'm getting another round right now, can I buy you something?  Girls, would you like a drink?"
     Doobie said he'd love a Budweiser, both girls requested wine coolers.  I got Millers for me and the girls, plus the other bottles, then I collared Doobie.  We led the college girls over to the pool tables, where I made introductions.  The college girls did the standard fan routine with Bekka, which she handled with her usual poise.  Doobie explained to them that Becky rode a Sportster, a righteous custom, and hung out with the Dago Angels on a regular basis.  The college girls continued conversation with Bekka.  Doobie pulled me aside and said, "Can I ask for a solid?"
     "What's up?" I asked.
     "You got any more of that fuckin' dope with you?  That chick Helen says she's amenable to a rail, she likes dope, but can't ever find anything good."
     I had my personal vial in my pocket, the big bag was in the Falcon.  I said, "Sure, I could use a pick-me-up myself.  We'll go down to the car, and I'll line you all up.  That work?"
     "Too cool," grinned Doobie.  "Let's do this."  In a lower voice, he said, "I'm hoping some dope will get that chick Helen a little frisky, you know?"
     "You hopeless romantic," I smirked.  "Good luck.  Uh, isn't she with any of those white bread dudes?  They all showed up together."
     Doobie shrugged.  "If she is, she ain't chained to him, know what I mean?  You'd think he'd say something if he's bugged by her and me talking, unless he's a total pussy."
     I decided to not comment.  We stepped back over to where Racine and Helen were espousing to Bekka about how Lila, Becky Page's character in 'Succubus,' represented the frustration of sexual inequality felt by too many women, their lovers were inadequate, and reacted negatively to proactive behavior.  "Guys become defensive when women are sexual aggressors," Racine was saying.  "Like the men Lila destroys, they collapse psychologically, they can't handle not being the manipulators.  So they shut down, and alienate the women who only want to share in holding power during a sexual experience.  Lila doesn't mean to destroy the men she has sex with, the men allow themselves to be destroyed.  They just can't handle feminine sexual aggression."
     Bekka was nodding and smiling at all this.  Doobie and I rescued her by telling the college girls hey, you wanna get high?  Let's take a little walk.  I told Bekka I was going out to the Falcon and chop lines.  Did she want to join us?  "No, I'm doing fine.  I've got a loaded pipe in my purse, I'll just step in the women's room and take a couple hits if I want a lift."
     Walking past Helen and Racine's friends, one of the boys stuck his hand out and grabbed Helen.  "Hey, where are you headed?" he whined.
      "We're going out to this guy's car for a few minutes," Helen replied.
      "What for?"
      Helen's chin went up.  "Because we want to. He's gonna get us high, okay?  I already know you don't like what we'll be doing, so it doesn't matter to you.  We'll be back."
     The guy gave a pouty glare at me and Doobie and said, "You're gonna give drugs to my girlfriend?"
     Before either of us could respond, Helen said, "I'm not your girlfriend.  We've dated a few times, and we have fun, but I'm not your girlfriend."
     "Sounds like she's a free agent to me, bubba," smirked Doobie.  "This is a free country, she's of legal age, she can do what she wants.  You're not gonna get all bent out of shape, are you?"
     "So what drugs are you gonna give her?" asked the guy, sounding as pouty as he looked.
     "They've got meth, okay?" Helen shot back.  "I know you hate that stuff, get over it.  I like it."
     We went down the street to where the Falcon was parked in the public lot.  The two girls were gabbling about how totally cool it was to meet Becky Page, wow, she's like, always on top of things, Becky should totally rule the world and shit.   Racine said to me, "So you're married to Becky, wow.  To be around that sort of energy all the time must be amazing.  Becky is always on top, she controls any situation she's in.  It's so incredible.  Wow, you must be a high energy person too, just to keep up with her."
     I chuckled and said, "Or, Becky Page is a sweet girl from a town north of San Diego called Encinitas, a product of suburbia, just like a lot of people.  She likes watching British comedy and petting the cat on the sofa.  And she is a talented actress, with a highly unusual acting career.  It just might be Becky Page is not Wonder Woman, she could be a very charming woman whose day job has somehow made her famous, for some reason.  People read a lot into her movies, it's amazing.  I'm the guy who writes her scripts, so I can honestly say the messages some people see in Becky's movies don't exist.  Becky Page is a porn star.  A very talented one, true, but Becky Page has never intended to inspire or communicate any broader ideas in her movies.  The only goal she's ever had is to make people horny.  That's it, that's all, full stop."
     Racine gave me a slightly annoyed look.  "You've got to sit down and really watch her movies.  She espouses a lot of positive ideas, she...."
     Cutting her off, I said, "I wrote the damn movies.  I produced the damn movies.  To be frank, I'm sick of people barking at shadows, finding great wisdom in my features.  There isn't any.  All I did was make fuck films that don't suck, they can actually be watched, and enjoyed, as real movies.  With most porn, you need to shut off your brain to enjoy it.  You can watch my movies and keep your brain in gear.  Okay, hooray for me, I figured out a way to make dirty movies that have a bit of intellectual satisfaction to them.  But that was my only goal.  Any greater meaning you find in any Inana Productions feature only exists in your own imagination.  Stop searching for wisdom, pull down your pants, and masturbate.  That's what my movies are good for.  And we are officially dropping the subject, because we're at the car."
     The college girls stared at the Falcon.  "This is what Becky drives every day?" Helen asked.  "That is so totally rad, this thing is too cool.  Is it really fast?"
     I assured her it was pretty damn quick, and opened the doors.  The clip-on vanity mirror got slid off the passenger sun visor, I grabbed the bag of dope from under the seat (the girls going big-eyed at the amount), I scooped some out, crushed it, and scraped up four lines.  A bill got rolled up and handed over.  "Ladies first," I said.  Racine did hers, then Helen.  Both sniffed and winced.  Doobie did up his, and I snorted mine.  Doobie and I let cigarettes.  The girls sniffled and said, "Wow."
     "Oh my God," exclaimed Helen.  "That stuff really is amazing, I don't think I've ever had anything like that before.  Wow, I"m moving a thousand miles an hour now!  Thanks!  Too cool!"
     We walked back towards the bar, the two girls highly animated, gossiping at light speed.  Doobie interrupted them to ask Helen, "Hey, you were wondering about what it's like to be on a putt.  This is a good of a time as any, wanna take a little spin?"
     "Oh, that sounds totally killer.  Yeah, let's do it," was Helen's enthusiastic reply.
     Racine and I went back in the bar, Racine rabbiting on about the anthropology course she was taking that year.  We reached where Helen and Racine's friends were.... Or some of them were.  Only the males were left.  The college boy who had accosted me earlier said, "Hey, where's Helen?"
     I told him, "Doobie is giving her a ride on his putt.  I hope he gives her good instructions,even as a passenger, there's an art to being on a putt.  You have to keep centered, lean with...."
     College boy cut me off.  "Where did they go?"
     Frowning, I said, "They didn't have a destination.  They're taking a short cruise, they're just gonna ride around some.  They'll be back."
     Racine elbowed the guy and said, "You know, everybody's been trying to tell you to stop getting so hung up on Helen.  She likes you, but she's not into you the way you want her to be, okay?  You just gotta.... let it go, you know?"  She looked around.  "Where did Donna and Tiffany go?"
     One of the other college boys said in a disgusted voice, "They're out riding around on the backs of motorcycles with Hell's Angels."  Racine snickered at this news.
     Another college boy heard her snicker and said, "Laugh it up.  You don't care, you're lez. Those girls are out with fuckin' Hell's Angels." In a lower voice, he said, "These dudes here are way insane, they're maniacs.  They do anything they feel like..... Including kidnapping a girl they just met.  They could take them off somewhere and, you know, attack them."
     With a wide smirk, Racine said, "Well, if they do, I'll find one of their girlfriends and have my way with her at the same time.  Fair's fair, tit for tat.  Some of these girls here are actually kinda hot.  I don't usually go for butch chicks, but the one over by the juke box looks tasty."
     I looked over to where she was pointing.  It was Terry.  I smothered a laugh, and simply said, "That's Terry the Terror, a friend of ours, and also Becky's personal bodyguard.  I hate to disappoint, but she is aggressively straight.  She isn't homophobic, but if you made a pass, she would shut you down in no uncertain terms.  I dunno....  Do you like thrill rides?"
     "Terry rides a custom putt.  She wanted her putt to be blazing fast, and she got it in spades.  The damn thing scares everyone who takes it for a spin.  That beast she has scares Angels from the Oakland chapter, and those dudes don't scare easy.  Don't let on you think she's hot, just tell her Lenny was telling you about her machine,and you'd like a ride, if she's willing.  I am sure it will be an experience you won't forget."
     Racine cocked an eyebrow, then said, "I'll take that deal."   She went over to Terry and introduced herself.
     Four grumpy college boys were all looking at me.  One of them said, "So now every babe we showed up with have taken off with those white trash outlaws, even the lez.  What's the deal here?"
     Shrugging, I said, "All four girls wanted to try a new experience, is my guess.  Even being a passenger on an outlaw machine is an experience.  Their putts are modified, they all have some serious quickness.  And a Harley Davidson is different from anything else on two wheels.  Even stock, they have enough power to challenge the rider, you have to make a Harley do what you tell it to.  As an analogy, if a stock Honda street bike is a pellet gun, a Harley is a .44 magnum.  Both are so powerful, they challenge the user's ability to control them."
     All four college boys turned to stare down at their beers, ignoring me, sulking.  I went back over to the pool tables.  Jane had lost in the recent past, and was waiting to challenge again.  She gestured me near, and said in my ear, "I'm up $240 on the day so far."  I kissed her cheek and gave a wink.
     Terry breezed up to me, with Racine in tow.  I recognized the look on Racine's face, it was the predatory one Jane would get while scoping surfer boys on the beach in front of our house.  Dandy, a woman who gets as horny as men do when tweaking.  Terry said, "Hey, Barbie here says you were telling her about my putt, and she wants a fuckin' spin on it.  She ain't psycho, right?"
     I said, "Racine is a student at Cal Poly.  Doobie and I railed up her and a friend earlier, so if she seems a bit manic, that's why.  She's spun, but I'm pretty sure she's harmless.  Give her a demo of what your putt can do, it'll be a new experience for her."
     Racine was openly staring at Terry's tits while Terry and I spoke, but had the sense to get her eyes up when Terry turned back towards her.  "Okay, Barbie, it's all good.  You never been on a putt before?  Holy fuckin' shit.  Yeah, my beast is pretty fuckin' quick, so keep your fuckin' hands either around my waist or on the hand-hold...."  They walked off.
     "I'm hoping I didn't ruin the day for both of them," I said to Bekka.
     "What do you mean?"
     "Well....  Racine is a lesbian, and she's spun, and she thinks Terry is the hottest thing she's ever seen.  I know Terry will reject her if she made a pass, but I figure Racine could at least get some masturbation fodder if Terry gave her a ride."
     Bekka chuckled.  "So, you're helping feed the auto-erotic fantasies of college-age dykes?  That's why I love you, dear, you're so selfless."
     "I believe people should feel good about themselves, or at least feel themselves."
     "Always be in touch with your own core."

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