Sunday, February 26, 2017

Summer Wrap-up, 1992 (Part 1)

     Three weeks after graduating from high school, Jane made her first adult video.
     Neither Bekka or I were worried about her passing the interviews.  She could cold-read a script with punch and energy, God knows she wasn't shy about showing off her body, and the two of us knew from first-hand experience Jane could rattle the rafters of any sexually active homo sapiens.  I even tried to make her video interview --- two hours of sex with a studio-assigned stud or slut, in front of running cameras --- more challenging by matching her up with Stallion.  Not only was Stallion another male performer whose intellectual growth stopped around sixth grade, he also had a mild attitude problem.  Stallion was a legend in his own mind, he expected to be scooped by Hollywood any day.  Things were weighed against this happening.  First, Stallion was dumb as a bowl of oatmeal.  Next, he was a passable actor, not a good one.  And last, Hollywood was as likely to pick anyone connected with Inana as the Republican National Convention was to hire George Clinton and Parliament/Funkadelic to play the convention.

Summer Wrap-up, 1992 (Part 2)

     I'd had Mallory do an extra bit of writing for me.  I told her to come up with two or three pages of one-on-one dialogue that would seem like it appeared in the middle of a script.  Total fiction, a sample of a script that didn't exist, but had good dramatic moments in the dialogue, along with a bit of humor and some emotion.  I'd come to realize that my usual way of conducting the first interview with a prospective performer wouldn't fly any more.  How it had worked in the past was I'd pull three copies of an old script out of the files: one for the pledge, one for Bekka, and one for me.  Bekka and the pledge would run through some one-on-one dialogue from the script, me reading along.  This was a cold reading: the pledge would be seeing the script for the first time.  Really, what we were looking for was literacy, inflection, and some energy.  We weren't expecting a Alec Guinness-level performance, just a sign they could process the tone of a section of script right off the bat.

Senior. (Part 1)


     Honest, I take pride in giving people a chance.  Everyone gets a shot with me.  However, the young sport I was dealing with had used his shot already, and I was ready to stuff him down a sewer.
     Bekka, Jane and I are at UC Berkeley, being given a guided tour of the campus by the young sport, a senior who had identified himself as "Sparky."  Okay, strike one.  He was in Nikes, Levis that looked like they'd been ironed, and a sweater that says "Cal" across it.  He is just so darn overjoyed to meet us, he can't stop smiling.  It's the same smile I associate with Scientologists who hang around airports.  He's so full of vim and pep and energy you want to cut off his breathing for a couple minutes.  The "Up With People" troupe would have fired him for excessive cheeriness.

Senior (Part 2)

     Our final visit was all the way across campus again, and then some, to the Unit 2 housing complex at College Ave. and Dwight Way.  Unit 2 consisted of four buildings, or "residence halls."  Each was about eight stories, with a plaza in the center and a low building housing study halls and the cafeteria  to one side.  Sparky had regained a bit of pep, and told us he knew the front desk people at every piece of housing UC Berkeley owned.  He assured us we'd be able to see a vacant dorm room, so we'd know what one was like.

Senior (Part 3)


     A drizzly Wednesday.  Bekka and I had to be at the studio, then were headed up to LA for a business dinner with Angel.  Jane was excluded from business dinners.  My guess was Angel needed us to mule Smiley again, and there would be some complexity with how things would work.  If we were just being glorified bag men, he'd have talked things over on the phone.
     Around 5:30, Jane had already knocked out her homework and done a bit of tidying around the house. Nude as always, she sprawled on one of the sofas with an Anchor Steam, debating whether to go pick up some dinner, or just forage through the leftovers in the fridge.  The doorbell rang.  Not expecting anyone, Jane pulled her robe on and headed down to the front door.

Senior (Part 4)


     Jane's enrollment papers arrived yesterday.  She will begin her freshman year as a UC Berkeley college student, and a business major, in September.
     The packet included her notice of acceptance at Haas Business School.  I'd checked around a bit, and normally applicants for admission are reviewed by a committee.  The school will contact prospective students and ask them to provide more detail about their lives, their interests, their favorite Warren Buffett album....  Professor Campbell must have had the political pull to tell the others in charge at Haas, "Look, just trust me on this, we want her here.  Who's wrangling freshmen this fall?  Oh, you're gonna have so much fun!"  I puzzled over Campbell's interest in Jane.  Did he enjoy human train wrecks, and mistakenly believe Jane would be one?  Was he expecting disruptive behavior?  Jane's appearance was disruptive enough.  Besides, her grades should indicate that when in a classroom, Jane was all business.  Who knows, maybe Campbell thought Jane was hot, and just wanted eye candy available.

Senior (Part 5)

     Once again, I'm the only male at the table.  Also, lesbians outnumber straights 3-1 (one abstention), and bisexuals by the same ratio.  Considering how much time I spend in the company of women, I should be a pussy magnet like Roach....  Except I have enough self-awareness to know I lack his charm and charisma.  If I was single, I'd pay Roach to give me lessons.

Senior (Part 6)

     We didn't attend Lance's pretrial hearings, there was no need and no point.  The first day of trial for Lance Grisham was in the last week of April.  Our lawyer was with us, sitting at one end of the prosecutor's table, with Jane right across an aisle.  Juvenile court was blazing fast, compared to adult criminal courts.  Lance and Vance were being tried at the same time, which made almost everyone happy.  Those that weren't happy were Lance and Vance's parents, who felt the double trial would poison things for their respective sons: their fine young boy would be closely associated with that young idiot who caused all this trouble.

Senior (Part 7)


     The joint trial lasted five days, Jane testifying on three of them.  Knowing our presence would aggravate, Bekka and I sat in the rear, stepping in right before the opening gavel, and splitting as soon as the show was over.  Lance and Vance's statements after booking were considered the centerpiece for the prosecution, as the two boys had, in the course of their interviews, confirmed that Jane's account of things were pretty much spot on.  While neither of them said, "We had committing rape on our minds," both did say, in so many words, that Jane would be propositioned for sex, with both of them.  And if she said no, Lance had assured Vance that they'd start anyway, Jane was such a nympho that she'd get into it once things were moving along.  She was kinky, she'd probably love the fact that she'd initially been forced into it.

Senior (Part 8)

     Jane trotted down the stairs from her room and said, "They're coming."
     I was blank for a second, then said, "Hey, great....  Right?"
     Frowning at the carpet, Jane responded, "Yeah, I guess so.  Personally, I don't think you and Bekka should have offered to pay for their trip.  You're flying them out here, you're putting them up at the goddamn Marriott in La Jolla Village, you're renting them a car.... Jesus.  Their daughter is graduating from high school.  They didn't win a sweepstakes prize."
     Bekka and I had insisted Jane invite her parents to her high school graduation.  When she first brought it up to them over the phone, they were lukewarm about the idea.  Bekka and I both assumed their hesitancy was based in economics, so we told Jane to let them know we'd cover all the major expenses of three days in San Diego.  Jane's initial response to this was, "None of us owe them a fucking thing.  They're not poor, if they really want to make the trip, they can."

Senior (Part 9)

     Seven days before Jane's graduation, Bekka and I went up to check progress on Angel's big, huge, major, massive project underway in Oceanside.
     It was a dilly.  In late fall and winter, Angel had sat down with me, Small Steve, Vinny, Bekka, Calm Steve, and Jeanette to discuss Inana expanding.  We felt like we were outgrowing the mansion, even if I wasn't bringing on new performers.  Inana had invented "smart porn," and the world was beating a path to our doorstep.  The major adult studios were (finally) contributing to the genre, but Inana was still number one.  I could have put two hours of scene blocking on a tape and it would have sold.  To the viewing public, Inana was a Mercedes E-Class.  The other studios were Buicks.  Sure, the Buick is comfortable enough, and it does the job, nothing to complain about really, but....  The Mercedes is something else.

Senior (Part 10)


Jane's high school graduation was on a Friday.  Her parents arrived Thursday.  They flew into Lindbergh Field, rode the courtesy van to pick up the rental car we'd reserved in their name, drove up to La Jolla Village and checked into the Marriott (room billed to L. and B. Schneider), then headed for our place.

Senior (Part 11)

     The music played, and the graduation caps flew in the air, to cheers.  Those in the bleachers began standing up, to stretch their legs, if nothing else.  A graduating class of 580 takes a while to get across a stage, one by one.  Now everyone had their diplomas, and were ready to blow the Popsicle stand.

Senior (Part 12)

     People began arriving right at seven, ready to party.  There didn't seem to be a trend of "fashionably late" arrivals: the feeling seemed to be that being late might mean you may miss something interesting.  By eight the house and patio were crowded with people talking, laughing, drinking keg beer, and generally socializing.  Bekka and I had taken it upon ourselves to hand out hits of Ecstasy to every new arrival we saw, and only had a few people refuse.

Monday, February 13, 2017

Preacher (Part 1)

The location of Terry's first regional target competition was at the Riverside Co. fairgrounds.  She had quite a crew backing her up, we'd taken two vehicles.  Terry drove up in her Nova, with Gerald and an ex-street drunk named Drummer, who I'll explain in a minute.  The Fleetwood contained Bekka, Jane, and myself.  And a Berdoo Hell's Angel, a younger guy named Soda Pop, would be meeting us there....  Although his primary interest was Jane, who he'd met at the H.A. Labor Day run, not target shooting.

Preacher (Part 2)

     Angel called me around mid-day Monday with some news.  "We got some free advertising yesterday, although how much it will be worth is up in the air.  You know who Jerry Fallwood is, right?"
     "Of course," I replied.  "He of the Crystal Chapel in Orange County.  Moral Militia, and all that.  He'd be offended by my technique when I brush my teeth, along with every other aspect of my life.  Lemme guess, he's bugged by our videos.  Big surprise.  So what does he have to say?"

Preacher (Part 3)

     The next day, Channel 10 news (ABC) called me, asking if it was possible to interview Becky Page that afternoon.  I told them to be there at 1:30, so Becky could be showered, dressed, and have a bit of lunch beforehand.  I asked the nature of the interview.  "Jerry Fallwood has done a mass mailing to his followers, regarding Ms. Page.  It's rather inflammatory stuff.  We have a copy of the letter, we'd like Ms. Page to read it, then give us a response."

Preacher (Part 4)

     Bekka, Jane, and I watched both the local and national ABC News broadcasts, and in general were happy with how things came out....  Although on the national report, our guns and the presence of Jane seemed to have the most air time.  The two messages I wanted to come across, did: we are not immoral or evil people, and anyone considering any kind of physical attack on Becky Page would be facing down a lot of lead.  The national report identified Jane in a caption as "Jane Osborne - Underage Roommate of Becky Page."  (The local caption simply said, "Jane - House Mate.")  We'd decided to go for dinner at Evelyn's after the national segment, but when Bekka and I started to rise, Jane said, "Let's wait a couple minutes, I have a hunch I'll be getting a call."

Preacher (Part 5)

     I took my Valium when we got home.  To pass the evening, I pulled two Mel Brooks movies, "Blazing Saddles" and "Young Frankenstein."  I burned through three fat bong loads and drank milk straight from the carton, laughing at jokes I'd heard thirty times before.  I dozed off near the end of "Young Frankenstein," and was only vaguely aware of being helped up to bed by the girls.  I stayed asleep until 9:30 the next morning, when Bekka woke me up with a kiss.
     She sat on the side of the bed and said, "You know I'm not really good at being a bossy wife...."

Preacher (Part 6)

     At about 6:30 the next evening I'm leaning against the trunk of the Falcon having my dick sucked by Jane.  We're on a dirt track that runs through hundreds of acres of iceberg lettuce, far from pavement.  I can make out shapes in the distance --- buildings of some sort --- but it's hard to tell.  Between the three hits of Ecstasy, the Johnnie Walker, the meth, and the handful of mushrooms, trying to define the shapes is a little difficult.  Whatever, I have a seventeen year old cum-slut sucking my dick, that's the important thing at the moment.  She's wearing a pair of Bekka's devil horns, a red pair, and watching the trail of color as she bobs back and forth is fascinating.

Preacher (Part 7)

     Blondie was Cheryl.  Dexter was Mike.  Lupe was Roxanne.  Biff was.... Biff.  Too crazy.
     Even on a Saturday night, a Denny's in El Centro is a pretty dead place.  We sat in one of the big booths and ordered coffee, six milkshakes, and four orders of fries.  Jane and I gave our basic bios, which fascinated the four others.  They were familiar with Becky Page, and three had seen at least one of our movies.  All four were seniors.  Biff and Roxanne had been going steady since the beginning of eleventh grade, to Biff's father's annoyance.  "He's kind of a racist.  I mean, shit, this is El Centro.  If you've got a problem with Mexicans, why the hell would you live here at all?"

Preacher (Part 8)

     Heber, California is where the rest of the world imports its dust from.  It has to be, they're rolling in it there.  I followed Mike's directions into Heber and his grandpa's house on Parkyns Ave.  Jane and I waited in the Falcon while he trotted up to the door, let himself in, then strolled nonchalantly back out to the car, carrying some light blue paper.  He got in the car and handed it over.

Preacher (Part 9)

     And then, things got quiet for a while.
     Jane and I did our traveling, and added another stop to our itinerary, Hearst Castle.  I'd always loathed William Randolph Hearst, and was curious about how much luxury could be acquired when you make your living as a bullshit artist.  Rather a lot, it turned out.  We took US 1 all the way down the coast, a road the Falcon was built for.  Breathtaking scenery.  I shot a few rolls of film on an empty beach, getting Hustler-style pictures of Jane writhing in the sand.  She said she wanted two sets of prints to give away: one for her current boy-toy Smiley, the other for.... Lance.  She told me, "Yes, it is a bitchy thing to do, but....  I was anything but a bitch while we were breaking up, so this is just a little zing.  He'll have something to jack off to, and might realize he really did blow it when he set his sights on the Debbie object."

Preacher (Part 10)

     Mike, our high school friend in El Centro, called on Sunday.  "Oh boy.  You probably don't want to be hearing from me, but I figured you guys should know.  I guess you guys took the dude who puts out that Moral Militia newsletter to court and had him shut down, or whatever."
     I replied, "Yeah, there's an injunction against him.  The judge read the newsletter and ripped the guy a new asshole, from what I hear.  He told the bastard that just because he didn't write that article doesn't mean he's not responsible, he's the one who put it in print.  The guy, his name is Mather Owens and he's from Merced, is forbidden from publishing until the injunction is lifted.  And to top it off, he's being sued by Bekka, the studio, and even the church he worked part-time for.  He was paying for the postage by using the church's bulk mail permit without their permission, and I guess had been for a long time.  He's gonna be living under an overpass in two years."

Preacher (Part 11)

     Bekka and I went inside.  I grabbed the Leucadia Deli menu off the phone and dialed.  I had a metric shitload of people to feed that day, I didn't want anyone to have to leave the property before the picket broke up, unless they were bleeding from every orifice.  I ordered seven pizzas, pounds of pasta salad, ravioli, sandwiches, and told them to have the delivery driver pick up four cases of Anchor Steam on the way over, I'd make the courtesy worth his while.  Given the amount of food I'd ordered, I was given an ETA of 1:15.

Preacher (Part 12)

     All three stations wanted to interview the same three Inana girls: Eslpeth (Ella Belle), Ellen (Skye Tyler), and Feather (ibid).  These were puff-piece interviews, so all three reporters nixed the idea of doing another "news conference" interview with them.  Fair enough: three girls, three stations.  Ellen had a full lead and a shared lead under her belt, having played Madison in "Temporary Pleasures," and was the angel in "Good Girl/Bad Girl."  Elspeth's first lead was as Stella in "Good Girl/Bad Girl," the young woman plagued by the angel and the devil (Becky Page).  "GG/BG" was yet another blockbuster sales-wise, and also truly put Inana over the top when it came to crossover popularity.  It was a truly warm, fun movie, and the character of Stella was portrayed with a lot of depth and nuance, she was a complex person with intelligence, soul, and a very sensual grace.  People, Us, and even Newsweek printed fairly glowing reviews of the film.  Newsweek invented the phrase "smart porn."

Preacher (Part 13)

     Even home feels a bit crowded.  Along with Bekka, Jane, and myself, Terry is here, as well as Drummer and Vinny.  At least Vinny is sleeping at the studio, up in the penthouse.  Considering what is going on, Terry positively bullied her way in, as angry and locked down as I've ever seen her.  "No, woman.  No goddamn motherfuckin' way am I leaving you alone....  No offense, Lenny."  ("None Taken.")

Preacher (Part 14)

     Vinny called me in the office to let me know what was going on.  On early Sunday morning, a strike force would be paying a visit to Edgar Sanderson at his home.  Two cars, six soldiers, all in body armor under their suits.  "We figure if this mook's first impression is that we're Feds, all the better.  Then we tell him, 'We ain't the Feds, but you wish we were.'  We'll squeeze him for what he can tell us, and make it clear that any plans his buddies have for Becky Page are off the fuckin' table, she's being watched over very closely.  We'll be at his door at seven in the morning, stay for a few hours, and be back in San Diego by noon.  Is it all right if we use the mansion to bivouac?"

Preacher (Part 15)

     On Sunday, Bobby rode with me to the studio.  I introduced him to the cast and crew as simply "my friend Bobby," a man who understood film-making and was curious about the aspects of producing hardcore.  Everyone recognized him, of course.  He was being addressed as "Mr. DeNiro" and gave up after a while on saying, "Please, call me Bobby."  Our performers in the morning --- Trish, Sue, Jolene, Tex, and Stallion --- were fairly cowed.  Stallion especially, as he didn't hide his Hollywood aspirations.  The (kaff, kaff) plot of the morning loop was two couples, neighbors, (Sue and Tex, Jolene and Stallion) were in need of a house-sitter while they traveled, and were interviewing Trish for the job.  Through some unlikely revelations about each couple's romantic habits, the sex kicked in, Trish being passed around like a joint at a Cypress Hill concert.  I'd already told Bobby the "plots" in our loops were contrived bullshit, but the fact that we bothered at all put us ahead in the market.

Preacher (Part 16)

     There was a message from Angel waiting for me at home.  I told the girls I wanted to call him before we worried about getting a meal in us, and went up to the bedroom to call him.  He picked up, and when he realized it was me, switched to his business voice.  The one that says all data is valid data, so get the shit out of your ears.

Preacher (Part 17)

     Things seemed to get sedate again.  Terry went back to Ocean Beach.  Drummer had done his seventy-two hours, and the interviewing shrinks determined that he was no more insane than anyone else.  He was just a stubborn old man who had lived very rough for much of his adult life, and wanted to be left alone.  Anonymity is a good way of accomplishing that.

Preacher (Part 18)

     A night's sleep did wonders for Bekka.  She was far more herself in the morning.  She got dressed and headed downstairs to the psych unit, as per orders.  The shrink interviewed her and gave approval for an eleven a.m. release.  He did insist she stay on the unit until that time, though.  Fine with her, she wanted breakfast.  A staffer on the unit called up to my room to pass on the information.

Preacher (Part 19)

     "What's this about walking around naked?" a woman's voice said from the doorway.
     We all looked over.  There stood Jill and Mallory.  Jill was holding a box of See's candy and a card.  She gave us a pseudo annoyed grimace and said, "Well!  One of our best friends gets shot by a Christian fascist, and neither him or his wife call us.  We saw what happened on the news Thursday, and called your house.  No answer.  Jane answered the next day, and filled us in.  Really, you two, we're your friends.  We can handle the bad news along with the good."

Preacher (Part 20)

     Angel came back, and sat in relative silence.  After a while my parents left.  When they did, Angel pointedly said to Bekka, "Why don't you take these two over to your house, show it off a little.  I'll keep Lenny company."
     Bekka picked up on Angel's tone and said, "Absolutely, Angel.  We;ll come back in about an hour or so."  The three girls skipped out.
     "Unburden yourself," I told Angel.

Preacher (Part 21)

     Up and about much earlier than normal for a Sunday.  We're taking an excursion to the utterly generic Southern California town of Gardena.  This burg has one outstanding feature: ad edifice known at the Crystal Chapel.  It is the heart of evangelical Christianity in California. It took a little while, and a eighteen million dollars worth of cup-rattling, but it got built.  To evangelicals, the Crystal Chapel is their White House, their Shangri La.  And Jesus dog-fucking Christ, is it hideous.

Preacher (Part 22)

     Around 12:30 the peal of an organ became rather pronounced.  We'd heard brief, theme-music type bursts of the organ, now it was bashing out a rather triumphal upbeat hymn.  The service was over.  Along with everyone else in the picket line, Bekka and I were looking towards the glass building.  Soon, a trickle of adherents began emerging.  It slowly got thicker.  I elbowed Bekka and said, "There's something wrong here."
     "What's up?" she asked.

Preacher (Part 23)

     Forty minutes after services had ended, and the parking lot of the Crystal Chapel was still rather full.  At first I wondered if they had a Scientology con in play: load the parking lot with broken cars, so that at a distance, the place looked busy.  (This would be proved incorrect by just walking past the lot, and seeing the cobwebs running from the tires to the wheel wells.)  Then it struck me, we had one hell of an audience.  Some stared like lobotomized cattle, others maintained angry, self-righteous scowls, others quietly talked and gestured.  Some, but not many, even worked up the courage to actually approach the fence, or even (gasp!) step onto the sidewalk.

Preacher (Part 24)

     The "End Times Five," as the press had dubbed them, were now all in the central jail, occupying isolation/suicide watch cells.  More information had dribbled out.  All five were life-long bachelors, and were estranged from their families.  All were tradesmen of some sort, pipe fitters or welders, the sort of work with a decent hourly wage and generally in demand everywhere, but nothing that would lead to better things.  A few of them had made allusions to hating Becky Page in particular, and also porn in general.  They felt the "base desires" inflamed by porn were specifically designed to steer a man away from a straight, heaven-bound path.  "A man will watch a Becky Page movie and believe there is no consequence to pursuing carnal pleasure," one of them said.  "Our carnal desires are God's test, to see if we can be strong, and resist them."  (The man in question had been found to be suffering from advanced gonorrhea when admitted to the hospital.  It took him a few minutes, much straining, and a lot of pain just to urinate.)