Dead Stars (54 page)

CLEAN

[Tom-Tom]

An Indecent Proposal

“Bitch

move out of her room? Are you in her room yet?”

“Yeah. She left some shit of hers there it's cool.”

“Like left what.”

“Just some clothes, whatever.”

“Where'd she leave it.”

“Mostly in the closet.”

“So now I'm free storage too.”

“Tommie (Bolt called her that, she let him call her that), an
opportunity
has come your way.”

“Is that right.”

“To make some bread.”

“Is it legal?”

“Absolutely. You know the crew that's coming next week? Seth, the D.P.? That's Seth's crew. Anyway I been knowing Seth since we were in high school, he's my bro. & they do—he shoots porn—his crew, they do porn shoots to pick up xxxtra change.”

“They want to shoot a porno up here? Ha! Is that what you're saying?
Hahahahahaha——
”

“5K. That's what they're offering. They fuckin
love
the house—I sent em a few pics of the interiors & shit. Seth said it's like a 9 to 5 deal, then wham they're
out.
They only want to use the living room & pool area, you can rope everything else off. Seth said they even put runners down on the carpets to protect them.”

“From like the spunk and shit. The pussy run-off. Teehee.”

“They have the shit down to a science.”

“When do they want to do this?”

“Sunday.”

“So this is like
before
they're gunna do
Believers
.”

“It's kind of a cool way for you to meet him—Seth—see how he works. If you already have a relationship things will go smoother & faster for the
Daydream
shoot, right?”

“
Hahahahahahahahah!
Betty White—porn queen! I could probably sell this shit to TMZ
.
”

“Should I tell em you want to do it? Or you can think about it—”

“Can they do 5 thou in cash?”

“They probably do cash a lot.”

“You've done porn, right?”

“Little bit. I've
directed
porn.”

“No shit.”

“That's my passion. I've probably directed more porn than I've
participated
in.”

“OK yeah. Far
out
. OK. I guess you're gunna be coming around for your finder's fee————”

“I'm not like that.”

“I know you aren't, baby. I know you aren't. (
Strokes his head, seeing his feelings got a little bruised by her comment
) Baby? I love you. Baby? See if they'll come up when you talk to em, K? See if they'll come up to seventy-five hundred.”

CLEAN

[mashup]

Miracle at the Hilton

3

modest one-bedroom suites on the 3rd floor of the Beverly Hilton reserved (donated by the hotel) for talent/rest/makeup/rehearsal
lite
lounges. One for Beyoncé, one for Steve Martin, one for the performing children—Telma & Aleisha. (When Biggie told his brother that Telma invited him, Brando promptly bought a $100,000 table.) A Courage Ball talent liaison told Gwen & Aleisha's mom that Michael Douglas and his wife were going to try to come up to the room to say hi but that never happened.

En suite:
Telma and Gwen and Phoebe, Aleisha and her mom Melanie. Telma basically acts like Aleisha isn't there. Aleisha stares at Telma wide-eyed, as if in the presence of a
. 5-year-old Aleisha is hopelessly devoted to Telma. Aleisha doesn't
feel
ignored; how can you be ignored by the sun? How do you feel snubbed by rainbows, tigers and thunder? How can you be dissed & dumped on by beauty and magic? Gwen knows how delicate things are at this moment, how near the edge her daughter loiters. Every once in a while, she tries to get Telma to engage Aleisha in the smallest ways—Phoebe does the same—to no avail. The terrible thing for Gwen is, she'd be handling her daughter quite
differently
if not for the uncancerous sword of Damocles that was sharpening itself just over the girl's head. If not for that, she'd warrant a bitchslap. Aleisha's obsequiousness toward her role model, who after all had/has the very same cancer she had/has, had pioneered &
vanquished
it, that awed virginal slavishness happens to be the only mitigating factor allowing Telma to be kind, if kindness may be defined as the covert omission of
flagrant
cruelties, and the why & wherefore Telma justified even bothering to share the same
airspace
with the dwarfy interloper. Aleisha's utter worshipfulness is so pure, if not exactly endearing (to Telma), then
appealing
; precisely what staved off full evisceration by her fellow Kansurvivor non-Kanadian Hero. For the moment anyway.

Colorful little Kate Spade “I'm courageous!” bags in the 3 suites filled with donated stuff: Geo-Girls anti-aging makeup (Walmart) (ages 8-12), push-up bras (Target), James Perse/Free City tee's,
Pirates of the Caribbean/Harry Potter/Alice In Wonderland
DVDs, Avril Lavigne&Katy Perry best-ofs, VTech KidiZoom digital cams (!!!), Justin Bieber's One Less Lonely Girl Collection nail polish. Aleisha watches transfixed as Telma assiduously applies “I'm a Belieber” on the tapered big-girl fingers of her left hand, “Give Me the First Dance” on the right. When Telma waves her nails to dry, Aleisha is tranced out by the sustained fanning/twitchy/hi-oscillating movements. (Entranced by everything about her.) Gwen says you know it might be nice, Telm, if you could do one of Aleisha's nails, just to get her started. Her daughter abstains, not by saying no but by pointedly ignoring the request.
Why should I?
She says it all in a sharp look to her mother, a look that says,
Don't make me say this outloud! Don't make me say she's technically not even a survivor! Don't make me say you're not supposed to even call yourself a survivor unless it doesn't come back after
THREE YEARS (
Telma keeps changing the kancerules
)
——
the one thing Gwen, Phoebe & Melanie don't understand (tho Melanie's being so understanding in
so many
ways) is that Aleisha does not,
cannot
feel h8ted on, she's baby sister-enthralled & can't register Telma's rage, Telma's wish that she'd never been born, Telma's night prayers to God
please make her cancer come back
, with speedy, fatal fury. Aleisha's mom never says a word, just sits grinning like there's a language problem, which there sort of is, to put it mildly. Melanie's smile conveys that all's rosy with her world,
My baby girl's alive, what's not to be joyous about.
Maybe that's Canadian or Christian, but whatever it is, Gwen's grateful for Zen Mom of the North. Gwen's embarrassed
enough
by her daughter's mean girl prima donna stylings and relieved she doesn't have to deal with a parent's legitimate beef on top of it.
Let her think she's a bitch. If only she knew—if only
everyone
knew,
we'd start an Arab spring right here, we'd topple those doctors & shut down that fucking hospital forever! And tonight's shindig would be for
TELMA,
forever the world's youngest mutilated-through-misdiagnosis survivor, they couldn't take
that
away from her . . . . . . . . . . .

At her mom's prodding, Aleisha haltingly begins to rehearse
Smile.
Telma makes sure to trample over the 1st few maudlin lyrics by announcing, “I'm going exploring!” then stomping out the door. Phoebe and Gwen exchange looks, then Phoebe goes after her. Gwen stays in the room, shrugging her shoulders, flashing Melanie a contrite
Sorry, what can I do it's hormones
smile. When the truth is, that
Gwen
'
s
(really) the only one forcing a smile while her heart is breaking.

. . .

Rikki and Jerzy got to the hotel early.

Being it's a fundraiser for kids with cancer, he counted on a lot of underage
lets showing up—Jerzy was there exclusively for private reserve
honeyshot!
s. All day long he nonsensically sang
Some people call me the spaced cowboy/Some people call me the gangbang of Love———
Rikki asked Jerzy why he didn't use a videocamera because like Tom-Tom said he could just shoot & isolate whatever frames had the beavercleaver. Jerzy said,
cause I'm oldschool, my friend. Matter of pride. Better to set the beaver trap by hand harharhar then 2 in the bush harharhar . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
you're the cutest thing I ever did see
I really love your peaches want to shake your tree . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

While Jerzy does his spiderazzi thing at the hotel entrance w/all the other papps—as ordinary-unknown richfolk
filler
/VIPs/celebs are just beginning to arrive—Rikki sits in the Hilton lobby with a stolen Kindlefire, pretending he's, uhm, like a hotel guest
yeah right.
They smoked crack in the parking garage, toked some Don King & gummy bear too, he's blazed. Rikki contemplates the rumor he heard that current management was renting out the Whitney suite to billionaire Macao gambling-type Japs and sand niggers for a million a night, the tub she took a shit in and drowned was still there, everything laid out like a museum, crack pipe and personal effexors they got back from the LAPD evidence room, wallet pics of her little girl, all her stained lingerie, you could get loaded and fuck a loved one right in the tub. That's some morbid shit. He goes on
www.lobsterporn.com
, already super spackled-m'gackled & superhard from the meth&roxies, bolus of beef jerky in his cheek like chewing tobacco . . .
CATEGORIES A-Z: innocent teen/saggy tits/asian schoolgirl/doctor molest/daughter destruction/upskirt tampon/squirt/small tits/extreme taboo/by force/granny mature/dildoes insertions/small tits/farmyard/outside/voyeur/daughter sleeping/massage/schoolgirl med exam/monster cocks/tittyfuck/hentai/mother daughter incest (simulated).
He clicked on
Jewish
then
Turkish
but his heart wasn't in it. Suddenly the volume went CRAZY LOUD, he must have unmuted by accident, it's making all these
cum sounds,
a lady hears as she walks by & frowns Rikki still fumbling trying to
MUTE
which he finally does. (He'd have to remember to tell T
²
, she would crack the fuck
up.
) Now there's a little pop-up onscreen from bi_the_way432. Probably some automated drone shit tracking his location, he didn't know how to turn that shit off on this device,
fuck the Navy seals, dude, they should've used the porn guys to go after Osama woulda nailed him right away shoulda sicced em on Kaddafi too.
The female drone wrote:
OMG are you in beverly hills?
5 seconds later:
im a mile away.
10 secs later:
innertube.com is the best site for free porn fyi!
30 secs:
you realize im talking to you right?
1 whole fucking minute later:
it's not polite to ignore a lady.
Last (automated) gasp—
Age: 18. Sexual pref: bi. Zodiac: scorpio. ethnicity: American Indian. Pubic hair: bald
——Rikki said
mother
FUCK that surveillance shit. Oops. Now a banner's crawling across the top

 

MEET SOMEONE TO FUCK NOW!

 

Turns it off.

Rikki just sits there, spackle/staring into the borrowed lobby of a place he doesn't (even temporarily) belong. People coming & going, with glam lives, lives that aren't fucked. He's still freaking about the baby, about being a dad, but really now just mostly freaking about the $$$ more, even Jerzy can't get Tom-Tom to chill on the rent shit, he won't front his sis any money either, you'd think J could at least get Tom-Tom to chill until Ree has the kid, then they'll be out in a flash, straight from the hospital to his fosterfolks, she'll be too wasted giving birth to put up a fight. She's like due in like
five weeks,
dude, the minute she goes to the hosp that'll be the fucking last Tom-Tom
sees
or
hears
of her  . . . . . . . . . . . . . . spackle m'gackled———————

———————maybe robbery? Thinking about that again, mostly because he watched
The Town
for the 6th time,
loved
that fuckin movie, never got a chance—made the time though—to speak with Tom-Tom about the whole crew-heist deal . . . his thoughts now becoming fantasies as Rikki tries to squelch all the bad vudu in his head, he starts to trip but in a good way about Jim and Dawn, about finally being their real son before God & the law, thinks his dad would maybe convert the garage into a guesthouse for them and the baby, maybe one of those
Extreme Makeover Home Edition
dillios like ReeRee joked about Betty White's, you know where a couple of trucks show up with a 50-man crew—now
that's
a fuckin righteous
crew—
& they build a
whole house
, with towel-warmers like Ree told him once that she wanted, & ambient heated bathroom tiles like he heard Tom-Tom say
she
was gonna have, Tom-Tom said Bill Gates had a heated
driveway
so the snow would melt. Rikki trips on hanging out in his new home—
their
new home—right there on Jim and Dawn's property. Jim & Dawn could babysit & shit if him and Ree wanted to go clubbin & candyflipin.

But ReeRee won't, EVER . . .

You're way too stubborn, dude.

. . .

Jerzy knows he's strung out way beyond the point he usually puts down, hearing voices of race war/rap though sometimes the voices lead him to breakthrus too, like how L.A. Reid's hard lacquered bodyshell sleeps in the sensuous recesses of Randy Jackson's arthropod flesh, so the voices cannot be discounted nor dismissed out of hand. Miasma & background Muzak of the Uncivil War between hummingbirds & mantises. Trying to formulate a grand theory to explain the
rôle
that hummingbirds & mantises will play, a overarching theory of General Relativity that explains and
describes
the exact connect between what historians one day will surely come to call The Puppetmathers/Iovine Wars—& the
pact
or
formal
agreement
secured by the
demiurge
between
mantis
and
hummingbird
.

The insidious thing is Jerzy realizes he's in the nightbloom of amphetamine psychosis but powerless to stop its militancy; trapped inside an acrostic gnostic boardgame. He laughs, glad to at least be able to
watch
himself laugh
cackle! Cackle! m'gackle!
when the epiphany flashes there are messages written on each Chloë/Elle/Hailee pantyshield, it's up to him to
capture the images
, no other way but a
captcha
to string the codewords together . . . & flashes too that Harry around the Middleburg is a CAA operative close to breaking the code stitched or drawn by persons unknown & made visible only by virtue of the
honeyshot!
s, that Harry's website is a brilliant distraction, a throwing off of scent.
And yet what does this have to do with mantises & hummingbirds, what does this have to do with Suge, what does this have to do with I-Veen & the Puppetmathers it must have something there must be something