Dealing Flesh (18 page)

The moment that I walk in, my eyes latch onto a gray tabby kitten that has been sitting inside a cage by herself. Darling polka dots wink at me from her underbelly. Feeling mighty smitten with the little creature, I sign the adoption papers in a matter of minutes, name the new addition “Maus,” and carry her home to Otis, the adult feline that Ray and I took in a couple of years ago.

A few more weeks pass. Ray and I stop by an animal shelter this afternoon. We return to the house with “Bella,” a sweeter-than-sweet golden shorthair mutt that we simply make part of our “family.” Her buckets of puppy cuteness fill me with a sense of purpose, even happiness. I become so attached to her that from now on, I take her nearly everywhere I go, even inside the grocery store.

Over the course of the following months, I teach Raymond the art of riding and how to conduct himself around horses. His sudden liking for equines adds a hefty chunk of external cohesiveness to what we have, at least, when we indulge in the hobby together. In private though, his rage attacks persist and so do my roaming eyes.

~~~

With plenty of spare time on my hands, I sign on with a casting agency that promptly sends me out as an “extra” for television and movie sets.

At the crack of dawn, I show up at a prestigious Malibu mansion for my feature debut as “Hot Babe” for a low budget action flick. It pays a higher rate than the usual gigs because one of the scenes requires that I will be seen topless.
Über-
excited, I follow my personal assistant to the star wagon—my very own wagon, that is. My jaw drops when I see that the entrance door presents my first and last name in big bold letters.

Blushetta:
Get out. Me? Small town insecure German gal, featured in a ‘Hollywood’ movie? Having my name on the door?

Doubt Cloud:
Impossible.

Starlight:
I always knew I had star quality. I must finally be on to something.

Miss Vanity:
This is rad.

At 6:00 a.m., I check in at a downtown Los Angeles location to participate as background in a blockbuster movie. While waiting amongst hundreds of extras on a so-called cattle call inside a big room, the production assistant singles me out to pose as a stand-in for a brief scene with the female lead opposite a major star, well…his stand-in. I sense Starlight bubbling over with felicity as I shake hands with director John Woo between takes, who then chats with me for a couple of minutes.

Blushetta:
Way too terrifying
. G
et me out of here…NOW.

~~~

I meet a guy at an event. He is fire and flames for me. His dark, mysterious energy, the exotic look and olive-colored skin draws me near at once. I have a hard time placing his origin; after all, he could be mulatto, East Indian, Middle Eastern, or of another ethnic background. Since his name escapes me, I am going to call him “Mystery Man.” While I flirt intensely with the smooth talker, he reveals that he works for one of the major television studios.

Starlight:
Fabulous.

“I’d like to kidnap you, tie you to the bed, blindfold you, and make wild passionate love to you for days,” he tells me today while sitting inside a coffee shop.

“I’d get you pregnant over and over, and we’ll have lots of children.”

I feel Fantasia running wild with the enticing torrent of his words. Her imaginative abilities make me all tingly inside. If I’m really honest with myself, I must confess that the dude is really not my type; it is something else that pushes me to seek him out.

“Come by the studio tomorrow, and I’m going to introduce you to the string pullers,” he tempts.

Starlight:
He can get me on a soap opera. Wackadooleedoo.

Doubt Cloud:
I can’t be on no soap. I suck at memorizing lines.

Starlight:
Shut up.

Five o’clock rolls around. “Mystery Man” shows up as planned. He tours me through the ghostly hallways of the big building behind Gate B. My heart races as he acquaints me with a couple of men inside one of the offices. They look over my portfolio book and request that I leave a headshot. I do. From here, “Mystery Man” shows me a few more points of interest within the building. My pulse rate increases even more, now that we enter the sound stage, and the heavy padded door of the well-insulated room shuts behind us.

Tough Gal:
I don’t have a good feeling about this. Be careful.

Scaredy Cat:
Yeah, spookaaay.

The next moment, the fellow walks toward me and grabs me so tight that I feel incapable of moving. He seals my lips with his, jamming his tongue down my throat in demanding fashion while breathing heavily.

Starlight:
I should have remembered that nothing in ‘Hollywood’ is free, not even connections. But I better take this short cut, or I’ll never get to a substantial spot in my career.

Tough Gal:
Hell you are.

Scaredy Cat:
Ruuunnn.

I quickly free myself of the man’s embrace.

“Sorry, but I’m not ready for this much action. I must get back…gotta be somewhere at 6:00 p.m.,” I exclaim.

“Mystery Man” wraps his arms around me a second time. I jostle away from him again, immediately proceeding toward the exit. He follows closely behind. Luckily, he makes no further advances but accompanies me to the front portal. I mutter a disconnected “good-bye” and safely return to my car.

Starlight:
I give up. Your goddamned fear of the limelight is always going to ruin it for me…I know it.

CHAPTER 15

Neuron Conspiracy

I am sitting on the couch, gnawing on a cookie. Ray’s irate over something that sparked an argument.

“Shut the hell up, cunt. I bring home the dough; therefore, I call the shots. Got it?” he shouts. I watch my cookie crumble into a hundred pieces across the rug in front of me, at the same time the porcelain cup that I’m holding in my left hand flies south when the impact of Raymond’s paw hits. I flee the scene with Bella and take her for a walk. Returning hours later, I find Ray in a much better mood.

Ragelina:
I still hate his ass.

~~~

Because the extra work on movie sets isn’t generating the kind of cash that keeps Raymond from nagging me, I force myself to show up at a downtown Los Angeles hostess club this afternoon, a place I found in one of those cheesy ads in some paper.

With great discomfort, I slide around on the cushioned black chair while watching a couple of “well off” men and several creepy looking fellows slow dance with teenybopper females inside the ballroom-sized packed space. Some men and underage-looking
Lolitas
are scattered in the areas around the dance floor, chatting and filling the air with their flirtatious laughter.

Hot Shot:
I’m not gonna hang around these schoolgirls for another minute.

Scaredy Cat:
I don’t like it either. But Ray’s attitude is gonna be much more pleasant if he sees you bringing home a bunch of cash.

Immensely annoyed, my eyes fly out into the crowd. This moment, a middle-aged corporate looking dude takes a seat beside me. He blabbers into my ear, something about the way girls make tips here. He makes much effort trying to convince me that placing my hand on top of the bulge of his crotch will have monetary benefits afterwards.

Ragelina:
One more word out of his mouth, and I’m going to sock him.

Hot Shot:
Jaa, gross. I’d rather go back to stripping. This place sucks.

Starlight:
Let’s blow this joint.

I politely excuse myself and head for the exit.

Whip Cracker:
I’ve seen you check out the figure modeling ads in the papers over the years. Now might be a good time to explore what that’s all about?

Within days, I start at a facility in San Pedro.

Big Shot Mama:
The further away from mainstream the better. Couldn’t bare running into someone who might find out how low I’ve sunk.

My duties include entertaining one guy at a time with an up-close and personal show inside a small lowly lit room. I’m inside the space with my first client. Before I begin doing my thing, I press the button on the stereo. While some foxy R&B song fills the air, I slowly peel off garment by garment all the way down to my birthday suit.

Hot Shot:
I’m disgusted. At least, in topless dancing, they didn’t get to see me fully nude.

I’m on shift number three. The men throw out particularly demanding and bizarre wishes this afternoon; they want to get touchy-feely with me.

Ragelina:
Hands off, motherfuckers.

Scaredy Cat:
They should have a bouncer in here.

I leave at shift’s end. And that is the last they see of me.

~~~

At 11:00 a.m., I am on my way to the
Velvet Rose
in Oxnard, a promising strip club one of my dancer friends recommended. Driving down the 101 Ventura freeway, Hot Shot inspires me to give the fellow in the orange big-rig one lane over an eyeful of my panty-less magic. Eagerly, I slide my neon mini skirt up high enough for him to spot the color of my hair. The horn in his truck instantly goes off several times in a row. The enormous volume of each new blow makes my body jerk. Sticking to my side like a burdock, not advancing one bit for at least thirty seconds, he and I keep moving down the crowded freeway at roughly sixty miles an hour.

Miss Vanity:
Men are such suckers. I mean, look at him; he is willing to put gawking at my cooch above the safety of himself and the people in traffic. Now, if that isn’t commitment. I’m honored.

Hot Shot:
Yeah. It’s nice to know women are that powerful. But enough of giving away freebies. Looks like he’s having way too much fun at no charge.

Starlight:
Agreed.

I push down on the gas pedal and arrogantly speed away.

Lustania:
Check out that one in the Chevy Pickup to my left. Looks kinda cute.

While I keep the guy, who appears to be of Latin origin, staring, his hand suddenly suggests that I pull off at the next exit.

Lustania:
Quite alright with me. I am interested to see all of what’s hiding behind that steering wheel.

I get off the freeway and turn right at the stoplight, my newly-acquired fan closely in tow. I veer over to the sideline, cut off the engine and watch in the review mirror as the fellow approaches my ride.

Lustania:
I sure liked him a lot better when his vehicle was moving.

Pretender Babe:
Just let me handle this. After all, you don’t want to upset him with the truth, do ya’?

I scribble a phone number on a piece of paper and hand it to him.

“Sorry, I am in kind of a rush right now, but why don’t ya call me, and we’ll talk?” I suggest.

“I will.”

I get back into my car, throwing him a faked smile as I drive away.

Pretender Babe:
Thankfully, he’ll never reach me because the digits I put down connect to someone I’ve never met.

Strongly motivated to fish for more devout rubbernecking from cute lonely men driving down the highway, I immerse myself back into traffic.

Doubt Cloud:
You better give up freeway shopping because so far, it hasn’t even paid off once
.

Blah…blah…blah.

Evening comes. I am alone in the apartment, flipping through the pages in the “just-in-case” section of my little black book.

Lustania:
Ahh, Preston
.

I ring him up right away. Within an hour, I am on my way to his house. Upon arrival, he gives me the grand tour of his magnificent villa. Sex follows, although it does not leave me reminiscing.

~~~

I show up for the eleven o’clock morning shift at my new place of employ – the
Velvet Rose
in Oxnard. The club itself is located in a crummy part of town, but I figure that way, I won’t run into too many familiar faces. The work itself also has its challenges. But each time I get carried away with
how hard it is
, I remember the nerve it takes to strip in Vegas and that usually shuts me up.

The average clientele features white- and blue-collar workers as well as some firemen, entrepreneurs, the occasional athlete, a few drug dealers, and plenty of unruly boys from the hood. What really gets to me is having some of the customers enjoy a face-to-face with my thinly covered vagina during a private chair dance, and afterward show me pictures of their attractive girlfriends, wives, or children, claiming to have a happy home life.

Ragelina:
Happy home life my ass. And the yellow-clouded sky is wrapped in purple bows. Every one of these suckers will bone me if the opportunity presented itself. They must think I’m a moron?

It’s these kinds of times that I more than perfectly understand why most of my co-workers drink or get loaded.

~~~

Now that Bella prances through the house the size of a retriever
,
Ray and I deem it necessary to look for a bigger place. We spend nearly all weekend searching for houses in and around Agoura. A quiet two-bedroom home with a large front and backyard not far from the apartment shows potential. Within days Raymond signs the paperwork. I am not added to the title because he claims that my “inadequate work history” will most likely cause a roadblock to getting approved for a loan.

Avengelia:
Jerk. I’ll show him.

Escrow closes. We move to the new house within two weeks. The much larger space and the relaxing atmosphere around the house work wonders on everyone, animals included.

~~~

Several months later, Ray corners me in one section of the house.

“C’mon, I want to hear you say it because you never do. Say it!”

“Say what?”

“Say that you want to bear my child.”

Romy:
Oh, gross
.
Not in a million years.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Say out loud: ‘I want to bear your child, sweetheart’,” repeats Ray, his voice sounding much angrier now.

Scaredy Cat:
What does he get from this torture?

Ragelina:
I couldn’t hate him more.

A few seconds of silence pass.

Scaredy Cat:
If you don’t do as he says, you gonna have hell on earth again. Don’t rock the boat. Pleeaase. Safety first.

Tough Gal:
Wise choice.

One would think this should be easier after the third time of him harassing me about this baby business, but not so. For the good of the animals and me, I repeat after Pretender Babe,

“I want to have your baybee, sweetheart.”

Ragelina:
FUUUCCCKKK HIIIIIMMM.

I sense her desire to shut Ray up permanently, but I calm myself with the assurance that Avengelia will find the right approach to adequately compensate him for the inflicted wounds.

He eventually disappears in the office. Instantly, I snatch my coat off the bedroom door hook and proceed outside. The Mitsubishi that now belongs to me after Ray recently purchased a brand new Beemer is parked first up in the driveway. I hop in without a destination in mind. The wheels start rolling, and with that I heedlessly begin to cruise through the night. While putt-putting along Ventura Boulevard, I flirt heavily with men in cars. I feel Lustania somewhat scrunched up in a ball, grumbling, and acting like a wild animal in mating season.

Lustania:
My veins itch. No. Rephrase that: They burn. I don’t think I can go on if relief doesn’t arrive this minute.

I spot several attractive men sauntering along the sidewalks. To give them a chance to stare back at me and catch on fire with my hotness, I slink down the road at ten miles per hour. Passing another cluster of males, I keep my eyes glued to the review mirror, speculating if theirs are following me, too, as I move about. Lustania demands that I pull over this instant, get out, and beg one of them to fuck me right here in the car, but Scaredy Cat says I have lost my marbles, and so I keep going.

Lustania (writhing in pain):
Damned. Why did you let the cute one with the nice ass walk away? Turn around. You got to find him. Please.

I can’t, dear; really, I can’t. Sorry.

I rush into the open lane toward the red light to stop side-by-side with a shiny black automobile that smells of money, power, and underground. The brown-eyed guy with the bushy bay brows engages in my intriguing stare right away, instantly succumbing to a game of “Catch Me If You Can” as our vehicles race down the street to the next stop. He rolls down his window, asking me something I cannot interpret. I hit the gas pedal at the turn of the light, watching the dude in the mirror as he tries to keep up with me. He strives to force the lead, but with the initial thrill worn off, I speed away like a fugitive, turning right, left, left, right for about three minutes, until no trace of the man can be found.

Hot Shot:
You rock
.

Chopstick Prescription

The minute Raymond dashes off to work, I plop down in the chair in front of the computer desk. The seat cushion is still warm from him having sat here moments ago. I jostle the mouse to release the screen-saver mode on the monitor.

“Son of a bitch!” I shout as I stare at the colored hugely blown up anal copulation scene that fills the screen in all its crisp contoured glory.

Avengelia:
How dare that fucker do this to me?

Scaredy Cat:
I need candy…now
.
I’m not gonna feel this, I’m not gonna feel this. Nooo. Fuck. Nooo. Maaake the fuuucking feeelings stop.

I get into the car and drive down to the convenient store, where I fill my basket with large amounts of glucose-laden snacks. Halfway home, I finger open the family-sized cookie package. One hand on the wheel, I stuff four of the round delights into my mouth at once, competing with
Krümel
Monster on Sesame Street…mampf, mampf, mampf, crumbs sticking nearly all over me, and on much of the car’s interior. Two thirds of the pack is gone when pulling into the driveway. I finish off the rest inside the living room.

Scaredy Cat:
I know
I’ll die, if I stop eating.

I slam down the pint of ice cream as well. Panic stricken, I run into the kitchen, feverishly digging for the chopsticks I took home from the Chinese restaurant the other day. Armed with the Asian utensils, I schlep into the bathroom, tie my hair back, and kneel down in front of the urinal. Inexperienced as I am at this, I gently tickle the back of my throat with the long wooden device simultaneously leaning over the bowl. Within a minute, the pre-digested mass lands inside the lavatory. Long, slimy, thick strings of snot hang from my nose. My trachea hurts, the acidy smell of vomit burning my nostrils.