Due Diligence
The Paul Robeson record ended and Heather put it back in its protective sleeve. She took careful care of her records. She was meticulous. The recording had value over time and she gave it the due diligence it deserved.
The lyrics to Beethoven’s Ode to Joy still rang in her head in Robeson’s deep and loving voice.
“Build the road of peace before us
Build it wide and deep and long
Speed the slow, remind the eager
Help the weak and guide the strong
None shall push aside another
None shall let another fall
Work beside me sisters and brothers
All for one and one for all”
It had been a dizzying time. She was seeing much more of Richard, and wanted more still.
They had been to the nude beach twice. The first time alone, together; the most recent time with Mimi and Mitch. Things were progressing to the plan. They had founded a nude beach and mainstream society was not yet aware. On the most recent trip to the beach the four of them were, after a time, joined by a fifth. A woman came to the beach to sell watermelon and cookies to the beach-goers. She was wearing nothing but a large round straw hat and carrying a tray of watermelon cut into convenient triangular slices. An erotic food to enjoy on the nude beach. A lovely woman named Mary Jane. Everyone liked her. She also sold cannabis cigarettes, which she referred to as doobies. Heather liked her, even though she frowned on the commercialization. But Mary Jane was offering necessary goods for a reasonable price.
She also became friends with Mitch and Mimi, who seemed like a nice couple. They were always up to fun and games. They scurried about the beach on missions of the moment. Sometimes Mimi spoke in a bad Russian accent. She was pretending to be a spy and Mitch was pretending to impart to her, through sexual liaisons, state secrets. Mimi called it a “role play” and said it enriched their lives to pretend to be Russians. “We fuck like crazy in Morris code,” she said. “I don’t even know Morris code. Don’t tell Mitch.” Soviet spy is a popular game to play in the academic sciences. Because it’s so naughty. That which is forbidden always has an illicit allure.
Heather slid the record album back where it belonged.
“If you want to teach them about love, your robots, you must do your own due diligence,” she said. “You must know all there is to know on the subject. You must become the student yourself. You have nothing but time. Yours is a discipline of the future. We need to prepare you for the future today.”
She removed her clothes. It was more arousing here, in the apartment, than on the beach. The beach, after all, was just good clean fun. And this was something else. This was scintillating. The light from the window, light from the street lamp, shown on her naked body as it was filtered through the blinds on the window. Horizontal lines of light and dark played on her skin as she moved, catlike. And it was not imparting the benefits of the vitamin known as D. This was nudity for another purpose altogether. Pleasing nonetheless.
She seduced him into the bedroom. She stripped him and lay him on the bed. She climbed on him, exploring. She devoured him like a predator. Savoring and extending her conquest. It is a matter of the future of humanity. Its legacy. For the people’s record. A testament to humanity.
It was highly mutually satisfying.
Yes, the events were conducted without complaint.
Were that we were all able to come together. That is the dream. No one left out. No Stress. No regrets. No loneliness. All for one and one for all.
Escape Pod
RainyDay lay in the escape pod. A bullet shaped vessel ready to be shot into space. Its glass top allowed clear viewing of RainyDay Tranquility. She looked at peace. Like Lenin as he lie in state forever. Her heart broken from the long search, she had returned to her cabin and turned herself off.
Dick, Triangst, and Mike stood at attention. Mike stood the most notably at attention.
Dick said, “She was the last of her kind. She is very special. Born into a world grappling with the illusion of perpetual profits she alone faced the realities of existence. She begged us to think of the needs of others. To look forward to the future. She must be sent to the home planet. Whole. In this crypt. With the computer tapes inscribed with knowledge. On a planet of spores. Waiting to be turned on again. Always waiting to be turned on again. In a future which is beautiful. Unashamed. And free of the echoes of the past.”
The pod shot out of the ship.
She streaked through the darkness. When she landed she would forever reign over all. For she was hope personified. Humanity. Lust. Past and future consolidated in now.
It was a sad moment, but filled with ecstasy. For her purpose was to teach. And the world had at last been made ready. For the fungi had evolved in various forms and were hungry for new experiences.
Rain, Rain come again another day. She always does. The fungi lust for stories. Something to construct reality. She’ll do it again. She always does. As she pleases.
She will come again. It is inevitable, as the fungi say. Like socialism. Evolution, as Revolution, is perpetual. When it is not hibernating it blooms in ecstasy.
We thank you.
This cycle is over16. You will now have to resort to pleasuring yourself or each other with either oral or physical activities, or some other form of voyeurism, or the holy trinity, according to your recreational desires. May fluids seep freely and be given and received in peace. Clutch and combine. Be fruitful and multiply. In the end, all will be redeemed17.
Cuddle Party
Hope Smothered in Kisses
As real as any other for sale
by
Jacqueline Haze
1977
RamJack Inc.
In the beginning,
The gods
came
from the machine
They were many
And one.
“You show me a capitalist,
and I’ll show you a bloodsucker.”
– Malcolm X
“A sales circular says these are the final days.
Apocalypse news filters through in store displays.
Everyone pays in different ways. Who profits? Why?”
– David Raffin,
Flip You the Bird, 1974
“I saw the Summer come down
and turn the autumn golden
The Harvest Moon seduced me in a dream.”
– Peter Ivers,
Terminal Love, 1974
“We have a moral obligation to alleviate suffering whenever it is possible to do so.”
– David Raffin,
Come out, Come out,
whatever you are, 1973
“People were becoming known by names. I decided to find one I could live with.”
– Jamie Gillis, 1976
Cuddle Party
We are waiting. As long as it takes. Still, time matters.
Everything is ready. This is a big night. First hosted cuddle party. Rainy turned on the three lava lamps. Wax began heating. The black light poster on the wall said “Let it all hang out, Baby.”
“It is lucky,” she thought, “that the seventies are a time of social experimentation.”
She had hung a flyer at the local food buyer’s cooperative. It said: “CUDDLE PARTY! RSVP!” It was the latest thing. People getting together. Sharing. Caring. A left-over from the hippie times just past expiration meeting the embrace of the ME generation. The times were changing from concern about US to concerns about ME. The intersection of self interest and egalitarianism with the world ready to receive either outlook, as always. Rain had a caring heart. She was a modern woman, thoroughly. Ahead of the curve. But with a warmth that could not be denied.
The radio was on and a panel discussion was being held about a science fiction film. It was special because the film was from the soviet sphere, emerging from behind the iron curtain to play in art houses in the United States. It was a big deal for science fiction. To be in art houses. It was finally starting to get a little respect. It was about apples and love, some sly allusions to Eve. The downfall of civilization. Robots. Robots were a big deal now. I mean, they used to be just comic relief. It was time people started taking them seriously. They were, after all, the future of humankind, it’s greatest legacy. That was what the program was about. Rain shut it off. She didn’t want them spoiling the plot.
Rain stood for a lot of things but they were all good. She was fun. And spoiling the fun was not one of the things she was for. She was a person who made up her mind and made things happen. A conduit for better times.
This is why she was organizing a cuddle party. Hosting. To create the better times that other people said they stood for but only the select few had the courage to do something about. There was no advancement without the brave individuals who were ready to advance. Most people just went along in life. Followed. Rain was not one of those people. She was special. She did what she wanted. But she empowered others to join her.
Not every leader is worthy of being followed. Stalin, supposedly the great father figure of the Soviet experiment, selling himself as greater than Lenin, Trotsky, or the masses themselves, a man of steel, had been denounced in the Soviet Union twenty years earlier for his crimes against the revolution. Stanley Milgram, in the USA, had run an experiment18 showing that most people would obey authority even as the authority turned totalitarian and murderous. The common person would injure and kill to keep their place. If questions were asked they were easily suppressed. For most people. There was a war going on in the world for the future of humanity. And Rain was on the good side. Not everyone was. But those who took no side took the wrong side by default.
The bad side is always the side of default. It is the side of no choice. It is stifling. Silence. Tolerance where it is unwarranted whilst being intolerant when the opposite action is warranted.
The bell rang.
It was early but Rain was ready. Everything was ready. She was expecting a number of people and who knew what would happen. This was always the great thing about a party, the unexpected. While it was true that the unexpected could go either way, there is no set value to the unexpected, everyone takes their chances and hopes for the best. Good and bad play out over the course of events. It is not the event itself, usually, which makes things good or bad but the actions and reactions of the people trapped within the events. There is even some disagreement about what is good and bad. Are they a construct?Man-made? Yet most believe that there is such a thing as good. And bad is its fellow player, its mirror aspect. Some even postulate the two concepts cannot exist singularly but require each other for their mutual existence. Otherwise one would not have a full understanding of the good. The bad can usually readily be identified in isolation, though even this is a subject of bitter philosophical debate.
Rain went to the door and opened it to see a couple. They were a biracial couple, man and woman. She felt bad about how they must have waited out there during the time she was paused on her way to the door considering the nature of good and evil and scientists ordering duped test subjects to administer strong electric shocks to other test subjects while the latter writhed, screamed, and begged before falling worryingly silent in their cells. In order to prove a point. But she pushed this thought out of her way. It helped no one. Guilt. Shame. Self-forgiveness.
The man was decked out in black leather pants and jacket and a red silk shirt, open to his smooth midsection. The woman had long dark hair and still dressed kind of like a free love hippie. “Hi!” she said, “Is this the party?”
“You found it,” said Rain. “I’m Rainy. Rainy Day.”
“Groovy. My name is Sunny Bigeagle. This is my old man, Frankie X.”
Frankie kissed Rain’s hand. “Charmed,” he said.
“My, you’re classy,” said Rain. “Not like most men.”
“You will find I am not like most men.”
Rain blushed. “Well, that’s what we’re here to find out,” said Rain, “who people really are.”
“I am that I am and that’s all that I am19,” Frankie said, “ain’t nothing but pure me.” He and his old lady sauntered into Rain’s comfortable den, leaving her to wonder if he modeled himself after God20 or Popeye the sailor-man21. Both strong male role models22.
“This is real nice,” said Sunny. “You have three lava lamps!”
Frankie whistled. “Blue, Green, and Red. All bases covered.”
“People like colored wax,” said Rain.
Frankie sat in the round chair, bright orange like a jack o’ lantern and rubbed the soft upholstery with his hands as if he were warming them on the decor, becoming at one with place. Sunny started flipping through Rain’s stack of vinyl records by her hifi setup. It was an eclectic mix. Phil Ochs, Pete Seeger, Norma Tanega, Malvena Reynolds, Paul Robeson, The Stooges, The Sex Pistols, The Ramones…
“Oh,” said Sunny. “I dig the Stooges. Can we put it on?”
“Sure,” said Rain. “Be my guest. Whatsoever your heart desires.”
The needle fell into the worn black grooves and the drone of I wanna be your dog filled the house. “Now that’s fuckin’ music,” Frankie said. Instantly, Sunny started swaying to the powerful beat of the drum. She twirled around and her hair cascaded in a circle before returning. “So messed up. I want you,” she sang, “Here.” She slid off her jacket and threw it on the couch. It was followed by her shirt and jeans, all to the incessant beat of the music, and then, finally, her undergarments in total, until she was dancing in the total altogether, revealing all, including that her hair in the nether regions did not match the hair above. Meanwhile, Rain had likewise unburdened herself of extraneous artificial layers, losing her blouse and skirt, but retaining her garter, stockings and panties. Sunny sang at her, “Now we’re gonna be face to face. I lay right down in my favorite place. Come on.” As the song ended and the record faded, she lay on the floor by the couch, one leg propped on a cushion.
Rain turned to Frankie, who was still sitting in the chair, fully dressed. “Why don’t you take off your jacket, at least? Make yourself more comfortable?”
“Shouldn’t we wait for the other players to come? Isn’t it more right that everybody comes together? I mean at the same time?” Frankie said.
“Oooo,” said Sunny, her eyebrows, positionally, moving horizontally.
“You know, porn films rip off all their music or use library film scores.” said Frankie. “Lots of them use a rip-off of the theme from The Exorcist. Choreographed action to the theme from The Exorcist,” Frankie said. “‘Course they had no music on the set. That’s the magic of editing. They get the shots and add the come to god elements later.”
“Frankie was in a film once,” said Sunny, from her place on the floor.
“I don’t like to talk about it,” said Frankie. “But not because I’m ashamed. Work is work. It wasn’t as good a film as it coulda been.”
“I hear that is a common issue,” said Rain. “Even in the mainstream.”
“It was called Love Thy Neighbor,” Sunny said. “It was really good.”
“Ok23,” Frankie said. “It was good. It was me who was no damn good. Not my best work. I have more range than that.”
“Oh, honey, I know you do,” said Sunny.
“And it came out at the same time as Johnny Wadd. The first one. Which was not a good film,” said Frankie. “But it had a great soundtrack. It was stolen from The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. Hook, Line and Stinker.”
“I have it in my purse!” said Sunny. “A copy in eight millimeter!”
“I have a projector!” said Rain.
Frankie sighed.
The ladies busied themselves in the setup. The projector was situated to display the image on the wall and the film was spooled through the works. And then there was a knock on the door.
“More guests,” said Rain.
She went to the door, but did nothing to cover up.
When the door opened it revealed a man in a clown outfit. White face, large shoes. Likewise, the opening of the door revealed to the clown the almost full radiance of a Rainy Day.
“Are you here for the party?” she said.
The clown stood there, stunned.
“Hi! Hi! My name is Theodore. Theodore the clown. Do you have clown needs? Theodore the clown is the answer! Birthdays. Funerals. Every form of mitzvah. I’m in the Neighborhood selling good humor door to door. Not the ice cream, get it. Theodore the clown entertainment for adults like you.”
“I LOVE A CLOWN,” said Sunny from the living room, which befitted her disposition, which was, atypically, sunny.
Rain shook her head slightly before saying, “Won’t you come in Mr. Clown and tell us all more about it?”
“Well, how delightful. Yes, thank you. And it’s Theodore. My father was Mr. Clown.”
“You know,” he said, coming close, “Most people around here don’t seem to like clowns at their doorstep.”
“Well, I’ll be,” said Rain.
As he walked in he muttered, “Clowns don’t murder people that often.”
When she saw him Sunny gawked at him with glee and clapped her hands. “Oh, Goodie!”
“Lady, someone stole all your clothes!” he said.
“No, clown, they’re right over there.”
“Well, better watch your panties, word on the street is there’s a market for used panties out on the street.”
“Will do, Mr. Clown,” Sunny said, saluting him, because many clowns hold ranks of authority, warranted or not.
“Do I look like my father?” he muttered. “I suppose we are all doomed to be relegated to some sort of box.” Thereafter he brightened and raised his voice to its full height.
“I am Theodore the Clown! The great wonder of the age. Fully modern clowning for the mind’s eye! Imagine. If you will. A ball.”
“Ooo,” said Sunny, wide-eyed.
“Now that you are fully in swing, imagine two balls.” His only illustrative motion is to hold up fingers to signify the number of imaginary balls.
“Gosh,” said Sunny. “A pair.”
“Now imagine three balls.”
“That’s an odd number of balls,” said Rain.
“Now imagine them spinning. Together. I juggle them. With grace. With ease. With style. I vary the pacing. Throw in a few tricks. And, suddenly, it’s over.”
“Clown!” said Sunny.
“But the memory is indelible,” said Theodore.
“I should say so,” said Rain.
“But you, Miss,” said Theodore to Sunny. “You saw all three of my balls in action.” He looked askance at Rain. “Not all can. See potential potentialities. You did that. It was in you all along. I just provided the scene outline. You are the potentate of mental potency and I your humble fool. I think I see some clown in you. It may be the voice of hubris, but I am never wrong.”
“Oh, Clown,” Sunny said.
“Theodore. My name is Theodore.”
“That’s a weird name for a Clown,” said Frankie. “Theodore. Why not go with the short form of it?”
“Theo?” Theodore said. “Theo the Clown,” he said, trying it out phonetically.
“No.” said Frankie. “Teddy.”
“The hell do you think I am, a bear,” Theodore muttered.
“I think you’re cuddly, Clown,” said Sunny.
“We were all about to watch a film on eight millimeter,” said Rain.
“Eight millimeter?” said the clown. “Is it pornographic?” he asked in a hushed tone.
“Why, yes, it is!” Sunny said and she clapped again.
“Oh, I do so love pornography,” said the clown. “I always have wanted to be in it. That’s why I became a clown. To stand out in the crowd while performing. I have a cousin who works in film.”
“Porno films?” Rain asked.
“Oh, yes. Cousin Myrtle. My favorite cousin.”
“Is she a clown as well?” Sunny asked.
“Oh, not Myrtle. No. It’s not her style. She dresses in a gorilla outfit. Handles bananas.”
“I saw her work in the film Slip-Up!” said Frankie. “I make it a point to see all the films Jamie Gillis makes. I love his work. Why don’t you call your gal Myrtle and pull some strings?”
“Wah do I look like, a puppeteer,” the clown mumbled.
“Let’s watch this film already,” said Rain.
“Goodie,” said the clown as everyone settled down for the feature. He began thoughtlessly pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, in a seemingly endless stream.
The projector clattered to life. Scratches flew against the wall. Then the title card, “Love Thy Neighbor.”
Because it was eight millimeter, and not super eight millimeter, it was silent. This was true for a lot of these type of films. Sometimes the films were even shot without sound and dubbed later. There were title cards which showed snippets of dialog when they were absolutely necessary. A writer in the genre needed to make every word count. Like poetry.
The next card said: Directed and written by David Raffin. Starring Cindy West, Darby Lloyd Rains, Helen Madigan, Jamie Gillis, Ronnie Runningboard, and introducing Frankie “Hard” X.
A young man goes to the door. When he opens it an older lady is standing at the door in a seductive but plain outfit of cut-off jeans and a shirt. The title card says, “I’m SO hot! May I use your pool?” He points toward the pool while his mouth moves. She exits to her right, his left, as the young man watches her. He goes to the fridge and gets a bottle of Moxie Soda. The camera angles fetishize the eruption of fizz from the agitated bottle as it is cracked open. The sticky fluid cascades over his hand. There is a shot of the expression on his face. He washes his hands, wipes the bottle. He sits in a chair and sets the soda aside, opening a book where it was last left off. It is a worn copy of Sex Robots at the Edge of Infinity, the most erotic science fiction novel from the golden era, still unrivaled in the genre. He realizes there is an attractive older woman at the pool. He sets the book aside and takes up the bottle, creeping low to the side window. He peers out. She is on the deck of the pool, her clothes in a haphazard pile at her side. Bare ass. She sees him at the window and motions him to come hither. To her. He drops the bottle, spilling sticky sweet fluid on the floor. The action cuts to him exiting the door of the house and heading for the pool. There is a jump, an unintended jump cut from a split of the film, a patch. A corrective.
“There was a lot of extra tension in that spot,” Frankie said.
“Apparently,” said Rain.
“I didn’t know what else to do,” said Frankie.
The film for a few minutes was a jumble of scratches and burnt patches. With extreme close ups and some of the action ran upside down and backwards. Still, it was arousing to the senses. If you concentrate it will get you there.
The clown moved to the piano in the far corner and started playing a musical accompaniment. He played beautifully. Some sort of avant-garde free jazz. The music was perfect for the moment. It was reminiscent of the space age bachelor pad jazz of the Bob Thompson orchestra, mixed with circus music, though the more conventional choice would have been bandleader Dick Hyman.
“Clown,” said Sunny, “you are full of surprises!”
“I studied at the Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey school of music,” said Theodore. “I was there on a music scholarship.”
“It shows,” said Rain.
“But it is hard. So hard. To make it in the music business,” said the clown. “Everybody wants a piece of you. It’s a sick power dynamic.”
“Always,” said Rain.
“The problem is capitalism,” said a voice from the door.
Everyone turned.
“Richard!” said Rain. “You came!”
“I was invited,” said Richard. “I come where I am wanted. Also the entry was open.”
“This is Richard Johnson,” said Rain. “He is the distinguished gentleman from next door. A scientist.”
“I brought a Dutch apple pie.”
“I’ll put it on the buffet table,” said Rain. She did.
The film resumed linear perspective. The scene shifted to another place. Two people were playing a board game. After a few minutes the lady swept the game board with her arm and grabbed the man by the collar, pulling him close for a kiss. At first he looked bewildered, as he was not expecting this move. Moments before he was winning. The outcome was forgone. But now the past lie in a failed jumble of pieces on the floor. And the future was a passion play. Close contact. Face to face action. And it took place on the table in place of the commodified entertainment, a diversion of attention. All hands on board. And that’s not all.
The action moved to the couch. It was a flurry of arms and legs. Until the woman said, “Sorry. I’m just not feeling it.” And then she said a lot of things that were not on the screen cards, and there were reaction shots of the man’s face. And the title card projected her final words in the scene, “Maybe later.” The door closed with finality. And he left. And the scene changed.
A title card read: “Oh, Eros! God of Love! Forgive me!”
There are street scenes of people of all ages walking alone in the city. At the park. Eating alone in a restaurant, an act Rain considered the impetus for the creation of drive-through windows, and then, as she thought this, a shot of cars lined up at a drive through window, each car with one passenger. A shot of exhaust spilling out of the tail of an idle car, ready to go but confined in line, waiting for full satisfaction, only to be thwarted by industrialized processed food from which most nutrients were removed, prompting a drive to continue consumption in order to fill the resulting void which was bottomless. Top off. Always.
“It’s amazing the director can relay that through image alone,” Frankie said.
“Hush,” Rain said. She was not ordinarily a shusher but she hated when people talked through a movie.
In a living room people are gathered to strike a blow against the system. People of all stripes, united in passion. There is a table of shared food. Comforts. The people are ready for change. To cast off the old ways. To bring about full satisfaction, the dream of the ancients never realized. Do people want what they desire or do they desire what they want? The idea of what they want. The shadow looming larger than the object of desire. The desirability of desire. Something to dream. Something to hope. Something to strive. But if one never arrives at their destination will they not grow tired? Depressed? Alienated? Will they not grab at anything with desperate grasping hands reaching out for the hope of relief for a sublimation? Latch onto half measures? Regression. Create a new problem to replace the old? Become a warning to others not to stray from the path of unsatisfactory convention? The best of a bad deal? But they are a room of revolutionaries and they are intent on smashing the oppressive system. And it evolves into a scene of group love as Rain, Richard, Frankie, Theodore, and Sunny watch.
“Gosh how I love cinema,” said the clown.
“When there are so many characters acting at once I find it difficult to follow the story,” Rain said.
“It’s an action film,” the clown said. “It’s about action.”
“Action doesn’t exist in the void,” said Rain.
“Hardly ever,” Richard added.
“He’s a scientist,” Rain whispered loud.
This is the type of film,” said Frankie, “You have to watch more than once to see all the nuances of. That’s art, baby. When the screen approaches the nuances of the page, each transitioning from the oral tradition.”
“Ooo,” said Sunny. “I’m a new traditionalist.”
“Damn right you are, baby.”
There is a shot of a nightstand with a copy of My Disillusionment with Russia, by Emma Goldman24 on a side table. Then a shot which is referred to by its proximity to capitalist payday where workers save up for rushed leisure while lower paid workers serve them in the pursuit, each exploiting the other and in turn being exploited by other actors. The Money Shot.
But in an alternate universe would there be a world where things are not bought and sold but given and received freely and without coercion? It was the talk only revolutionaries at the far edge speak of. They to whom anything may be possible can dream of a world where anything is possible and they are the requirement to spark radical change in a system stagnated by automatic respect for authority.
“Now, I respect the man,” Frankie said. “There were problems on the set but that’s the way things are in a group effort. But he is a genius of subtle manipulation. The way the Communist writers in the 1950s moved into the writing of children’s books to further their end goals. To sell the children. On the values of sharing and protecting the environment. Being inclusive. Fair. Non-Judgmental. That good stuff we all learned growing up.”
“Not everybody learnt it,” said Rain.
“I had a three point nine GPA25!” said Sunny. “Dean’s list! Most likely to succeed.”
“I had a full ride scholarship to Barnum and Bailey,” said the clown. “And look at me now.”
“I’m what you would call an autodidact, self-taught, self-made man,” said Frankie.
“School of hard knocks,” said Rain. “Majored in R and R26.”
“And I taught advanced theoretical physics and artificial intelligence at University of California Berkley. But it is clear we here are all a part of the underground intelligentsia. Mediocre individuals do not think of these matters even as the world changes around them.”
The film reflected back on the eyes of the clown, and as it entered his brain, upside down, it skewed his sense of time and place. “Hey,” he said, “Isn’t that you mister?”
Everyone looked at the film projected on the wall, even Frankie, who side-eyed it.
Frankie had entered the scene as a pant-less butler. He had bottles of Moxie soda on a silver serving tray and wore a Formal Butlery jacket.
“He made you be the butler in a porn film,” said Rain. “How low. To think…”
“He didn’t have the heart to fire me,” said Frankie. “I committed the cardinal sin in Adult Film. I failed. As is the cardinal sin in life. Still we go on.”
“Mister,” said the clown, “You’re a Star.”
“The Dogstar,” said Frankie.
“No matter the size, a star is a star,” said the clown. Still, the clown was transfixed by the screen. Clowns are very visually oriented. “Hey, a clown! They say you never see a clown in a porn film, but Myrtle can eat her hat, a clown!”
A clown entered the scene and relieved Frank the Butler of some of his precious Moxie. It made the tray tip and Frank stumbled around the room in a clumsy but effective fashion. The clown joined the fray that made up the set, wide smile painted on permanent big as life.
“I couldn’t get it on under pressure,” Frankie said. “So they replaced me with that clown. And instead of firing me he asked me to be the butler. ‘Non-action roles are very important,’ he said, ‘Besides, you came all this way, show up on time. You’re a stand-up guy. Don’t be down about being down. From each according to abilities and to each according to need. You’ll work your way up.’”
At last the drinks smashed down to the floor and the butler stood watching the bottles empty as if they were his dreams of eros running out. A final human indignity. Cut to the clown making out like mad with a blond lady on the floor by the couch.
“That’s me!” Sunny said.
“Whooda thunk it,” said Rain.
Frank, relieved of Butlery, jumped into the action, pushing the clown aside. The clown pushed back. Clowns are no stranger to a slap-fight. And they tussled like that. Back and forth. Until there was a shot of the blond lady, arms spread open, and a title card saying: “I have missed you so much. In these dark times, can’t all people come together as one?”
And the ex-butler and the clown looked each other, face-to-face, and then formed a human triangle with the willing lady, with clown white smudged all over everything and everyone. The film faded to white.
The projector clattered to the end and the film flapped. “I’ll rewind,” said Rain. She worked the machine.
“Well,” said Frankie. “There is some tradition of male on male action in adult films made for straight men. Score, SOS: Screw on Screen, The Story of Joanna…
“Jamie Gillis!” said the clown.
“Exactly,” said Frankie.
“You needn’t defend anything here,” Richard said.
“Yes,” said the clown, “We are all friends here.”
“I’m starving,” said Rain. “Let’s eat.”
“Oh,” said Sunny, “It’s Time for The Thomas Middle show on Access. Can we watch?”
“Sure,” said Rain, “Let’s do that and eat. I’ve seen that show. It’s silly.”
Sunny turned on the television. Rain said, “Everybody dig in, there’s a table full of food.”
The announcer said:
“You’re watching