Andy Seven, former rock star/male model/bon vivant, the man with the action-packed expense account, the fabulous free-lance creator of stories and images is available for your entertainment NOW! on Blogger.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Clandestiny (red COFFEE Chapter 9)
After my attack in the elevator at Bullock’s a week ago I laid low by cancelling all of my modeling jobs. I didn’t leave the loft much either for personal business, and if I did it was wearing a black wig, helmet and thick sunglasses. It still didn’t stop the odd fellow from leering and whistling at me. I’ll have to pad my body to make myself look fat. The disguise hasn’t been complete. As I was safety pinning pillow foam to sections of my dress, I saw my door knob turn. The knob turned quicker and I raced over to grab a table lamp. I pulled it out of the socket ready to attack. The door swung open.
“Dear girl! I have returned!” Mister Bradley dropped his valise and stretched out his arms for a hug. “What on earth are you doing? Are you planning to dance with a lamp shade on your head?” “Mister Bradley, you’re back. Why didn’t you tell me you were returning?” I sheepishly put the lamp down and hugged Mr. Bradley. “What’s been going on here, what are those finger marks on your neck?” “It’s a long story. I thought you were staying in Spain for another month”. “Well, you know how it is, Francisco and I had a most horrendous spat. Told me I was too old to be seen in public with him, but you can’t throw the virgin wool over this boy’s eyes. I followed him from his hovel one dark, sultry evening and caught him in a lover’s embrace with of all things, a woman. And not just any woman, but one of those tawdry cantina wenches. Can you imagine?” “I don’t know what to say”. “Well, I do. It appears we both need some cheering up, so I’m going to get on the blower and call my most cherished friends and we’re gong to have the most marvelous party tonight. Of course, by tomorrow morning you’ll need to return to your apartment, and dearest, thanks for watering the plants!”
I spent my last night in Mister Bradley’s swanky Hollywood loft apartment as a guest in his welcome home party. Although there wasn’t much in the way of food there was lots of alcohol and a very busy radio playing hot jazz. Someone would occasionally switch over to a classical station and everyone would yell to turn back the station.
I got to meet Mister Bradley’s cherished friends and then some: there were smartly dressed gigolos who preened at the sight of me, only to break character when a jealous boyfriend would shoot daggers at them, at which point they would attentively return to their sugar daddy’s attentions.
I poured some fancy champagne into a hurricane glass and walked around in my silver beaded dress. I took a sip and found myself quickly accosted by Jean Harlow with a man’s voice. “You’re Lois Angelus, aren’t you? I worship you, you are the most glamorous woman I have ever seen, you were in Vanity Fair, weren’t you?” “Yes, I-“ “-when I lose more weight and grow my hair longer I want to be just like you. My boyfriend laughs at me when I said I’m going to be the next Lois Angelus but that bitch is just jealous. You don’t hate me for wanting to look like you, do you? Please say you’re not!” “Okay, I don’t hate you”, I smiled. “Well, well, the blonde who doesn’t return my phone calls anymore”, a gangly man shoved his way between us. It was Mort Marinaro, a photographer I had the displeasure of working with in the past. He looked weasly and whined all the time. “Lois Angeles, the big star. What will it take to get you to do another photo shoot with me?” “How about stop bad mouthing me to everyone?” “What are you talking about? I never said a bad word about you”. “You’re a lying little weasel. You had the whole camera crew hating me because you told them in advance I was a bitch. Go crawl into your dark room and drown in a bottle of fixer, you rat”. “You’re just a mean person, you hear me? Mean!” He whined. Mister Bradley ran over to him. “There will be no yelling in my studio, Mr. Marinaro. Except by me, of course. Now! Run along. Pour yourself a drink and try not to break anything in the process, young man”. He shooed away Marinaro and I sauntered away and stood in a corner.
A brunette in a tailored jacket sidled over to me, smiling with a highball in her hand. “Men, they want all your attention but they don’t know how to earn it”, she purred, grabbing my hand and clutching it. “It’s not too hard, is it?” “No, it isn’t. Listen, why don’t you get me a drink, sweets?” “I’ll be right back”, she whispered. As soon as she disappeared into the crowd I ran towards the closed bedroom door.
There were a dozen party goers sitting on the bed all quietly listening to a man speak. The man was short and very dark wearing a purple suit. The man had a very distinct Indian accent.
“A man doesn’t need to have his eyes open to see what is going on around him”.
“The noise of the city is the outer wall. Your soul is the inner wall, our bodies the shells that protect us from the madness outside”.
“Inner peace is the antidote from the poisoned sickness that’s around us”.
As the dark man spoke there was a hush in the room and I quietly sat with everyone else. In the beginning I thought he was just spouting a bunch of carnival hokum but this was different. He spoke for an hour delivering words of peace and tranquility that consoled me after the recent attacks I experienced. “This concludes my lecture tonight. If you’d like to hear more I will be speaking on the radio Friday night. Please listen to the Rama Vishnu program, your support will be most appreciated. I also wish to extend an invitation to those who wish to attend to my radio program in person. It will be at the Sunset and Gower Studios”, he announced glancing at me briefly.
Everyone quietly filed out and I noticed that the party was winding down. Mister Bradley leaned over to me and whispered, “Isn’t Rama Vishnu the most wonderful man you’ve ever heard? He’s always a big hit at my parties”. “Is there a predatory brunette lesbian around here? I’m trying to avoid her”. “Predatory? Lesbian? You must be joking, you can’t swing a dead cat without hitting one, dear girl. Now, excuse me, I must romp!” He romped away.
I grabbed my coat and putting it on caught a girl across the room dressed just like me with my hair style and just as tall as me. She stared at me and I stared at her, daggers in our eyes. It was my cue to leave. The party’s over.