new-style flash noir
white letters against the bustle of an urban landscape:
Central Los Angeles, 1978
then:
for God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotton son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
john 3:16
eight minutes ago i was soaking in a cold shower (goddamn a/c is busted) washing away the southern california dirt and bullshit basking in the cool calm but now i'm on wilshire heading west, the lights from downtown twinkling in my rear view. i turn up the steely dan tape i had just bought to fight off the 'lude i had taken before the shower, feeling the breeze run over my forehead and through what little was left of my hair. sleep chasing me, night chasing me, her voice over the line like a gin-soaked siren serenade. when the telephone wont stop ringing, when the buzzing divides every nerve ending in your eardrum like an electric tumor, when you're trying to imagine the drizzle from your spigot is a mountain waterfall in the middle of nothingness, the simple fact of the matter is: it could be her calling.
i waited fifteen rings. then nothing. just the sprinkling and the drain and the running of my mind. then, a ring- seemed louder this time. i was out of the bathroom before i remember making the decision to leave the shower. wet feet on the floor and a towel around my waist, i grabbed a rag to dry my head, sat down on the bed, collected my thoughts through three more rings and
it wasn't her. it was never her.
it was some friend of a friend of someone who knew vaguely about some of the things i did. she sounded straight enough- had a fix on futures that couldn't wait til the morning. the price of cement had broke the ceiling a month back and she knew of a couple truckloads that needed to get out from the rain and could i supervise the whole thing? there's not a lot i won't do for a hundred and twenty dollars a day so now I'm heading towards the hills.
and there was something about her voice, a deep sonorous smokey sunset. too bad it was the middle of the night.
it wasn't her. it was never her.
it was some friend of a friend of someone who knew vaguely about some of the things i did. she sounded straight enough- had a fix on futures that couldn't wait til the morning. the price of cement had broke the ceiling a month back and she knew of a couple truckloads that needed to get out from the rain and could i supervise the whole thing? there's not a lot i won't do for a hundred and twenty dollars a day so now I'm heading towards the hills.
and there was something about her voice, a deep sonorous smokey sunset. too bad it was the middle of the night.
i was barely past the tar pits when i spotted the tail - three cars back, the black sedan had me since highland so i lit up a cigarette and took my time. no point in spooking them. and then, the inevitable, who are they? feds been on me for a bribery charge out in ventura though they couldn't make it stick in front of a grand jury, chinese had been shorted on a gold deal but that was six months back now and i'm pretty sure they were looking for me in south africa.
south africa. i could still be in south africa. eh, a dream, what is it, deferred festers. or in bed asleep do we dream things true. or they do dream things true. or-
one of those.
or none of them at all.
at san vincente, i turned right- up to sunset where it would be easier to shake them. but before i made the strip they were gone. for the best. the median line bending with my lethargy the buildings blending to the horizon.
south africa. i could still be in south africa. eh, a dream, what is it, deferred festers. or in bed asleep do we dream things true. or they do dream things true. or-
one of those.
or none of them at all.
at san vincente, i turned right- up to sunset where it would be easier to shake them. but before i made the strip they were gone. for the best. the median line bending with my lethargy the buildings blending to the horizon.
just beyond franklin canyon lay an abandoned construction site where a development project was halted last year due to a couple of goddamn conservationists and a democratic congressman. a site trailer sat in the middle of a dirt parking lot; in front of it, three dump trucks and a white van. on the far side of the lot, a mountain of concrete shooting to the sky. i parked next to the van and wobbled out of my truck as mariachi static from the double wide swirled with the dust i had torn up on my way in. they really should keep it down. an exposed bulb dangled in front of the door, flickering. i turned over my shoulder i saw thunder clouds gathering over the valley at a quickening rate. headlights peaked through the entrance to the site. i ducked around the trailer, kicking stones as i did, clearly tipping off the group in the trailer because the music cut out and i heard whispered shouts and muffled footsteps. the black sedan parked next to the dump trucks; i watched, out-of-sight, two suits with briefcases hurried out towards the tin shack. a coyote howled behind me. the suits knocked and greeted those inside from the door, spoke in muted tones, pointing at my truck.
fuck, i started running for the ridge of the site.
they must have spotted me.
stop running you fat piece of shit!
my heart pounding, sweat pouring down my face, my legs muscling through each stride.
a shot rang out, breezing past my right shoulder.
then another buzzing by my ear.
and another buzzing.
buzzing. buzzing.
the ringing. i woke up in bed, the phone jangling on the nightstand, drool pooling on my pillow, my eyes crusted with sleep. musta passed out. rolling over, my hand reached for the lamp, i pushed myself up, sat on the bed, a blank stare across the bleakness of a room lived in for seven years and yet undecorated. the clock read four, but light was pouring in through the blinds. four in the afternoon?
i had a handfull of dexedrines left in my drawer. i took one, chased it with a half-finished heineken, trying to shake off the nightmare before picking up the receiver.
i heard a breath on the other side.
ya? i asked.
hello, uh, robert chapman, please.
the voice from my dream. unmistakable. only now, it was shakier, with a visceral, briny wobble. it was real.
i felt my stomach drop. i was offbalance, dizzy. i lit a cigarette because i couldn't find the words.
ya?
a friend told me to contact you, my name is charlotte iserbyt. it's... its about my husband.
she told the usual story: late nights at work, perfume on his suits, phone calls at all hours, always showering before slipping into bed. she said he had just called, saying he would be working late, screening a film in the hills (some story) and she wants me to attend. how could i refuse?
when i hung up i could still hear her voice. i walked to the fridge to see if i had anymore beer. something light to drink while i got ready for the party.
white letters across cascading suburban streets:
Beverly Hills, later that night
then:
for we will destroy this place, because the cry of them is waxen great before the face of the LORD; and the LORD hath sent us to destroy it.
got a fucking headache won't go away; i was suppose to have been at this house an hour ago but the goddamn traffic, and if this john had left, it was all for nought, and i still had charlotte's voice on my mind making my heart race, probably adding to the pulse in my temple.
not quite a catch-22 but still a predicament.
at the gatehouse, they told me it was impolite to not arrive at the appropriate hour. i wouldn't be allowed entrance until the film was over. i lit a cigarette, stewing over the waste of time until i spotted a couple of landscapers talking around the main fountain in front of the monstrous abode. explaining my tardiness, i handed an older one a ten spot and a younger one took my hand, walking through a service entrance in the garage. he led me down a long hallway lined with modernist paintings- shapes and splatters, then to a door.
i think the movie's over anyway. he said, unlocked the door, and left.
the theatre was empty and drab, but the projector was still shining its blank pale light across the screen.
an usher came from the shadows and escorted me to the entrance of the auditorium.
quite a flick, huh?
i smiled, nodded. he opened the doors revealing a tremendous party already in the coils of revelry. a gaggle of high-society eccentrics and old-money oddballs, la fashion freaks and freelove disco types, even a senator's son whom i recognized from a christmas party in dc several years back now squawked as i clung to the corner of the gallery searching for charlotte's husband, trying to stay unnoticed:
he must be a homosexual, it was a homosexual act.
oh, jeeesus, carl. carl. the anus is-
no, there was a woman!
two!
two women!
the device was quite intricate.
the sodomy device.
its not sodomy- there were women!
its just not healthy.
janice, you are smoking a cigarette.
as light as reagan?
lighter.
i mean, who knows what goes on at Bohemian Grove.
she was standing by the pool in a loose fitting red blouse that i eyed up and down. she smiled and followed as i sauntered over to the empty bar, pointed at a scotch. she nodded, bit her lower lip and slowly stepped towards me. i poured.
what'd you think of the movie?
that voice. i nearly dropped my drink.
i, i was late. i stammered, only wanting her to speak again.
it's a shame, your icon is untainted.
i couldn't take my eyes off her sultry lips. her hand reached out to my belt and she moved in closer, putting down her drink.
i guess we really need to do something about that, don't we?
i let her undo my trousers. i was nervous-
charlotte?
mmm, maybe we can wake this little boy up.
the combination of exhausted excitement and those damned dexetrines made it difficult to get anything going, so rather then have her continue i pushed her up onto the bar and went straight for her womanly nest. i ran my tongue across her legs, sensing the lightest bristle on my tongue as i made it to the outline of her underwear i kissed what felt hard and sturdy and well, rather fat. it had yet to register, i pulled down her panties and it smacked me in the face-
what the-
i fumbled backwards into the bar, looking at her and her smile and her adam's apple. rather pronounced, how had i not noticed that earlier? the doors to the mansion swung open and i recognized the two suited men from the black sedan of my dream.
chapman!
i started off towards the pool like a bandit and out towards the fence line at the edge of the property, hearing, behind me, three sets of laughter.
fuck, i started running for the ridge of the site.
they must have spotted me.
stop running you fat piece of shit!
my heart pounding, sweat pouring down my face, my legs muscling through each stride.
a shot rang out, breezing past my right shoulder.
then another buzzing by my ear.
and another buzzing.
buzzing. buzzing.
the ringing. i woke up in bed, the phone jangling on the nightstand, drool pooling on my pillow, my eyes crusted with sleep. musta passed out. rolling over, my hand reached for the lamp, i pushed myself up, sat on the bed, a blank stare across the bleakness of a room lived in for seven years and yet undecorated. the clock read four, but light was pouring in through the blinds. four in the afternoon?
i had a handfull of dexedrines left in my drawer. i took one, chased it with a half-finished heineken, trying to shake off the nightmare before picking up the receiver.
i heard a breath on the other side.
ya? i asked.
hello, uh, robert chapman, please.
the voice from my dream. unmistakable. only now, it was shakier, with a visceral, briny wobble. it was real.
i felt my stomach drop. i was offbalance, dizzy. i lit a cigarette because i couldn't find the words.
ya?
a friend told me to contact you, my name is charlotte iserbyt. it's... its about my husband.
she told the usual story: late nights at work, perfume on his suits, phone calls at all hours, always showering before slipping into bed. she said he had just called, saying he would be working late, screening a film in the hills (some story) and she wants me to attend. how could i refuse?
when i hung up i could still hear her voice. i walked to the fridge to see if i had anymore beer. something light to drink while i got ready for the party.
white letters across cascading suburban streets:
Beverly Hills, later that night
then:
for we will destroy this place, because the cry of them is waxen great before the face of the LORD; and the LORD hath sent us to destroy it.
genesis 9:13
got a fucking headache won't go away; i was suppose to have been at this house an hour ago but the goddamn traffic, and if this john had left, it was all for nought, and i still had charlotte's voice on my mind making my heart race, probably adding to the pulse in my temple.
not quite a catch-22 but still a predicament.
at the gatehouse, they told me it was impolite to not arrive at the appropriate hour. i wouldn't be allowed entrance until the film was over. i lit a cigarette, stewing over the waste of time until i spotted a couple of landscapers talking around the main fountain in front of the monstrous abode. explaining my tardiness, i handed an older one a ten spot and a younger one took my hand, walking through a service entrance in the garage. he led me down a long hallway lined with modernist paintings- shapes and splatters, then to a door.
i think the movie's over anyway. he said, unlocked the door, and left.
the theatre was empty and drab, but the projector was still shining its blank pale light across the screen.
an usher came from the shadows and escorted me to the entrance of the auditorium.
quite a flick, huh?
i smiled, nodded. he opened the doors revealing a tremendous party already in the coils of revelry. a gaggle of high-society eccentrics and old-money oddballs, la fashion freaks and freelove disco types, even a senator's son whom i recognized from a christmas party in dc several years back now squawked as i clung to the corner of the gallery searching for charlotte's husband, trying to stay unnoticed:
he must be a homosexual, it was a homosexual act.
oh, jeeesus, carl. carl. the anus is-
ha! anus
what are you five years old lindbergh? The anus is an erogenous zone subject to the whims and
aw get outta here with that fairy horseshit, man
well Carl, you're the one who came stag to see the movie where Ronald Reagan takes it up the butt.
i'm here cause i can't imagine voting for him if this was true, I had to see if it was true.
you already knew it was true.
come onnn
carl, listen to me, you already knew.
he was so young.
and firm.
presidential.
certainly wasn't working with much though, was he?
he certainly was not!
certainly wasn't working with much though, was he?
he certainly was not!
here's to free enterprise!
here! here!
here! here!
it wasn't sodomy.
i saw patti smith in santa monica in may and she was-
oh, patti smith! you muuust be from new york!
no, there was a woman!
two!
two women!
the device was quite intricate.
the sodomy device.
its not sodomy- there were women!
the brush fires came within a few miles of my house.
whatdya do?
naturally we took the kids to my mothers in santa barbara, made a weekend out of it.
if anybody else says the word 'smog' one more time i'm going to scream.
if reagan's persona is a war between his self and his film characters, with the film characters ultimately winning out, and i think it is, his politic is an adaption of a 40's b-movie- then what does it mean, this is the question of the night, what does it mean, if, in his first movie he gets fucked in the ass?
we don't even know if it was him!
charley, even through the grain there was no mistaking the gipper!
so what does it mean?
it means we've been fed a whole lot of shit filled nonsense here in california these past few years
it's more than that. its about how we as americans see our leaders.
film has become more real than reality.
reality never has been very real though, charley, now has it?
wasn't very choosey back then was he- that first one was a dog!
well, it was '37, he was a democrat!
its just not healthy.
janice, you are smoking a cigarette.
so, how many times have you seen grease?
i actually haven't seen it.
what? are you living in some sort of hole?
tonight we've all been living in some sort of hole.
cute.
i would turn the embassy into a parking lot and be done with the whole thing!
lets keep it light, al, puleaseee, who wants one of these?as light as reagan?
lighter.
i mean, who knows what goes on at Bohemian Grove.
if you smile you look a little like ted bundy.
thank you.
no, truly.
well, he was a handsome guy.
he wasssss.
you know, i heard the zodiac was here tonight.
that one really had the room rolling and i moved outside to get some air.she was standing by the pool in a loose fitting red blouse that i eyed up and down. she smiled and followed as i sauntered over to the empty bar, pointed at a scotch. she nodded, bit her lower lip and slowly stepped towards me. i poured.
what'd you think of the movie?
that voice. i nearly dropped my drink.
i, i was late. i stammered, only wanting her to speak again.
it's a shame, your icon is untainted.
i couldn't take my eyes off her sultry lips. her hand reached out to my belt and she moved in closer, putting down her drink.
i guess we really need to do something about that, don't we?
i let her undo my trousers. i was nervous-
charlotte?
mmm, maybe we can wake this little boy up.
the combination of exhausted excitement and those damned dexetrines made it difficult to get anything going, so rather then have her continue i pushed her up onto the bar and went straight for her womanly nest. i ran my tongue across her legs, sensing the lightest bristle on my tongue as i made it to the outline of her underwear i kissed what felt hard and sturdy and well, rather fat. it had yet to register, i pulled down her panties and it smacked me in the face-
what the-
i fumbled backwards into the bar, looking at her and her smile and her adam's apple. rather pronounced, how had i not noticed that earlier? the doors to the mansion swung open and i recognized the two suited men from the black sedan of my dream.
chapman!
i started off towards the pool like a bandit and out towards the fence line at the edge of the property, hearing, behind me, three sets of laughter.
stop running chapman!
End Credits roll as a song plays:
there's nowhere left to go!
End Credits roll as a song plays:
Steely Dan - Peg
I've seen your picture
Your name in lights above it
This is your big debut
It's like a dream come true
And so won't you smile for the camera?
I know they're gonna love it, Peg
I like your pin shot
I keep it with your letter
Done up in blueprint blue
It sure looks good on you
And when you smile for the camera
I know I'll love you better
Peg, it will come back to you
Peg, it will come back to you
Then the shutter falls
You see it all in 3-D
It's your favorite foreign movie
I like your pin shot
I keep it with your letter
Done up in blueprint blue
It sure looks good on you
And when you smile for the camera
I know I'll love you better
Peg, it will come back to you
Peg, it will come back to you
Then the shutter falls
You see it all in 3-D
It's your favorite foreign movie
Sources:
Michael Rogin's Ronald Reagan, the Movie
David Markson's Epitaph for a Tramp/Deadbeat
Jim Thompson's the Kill-Off
George Tuttle's essay on noir
George Tuttle's essay on noir
Alex Jones' conspiracy theories including Tin 470, feat RWR and Bohemian Grove
All characters are fictions of real fake people.
Editors
TB and MF
THE END
1 comment:
engaging story. Nice work!
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