But when Douglass gave them the truth, when he’d tell them “D’s not in,” that’s when they’d let it rip: “Yes, he is there!” “I know Demetrius is there. I know it!” And just maybe they did know on a few occasions, since there was at least one occasion when one of his stalkers was caught peeping into one of the windows of the Gilmore home.
“How do you deal with this?” Douglass asked D after he caught the peeping Jane.
“What can I do? I’m humble about it. Never arrogant. And all I do is try and steer them towards the Lord. Watch and see; some of these women need Jesus. And they don’t know it, but I’m gonna lead them to their salvation soon.”
“Wow,” Douglass said breathlessly, almost hypnotized himself by D’s faith and commitment. He’d already witnessed firsthand how, during shifts at the club, Demetrius had dancers in moments of prayer, sharing with them a dose of The Good Word, even with the contradictions; the porn images flashing on the giant screens and the dancers flashing their flesh up on the stages. Douglass figured the dancers to be phony about their interests, figuring they merely wanted to get up close and personal with the preacher himself. So, Heather the porn star had no idea of the load she was after. The conventional “boy meets girl” scenario wouldn’t apply here, no matter how many thousands of men lusted after her. If she wanted Demetrius for anything more than a moment of prayer, she would most certainly have to be the aggressor. And, bigger than that, the woman was even shy about approaching D herself. Instead (executing the irony), she approached Douglass to be introduced. Of all people, she was asking a carnivore (Douglass) to deliver her (the big fat juicy T-bone steak) to Demetrius (the vegetarian). But despite all that, Douglass assisted. Ultimately, Demetrius and Heather became close. She even became a regular at the Gilmore home. Douglass joined D on visits to Heather’s NYC apartment as well. Entertained by this drama—a porn star after his best friend!—Douglass kept his fantasies hidden, deep down and out of sight like a smothered flame. Now that Douglass’s main man was involved to whatever degree, according to his own ethics, Heather was off limits. He couldn’t even think of her in the ways that he once did.
“What?! You’re telling me that you had Heather . . . the Heather, in bed . . . naked? Right there next to you? And you didn’t hit it? Say it ain’t so!” Douglass’s whole body was choked up with exclamations, encouraged but twisted by the thought of one of the world’s most admired and desired video vixens, in his house . . . making herself available, but subjected to the frustrations of being embraced by a . . . preacher?!
Douglass could only silently sympathize with Heather.
I feel your pain, girl!
“Douglass . . . I’m not lying to you. I’m just not into sex without marriage. It’s unholy.”
“D . . . you’ve seen her videos. You had to! They play all damned day at the club!”
“I hardly pay attention to those freakin’ videos . . .”
“But Deee! Do you know that an army of men would love to be in your shoes? Including me??? Man, D . . . Heather being here is like history being made. It would suit me just fine if I was the indirect reason that she was here, one of the biggest porn stars in the business, and at least something went down. That’s like the President of the United States making a visit to a local McDonald’s, and all he buys is a plain ole milkshake. Man . . . He betta be buyin’ double this and double that, extra large this and extra large that! The Secret Service betta be doin’ their thing, too! Otherwise, what’s the point? D, you got the one and only Heather on your case! She’s like one big Happy Meal—a Big Mac, a Super-Quarter Pounder, extra large fries, and the thickest strawberry milkshake you’ve ever tasted! If she’s over my house, I wanna know at least that someone was up in that ass! I wanna know that clothing and sheets got wet! Because, man, the damn walls and furniture are watching! For real.” Douglass had to settle himself before he caught a conniption.
“I’m tellin’ you the truth, Douglass.” Demetrius was sincere, almost to the point of Douglass’s visible stomach cramps. But in Douglass’s perception, Demetrius was truthful, maintaining an expression that only close friends might share. And so it was legend; the river of phone calls, the outings and even the invite to one of her film shoots never resulted in that so-called inevitable outcome. And if ever there was a doubt, being neglected of something you really desire does nothing but draw you closer, making you want for more.
Vanessa Fever
If Heather represented the freshest new talent in the porn industry, then Vanessa represented the most experienced talent in the porn industry. And considering her status, it was a must (if Douglass had anything to do with it) for Vanessa to grace the stage of Fool’s Paradise. Vanessa was to the adult film industry what Mohammed Ali was to boxing. Considered the best who ever did it, this woman held the top belt, the reigning title and the standing ovations in the porn industry, and Douglass was determined to first, locate her, and second, to promote the hell out of the event until her name rolled off of more tongues than all the dentists in New York would care to smell.
Once Douglass found her—was there any doubt?—and once he persuaded her to come out of her semi-retirement, they reached a verbal agreement for a one-time-only engagement at Fool’s Paradise. Upon agreeing, Douglass immediately went ballistic with the street promotion. Not knowing the actual depth or extent of Vanessa’s appeal, or how she crossed traditional boundaries of race and nationality, may have helped Douglass. But it didn’t matter, since he pushed this event as if it was his last shining moment on earth; as if the Pope was about to play craps with Mother Theresa; as if the Statue of Liberty was about to strip naked. This was by far Douglass’s biggest event.
With Vanessa’s assistance, Douglass met with one of her former photographers. He had a case of more than 10,000 of Vanessa’s 8x10 photos. And they weren’t your average photos; edgy, but tasteful enough for general audiences. She was lying on the floor with her head up and eyes straight at you; she was wearing a black, see-through negligee. However, because of her position, her body’s shapes and curves faded into a distant silhouette. The intimate photos then went through one night of “autographing;” only it wasn’t Vanessa but Douglass who scribbled a personalized invitation with gold and silver metallic markers. Douglass marked down the critical details on each photo until his hand went numb:
“AN EVENING WITH VANESSA . . .”
The message was bold. It stated the place, time, date and there was a phone number for more information. Douglass handed these photos to every delivery driver he could catch. At red lights he would hop out of his car and pass two photos each to UPS drivers. (Of course, the additional photo was for a friend.) And that was the whole point, to get people talking about the big event. At the gas station, he’d pull beside FedEx drivers and reach out with photos in hand as they gassed their trucks; he did the same with garbage haulers, bus drivers, tractor-trailer operators, firemen, policemen, auto mechanics, factory workers and postal workers. Douglass visited army bases and reserve installations. There were visits to radio stations and free tickets given to various male radio personalities. Photos and complimentary tickets were also given to select professionals in the music and porn industries.
Beyond the person-to-person promotions, there was a shitload of mass marketing. Douglass printed Vanessa’s image to larger posters and tacked them to telephone poles from city to city. Very soon after the posters went up, admirers took them down to keep for themselves. So posting on the very same telephone poles became a daily routine, with hot spots and high traffic areas the major focus. Never slowing, Douglass also placed ads in the big city newspapers and he produced a television commercial for cable TV. If Vanessa was even thinking retirement, you couldn’t tell.
On the big night hundreds and hundreds of men converged on Boston Post Road. Anticipation hung in the air like thick smog from well before noon until the moment the club opened. Business flourished throughout the day, including the sales of last minute tickets, and there
was an after work crowd that beat all previous capacity records. And Douglass was prepared for today, where even weeks ahead he had appropriated some of those long, blue police barricades on the morning after the St. Patrick’s Day Parade. Thinking optimistically as always, he obviously had his own anticipations about the event. But the results superseded his wildest dreams. When evening fell, the line of men waiting to enter Fool’s Paradise was four bodies wide and two city-blocks deep. To be on the second block, looking forward over the sea of heads, was discouraging at best. From the look of things, it became evident that one show wouldn’t be enough. It wasn’t clear if Vanessa had plans to follow the event, but Douglass and his dad just held their breath. It wouldn’t hurt to ask.
As planned, Vanessa was chauffeured to the club in a candy apple red 1969 Rolls-Royce. The driver performed his duties, opening the passenger door for the legendary film star. She emerged in fur and sequins with breasts pushed up to the sky. A thunderous applause ignited the atmosphere, while wonderment, excitement, and heat all joined together like some magical tidal wave of joy and anxiety. Vanessa glowed bashfully and waved as if she was entering the theater for her biggest film premier. A red carpet zipped down the sidewalk, the roll conveniently ending at her feet. She stepped across the surface with an escort on either side of her, and she strolled up into the club’s entrance, disappearing behind the closed doors of Gil’s office. Quickly, a deal was struck for two more shows for a total of $1,800. It was only when the money changed hands that the problems began.
First, Vanessa bickered about the stage lighting being too bright, apparently inhibited about her aging and how the audience would respond. Next, she had her own cassette tape of music that was more nostalgia than relevant and current. Lastly, she had issues with who would be preceding her on stage. While the discussion worked itself out behind closed doors, the club was filled to capacity. The boom bap of the music, the various top-shelf dancers, and the intensity in the venue was all choked up in the same space. Dancers added to the euphoria with their best moves, colorful outfits, and the best money making attitudes they could wear. Meanwhile, this was the greatest high imaginable for Douglass, who was watching all of this shape up into the most successful promotion he’d ever managed.
The wait to see Vanessa up close was a thrill for all. Finally, any man in attendance who ever got his rocks off watching the Latin sex goddess with 5 stiff, naked men hunched and gasping over her open mouth . . . or with chains stretching her naked limbs in a dungeon setting, with a black leather masked man torturing her with whips and feathers . . . or with black, white and Latino men filling her every orifice. Finally, the mob inside of Fool’s Paradise would realize the legend in person. Vanessa, live.
For the die-hard fans who managed to get in and out of the club for all three shows, Vanessa delivered. It didn’t matter that she got up there and showed very little; it didn’t matter that she was over 40 years of age and hadn’t done a new film in years. She graced that stage with her own mysterious power. And they were more than satisfied. Even in her airborn kisses one could see that she didn’t need to contend with the younger chicks that preceded or followed her shows; in no way were they competing against her track record of enticing and exciting generations of men. If Vanessa was not a legend in the true sense of the word, then she was at least the trailblazer who was responsible for millions of dollars in revenue, and for the many, many ethnic porn stars who followed in her footsteps. And if nothing else, she was at least a chapter in the history of the sexual revolution; and the history of Gilmore’s.
While the crowds waited outside on the sidewalk for the 11PM and 2AM shows, fire engines roared and car audio systems pumped street beats, provoking a pre-party before the big one indoors. After each show Vanessa took numerous Polaroids with customers. She signed autographs, listened to fantasies and issued sweet kisses. It was history at Fool’s Paradise. On one hand, she affirmed her superstar status; and on the other, Gilmore’s received the ultimate endorsement from the ultimate legend. Now and forever, Gilmore’s Fool’s Paradise was sho’ nuff the leader in adult entertainment.
Detective Wade was also present on that big night, somehow knowing that he was getting closer, and that his culprit might also be present. He recorded all that he saw, more mentally than on paper.
And still, the Gilmore empire was under attack from yet another angle. Envy, jealousy and even revenge waited in the wings; all of those cats preying . . . watching, and looking forward to cutting into the success.
Tony—aka “Angelo”—was the wise guy within the Bianco crime family; or at least he wished he was. He was a low-level “earner” looking to become a “made member” by his efforts with Fool’s Paradise, hoping to bring home a big chunk of cake without too much strong-arming. His plan was first to get the vending machines in the establishment. And, so far, so good. There were already 5 machines in the club, all of them grossing more than a thousand or so dollars a week. The next step was to extend a small business loan. Chances were, according to his experience, that the business would eventually be late with a payment, at which time the interest would skyrocket. Tony was absolutely counting on that. It never failed, one business after another, there’d be that one late payment that would turn the seemingly fair business loan into one that the borrower could never pay off.
For Tony, however, all of those expectations went down the drain when Vanessa came to Gilmore’s. The success was incredible, and it didn’t start or stop with that one show. Men continued to pour into the club every night before and after the big show. New dancers were showing up, uninvited, and all of it was making Tony sick to his stomach. The money that the machines were making was mere pennies when compared to the bar and the door admission. The $100-a-day cash flow from the hoopshoot was but a fallen leaf from the virtual money tree that the Gilmores operated. There was no way that Gil needed a loan with all the money passing through his hands. On one particular Friday, Tony personally witnessed over $18,000 dollars in transactions at the bar. He sat there and nearly drank himself into oblivion, and the amount of pretzels he ate to soak it all up could’ve filled two family-sized bags. The sudden success and popularity behind a project that he was so close to would now only make his bosses mad at him for not capitalizing on such a windfall. He’d been sent to establish an “in” with the proprietor, and to keep tabs on the growth of the business for an inevitable shakedown. Instead, Tony was coming up with nothing. He was sitting on a goldmine, but with no real grip on a piece of the action. That had to change. And the thought of what he’d do to get it to change made him shiver. No matter what, Tony would make this work to his benefit and his capo would be proud.
Following the “Night With Vanessa,” Douglass celebrated, counting money for hours. There were over a thousand admissions paid on that evening. They paid $25.00 a ticket in advance and $30 at the door. The event made oodles of money. The bar made 3 times what the door receipts brought in. Douglass further celebrated his glory in day-long, uninhibited sex with Mechelle. He bought a decent car. And he made various investments in the TV show. Furthermore, it was vacation time. Off to California to visit Mom. Alone.
CHAPTER TWELVE
California Bound
There were two other times when Douglass visited the west coast. He was much younger—only 8—and on both occasions he and his younger sisters Laurie and Julie tagged along with Mrs. Gilmore. His grandparents had settled in San Diego County for a number of years, having retired from the fast life of New York and their successful careers as doctors. In the hills of California, the elders lived well, in a one level villa that had an in-ground pool, and a terrace with a view that overlooked a valley of beautifully landscaped gardens.
The children’s stay was enjoyable and pleasant for the first trip. Douglass had experienced the San Diego Zoo, Disneyland, and a series of museums. Although he may not have been old enough to appreciate these spectacles, he did forever remember seeing bunny rabbits, lizards and grasshoppers all roa
ming freely along sidewalks, yards and parks. Cactuses, and the widest variety of plants and flowers that he’d ever seen, were a wonder to a boy whose heart grew to appreciate the inner city. Still, it was a cinch to adjust to peaceful, spacious San Diego, California. Douglass got to sit atop authentic cannons, he collected and identified rocks, and he even experimented with electricity during his short vacation. Suddenly, his young life was full of new possibilities such as science, botany and chemistry.
He whimsically saw himself as a young, mad scientist with a fever to learn and venture. Even if his wild journey was short-lived, at least he got to experience another side of life. His grandparents recognized his potential as well; their first grandchild showing them just how worthy he was to receive that college tuition that they’d earmarked for him.
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