by Bruce Bauman
“C’mon, play along.”
“The desperate and strategically shrewd mainstream Democrats. I got the same scared types in my party.”
“Exactly. Barker gets big funding from Hollywood Dems. Louise, I’m going to help you. Next week you will receive some damning information on Mr. Barker and his associates. Use it wisely.”
“To what do I owe this honor?” She leaned forward, coyly provocative.
“I’d like you to quash the upcoming subpoena on my brother. And don’t tell me it’s not happening.”
“It is and I seriously doubt I can stop it. There are people on that committee who don’t trust me because of my relationship with you. Fact, if news of this meeting gets out—not good.”
“For either of us. I don’t understand why you need to subpoena Moses. Or Sidonna Cherry, for that matter.”
“Let me put it this way: You’ve stood naked by many a bedside. And yet, truths remain hidden. And mysteries still abound.”
BOOK IV
I spin so ceaselessly
Or did I lose my sense of gravity …
Some strange music draws me in …
—Patti Smith
(German concert, 1979)
81
THE MOSES CHRONICLES (2018)
The Magic Mountain
The party began under a cloudless sky, another ideal seventy-six-degree SoCal January day, the kind that inspires envy in the rest of the world and lures millions, who too often disregard the unwritten warnings of man’s covenant with nature.
Valets took the guests’ cars, and an experimental solar-powered van shuttled everyone up the hill. Thirty tables with ten chairs each, and four outdoor TVs dotted the grounds: two tuned to the game, one playing Horse Feathers and the other North Dallas Forty. Twenty solar-powered heaters would warm and illuminate the area next to each table if, as the sun set, a slight chill entered the air. This spread qualified as modest in high-end L.A. circles, where $25,000 events were rated bowling alley worthy. The waiters circulated outside offering appetizers, and inside were two banquet tables filled with main courses. Everything was organic and locally grown or raised, except for Twinkies and pigs in a blanket, which were a concession to those with a Mindswallow-style palate. Apocalypse Now blared in the small screening room while the game played on a large-screen TV in the living room.
Jay and Moses, among those who were allowed to park up the hill in the driveway, arrived at kickoff. Moses’s transformation from professor to boss did not subdue his feelings of fraudulent outsiderness in any large gathering. He understood that the currencies of the cliques that formed this party were money, fame, and power. Beauty and intelligence were commodities, bought and sold like art or SpaghettiOs. He couldn’t help feeling more like a SpaghettiO in this menagerie of famous faces and heavy hitters, who, on the surface, appeared as an anachronistic mix of old and young, staid and hip, all brought together by the catalytic bond of Alchemy.
With balletic grace, Alchemy glided among the guests: Euge Baltzer, aging metal rocker of the band Samureye; Romy Milton, granddaughter of a major pet food mogul and sex tape “star”; Chipper Ronan, machine tool heir and aspiring screenwriter; riteplay.com founders and Nightingale Party supporters Frieberg and Loo, who donned football jerseys with DIGITAL DRUID printed across the back. Laluna—in a low-cut powder blue San Diego Chargers jersey, blue-and-white-striped leggings, orange high-top sneakers, black hair growing longer—locomoted aloofly about as the marginally engaged hostess of the festivities.
Moses and Jay chose a table at the outskirts occupied by some of the younger guests who worked with the party or foundation. Moses looked at the Insatiables crowd: Lux and his wife Sue, Andrew, Kim Dooley, and two of the Sheik brothers. He zeroed in on the group fawning over Crouse and Barker. He and Jay exchanged glances while listening to two of his Nightingale “kids”: “Crouse sure is pretty.” “Yeah, pretty stupid to be hooked up with that Swami Barker.”
Jay spotted the graffiti artist known as Krankey. Moses nudged her. “Go. I’ll let you know when I need you.” Moses watched Jay grab a second glass of champagne off a waiter’s tray as she made her way toward Krankey. Behind her he saw Barker being escorted to his meeting with Alchemy.
As he entered the cluttered office, Barker seemed to be addressing, possibly praying to, the gaudy silver insignia necklace that hung to the middle of his kurta, bequeathed to him by the church’s deceased founder. Alchemy shook his head, dismayed. How could anyone, especially Laluna, take him seriously? Alchemy pointed to a chair.
“No. I’ll stand. I’ve been expecting your little reprimand. You can’t tell me not to talk to Laluna.” Barker’s voice took on the yogi-esque air of the unruffled transcendent.
“Not my intention.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“Last week Laluna brought you to my mother’s studio again. You proceeded to lecture her that psychiatrists and psychotropic drugs caused her illness and that if she and Laluna joined your church, you ‘guaranteed’ the tension between the two of them would end. True?”
“Let them undergo Cosmological Kinetic purification and I’ll be proven right. Your problems with Laluna and your mother far exceed your abilities to fix them.”
“Perhaps. But it is my problem, not yours. Your problem is dispensing disreputable information to the Committee on Anti-American activities about me that you insinuated came from Laluna.”
“That’s slanderous. I’ve never talked to anyone on that committee. Don’t blame me because you’re jealous of Jack’s relationship with Laluna.”
“I don’t. I blame you for being a charlatan.” A scene with Crouse and Barker, messy as it might be, suited Alchemy just fine. It would leave no doubt that their association was one-sided. “You can see Laluna whenever she wants, but you are not welcome here or anywhere near my mother. Tomorrow morning a judge will be granting a restraining order against you and you’ll be properly served.”
“What? How could you? I’ll fight it.”
“Go ahead. Enjoy the festivities.” Alchemy exited, leaving the door wide open behind him. He addressed a muscular security guard stationed in the doorway: “Dave, please escort Mr. Barker downstairs.”
Moses took a sip from his water bottle, and suddenly, for the first time in months—a daymare.
I’m sitting alone in the back row of a roofless Budapest temple. It’s pouring but I can’t move. Beside me appears the dybbuk, Shalom, dressed in a black T-shirt and black jeans. She touches my cheek.
—Moses, now is the time.
—For what?
—Redemption.
—I have done nothing wrong.
An apparition hovers above her.
—Moses, she warns as he lifts her away, doing nothing wrong does not mean you have done something right. Act and I will love you in the dimension of forever.
The apparition exhales. A fiery gas bubble pops and sends sparks through the air.
—Act and feel my blood surge within you.
“Unc Mose.” Persephone climbed onto the chair formerly occupied by Jay. “I want to show you the pool I painted with Granmamma.” Persephone led him to the cordoned-off side of the house and the empty pool, its floor and walls a psychedelic mishmash of colors. She fingered a necklace of papier-mâché “Black Sea” pearls. “She taught me a song she made up.” Persephone, giggling, sang, “Black Sea pearls are worn by little girls, who take trips around the world, and get a big kiss and find their bliss …” She stopped and ducked her head against his thigh. “I forget the rest. Granmamma says I am a better drawer than singer.”
“I think you’re aces at both.” Moses’s phone beeped. A text from Alchemy: Winslow. Now. “Perse, honey, I need to talk with a friend. Let’s find Auntie Jay. Wait with her and I’ll be back in a jiffy.” They found Jay talking with Krankey, who was hoping she could get him past the security guards to meet Salome. They had orders not to let anyone near her cottage. Moses exhaled, “Jay, game time.”
The “jiffy” took longer than anticipated, and Perse, restless, asked Auntie Jay to take her inside so she could play with her newest art-making computer program. Laluna caught up to her on the second-floor landing and stopped Jay outside the doorway to Persephone’s room.
“I need to ask you a big favor.” Jay nodded. “Did Mose tell you that Alchemy and I are going to take a three-week vacation by ourselves?”
“He mentioned something. Costa Rica? Maybe Argentina? Either sounds great.”
“We’re still checking. But we also want Perse, if you’re okay with it, to stay with you and Mose. I’d like it if you’d stay up here.”
“That’s not a favor, that’s a pleasure. Moses would love it. But up here for a few weeks, with Salome so close?”
“I wouldn’t do that to Mose. She’s been getting crazier. When she heard Perse might stay with you, she said, ‘I won’t allow it.’ Don’t worry, she can’t stop us. I, we can’t have her here anymore. I wrote some music inspired by her Petra Sansluv drawings. Salome said they have a ‘larcenous and putrid soulsmell,’ whatever the hell that is, which disqualifies them from being played for ‘my granddaughter with my drawings.’ ” Jay winced. “She and Alchemy will decide if Salome’s going back to Collier Layne or her own place.”
“If that’s the case, I don’t see any problems. Except, after that long a time, it might be hard for Moses to give her up.” The champagne had disarmed Jay’s usually stringent self-editing skills. “His relationship with Perse makes him so happy, but it also hurts him.”
“Hurt, Mose? Why?” Laluna looked perplexed. “Because of the way Salome treated him?”
“No. Not that. It’s so goddamned hard for him to keep up the pretense of ‘Uncle Mose’ when he’s really ‘Daddy Moses.’ ”
Laluna pushed Jay almost too forcefully down the hallway. “Who told you that? Moses?” Laluna crossed her arms across her chest and scratched her fingernails against her forearms.
“What?… Wait … Shit.” After disobeying the Savant Code of Omertà, Jay flailed haplessly, seeking to forestall the now inevitable firestorm. “I’m sorry. I’m drunk. Yeah, Moses, he must’ve dreamed it up.”
Laluna said coldly, “No, no. I don’t think he did.”
“Hey, Mommy.” Perse walked into the hallway and Laluna and Jay stared at the blue-gray-eyed, stubby-legged Persephone. “Can you come help me?”
Moses spotted Dewey Winslow schmoozing with Chipper Ronan. Winslow now sported a goatee instead of his sliver of mustache, and with his gold-framed glasses he looked more like a professor than a professional political shark. Moses signaled to him with his eyes. Winslow placed his glass on the tray of a passing waiter and sucked traces of mustard off his fingers. He and Moses moved away so as not to be heard. Moses began filling him in on the morning’s polls that had Alchemy with a seventy-plus percent positive Q rating, with only twenty-three percent negatives among all groups and economic and education levels—higher than anyone else in politics.
“Yes, excellent. Fantastic.” Winslow’s unimpressed tone didn’t match the exuberance of his words. “What’s Swami Gotcha-by-the-Balls doing here?”
Moses explained the circumstances of Crouse’s donation offer and Barker’s presence. “Alchemy’s turning down the money and taking care of this once and for all. He’ll be here in a minute or two.”
“Too fucking late. Pics and tweets of that two-bit rainmaker and Laluna are spreading across social media.” Winslow pursed his lips, nostrils pulsing, as he clasped Moses’s shoulder with his right hand. “You do remember my warning about associating with Barker?”
Moses removed Winslow’s hand. Ignoring his question, Moses posed one of his own. “By any chance were you subpoenaed by the CAA?”
“No. Why?”
“Alchemy and I were notified that we’re on their hit list.”
“Holy shit. Why wasn’t I told?”
Moses exhaled and tried to slow his rapidly beating heart. “Alchemy decided to wait until he or I could tell you in person. So I’m telling you now.”
“I need a drink.” Winslow strode toward the bar. Moses followed him until Alchemy cut them off. The three of them stepped a few paces down the path leading to Salome’s cottage.
“Alchemy, if I’m to do my job, I must be kept in the loop.”
With equanimity intact, Alchemy informed Winslow of his newest plans. “Okay. There’s no need to get peevish. Here’s what you need to know. I met with a CAA member only yesterday. As a result, I’ve decided to align with the IFC. I’m not going to run for the presidency, but governor, backed by them.” Moses gaped at Alchemy but sensed that he should stay silent. For now.
“You’re joking,” Winslow said.
“Not for a second. I’ve also proposed to talk to the CAA in an open forum.”
“They won’t agree. You don’t know who you’re fucking with.”
“Oh, but I do. I always know who I fuck. And who is fucking me.”
Winslow hesitated. Stepped back. “I’m not sure what you’re implying, but you’re fucking yourself by aligning with the IFC.”
“That’s the way I’m going. If you still want to be involved, I’d like that. If not, no worries. We have to go.”
Alchemy ambled away, Moses by his side. “Why didn’t you consult with me about this governor business?”
“Because it’s bullshit. Winslow or Borden or maybe both is the leak. There is no Miranda Wright. Never was. I planted that with them. He sicced Barker on Laluna.”
“What? Winslow’s playing us with all that noise about Barker? You sure?”
“If the news about the IFC leaks, then yes, one hundred percent. I’ve already sent IFC a private and dated letter—they will get it Tuesday—explaining why, although there is much I support in their platform regarding the climate, the environment, I do not support their ultimate goal. We’ll drop it on our app and Web site. And we need Cherry’s help in digging out who is giving Winslow his marching orders.”
“Is this why you had me sign those papers?”
“Mose, you need to slow down or maybe speed up on the vodka. You look a little peaked.” Alchemy moved closer. “Relax. You can leave now if you want.”
“I think we’ll do that.”
“I’ll explain everything in detail tomorrow. It’s all for the best.” Looking over Moses’s shoulder, Alchemy spotted Crouse and Laluna side by side, clinking their beer bottles as if making a toast. “Call me tonight if you need to.”
Alchemy walked over to Laluna. Moses was scanning the crowd looking for Jay when Barker cut him off. They’d never officially met. “I’m Swami—”
“I know.”
“So you’ll understand my, let’s say, advice. If you’re smart, you’ll reason with Alchemy to stop that restraining order and allow me to see Laluna without his interference.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’re the good German, and good Germans know when to change sides.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
Moses answered, quietly assured, “I’m smart enough to know that threats and unfounded smears are the weapons of the desperate and the vanquished.”
“I agree.” Barker bowed slightly. “It is not I who made the first threats. As a historian, you’ll also agree that truth is a powerful weapon for the victorious.”
82
MEMOIRS OF A USELESS GOOD-FOR-NUTHIN’
Double or Nothing, 2018
All night I’m stewing. Don’t sleep. I go first to Malibu with Carlotta to the party she’s working. At halftime, I zip down to Topanga. Laluna catches me right away, huddles me away from the crowd. “You Maria or Laluna today?” She enemizes me with the dick-shrinking glare like she done the first day I met her at Kasbah. “Hey, was just joking.”
“You’re going to behave, right?”
“Yeah, yeah.” I get me a beer or three. I go commiserate with Silk
y ’cause we’re having a problem finding us a lead singer for our tour. Silky says she seen a lady who has chops.
Some young babes snuggle up to me. I’m a dopey dick-for-brains male, only when I’m an article, I am a faithful one-woman guy. Can’t help myself, though, I still charge my rocks with some harmless flirting now and then. I was too antsy to even play.
I find Lux. I tell him I have questions and he best not lie to me.
“Ambitious, I’m hurt.” He’s only being half sarcastic. “I don’t ever lie to you.”
“Did Alchemy and Absurda ever, you know?”
“Christ, man, no. I told you before, NO.”
“That night at the after-party at Madam Rosa’s, when all the shit went down with my brother at the Plaza, before I left with the girls … I seen the two of them outside with his wang dangling and she was squatting down wimping, ‘Thank you …’ That’s when I lost it and, well, ya know.”
“Look, man, it’s years ago, and if they did, they did. Absurda’s gone. Carlotta is terrific. Alchemy’s with Laluna. Let it go. Let … it … go.”
He eyes Laluna talking with Barker and Crouse. “What’s up with that?”
“I seen her yesterday and she’s trying to figure some shit out. She don’t wanna be ‘Laluna’ no more. She and Alchemy, they’re both different but not the same different, ya know what I mean?”
“I hope she figures out to stay away from those guys.”
Laluna waves and wishes a “ta-ta” goodbye to Barker and Crouse. Alchy appears outta nowhere and fucking hugs me. He’s acting strange, too. Tells me he’s so glad I made it, that I’m still his “brother,” and sometime me, him, and Lux should sneak in to see this new Insatiables cover band. I’m nonchalanting like nuthin’s wrong. His eyes is open too wide, them brown pupils is spinning their netherworld dance. I figure something is gestating, and I’m guessing he knows something is up with Laluna. He gets a call he “has” to take. I yell after him, “Bet life was easier bein’ a plain old rock god.” He laughs.
