Sex and Violence in Hollywood

by Ray Garton

  Adam found himself chuckling. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you. My dad...he gets them small parts in his movies. The cops. In exchange for no speeding tickets.”

  Rain shrugged a shoulder and cocked her head in a knowing, cynical way. “Hey. Whatever it takes, huh?”

  He looked across the room at the U.S.S. Enterprise 1701 clock on top of his dresser. “I should move my butt.” As Adam stood, his jeans dropped. He didn’t even see Rain move. Suddenly on her knees in front of him, she pulled down his boxers. Ignorant of morals and good taste, deeply unconcerned with previous obligations, and thoroughly incapable of giving a single thought to practicality, Adam’s penis stood rigid and wet. The hot, liquid sheath of her mouth covered his erection and knocked his knees out from under him. He fell onto the bed with a loud, breathy, trembling moan.

  Whatever she had done with her mouth while kissing him withered in comparison to the abilities she demonstrated on his erection. She sucked at the underside of his penis and made him press his head back hard into the mattress. She used her lips, tongue, teeth to devour him, drown him in pleasures that bordered on pain. Time disappeared, and Adam kept forgetting where he was. Entire trains of thought were sucked off their tracks and out of his mind.

  He lifted his head and blinked his bleary eyes. Rain was on top of him. She seemed to hop onto his erection. Growled more as she moved on him frantically. It was not a noise that sounded like a growl. It was a growl.

  Red-alert klaxons went off in Adam’s head. He was not wearing a condom. He tried to sit up as he stammered, “Hey, no, uh-uh, whoa—”

  Rain slammed him back down, fingernails clawed his nipples. Adam cried out in pain when her nails dug in and a couple broke flesh.

  “Where the fuck you think you’re goin’?” She spoke in the growl, sounded unsettlingly similar to the demon’s voice in The Exorcist.

  Disturbed by the fact that he was not using protection, Adam tried to roll her off him. She suddenly clutched his throat with both hands and squeezed.

  What the hell is she doing? Adam thought.

  Rain appeared to be strangling him, and it seemed she had committed herself to the task. She moved faster on him, angry movements. Arms straight, elbows locked. Her nails dug into his neck on each side while her thumbs pressed hard on his trachea.

  Adam’s face felt hot and puffy. A fire ignited at the closure of his throat and roared down into his lungs. He flailed his arms and kicked at first, then grabbed her wrists, loosened her hold on him almost enough to get a breath, but something threw him. Rain squeezed his cock with strong vaginal muscles, hard enough to make Adam cry out. If he were not being strangled.

  Adam punched her in the side of the head and she let go of his throat, fell back, but not off of him. She bucked harder and harder, growling behind clenched teeth. It sounded like pain and rage and fear, all rolled into one dangerous sound.

  Gasping for breath, coughing, Adam tried to sit up. His throat felt broken, but he could breathe again. Once up, he put his hands on Rain’s ribs, ready to throw her off. But he did not.

  The entire time he was unable to breathe, Rain had been riding him like Debra Winger rode the mechanical bull in Urban Cowboy. He had felt every bit of it, even as his vision blurred and his lungs became molten lava. Now, still gulping air into his lungs, he was about to come.

  Adam embraced her. Rain kissed him, growled down his throat, rattled his organs. Her nails clawed his back as she sucked on his neck, bit him hard.

  Adam’s orgasm was, as far as he was concerned, amazing. But it was drowned out and swallowed up by the ferocity and trauma of Rain’s. She threw him back on the bed and writhed and bucked on him. Her short wet hair seemed to stand on end as she uttered a long, senseless stream of obscenities, spat them in the same scary growling voice. Then she howled.

  “Shh-shh!” Adam put a hand over her mouth. She bit it. “Ow, Goddamnit, what the hell is wrong with you?”

  Rain slowed down, slowly. The howling and clawing stopped. Finally, only their breathing remained. She smiled and rolled off him.

  “Mmmm,” she purred, “you play nice, Big Brother.”

  “Please don’t do that.”

  “Don’t do what?”

  “Call me Big Brother.”

  “Too creepy for ya?” She laughed.

  He propped himself up on an elbow and touched her chin, turned her head toward him. “I’m really sorry about hitting you,” he said.

  Rain pushed his hand away and sat up on the edge of the bed. “Hey, don’t apologize. Like I said, Mr. Douglas, you play nice. And we’re just down the hall from each other. Fuckin’ A, huh?” She tossed a smile over her shoulder.

  Did she want me to hit her? Adam thought as he stood. He undressed quickly, went to the bathroom and showered again. Afterward, he went back into the bedroom to find his towel.

  Rain browsed through his desk drawers. “You got any pot?” she asked.

  “No,” he lied. “Are you, um, on the pill, by any chance?” He dried quickly, then began to dress again.

  “Course I’m on the pill, Mr. Douglas. I look like the fuckin’ mommy type to you?”

  “Do you have any, um...you know, diseases?”

  “Had my tonsils taken out when I was eight, and I got chicken pox when I was ten, that’s about it. How about you?”

  He ignored the question. “Could you please stop going through my drawers?”

  She turned to him. “What would you hide from your little sister?”

  Adam was becoming impatient. “And quit saying that,” he snapped. “We are not related.”

  “Next time, you come to my room. That’s where all the goodies are.”

  “There won’t be a next time,” Adam said. Even as he spoke, he knew it sounded harsh. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that like it sounded, because that...well, what we just did was...pretty incredible. It’s just that...well, come on, be realistic. I mean, what if Peter Brady started fucking Jan Brady? You don’t think there would’ve been trouble? Alice would know immediately, of course, but the others would catch on. Next thing you know, they’ve gotta call Sam the butcher to pull Mr. Brady off a semi-conscious Peter and there’s blood all over the place.”

  She stared at him open-mouthed, nose wrinkled. “What the fuck’re you talkin’ about?”

  “I’m saying that what just happened here can’t happen again.” He sat on the bed again and quickly put on his shoes.

  “But it happened, right?”

  “Yes, but it’s not going to happen again.” He went to the full-length mirror beside his dresser.

  “What if I want it to happen again?” Rain asked.

  “Then I’m sorry to disappoint you.” As he blow-dried his hair, Rain appeared in the mirror, behind him. Lovely, but cold, hardened. Her mouth moved, but he heard nothing over the blow-dryer’s high jet-like whine. She put her hands on her hips, looked angry as she spoke.

  When he was done, Adam turned off the blow-dryer.

  “—see who’ll suck your cock like that in prison,” Rain was saying.

  “What? I couldn’t hear you over the blow-dryer.”

  “I was just explaining to you that I’ll be wanting to do that again in the future, and that means we’ll be doing it.”

  “You mean sex?”

  “Yep.”

  He combed his hair. “Look, I’m not gonna do it. It’s just too creepy, okay? Nothing personal, but you’re my dad’s wife’s daughter.”

  “You just did.”

  “And that was a big mistake. As nice as it was, it would only cause—”

  “How old do you think I am?”

  The significance of her question went through him like the glimmering steel blade of a sword. He turned to her, and she was smiling. But it was not warm or funny or sexy or playful. It was a gotcha smile, and it was mean.

  As if in class, Rain raised her hand and said, “Sixteen.”

  Adam ran the pad of his thumb back and forth over the teeth of his comb.
It made the same sound his nerves were making at that moment, just beneath his skin.

  “What...what the hell does that mean?” he asked.

  “Just that I like our relationship the way it is. That’s all.”

  “No.” He pointed the comb at her. “No, you’re telling me you’re calling the shots here, right? That if I don’t do what you want, you’re gonna turn me in. Right?” He clenched his teeth angrily as he waited for her reply.

  Rain retrieved a red and blue silk happy coat from the floor. Slipped it on and smiled. “You watch too many movies, Big Brother,” she said as she left the room.

  SIX

  For the first time since Christmas, Adam used his cellular phone to call ahead and tell Alyssa he would be a little late. He had taken a wrong turn somewhere and was in the wrong neighborhood.

  Adam hated cellular phones. Placed them among the most significant harbingers of the coming fall of humankind. They elevated the very concept of self-involvement to a new level with the conviction that it is necessary for everyone to be able to contact you at every second, no matter where you are or what you are doing. Adam had not wanted the phone, but when his dad gave it to him for Christmas, he had accepted it graciously and planned to exchange it.

  “If you exchange that, I’ll change all the locks next time you leave the house,” his dad had said. “You’ll have to get a job among the civilians.”

  “But who would need to be able to reach me all the time?” Adam said.

  “I might. Or you might need to call me.”

  “Under what circumstances do you see that happening?”

  “One of these days, your smartass tongue is going to wrap around your neck and strangle you to death, you know that? I’m telling you, Adam, you can’t function in life with that attitude. People will hate you, some will punch you, your life will be miserable. So knock it the fuck off, okay?”

  “Okay, I just don’t think I need a cellphone.”

  “What if something happens? A...a family emergency. You never know these days.”

  “You never know these days” was one of Michael Julian’s ways of saying, in code, that you were irritating him, and if you kept it up, he might blow. Its alternates included, “Now, let’s just enjoy ourselves, okay?” and, “I think this is for the best,” and every now and then, “Hey, you’re irritating me, and if you keep it up, I might fucking blow.”

  But Adam was not ready to let the topic go yet. He was genuinely confused. Surely his dad was not worried about his safety or whereabouts. It had to be something else.

  “You really want me to have this, don’t you, Dad?”

  “Want you to have it? I insist! Keep it with you wherever you go! See?” He took the cellphone from Adam to demonstrate. “It’s small, flips open like the communicators on that stupid show you like so much.”

  Michael Julian refused to say Star Trek. He would use the word “star,” and probably the word “trek” if he could work it into a sentence, but he would not say Star Trek. Back in the mid-eighties, he had written a Star Trek script for Paramount. The script was not only rejected, he was banned from the Paramount lot. Rumor had it that, upon reading the script, Star Trek creator and executive producer Gene Roddenberry was so enraged, he hired someone to kill Michael Julian, but had a change of heart later that day.

  Adam had read the script and counted nearly two hundred uses of the word “fuck.” The word “fuck” did not exist in the Star Trek universe, but obviously his dad had been unaware of that. It became even more evident he had never watched a single episode of the series when Adam read the nude shower scene his dad had written for Captain Kirk and a female alien. At one point in the script, Mr. Spock inexplicably fires “red beams of deadly laser light” from his eyes. And in a casual way, as if he did it all the time.

  The script created quite a buzz. A phenomenally bad one. When Liz Smith mentioned the nude shower scene in her column, everyone started joking about it. Even Johnny Carson and David Letterman. Michael Julian had been humiliated, but somehow endured. He had bounced back quickly, and everyone loved him again when his next picture, Violent Movie, was a blockbuster. Michael was quick to remind everyone at any opportunity, “Gene Roddenberry’s dead.” But he still refused to say Star Trek. In the Michael Julian universe, Star Trek did not exist.

  Adam asked, “What could possibly happen to me that would worry you so much?”

  “Anything! A million fucking things! Just hang onto that and use it when you need to.”

  Adam’s mind searched until it stumbled over one of the biggest fears of celebrities in Los Angeles, especially those with children: kidnapping. The public remained unaware of the phobia, just as it was unaware of the guards and surveillance cameras, the labyrinthine security systems. The small guns tucked into purses and the larger ones concealed beneath expensive suit coats, carried by people who actively opposed handguns in public. People who knew guns would always be available to them simply because of who and what they were, no matter how the laws changed.

  “Are you...are you actually afraid someone would kidnap me?” Adam had asked.

  “Why the hell not? You know how many attempts are made every year? How many times it’s actually happened? But the cops are always right on it, the story never gets out, they’re good about that. Even the feds. That’s why I love this town.”

  “Well, I’m touched that you’d worry, but...who would want to kidnap me?”

  “Don’t be a shithead, Adam, nobody gives a fuck about you. They’d do it to get to me, to my money. They’d do it because you’re my son!”

  Ah, so the truth comes out, Adam had thought. In case of kidnapping, I can use the cellphone to foil the kidnappers’ plot and save my dad a bundle in ransom. I wonder if he has kidnapping insurance. Why did he wait so long, for crying out loud?

  “And what the hell is wrong with you, talking like that?” Michael had snapped. “‘I’m touched?’ Who talks like that, outside of fags and Oprah? Nobody! Michael Caine, maybe, because people expect it of him. But nobody else.”

  The act of talking on the phone while driving—something that irritated Adam in other people—was made less bitter by Alyssa’s voice. By the time he approached her house, they had been talking for about ten minutes, trying to decide what to do together.

  “There’s an around-the-clock Three Stooges marathon running at UCLA,” Adam said as he eased up to the curb in front of her house and turned off the engine. Alyssa was sitting on the porch with her cordless phone, but she stood when Adam got out of the car. “How does that sound?”

  “Nice car,” she said, eyeing his convertible as she walked toward him across the lawn. “Cadillac?”

  “Uh-huh. Nineteen-fifty-nine Fleetwood. Got it for my birthday. It makes my dad feel better about himself to give me expensive toys.”

  “I wouldn’t mind just riding around in it for a while.”

  “We could do that,” Adam said, crossing the lawn toward her. The gap between them closed fast, until they were standing face to face.

  “Well,” she said, voice soft, quiet, “I guess I’ll see you later.”

  “Yeah. Later.”

  They hung up and Adam slipped the cellphone into his pocket. They smiled at each other for what seemed a long time, then closed the remaining space between them and kissed. It was so unexpected to both, they laughed afterward.

  Still without a destination, Adam drove them around for a while. They ended up on the Santa Monica boardwalk in time to play a few games and get a couple chili dogs before the vendors closed. They leaned on the wooden railing overlooking the beach as they ate.

  “Can I ask you a question, Alyssa?”

  “Sure. I’ll tell you anything.”

  “Why did you come up to me at the bookstore today? I mean, you just stepped right in front of me, almost like you knew me.”

  She shrugged. “I could tell you were different.”

  “Different from what?”

  “From most. Customers, I
mean. I can usually tell what they’re looking for the second I see them. The overweight housewives who come in for a crate of romance novels. The older men, really gruff-looking, who smell like stale cigarettes and sometimes whiskey and buy westerns or war novels, maybe something by Tom Clancy. And, you know, all the science fiction geeks and horror weirdos. But you were different. As soon as I saw you, I knew you were looking for something interesting. Something...I don’t know, unusual and exciting. I knew if you bought something, it would be, like...a dusty old volume from the back, or maybe some obscure autobiography.”

  “You thought all that? Just from looking at me? Jeez, I’m glad my fly wasn’t open.”

  She laughed. “Maybe I didn’t think it. Maybe it’s more like I felt it. Hasn’t that ever happened to you? You see somebody, a total stranger, but suddenly you feel something about them that seems so true?”

  Adam nodded and smiled. The chili dogs were messy, but he had grabbed a fistful of napkins from the aluminum dispenser. They dabbed their mouths after a big bite.

  “What went through your mind?” Alyssa asked.

  “That I’d left my crucifix at home and you were going to bite my neck before Peter Cushing showed up with a wooden stake.”

  She laughed again, but stopped abruptly to slap his shoulder. “You didn’t even notice!” she said as she stepped back and spun around once. She wore a tight red skirt, black-and-silver top with black stockings and red heels.

  “You look great,” Adam said, grinning awkwardly.

  “Great? Just great?” She pouted a little. “Paint jobs look great. Christmas decorations look great.”

  “Beautiful.”

  “That’s better.”

  “You look hot.”

  “Really? Wow, nobody’s ever called me that before.” He pulled her to him and they kissed, sharing bits of their chili dogs.

  “So, what about your friend?” Alyssa asked after a moment.

  “Carter?”