by Havok, Davey
Crouching atop her comforter like Eddie at a saucer of milk, Stella licks fastidiously as she slowly works three fingers in and out of Holly. Above them a six-foot glittery banner reads ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY SCORE.’
As my eyes begin to accept this invasion, my ears deny everything. Mindlessly, I aim my lens through the surreal silence.
Stella, wearing my Unknown Pleasures tee, slinks upward. She folds over Holly. The blondes kiss. Stella removes her slick fingers to feed them to her co-star and, suckling away her own orange cream glaze, Holly lazily replaces her soft touch with solid gold.
Standing rigid, like an overlooked Extra, I play the mannequin in the doorway. Completely ignored, encased within my soundproof phantom display, the silence suffocates me until I gasp over the noise of the golden vibe. The low hum rises to the buzz of a biblical plague. And Holly senses a ghost. Tilting her head with curiosity, she stops the bullet and waves at me. She smiles then squeezes her eyes shut at the return of her leading lady’s tongue.
As if her lips were pressed against my ear, I hear Holly groan. Then everything starts to scream.
“Happy birthday Babe!” Lifting her glistening mouth, Stella turns to me with a smile. My insides contract, my lips part and my beautiful black moths swarm the room. I remain still. “Come join us!” Her voice is amplified—inhuman.
The volume of it all makes me wince. She’s even louder than Sinatra is right now. If god weren’t a lie, this would be her voice.
“Come on Babe.” She demands, “Come—”
Holly forces Stella’s mouth back between her thighs.
In this deafening coupling, the blue-eyed blondes begin to look identical. When one of them flops her hand against a spilt bottle of pills, I turn my camera to the cluttered pink end table. There, in front of a pink bong, amidst rose petals, baggies, Holly’s lunchbox, Tarantino hairclips, bubblegum wrappers, and coffee cups, The Pink Laptop sits open. It’s playing a sex tape.
On the moth-infested monitor, I watch a tight shot of brunette Stella. She’s riding someone here in The Pink Room. Riding. Riding. Riding. She blows a kiss to the camera. She dismounts and exits the frame. The shot pulls back. Wearing only a teal lace bra, Holly enters the strobing scene. She crawls onto The Pink Bed. She takes Prius’s huge single into her mouth. She comments favorably on Stella’s flavor, then switches positions. With her back arched, Holly grabs the headboard. She offers her ass to the DJ. When Donny erection kneels behind her to rocket his hit to my number one, the clip ends. Then it repeats. And I catch ‘the fifth hand’ reaching into the looping full-screen, un-edited, full-length version of my video.
“Come ON Babe! I found out that I got the show!” Stella stops licking and turns back to me. “I’m gonna get you a part to go along with this hot fucking bitch.” She rises to her knees. She’s wearing panties, but her shirt—my shirt—is gone.
Oozing upward, Holly sucks a nipple then falls back into the pink cloud.
“For your birthday. It’s a double celebration!” She puts on her model face, as Holly reaches for the kitty in Stella’s crotch. “Put that shit down and come play, Babe. Come on.”
I try, but can’t plug my ears. I can’t move. A distant, gravely Newport accent echoes, “Come on Babe,” as I watch Stella’s fingers fervently work through the moaning, drug addict liar/amateur-porn actress.
I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’m back on the porch, staring at the door. Yet this is far more interesting. Far louder. Far brighter. And this door has a lower back tattoo that stands for ‘love.’
Stella glances at me one last time, “Come on,” then turns to watch her pistoning hand.
“Come on.”
Her insistence is soft yet piercing. Her sex hum is separating itself from the buzz of the toy. I can hear it distinctly, just as Holly must.
“Come on!”
“Fuck … Sarah.” Twisting, the blonde in my Smith’s shirt helplessly gasps, “I’m gonna … ”
Unable to lower my camera, I stand. I film. I watch. In pink panties, diligently eclipsing her pink nails, Stella breathlessly repeats, “Oh yeah. Do it, Come on Babe, Come on…”
“Oh fuck, Sarah … fuck!”
“Yeah Babe. Come on, fucking come—”
Holly finishes like a car crash.
Stella lustfully laughs, “That’s fucking right, Beautiful!”
The former angel lets out a final, tremulous groan then opens her eyes. She waves at me from the wreckage. “Hi Score.”
Her driveled salutation sucks out the sound. The Pink Room is silent again. No unreleased Smith’s song. No Katy Perry. No Sinatra.
I drop the camera to my side. Accidentally, I record my Chucks as they retrace their steps through the flaming path. Then I stop. I turn. And wave.
I think. I think I just waved back to her, but I can’t be sure. It’s fine. Everything’s fine.
Chapter 69
In the dark, wandering down the center of Reisling, I type: “ATTENTION: MK and Ash’s parents have somehow started to suspect that something ‘ungodly’ has been happening at The Palace. They’ve alerted the Police. The parties are off. Keep away from the hotel until further notice.”
I send the warning. A pick-up truck swerves around me. I feel the warm gush of its near miss. The driver has his window down. He looks like he’s yelling.
I flip through my photo album. I delete corrupted images as I drift. I’m at the golf course at the top of hole one. I’m leaving the 8-plex. I’m weighted down—sweating. I’m on the ground, sobbing, propped against the Crystal Eyes dumpsters like an abandoned twin. Something soft and wet is tickling my hand. Hello Manx. My vocal chords vibrate. And the grey cat disappears.
I pull myself up. I pat the dust from my suit, the tiny bits of gravel pressed into my palms. I pocket square my stinging eyes. I sling my heavy bag over my shoulder. The air is warm. I take a deep breath.
Click, click.
Chapter 70
The weekend was exhausting. I’m wiped out.
Last night, I cleaned out my Wish List folder, called my brother, used Uncle Cosmo’s birthday money to replace my burnt Obesity and Speed hoodie, perused Perez, abused PornoTube, then shared everything with Eddie over a cup of Sencha. When my alarm screamed, it sent me to school exhausted. But everything’s fine. Lynch made me a hall pass.
I’m napping now. And when Holly interrupts, her voice is neither distant nor bombastic. “Mike, I’m so sorry.” She sits down, shaking my Hess bed,
Yawning, I squint. Her brown eyes are bloodshot. She looks tired.
“Sarah told me that you wanted us both … for your birthday. I didn’t know if I could do it…” Her roots are a shade darker than the rest of her hair. She needs a touch-up. “I was nervous so I smoked to relax. … She had some weird shit. I actually barely remember any of it … but I know you’re upset. I’m sorry.” She sniffles. “I care about you a lot Mike.” She wipes a tear and touches my hand. “I’m so sorry.”
Slipping my arm around her waist, I run my fingers underneath the back of Joey’s Smith’s shirt and pull the actress into me. We kiss, lightly at first. Then with shared intensity, as I strip her to begin our first real scene.
With her grey jeans bunched around her ankles and my Producer inside her, Holly desperately thrusts, countering my slow rhythm. I consider unhooking her teal bra, but I don’t bother. I don’t care. Holly is a lie and I am a liar. I squash the deck chair. She digs her toes into my chest. It’s fine. Her nails scratch my back. She’s no Stella, but I’ve had worse scenes.
Folded up, bouncing on her back, Holly starts talking dirty. “Oh my god I love you Mike. I love you…” Her eyes are still wet. "Mike, I’m gonna—”
She finishes and I force myself to follow. As I spread my joy in the general direction of her lying lips, we’re spot lit—a beam of natural light hits the bed. The stage door is open.
Covering herself, Holly pulls up the sheets. And I snatch my brother’s shirt.
“What, yo
u two didn’t even think to invite me? And after I set up that amazing surprise that you bailed from like a vampire zombie weirdo, who can’t return texts and ignores me in class.” Stella strides to the end of the bed. Folding her arms across my Joy Division shirt, she mildly scolds, “What the fuck Score?”
Erection standing, I mop myself with the soft vintage tee then begin to dress. Holly uses her hoodie to wipe the embarrassment from her face. “Sarah, what are you doing here?”
“Babe!” Ignoring her, Stella incredulously readdresses me. “It’s over.”
I belt, kneel, and pull up a Union Jack sock.
“What do you mean?” Holly’s voice compresses. “What’s over?”
“The Palace. It burnt down.”
Moz. I pick one of Eddie’s hairs from the hem of my jeans. I really hope there weren’t any cat’s inside.
“What?” Holly bursts, “How?”
Briefly, I look up into her wide dull eyes and puffy flushed face. She’s still gaping at Stella. Stella’s still fixed on me. I grab my Chucks and sit on the edge of the stage.
“They don’t know. They think it had something to do with dried flowers and candles. The fucking candles! I can’t believe it’s over.” Stella sounds pretty pissed. She’s starting to get loud. “Score, it’s over! Can you fucking believe it?”
Lacing, serene, I finish tying my shoes. I sling on my Sherman, slide on my Fords, and stride across the stage. As I pass Stella, I pause. Lightly, I kiss her luscious, livid lips then exit into the dull glare of the lunchtime campus.
Before the theatre door latches them away, I can hear both blondes yelling. They yell names. And things: “Mike!” “Score!” “What the fuck?” “Where are you going?” “Don’t pull this weird shit again!” “Say something.”
Through the bustle of a bleak fifth period, I stroll to my locker to grab my lunchbox. My fatigue was overwhelming, but now that I’ve power napped and spread some joy, I’ve worked up bit of an appetite.
On dry concrete, with a desire for solitary contemplation and some cold San P., I sit my Ksubis chewing over creamy peanut butter and the sticky current events.
The Palace is gone. The Premieres are forever over. But it was time to wrap. Things were getting weird. And when I consider all that I have achieved, I find little room for regret. Something finally happened—a big something that will never be forgotten. And I made it happen.
Now I must move on. I twist the cap, and take a nip of my Limonata. It’s fine. As Joey said last night, “Promoting a great party is like dating a great fuck—it’s better to end it before it gets boring.” When that old hotel burnt to the ground, the chaos went up in the same flames that solidified the legendary status of The Palace and its Host. In this calm I will focus on my transcendence into the next plane of fame.
Sipping my San P., I watch Stella strut out of Hess. Without hesitation she heads directly for my wall. She knew right where I’d be. She didn’t even have to look. We have a true connection. Her heels tap on the concrete as her storm approaches. Tik tik tik. I pull off a jam-stained chunk of brown bread, chew, swallow, sigh, and smile.
Friday’s Pink Room surprise may have had touches of nefarious intent, but I completely respect her ambition. Even before Bickle confessed that she had disappeared for a week to recover from having surgically opted out of maternity, I knew that she had her priorities straight. Tik tik tik. To this day, my considerate heroine has never troubled me with the terrifying news of my brush with being a daddy and, after all that she suffered through has kept her head, her figure, her focus, and landed the lead in a hot new reality show. Tik tik tik. I don’t know how she did it, but how she did it doesn’t matter. She did it. She’s a true inspiration. Her patent pink pumps kiss the rounded rubber tips of my Chucks. I look up. She’s like a muse.
With her regal boobs stretching my shirt out past her unbuttoned pea coat and her hands on her highborn hips, Stella is about to ask me a million questions. “What the fuck—”
“Stella, wait, I’m sorry.” Holding my sandwich, I rise to face her. “I should have said this the other night, but I’ve just had a lot going on lately and was, just … surprised.” Motioning with my crust, I gush, “Congratulations on the show. I knew you’d get it Babe. You’re truly amazing.”
“Thanks Score.” Smiling like an angel, she flips her luminary hair. “I’m so stoked. … But? The Palace—”
“It’s fine. We’ll discuss later. I want to hear about the show!”
“Okay, well, check this out. I was going to tell you before … on Friday…” She raises a single brow. “But, whatever. Blake wants me to move to Hollywood—”
“That’s Fabulous! Babe, you’re gonna be—”
“Wait, that’s not it.” Her purse buzzes. Without looking at it, she sends the call to voicemail and drops her phone back into her jangly bag. “He wants me to move there, like, now. They want to start filming as soon as possible and they’ve got a place for all us girls to live. … I think I’m gonna go this weekend. Donny’s gonna help me move.”
Holding down my moths, I struggle to say something supportive, but before I can find the words to set them free, Stella adjusts my bangs, and asks, “Wanna come?”
She wants me to escape with her. The potential of this romantic deliverance is infinite. We could be a power couple. Reaching into my pocket, I silence an interjecting call.
“Blake says that there will probably be a part for you in the second season. And we have, like, everything paid for.” She offers me a piece of bubblegum. “Pretty rockin’ huh? So are you ready to pack or what?”
I chew the pink sugar. And Stella reads my reaction like it’s posted on Perez. Knowing that I am silently planning our mornings at the pools with Katy P, our days on the lots with Leo Di, our nights at the clubs with Ms. Moss, and our amiable relationships with the paparazzi, she doubtlessly declares, “Babe, they’re gonna love you.”
“Of course they are.” I grin. “They’re gonna love us.”
Overwhelmed by a deluge of emotions, I take off my shades and kiss her. Deeply. It’s rapturous. This is sacred. I can feel the grip of our mystical bond tightening as we mingle our geminating souls with artificially flavored saliva.
Campus security tears us apart. He leaves us with a warning, and a mess that resembles Holly emerges from Hess.
I take Stella’s hands. I stare into the complexity of my GF’s profound essence, bathing in her satisfied smile, enraptured by her sacrosanct sex hum. I’m tempted to tell her. But I won’t. I’m tempted to say it out loud. But I don’t need to. She already knows. We both do.
Soundtrack
Download at: www.popkidsbook.com/soundtrack
Katy Perry — “I Kissed A Girl”
New York Dolls — “Personality Crisis”
Portishead — “Sour Times”
Massive Attack — “Angel”
Guns N Roses — “Welcome to the Jungle”
Primal Scream — “Deep Hit of Morning Sun”
Adele — “Rolling in the Deep”
Joy Division — “Day of the Lords”
New Order — “Blue Monday”
Depeche Mode — “Shake the Disease”
The Smiths — “Shoplifters of the World Unite”
The Beach Boys — “Woudn’t it Be Nice?”
Immortal — “Wrath From Above”
Morrissey — “Alsatian Cousin”
The Ramones — “Pinhead”
The Damned — “Jet Boy Jet Girl”
T. Rex — “Get It On”
The Cult — “Love Removal Machine”
Morrissey — “The Last of the Famous International Playboys”
Simple Minds — “Don’t You (Forget About Me)”
Lady Gaga — “Poker Face”
Britney Spears — “Hold it Against Me?”
The Pussycat Dolls — “When I Grow Up”
Echo and The Bunnymen — “Heaven Up Here”
Bat For Lashes — �
��Daniel”
Dead or Alive — “You Spin Me Right Round (Like a Record)”
Darkthrone — “Transilvanian Hunger”
Slayer — “Angel of Death”
The Jesus and Mary Chain — “You Trip Me Up”
Dusty Springfield — “Son of a Preacher Man”
Justice — “Genesis”
Katy Perry — “California Gurls”
Katy Perry — “Last Friday Night (T.G.I.F.)”
Deadmau5 — “Sofi Needs a Ladder”
The xx — “Crystalised”
Pulp — “This is Hardcore”
Magnetic Man — “I Need Air”
Burzum — “Lost Wisdom”
Morrissey — “Piccadilly Palare”
Ramones — “Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue”
The Ark — “Clamour for Glamour”
La Roux — “Bullet Proof”
Crystal Castles — “Birds”
Deadmau5 — “Ghosts N Stuff”
Dead Boys — “All This And More”
The Germs — “Richie Dagger’s Crime”
Kylie Minouge — “Can’t Get You Out of My Head”
Slayer — “Raining Blood”
Flo Rida — “Low”
Ke$ha — “Tik Tok”
Nicki Minaj — “Super Bass”
Lady Gaga — “Just Dance”
Britney Spears — “Toxic”
Katy Perry — “Teenage Dream”
Queen — “Bicycle Race”
Lords of the New Church — “Russian Roulette”
Suicide — “Ghost Rider”
The Cure — “Killing an Arab”
Frank Sinatra — “It Had to Be You.”
Ke$ha — “Blow”
Morrissey — “Maladjusted”
The Stooges — “Search and Destroy”
The Smiths — “How Soon is Now?”
The Smiths — “Unhappy Birthday”
The Ramones — “The Cretin Hop”