The Property of Edward James

by Paul Preston

  The Property of Edward James

  by Paul Preston

  ISBN: 978-1-942331-59-9

  A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication

  Copyright © 2015, All rights reserved

  With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers.

  For information contact:

  Pink Flamingo Publications

  www.pinkflamingo.com

  P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083

  USA

  Email Comments: comments@pinkflamingo.com

  Chapter One

  Mr. Bergman

  I was about to watch my videos one last time when an elderly gentleman with a pleasant face knocked softly on my open door. Standing in the doorway, he asked if I would like to have a visitor. I had seen the gentleman often during my convalescence, knocking on other doors, visiting sick patients. I invited the good fellow in to watch the two films I acted in with a woman who turned out to be the love of my life, Elizabeth Rose. The gentleman smiled and said he enjoyed the cinema. He came in and sat down on the chair at my bedside to watch the videos with me. It felt good to finally have a visitor after all these months of isolation in the hospital, with nothing to keep me company except the strange buzzing sound in my hospital room. He was nattily dressed in an old-fashioned suit, vest and tie. I liked him immediately.

  The gentleman introduced himself as Mr. Bergman, like the Swedish filmmaker, he said. I told him my name was Edward James, a former theater actor in San Diego. He told me he went to the theater quite often and asked if he would’ve recognized me in anything. I told him no, probably not, I never was much of a success.

  “Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. James,” Mr. Bergman said, holding out his hand.

  I lifted the dead weight of my wrist off the bed and lightly took his hand in mine.

  “Please, Mr. Bergman. Call me Edward,” I said.

  We exchanged a smile. After a pause, I confessed that I was somewhat nervous to show the films to him and that perhaps it may not be such a good idea after all. He asked why. I explained that the films I was in couldn’t exactly be classified as cinema. They were videos of an “Adult” nature and I didn’t wish to offend him. Mr. Bergman nodded and didn’t seem to be put off in the least. He admitted to having viewed erotic films several times before as a younger man. His non-judgmental attitude encouraged me to continue. In defense of my movies, I commented that most Adult Videos are usually done in bad taste, they’re poorly acted and filmed, not all that sexy or just plain ridiculous. But the two erotic films I appeared in with Elizabeth Rose were unique, I said. I might be biased, but I thought they were good as films and rose above the genre they were in, especially the first one. I was quite proud of them, I confessed, even though hardly anyone ever saw them. My memories of Elizabeth Rose are rather erotic too, I told him, and they play through my mind in an unending reel. The two films, along with the framed photograph on my bedside table were the last pieces of property I had left in the world. They were precious to me, I told him.

  The nice gentleman told me to relax and promised me he would not hold me in judgment or be offended by the erotic nature of the videos or my story. Mr. Bergman seemed to be a very understanding and considerate man. I felt comfortable with him right away. We both stopped talking as a nurse came in to check on my IV and make a notation on my chart.

  “You’re my first, and probably my last visitor,” I told him after the nurse left.

  I explained my current dismal circumstances. I’d been admitted to the hospital a few months ago after experiencing shortness of breath. I thought I just had a bad case of the flu or something. After several tests, I received the bad news. I was diagnosed with something called multiple myeloma. I was given a few rounds of chemotherapy and several blood transfusions. My Doctor said that if the radiation treatment could eradicate the cancer cells and one of my family members would be willing to give me a bone marrow transplant, I would have an excellent chance at survival. But none of my family members returned the mouth swabs my Cancer Coordinator mailed to each of them in order to test for their bone marrow compatibility. I wasn’t really expecting them to send back the DNA tests to the hospital, after what happened. And I didn’t blame them for not wanting to help save me.

  Mr. Bergman asked me why no one in my family returned the swabs. I felt embarrassed and looked down at my bed sheets without answering him. I felt him pat my shoulder in a gentle manner. When I looked up, the warm look in his eyes made me trust this man. I began to see why this gentleman was such a popular visitor in the Cancer Ward. He was kind. I decided to completely open up to this man with my secrets.

  I explained that I was from a rather conservative family and that everyone stopped talking to me after my brother found out about one of the pornographic movies I acted in. My brother told me that the disgrace of seeing the adult video is what gave my Father his stroke. I carried the guilt of causing the death of my Father on my shoulders for the past two years. I wish I’d been able to see him before he died so I could’ve apologized for being such a tremendous disappointment as his son. I hope my Father will forgive me one day, wherever he is, I said. Then Bergman leaned close to me and comforted me with his soft voice.

  “I’m sure your father has already forgiven you, Edward.”

  I nodded, holding back my tears.

  “We never got the chance to talk very much, but I loved him,” I said.

  “I’m sure you did,” Mr. Bergman said.

  “Luckily, I won’t have to carry the guilt much longer,” I told him.

  “Why is that, Edward?” he asked.

  “Because I’m about to die…” I said.

  Mr. Bergman pursed his lips in a concerned manner and shook his head.

  “Anyway, that’s why my family members refused to be a donor for me,” I said.

  My visitor asked me what I was going do, without a donor from my family willing to help. I said the doctors here tell me that they are still searching the National Marrow Donor Registry for a match, but so far they haven’t found one. My window of benefitting from a donation is closing now, so I guess it’s inevitable. The play of my life is nearly over. Darkness waits. End of scene. Fade to black.

  My Good Samaritan frowned at the bad news, looking up at the IV solution as it dripped slowly and pointlessly into my veins. To change the dismal subject, Mr. Bergman encouraged me to tell him about the movies we were about to watch. My mood brightened as I sat up in bed to tell my story.

  I told Mr. Bergman that my favorite of the two movies Elizabeth and I acted in together was definitely the first one, “The Monastery”. I’ve watched it many times over the years. No matter how many times I’ve seen it, I still find the film completely engrossing. Even though it’s an erotic movie, I admitted to being quite proud of my performance in it. Because of the sensual candlelit way in which it was filmed, no one really knew what to make of it. Was it a porno movie, an art house film, or a strange combination of both? The writer/director/producer of the films, an odd UFO enthusiast named Peter Farnsworth, who managed the downtown location of a popular chain of Adult Video and Sex Toy Shops in San Diego, sold copies of the two films in his store as well as in other sex shops of its kind in Southern California. They were filmed on a shoe-string budget in his modest home in Chula Vista. The second film we made together, “In the Dungeon of Master V”, was widely seen and developed a bit of a cult following, but “The Monastery” was a commercial failure. After the first customer who rented and returned it with the comment, �
�I want my money back, I couldn’t see shit,” Farnsworth realized some serious technical mistakes had been made. Farnsworth told me only a few copies were ever rented in all of Southern California. Elizabeth saved us both a copy before Farnsworth was about to toss out his entire stock of them. I may have the only remaining copy of “The Monastery” in existence. I don’t know whether Elizabeth ever kept her copy.

  Due to the bad lighting in “The Monastery”, you couldn’t really see our most private areas clearly. Our director made sure the lights were on nice and bright during the filming of the second film, “In the Dungeon of Master V”. Even though my opinion may not matter to anyone, I don’t think you can judge an artistic endeavor based solely on its commercial success. Though the second film sold much better, I still consider “The Monastery” a more erotic movie. Elizabeth’s magnificent breasts were on full display during practically every scene of “In the Dungeon of Master V”, but I thought “The Monastery” was far more sensual precisely because our intimate body parts were hidden in the shadows and only revealed in brief moments in the flickering candlelight. I think it could even have slipped by with an R rating, if it were ever to be released.

  Mr. Bergman noticed the picture on my bedside table and asked if that was Elizabeth in the photograph. I nodded yes and smiled. It’s a still photograph of Elizabeth and I in costume, during a break in the filming of “The Monastery”. I was in my monk’s robe and Elizabeth was in her simple thrift shop peasant’s dress. We were sitting on the bench, holding hands, relaxed and smiling into the camera. Despite my sickness, looking at that picture never fails to make me feel happy inside. It is my most prized possession, I told my new friend.

  Studying the photograph, Mr. Bergman asked me how Elizabeth and I met. I looked into the old man’s kind eyes and began my story…

  Chapter Two

  The Day I Met Elizabeth Rose

  After graduating with a degree in Drama, I did several small productions for a couple of years around San Diego to build my resume while working a variety of part-time jobs to survive. I told Mr. Bergman that I was the type of actor who would take any part offered, anywhere, no matter what the content of the play was or the size of the part. I also didn’t care whether the parts required clothes. I became the go-to guy for plays that required nudity. It turned out that the director of a play I was cast in knew about Mr. Farnsworth’s obscure movie project and gave me his number. I called him immediately to set up an audition. I was very excited and felt fortunate for the chance. I naively thought that I was finally in the right place at the right time, and that my history of doing one awful theatrical production after another was finally over. This would be the big break every actor hopes for. It wasn’t, of course, but I always considered getting that audition to be the luckiest moment of my life, for it was how I came to meet Elizabeth Rose.

  The audition was held at the director’s home in a very run-down poor neighborhood off the 805, on a street of cookie-cutter housing, one right next to the other. The street was lined with old rusted cars and unsavory characters on the corners, looking suspiciously over their shoulders as I drove by, in the midst of what looked like drug deals. When I arrived at the address I breathed a sigh of relief. No one wants to be memorialized on the Obituary Page in an article entitled, “Unknown Actor Murdered on the Way to Audition for Low-Budget Porno Movie,” right? Mr. Bergman nodded and smiled at my joke.

  The door was open and I went in. There was a girl named Delores seated behind a table in the living room whom I introduced myself to. She gave me a few pages of a scene, after I gave her my 9 by 12 glossy picture and resume. I sat down on the couch and started reading the script. The scene was between two characters, some kind of monk wearing a brown hooded robe and a servant girl who attended to the needs of the brothers in the monastery. At first glance the script looked kind of interesting to me. The dialogue was not too bad.

  Before I started studying the script, I heard someone else walk into the house. When I looked up, I saw Elizabeth for the first time. She was easily the most breathtaking woman I had ever seen. She had a movie star quality about her, as if she was used to being watched, and in fact invited the attention by the way she dressed. She wore a white lacey open-backed silk sun dress that loosely covered her body and showed off her curves. I could see she had painted her toenails bright red through the sandals on her feet. Her straight blonde hair cascaded all the way down her back, the tendrils resting lightly upon the curve of her hips. Her blue eyes were moist and responsive, fluttering with life. She introduced herself to the girl at the desk. The girl asked Elizabeth for a picture and resume and she said she didn’t have one. Who needs a headshot when you are Beauty Personified? The girl at the desk took a contact number and some basic information from her and gave her a script. Elizabeth sat down on the couch opposite me. She set the script aside without looking at it and started to touch up her makeup and hair.

  Her phone started buzzing and she sent a text back with flying fingers and thumbs. I felt like an idiot, trapped in the analog age, without a cell phone. I suppose I didn’t have anyone to call, so what would be the point to have one? Her cell phone rang and this time she answered it. I know it’s rude, but I eavesdropped on her end of the conversation, when I should’ve been studying my script and minding my own business.

  “Hi, Dirk. And why are you calling me again? Listen Dirk, can we talk about this some other… Yes, I enjoyed going out with you once and I had a nice time but… No I… I don’t want to… Dirk, I’m rather busy at the… I’m at an appointment… What? I don’t know, it’s like some kind of job interview… Sorry I’m getting another call. I gotta go. No, Dirk… What? Well, it was never my intention to hurt your feelings. Dirk… I’ve got to go. Please don’t call this number again.”

  After breaking the first man’s heart, she answered her next call.

  “Hey, Duke. Oh my God I completely forgot. I’m so sorry. That’s right, we were supposed to meet for… oh no, Dukie, no don’t wait for me, you go ahead and enjoy your lunch. I’m all the way over here in some god-forsaken part of Chula Vista of all places. I know, a girl like me shouldn’t be caught dead south of Market Street. At least now I know where I can buy a cheap bag of heroin, right? No, I’m just joking, I don’t use drugs. What? No, I’m at this “audition” for something or other. It was my day off so I thought I’d come just for kicks. No, I have no idea what it’s for. They gave me this script but I haven’t… Oh gosh, Dukie, I can’t believe it, I’m getting another call. Call me, or I’ll call you and we’ll meet at Horton Plaza next week during my lunch break, I promise. Bye, Dukie.”

  “Hi, Derrick. Dinner? I don’t know, maybe. I’m at the audition. I think it’s for a movie, actually. Yeah, isn’t that funny? Me, an actress? Where? I don’t know. It’s in this really crummy neighborhood. South of downtown near the 805. No, it’s past National City, on the way to Tijuana. I know, I know… Derrick, I appreciate your concern, but… Ok Dad, I’ll be careful. I’m a big girl now, Derrick, I think I can take care of myself. No, I’m just doing it for fun. You should know by now I like to do things just for fun. Don’t you know that about me yet, Derrick?”

  When Elizabeth said that last bit, she suddenly looked up and caught me listening in on her conversation and staring at her. I immediately looked down and acted like I was studying my script. I pressed firmly on my chest with my fingertips in an effort to calm my racing heart.

  “Hey, Derrick, can you call me back later, honey. I’m kind of in the middle of something here. Thanks.”

  I thought perhaps Elizabeth had ended the call, but I was too nervous to look up to find out. Even though I needed to study the script, I couldn’t seem to concentrate on it. The words appeared on the page, but as disconnected letters, without meaning. I could sense her staring bullets at me and I heard her rapidly tapping one of her heels on the floor. After a short moment, she spoke.

  “Excuse me…” Elizabeth said slightly peeved, obviously not used to being
ignored.

  I looked up from the script with innocent wide eyes.

  “Hmmm?”

  “Don’t pretend I didn’t just catch you listening in on my private conversation.”

  “What? Me? No, I was—”

  She leaned forward, her loose dress opening to reveal a generous view of her cleavage, and whispered in a sexy voice.

  “In case you were wondering about Dirk, Duke and Derrick, I just wanted to explain, I’m working my way through the letters of the alphabet, one boyfriend at a time...”

  As she went back to applying her makeup, I tried not to stare, but my eyes drifted down her rounded feminine body, following their own primal urges. I could tell immediately that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Each time she moved, sweeping a brush through her long thick hair and reapplying color to her bright red puffy lips, her bouncy, full breasts demanded my attention. I simply had no choice but to look and appreciate her flesh, practically falling out of the halter top she kept tied in a loose bow behind her neck. I could easily see the outline of her puffy nipples, pointing upward, as if defying gravity through the thin material of her dress. It was impossible not to stare at her. She was the very essence of healthy feminine youth and beauty. What I couldn’t seem to draw my eyes away from in particular was how the crescents of the large brown rings of her areolas were plainly evident, visually contrasting in a sensuous manner with the white skin of her cleavage. Time seemed to slow down as I basked in the warmth of her beauty. Even the ticking of my wristwatch seemed to stop, effected by her magnetism. I held it up to my ear, just to see if it still worked. Saliva formed at the sides of my mouth as I watched her apply makeup to her pink cheeks and blue eyelids, while she gazed into a small hand-held mirror. She was the prettiest girl I had ever seen, totally unattainable to me, just like the head cheerleader who dated the hunky quarterback of the football team at Kearney Mesa High School, who never looked twice at a skinny drama geek like me. She was mesmerizing to watch, a natural performer. As she perfectly applied her mascara, I pictured her beautiful face filling a forty foot high movie screen. Just when I thought she had forgotten I was still in the room, she suddenly spoke to me. My heart stopped, restarted and then pumped wildly in my chest.