Forward to Glory

by Brian Paul Bach

  Sonny had a network of good little earners within the strata of his enterprises, and they had become so booming that under reorganization into the mega-agency known as Sonny’s Trip, the turbo-power of potential in practically every courtyard of show business was now ignited. The vim that Butterbugs had brought with his automatic incandescence created whole new aspects of the Industry, with emphases on such previously subtle or even subconscious disciplines as ‘undercurrent tone’, ‘massed chords’, ‘archaic-contemporary soul connectivity’ or even ‘arch-humanism as a way of explanation’, that came to dominate the strategic hours of numerous staff. They were absolute dedicatees, who made it their daily business to tie these concepts to the concretions that Butterbugs himself manifested in any given scene he acted out. Before they were realized via Butterbugsian technique, some scenes might seem banal and poorly-written, while others emerged as profound and without flaws. As a great equalizer (and the best judge of the material before him), the star’s transformation of script into both cinematic art and salable wares was stunningly reliable in its brilliance.

  For this was the extraordinariness of Butterbugs the actor: no one could predict his performances, but they were invariably transcendent, wholly surprising, and completely transporting. Audiences not only responded to each new picture enthusiastically, but with a ready willingness to follow up on the evolutionary societal trends he enacted and endorsed. Such as increased civility. A re-embracing of education and the seeking of truth. A return to endeavors of a good and well-lived life. And thus, the pursuit of happiness showed up in the behavior of the general public, on a wider scale than ever before. With these conspicuous gains, there was nothing else for it but to organize and even institutionalize the Butterbugs phenomenon and all its partnered activities.

  There was no doubt that Butterbugs was committed, first and foremost, to being a strolling player. Because of his vast experience in the fringe life, the surreal life, the executive life, and now, the upward spiral of a picture show performer’s life, the course toward success and fulfillment was happily locked-in. Now, its enactment, on an advanced level, was the thing to accomplish.

  Forward then, to the most advanced level.

  Despite his participation amidst the bazaar of Sonny’s grouped incorporations, Butterbugs could never become a mere commodity. He was a human being, acting in pictures. The premise was simple, and those canny enough to run his show kept it that way.

  Therefore, the door was always left open for lightweight winds to rotate the weathervane of navigation through all that made up Butterbugs’ concerns in the cinema.

  ‘Butterbugs, know what?’

  ‘What, Sonny? What do you want of me?’

  ‘Nothing! Not a thing, actor! Do we not come to each other’s aid when the time is right, as if bringing a poor, cracked pitcher to a flowing well?’

  ‘Aye, aye!’ agreed the actor, popping a cluster of Sonny’s finger-nuts into his mouth.

  ‘Butterbugs, I just screened ‘Oukumbo!’ (Goldwyn) before breakfast this morning. One of the finest things you’ve done to date! Its cry will remain in our hearts until time has no more meaning. We all love what you’ve done with the role.’

  ‘Thank you, Sonny. I’m gratified.’

  ‘As well you might be, Mumpkin Boy!’

  Butterbugs got a kick out of Sonny’s jaunty usage of the formerly forbidden shame-name.

  ‘But Butterbugs, look.’ Sonny became serious-er. ‘We have, in our laps at this time, a situation of confounding frustration.’

  ‘Shoot!’ replied Butterbugs, after Sonny paused for quite a while.

  ‘Well, it’s like this, baby. ‘Auris’, your latest epic (e.g. ‘Auris In Midgon’ (Mega|Goth)). Well, you know what? We’re in a bit of a pickle.’

  ‘I hear and listen, Sonny.’

  ‘Well, it’s just the bunk!’

  ‘But, but whie?’

  ‘Your leading lady…’

  ‘ProwlerCat’s very young, I know. But so am I!’

  ‘It’s, it’s ProwlerCat.’

  ‘She is young.’

  ‘She is perhaps not…’

  ‘Not right for the role? Oh Sonny, Karvagga Moorisch is the only other one I can imagine in it, and she is, sadly, no longer among the living…’

  ‘Yeah, sweet gal.’

  ‘I concede that yes, ProwlerCat is young. But so am I, Sonny. So am I.’

  ‘It’s not that, actor. It’s just that – Well, she isn’t so, you know… curvy.’

  ‘Ah! Her svelte figure, so smooth, sleek, and… cat-like!’

  ‘Cat-like. Yeah, baby, yeah. Thing is –’

  ‘She’s too cat-like… Maybe…?’

  ‘You read me like a prescription drug label!’

  ‘Not hard to do, Sonny. You’re dropping hints. Must you?’

  ‘Well, no, of course not. I’ll cut the crap.’

  ‘Please do, and always do.’

  ‘OK, OK. Thing is, I got a couple of voices who have introduced some prescient factors as far as this upcoming picture is concerned.’

  ‘From Gold & Silver?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘OK. They’re OK with me. What’s shakin’?’

  ‘Well, they’ve made a good observation. That is, is ProwlerCat – that is, does she have enough Flesh Impact to carry the queen-empress role to victory?’

  ‘To – victory?’

  ‘Have we got a mega-hit?’

  ‘I see. Well, based on her physique, perhaps not.’

  ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you!’

  ‘Does that mean you wish to enact the Butterbugs Clause?’

  ‘Why you miserable – How did you know??’

  ‘Your hints drop like clusterfuck bombs, Sonny.’

  ‘Your conciseness drives me to distraction, baby.’

  ‘Well, you have to admit, I wanted to clear away passive aggressiveness on your part, to make way for crudity.’

  ‘And it almost worked.’

  ‘Now I repeat, what’s shakin’? Or do I have to sic TABP on you to get a direct answer?’

  ‘Holy shit! TABP’s in town, too. He’d make meatloaf out of me.’

  ‘You’re catchin’ on!’

  ‘Then he’d sell it for cat chow!’

  ‘That’s right, baby.’

  ‘OK, here’s the deal. We need f-ing breathtaking curves for the queen-empress role. Dammit, Butterbugs, we need ’em, desperately. We need Vizbulite Lacplesis! We need her 37C-18-39! Nobody’s gonna care that her butt’s two inches bigger. Besides! She can act. Perhaps she can act you into the evening shade!’

  Butterbugs beheld Sonny’s power and his passion, and sitting there, he almost passed out. It was as if a sandblasting wind had just scraped his face so that it not only beheld the handwriting on the wall, it was cemented to the selfsame wall in perpetual one-on-one gaze – at said writing. Numbed but grateful, he could do nothing but acknowledge the inevitable without resistance.

  ‘Sonny, ye speak truth. Thus, I yield without complaint.’

  He knew that curves were needed. More than anything. More than star power or directorial might, or golden words from Bard or Broadway.

  ‘Then, gentle star, I can enact the Butterbugs Clause?’

  Butterbugs twisted his head up to Sonny, who dominated the atmosphere, standing tall at the adjacent wet bar.

  ‘Oh, agent! Be kind! To she who was set as my co-star, please, be kind! She is not only a sweet kid, and a fine upcoming actress-cum-star of much depth, but she’s crazy about me. We’ve gotten it on many times now, and she’s sweet, really sweet. We’re not quite an item, but we really don’t have to be. We don’t have to do anything if we don’t want to… Plus – and I’ve never told anyone this – she saved my life once. I tell you, she did!’

  Sonny set his shaker down solemnly. ‘I had no idea. Really, I didn’t.’

  ‘And why would you have? It was well nigh before I knew you, Sonny. No, ProwlerCat and I shared a moment of truth before any of
us knew what real truth was. For that I will always honor her, and champion her.’

  ‘And she saved you…?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly how she did it, and I probably never will. But she did. I tell you, she did!’

  ‘But this once…’

  ‘Aye!’ Butterbugs agreed grimly. ‘This once, I shall have to betray her.’

  ‘Betray? How so, severe one?’

  ‘By letting her down. By decrying her value only because her body is not an hourglass.’

  ‘So harsh is your judgment! You cannot pass comment like that when the fate of such a picture is held in the balance.’

  The stark factuality of this observation hit Butterbugs square in the nose. He was slow to respond: ‘As I said, Sonny: I yield to your wisdom. This is the biz. The biz we’re in.’

  ProwlerCat was out.

  Butterbugs was hurt, in spite of the logic.

  ‘There there, my man.’ Sonny handed Butterbugs a comfort drink. ‘As a consolation, we’ll get her into ‘Young Tagore’ (MGM), an infinitely more worthwhile production for her.’

  Butterbugs looked up and smiled benevolently.

  ‘Auris In Midgon’ could now proceed.

  Vet director Prissy Starspangled sat in the chair next to the Super Panavision camera, having taken over the production from an ailing Yakima Canutt. This was the big seduction scene, in which Beza, the Queen-Empress of the Medes (Vizbulite Lacplesis, in her first body-to-body scene with Butterbugs), attempts to win over Draja, the Hindu warrior-king (Butterbugs himself, body-to-body), with her sheer sexuality. An old plot-line, but as was the case with all Butterbugs pictures, some indefinably new or unthought-of angle, showing up in some indescribable way, was sure to come out – who knew when, or in what manner, or to what effect.

  As this was a sex scene, Prissy ordered everyone off the set. This was mostly because of the legendary haughtiness that Vizbulite regularly inflicted upon her fellow cast and crew. There were many of both sexes in both casts and crews in the past who had become decidedly misogynistic because of this dame, for she tortured any and all as it advantaged her, no matter what gender or what standing on the set.

  Then came Butterbugs.

  ‘Can you tame her?’ queried none other than Old Atrocity, who was Key Grip on this one, in a genuinely shaky voice.

  ‘Tame? Came I to tame?’ asked Butterbugs quietly, in his Draja guise. ‘I think not. She is a fellow player, and I care not for social pigeonholing!’

  Respecting such a naïve but unimpeachable notion, Old Atrocity gave way, parting the sheer curtain so that Butterbugs could appear on the closed set with all honesty.

  As the mighty camera was set on pre-programmed remote control, activated by Prissy via the CallCommand that rested in her palm, it was just the three of them on the huge Mega|Goth soundstage. There was not even a covert ThimbleCam sneaked-in anywhere, to broadcast scenes over the Net, to snicker by.

  ‘Action!’ whispered Prissy.

  Alone. Practically. To face the hourglass, Butterbugs drew his sword and raised the concealing drape with it.

  She was there. Not Bella Darvi, not Gong Li, not Liz Taylor, not Loretta Young, not Jennifer Lopez (even), not Anouk Aimee, not Gloria Graham, not Jenna Jameson, not Lisa Bonet, not Dominique Sanda, not Rati Agnihotri, not… ProwlerCat…

  Not anybody, as a matter of fact, except Vizbulite Lacplesis, in all her thinly-shrouded glory.

  It was understanding at first sight.

  The opening part of the scene was intentionally wordless. It was a matter of blocking. Advances, reactions, logistics, none of which would be picked up in B Roll, as Prissy wanted to capture all in a Fordian master shot. So, with the high resolution of Super P-vision 70, she had nothing to worry about but to keep the camera grinding, which it could for 48 uninterrupted minutes, if she wanted. And, as a matter of fact, this particular take (which was actually used) ran 46 minutes, an Industry first. It was because every second was not only usable, every second contained the heavy metal of gold, for it was detectable by even the most superficial interpretation.

  The approach of wary would-be lovers: the trepidation, combined with gathering intrigue, spinning onward with attraction, and lubrication, associated with conspicuous growing! This was the dramatic stuff, as audiences must realize, comprising the heroics of legendary loving. Like an aircraft preparing and achieving successful touchdown, conditions exist wherein two potentially conflicting participants actually come together and find that they have a mutual interest in mutually beneficial congress, despite the odds of both script and external opinion.

  In short, they started fucking with perfectly cinematic ideals, as if every move toward the goal were spoken through a megaphone by some control-freak demi-director, in danger of exposing some very expensive film stock to a mediocre progression…

  Only it wasn’t like that at all. The steady documentation of their successful seduction was accomplished by a clear and centered depiction of a passionately-driven and politically-motivated progression toward purposeful coitus, in lieu of a signed statement.

  Wisely, Prissy had pre-programmed the camera to choose an agile and essential course in closing in on this fateful joining, so that the scene added up to one of the most convincing portrayals of diplomatic invention yet brought to the screen.

  ‘I must say,’ said Prissy to the many reporters who clogged the soundstage after filming for the day was done, ‘Everything about this experience has been remarkable. I just can’t put it into words. Maybe when you see the completed picture, you will know what I mean.’

  Fan Faehrt, the gossip columnist, was able to sneak in, before Prissy evaporated into her Maybach.

  ‘Miss Priss! I hear tell there’s cum all over the lens, instead of Vaseline.’

  ‘Say, that might be an effect worth trying. Not really a similar viscosity, but… I’ll ask Butterbugs next time. I hear he has plenty.’

  ‘Come on, Prissy. You know I’m not a gossiper, or anything.’

  ‘Funny, but you know, Fanny, I don’t really think you are! I can see it in your face.’

  ‘So, tell, tell, tell!’

  Prissy then adopted a visage that could only be labeled as that of a woman who has just had a really great fuck, and with multiple orgasms. She reclined the driver’s seat via silent electric power, lit a cig, and put her arms behind her head with languid fulfillment.

  Fan gazed in wonder.

  ‘Oh, Priss! It seems like you have achieved orgiastic reality – at last!’

  Prissy was detached.

  ‘I can only repeat, when you see it, maybe you will know what I mean. I mean, maybe you will know how to describe it… I can’t. I just made it, is all.’

  ‘Oh, Miss Priss! I’m so jealous! You little snit!’

  ‘You just had to be there, Fanny. And I’m glad you weren’t.’

  72.

  On The Prowl

  After a day’s sexy filming of ‘Auris in Midgon’ ended at the Mega|Goth Studio, Butterbugs picked up a copy of ‘Daily Variety’ that someone left in Prissy Starspangled’s chair. He got a kick out of the full-page ad on the back:

  Bebe Rebozo, Bob Abplanalp, and Sammy Davis, Jr. proudly present…

  A Beautiful New Show!

  RICHARD NIXON

  AT THE

  SANDS

  Announcer: William Conrad

  Musical Director: Quincy Jones

  With Count Basie and his Orchestra

  Guests: Joey Bishop, Frank Sinatra, Gogi Grant, Angie Dickinson, Tracie Reed, Jill St. John, Dan Blocker (and the entire ‘Lady in Cement’ cast)

  with Ron Ziegler, Johnnie Fontaine, Slappy White

  and NIPSEY RUSSELL

  ‘The Bish almost steals the show from the Prez!’ – Avery Kettle, ‘Los Angeles Times Three’

  ‘The man is a hot property. Really.’ – All of the Hearst papers

  ‘Boffo! The new President of Vegas delivers SRO one-liners!’ – Mak, ‘Variety’

  �
�I’m just mad about Dick – and so’s everyone else!’ – Gregory Grudd, ‘Las Vegas Sunny Days’

  ‘He’s found his place in the sun, at last! From the Western White House to the Strip! Man, what a story!’ – Nellis Nye, ‘Elainsburgh Doily Record’

  NOW BOOKING SHOWROOM-GRADE SEATS FOR THIS EXCLUSIVE ENGAGEMENT. THREE DRINK MINIMUM. PRIME BIB ’N’ RIB DINNER, OR CHEF MARK’S C-FUDE PLATTER.

  CALL (777) 777-7777 FOR RESERVATIONS NOW.

  RUNNING TIME: 196 minutes

  Facility totally controlled by Howard Hughes, Jean Peters and Frank Sinatra

  ‘Well, it finally happened,’ said Mel the Carpenter, longtime associate of Old Atrocity, as he read the name in huge letters. ‘A new career for the guy that ain’t no crook!’

  After a characteristically generous accommodation of Mel’s interest in such an obscure subject, the star continued leafing through the Pictures section.

  Butterbugs gave cause for an exclamation.

  ‘Well, I’ll be dahned. Would you look at this! ‘PROWLERCAT INKED FOR NEW BUTTERBUGS VEHICLE.’ It goes on, condescendingly, I should think: ‘In a remarkable gesture, this little actress, who never, ever, even got the chance to be a starlet, continues to be thrust into the fully star-bright light of instant importance. Producer Sash Telemann promised that the Industry could expect big things from her.’ That’s all there is. Well, I’ll be dahned.’

  ‘Isn’t she that little girl you gave some milk to, a while back?’

  ‘Yipperdoodle. There was a time when I thought she’d go nowhere. But I felt sorry for her. She seemed so fragile.’

  ‘Some piss-ant publicity department’s making it sound like she’s totally new on the scene.’

  ‘Well, from the start, she thought LA was full of ‘confidence men’!’

  Mel smiled wryly at Butterbugs. ‘Now that you’re gonna work with her – again, are you, uh, gonna ‘con’ her? Ha ha. Ha ha ha.’