It’s 6pm.. in Malibu.
The warm light of the evening sun is painting golden spots on the surface of the ocean. I see it all as a reflecting image on the side of my Porsche and the curves of the car distorts the image into psychedelic swirls…
Reminds me of Blair somehow… I’m lying on the beach. My dark navy Armani suit is all scruffy and curled.. my black Wayfarers are partially hiding my face from the truth that is slowly arising.
I kick off my Salvatore Ferragamo’s and bury my feet in the sand. A brown envelope is resting up against me.. photographs are scattered across the beach. My buddy who drives the Vette asked me to meet him at Mel’s last night. I think it was around 3am.. he said it was urgent. I was channeling my inner kite, flying high above the valley, when he called. Moon Zappa was hosting a “Ship Arriving Too Late to Save a Drowning Witch»-party. Corey Feldman tapped me on the shoulder..
«Yo, dude.. you got a phone call».
«What?», I reply.. shouting above the incredibly loud Karaoke version of «Valley Girl». Winona Ryder is singing.
«Phone call!!», Corey shouts bringing his hand up to his head simulating a phone with his hand.
He points towards the office in the back. I walk slowly down the hall and enter through a huge Art Deco door. I think I just spotted Victor in the stairway..
I pick up the phone.
«Hello?».. the word stumbles out of my mouth. My head is seriously spinning. There’s silence at first. Some crackling on the line, a bad connection..
«Meet me at Mel’s in an hour, it’s urgent..», is all I can hear coming from the other end. I think I know who it is. I’m assuming he means the one on Sunset.. although the Sherman Oaks location would be more convenient. I take a quick look at my Patek, it’s 2am.. Mel’s in Sherman Oaks closed at 1:00.. okay so he’s definitely talking about the one in West Hollywood.
«beep, beep, beep». The line disconnects.
I think about it for a second.. Andrew McCarthy is holding and Phoebe Cates is looking absolutely stunning in a Gaultier dress. She whispered in my ear earlier in the evening while bringing my hand up against her thigh..
«I seem to have misplaced my underwear, can you help me look?»
Fuck. I head out the door. I’m driving the Mustang tonight, a restored black ’65 fastback. Full roller crate 302 with aluminum heads, Doug Thorley headers and Dynomax exhaust. I come to grips with having do drive to Hollywood because I know Trent is at the Viper Room and I go hang out with him afterwards.
Laurel Canyon Blvd.. it’s dark. I’m driving way too fast for the condition I’m in. Luckily I get to Sunset in one piece. I had a close call near Mulholland.. some idiot in an Audi was driving backwards looking to set a new record in backing or sumthin.. I dunno.
I get to Mel’s. There’s a Vette parked outside. My buddy sits at a table in the back. A waitress passes me, she’s cute.
I sit down in the faux leather seat. My buddy is wearing a Nascar hat and a t-shirt that says: «Porn stars are people too». I say «What’s up, what’s the fucking rush?»
He slides a brown envelope across the table. At the bottom of the envelope, on the back, is a stamp that says: «Built in America by Assholes»
I open it up, there are photographs inside. My head clears up for a split second at the sight of the pictures before my left arm starts to get numb, the dizziness increases and I drop the photos on the table.
The pictures show Roxy and Blair.. together.. in a heated discussion… I’ve seen this place they’re at before.. it’s.. it’s.. that club in the valley, «Uncle Jim’s».. My buddy who drives the Vette is the fucking owner.
I go through the photos.. pictures of them pole dancing, talking, discussing, more discussing, pulling of hair.. fighting.. Judd Nelson and Ally Sheedy trying to prevent them from killing each other.
«What the flying fuck is this?!?» I yell out. The cute waitress turns her head.. but goes about her business soon after.
«I figured you should see it for yourself», my buddy says.
«They know… they know…».
«They’ve been partying for days at the club and they started talking. We tried to keep them seperated, but the whole pole dancing thing just.. well, y’know.. One of the guys at the club called me in because of a fight and when I arrived I found them in my office with umbrella drinks and a box of White Zinfandel drunk off their asses, sitting on the floor singing in harmony along with the Monkees greatest hits. Daydream Believer I think… I can only put up with this shit for so long. I think you are going to have to come over and get these two bitches and take them home and deal with it.»
Waves come crashing in.. my head is the ocean and my heart is a sinking stone.
My buddy is mumbling something about «having his way with’em» but I don’t really register.. I see his lips moving.. everything is slow motion.
I get up and leave.. slowly at first.. then I suddenly realise I’m running in the middle of Sunset. Car horns screaming.. tires screeching.. people yelling.. I keep running.. along the strip..
I’m getting closer to the Viper Room.. I see Trent standing outside having a cigarette. Saigon Kick is apparently playing. Trent sees me. Seconds later I’m gone..
Waves come crashing in.. It’s 6pm.. in Malibu. I wonder if my Mustang is safe.. I don’t remember how I got here.. or when I picked up the Porsche.. I have another look at the photographs.
They look suprisingly high quality… the light.. the angles.. it’s.. I didn’t notice it at first, but.. they look almost.. staged. I start to look closer.. panic hits.. I shuffle through them.. fuck, they have to be staged.
No, they can’t be.. Suddenly I notice a blonde haired figure in the corner of one of the pictures.. it’s hard to tell, but it sure looks like.. Victor.
I hear a couple talking not far away.. I don’t think they can see me. The girl is going down on the guy. The girl pauses for a second..
“But I live in like in a really good part of Encino so it’s okay..»