Spritzing: “I’m not wedded to _Border Patrol!_ at the expense of your script, and I can get you Contino for an even grand!”
Spraying: sauerkraut strands, french fry morsels.
His color rose and fell; his medic-alert bracelet jangled. “Elmer, all right, your girlfriend can co-star. Yes, Elmer, I’ll relinquish my producer’s credit for a profit percentage! Listen, there’s a publicity angle rigged to Contino’s participation that I can’t reveal the details of, but believe me, it’s a doozie!”
Hot dog meat flew.
A pickle chunk hit a babe in a low-backed sweater; the midspine bulls-eye made her go, “EEEK!”
Sol saw me and smothered the phone to his chest. “_Border Patrol!_ is now _Daddy-O_.”
10.
Genealogies:
_Wetback!_ into _Border Patrol!_ into _Daddy-O_. Pedro into Big Pete into Phil “Daddy-O” Sandifer: truck driver/singer/romantic lead. Maria Martinez to Maggie Martell to Jana Ryan; Jane DePugh to Sandra Giles–pitch-girl for Mark C. Bloome Tires, semi-regular on Tom Duggan’s TV gabfest.
Jane gave up her “Movie Star” option and switched her major to pre-law–“So I can be more like my dad.” She sent me a farewell gift: her chipped tooth enshrined in a locket.
Dave DePugh continued to boss the kidnap plot–“Hollywood publicist might be a shrewd career switch.”
Pat Marichal and Fritz Shoftel stayed on-board–Sol Slotnick promised them SAG cards if the scheme succeeded.
Ten days raced by.
Chris, Kay, and Nancy continued to bunk at Fort Contino.
Bob Yeakel sent Pizza De-Luxe over with daily injections of grease.
Chrissy seduced pizza boy Ramon.
Ramon renounced his homosexuality.
Ramon told Kay he had to pretend Chris was a man.
Yeakel double delivered: some DMV flunky was collating license slips. Leigh was helping him out–she wanted the Chrissy problem resolved and the Fort Contino red alert suspended.
No more “Fuck You To Death” notes arrived.
No cars tailed Chris on her out-of-fort journeys. My journeys ditto–no suspicious vehicles, period.
I spilled my insider lead to Nancy and Chris: the West Hollywood Whipcord drove a light-colored ’53 Skylark. Crime Queen Nancy cut me off short: the Whipcord only snuffed couples; single-o women and hate notes weren’t his MO.
“Sex killers never change their modus operandi. I’ve been intimate with enough of them to know that’s true.”
Sol Slotnick found a pad down the street from Pink’s and secured his _Daddy-O_ financing via high-interest loan from Johnny Stompanato. Stomp said he’d use his pay-back cash to market a new woman’s tonic–a Spanish fly compound guaranteed to induce instant and permanent nymphomania.
Chris and I joined Pat and Fritz for acting practice. Both men were “Motivation” obsessed. Fritz picked up a lightweight case of paranoia–sometimes he imagined a primer-gray sports car tailing him. Practice, dress rehearsals–waiting for a _Daddy-O_ GO date.
Schizo days.
I rehearsed with the Scalper and the Rapist; I rehearsed with the _Daddy-O_ director, Lou Place. David Moessinger’s _Daddy-O_ script replaced _Border Patrol!_–it was tighter, but lacked political punch. Sol rescued his nightclub set from sweat shop rubble–it would serve as both the “Rainbow Gardens” and “Sidney Chillis’ Hi-Note”–major _Daddy-O_ venues. The new screenplay called for me to sing–I learned “Rock Candy Baby,” “Angel Act” and “Wait’ll I Get You Home” pronto. My _Daddy-O_ co-stars–Sandra Giles, Bruno VeSota, Ron McNeil, Jack McClure, Sonia Torgesen–were swell, but Scalp Man and Rape Man claimed my soul.
We’d hike up into the Griffith Park hills and bullshit. Pat Marichal brought fire water–he was working the “Method” on his Chief Joe Running Car persona. A few shots, a few yuks. Then the inevitable segue to the topic of courage.
My best take: you never knew when it was real or just moonshine to impress other people.
Pat’s best take: you know when you’re scared, but do what you’re scared of anyway–nobody else can ever know.
Fritzie’s best take: give the world what it respects to get you what you want, and keep close watch on your balls when nobody’s looking.
Time schizzing by–this fine L.A. winter fading out breezy.
Sol called and hit the brakes: _Daddy-O_ was set to go four days hence.
The word flashed:
Mastermind/Scalper/Rapist to Victims–forty-eight hours until kidnap morning.
11.
Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick.
Leigh left for the DMV early.