The strange shall we say circumstances added to his discomfort & budding mild paranoia. He & Montana were having a normal conversate like any 2 people who just met would or might, the peculiar a$$peck of course being they could/would be interrupted any moment by a person/persons unknown ordering them to enter a zituation wherein he would inevitably be placing/ramming his dick into her mouth, pussy or a$$-ho while other gentlemen he did not know (and had not had the pleasure yet of conversating with or introdoucheing himself) would be doing the same.
“So you were going to be in my dad/s movie?”
“Yeah.”
“Who were you going to play?”
“The orphan boy who pretends to be a child soldier.”
“That’s a big part!”
“Yeah.”
“Like what happened.”
“I read my scene with your dad.”
“You did? Well you must/ve got pretty far. Now I’m impressed.”
“I read w/ Michael Douglas too.”
“You read with dad and Gordon Gekko? You the man! Were you nervous you musta been nervous. I know I’da been.”
“I guess. Do you ever get nervous? doing movies?”
“O I think every actress does — every artist. I think something/s wrong if you don’t. Because it doesn’t matter what your medium is: acting or painting or writing, doing porn or being a sculptor… it’s all pretty much the same. & the artists are the ones — we’re the ones who put ourselves out there, we put everything on the line. & I don’t think that ever gets easier.”
A boy-looking girl with a clipboard came over.
“We’re good to go, Montana. Need body makeup?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re squirtin on this one,” said boygirl, a crooked little unsmile.
“OH! Oh shit—okay…”
“We have tons of towels.”
“You got towels?” said chirpy Chippy, in her best worst Barbadian Barbie accent, a Rihannabe. “Now all we need is a radio, sand, & sunscreen.”
. .
Tom-Tom & Phil dropped by the poolhouse. (The blow-ups once on the wall had been bubble-wrapped & stacked/stored in the garage.) Jerzy was watching TV; Nicki Minaj just got Punk’d, which confused & surprised him because he didn’t think the show was even on anymore. Maybe at this point it was self-generating.
“Did you know,” he said, “that human beings were meant to gestate for 12 months?… the 4th trimester. But women’s hips can’t handle it. Duh! Design flaw!”
She asked Jerzy how he was doing, & he said, “It’s a numbers game.” Tom-Tom said that Dr Phil had the cool idea of staging an intervention & she wished he would please consider for her sake because they were shooting inside a week and thus far all she had confirmed were Dr Phil & the schmigolo, and a raft of thin promises from 2nd&3rd-string players off Supermarket Sweep, Shedding for the Wedding, Little People Big World, Can You Duet? and Find My Family, plus maybe a fired, acne-pitted queen from Hair Battle Spectacular.
“You don’t even have to go. To rehab. We’ll get shots of you on a plane or a minivan, whatever, then say, you know, ‘after 4 days, he relapsed & is now living back on Mt Olympus.’”
“Sure.”
“Sure? Like in yes? Well no shit that’s no fun. I thought you’d at least have offered up a little resistance. Jeez, Phil, he really does need a frickin intervention!”
. .
The $500 money order from Rikki’s fostermom came & Ree gave it to Rikki to go cash but somehow it wound up with Tom-Tom who told Reeyonna “your accounts have been credited for amounts past due.” (She never even remotely knew about the 2K her mom laid on her, tho Jerzy planned one day to repay her out of Gagosian funds.) ReeRee had to eat it because she was still wary of being thrown off Mt. O, which would have put a serious crimp in things, & been deleterious too, at this point, in her baby bumpitude. When Tom-Tom made the amounts past due remark, ReeRee responded w/a simple, vacant “Thank you” that if not dripping in sarcasm was damp enough. Tom-Tom said, Hey I kicked $50 back to Rikki so don’t say I got no 
. Why don’t you use it to buy something for the baby—T2’s line delivery of the last, if not dripping, most assuredly wet. Ree said “How did you even cash it?” “Friends in low places. Teehee.”
Reeyonna was depresso-sleeping in Bolt’s shitty old room, which smelled like Bolt, Betty White mothballs & sick catshit. Or maybe Bolt smelled like Milk Duds, catshit & sick Betty White. Tom-Tom decided to make a political move because after Jerzy agreed to his intervention, Double T suddenly had what she thought was her own stupendously brilliant brainstorm (even tho it was Reeyonna’s) of doing a Teen Mom-type deal w/Rikki & Ree. T2 couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it before, it was so right there in front of her nose, a fat, catshit-smelling cash cow waddling around right there in front of her nostrilarium. & when Reeyonna heard it she didn’t even have the energy to say I told you that shit a fuckin month ago.
“Here’s two-fifty”—she peeled off the bills—“if you agree to be in the shoot this week.” (Like, how would they not.) “& there’s another $250 waiting for you plus I’ll waive the rent you owe. Which, if you add it all up, is something like a 35-hundred-dollar package. Hey as your brother said, ‘It’s a numbers game!’ So think about it. But tell me soon or I’m gunna have to move you out & move other folks in.”
. .
On top of her now. It’s all good. Grinding her. The booty bump on the break seems to have rallied all other hallucinogens/narco-intoxicants/beans&benzos into a huge crowd that fills a town square, ready for its leader to appear. Is she still golden-glowing? Yeah but it was all good… just a week ago… where’s the camera? At the moment, the lens is trained on her face — pulling a train — for her fuck yeah! closeup before drifting down to the foul coal-fueled engines of the ship, dark bloodswollen mechanism that gives the vessel life & speed, multiple shovels shoveling, never letting the fires go out, never allowing the wound time to close.
There’s another camera down there too, exclusively for the genital area, it does not drift up, reserved solely for cuntfucking CUs plus showing the asshole full or empty some see the ass ½ empty, some see it ½ full Mr Cleanwax’d & surrounded by pimply hillocks/errant ingrowns, hey Chippy D get on THIS ingrown——now there’s a guy (fat, white) with his dick in her mouth so she can’t say “fuck yeah!” cause it’s poor manners to talk with food in yr mouth, now the director tells her to lay on her side, Bolt’s right beside Joey von spermberg wearing a very serious look, like he’s either learning or mentoring… she makes the adjustment & is now on her side, everyone has to make a little adjustment & settle in, all these hardons suddenly like a bunch of baby commas thrown off the sentence teat now having to wigglefight their way back, fight for the teat/holes, even the cameraman adjusting to the new light & angles, whatever, & part of Rikki’s adjustment is he balances himself a little, holding her left leg up by the ankle like you would an animal’s during a veterinary procedure, the director loves it because they hate when porn