“Fran's in fine form,” the director commented. “As for your friend, he's my new superstar. Terrific.” Alec prattled on happily while Fran and Matt wrote their own expert scenario. As you know if you finally did get around to renting that Polaroid, a 69ing couple simply will not respond to direction. Orders coming at them from above make them nervous. A nervous 69er is a potential biter. So Alec's direction per se was minimal. He just repeated occasionally, “Keep sucking, kids.”
They kept at it, and Alec kept smiling, and I kept raising the figure I'd demand for my buddy's participation. Abruptly, nature took its revenge. Writing finis to a spectacular production.
The sun went down, and the rain started.
Fran and Matt turned out to be sissies. When the rain came, they stopped coming. They scurried for shelter. At a more leisurely pace, Alec and I followed them to the cabin.
Luckily, Debbie had parked with the nearest neighbors. Her tender years would have won her but feeble protection, if any. Hell, a babe in a bassinet would have gotten herself goosed in that overcrowded cabin, if not impregnated.
In no time at all, the bare majority of the inmates had paired off. Fran with her youthful admirer, Davey with his blonde. That left two husky studs and one fat producer. The latter grumbled impatiently, “C'mon, the day's shot. Let's get back to the hotel.”
“Why don't you go, darling, and leave me here?” Fran suggested. “You could pick me up tomorrow or the next day.”
“Yeah,” Davey looked up from contemplation of his beloved's box. “I'll stay, too. Pick us up one day next week.”
Matt, the reluctant host, saw where the land lay. “Got room in the car for me, Mr. Holmes?” he asked, his heart and his voice breaking simultaneously.
Poor guy! I couldn't remember if Tessie was on duty, but surely one or two transients had checked in during the day. “I've got a girl for you, Matt,” I promised, like a Jewish mother. Considerably cheered, Matt joined us and we dashed out to the car. Leaving the lovebirds to experiment with the 472 known variations for friendly foursomes, and to devise 472 new ones.
Tessie the chambermaid was on duty. So Tessie did double duty, garnering generous overtime. Alec and I allowed Matt first crack. As we waited, watching, I suggested that the director schlep out his camera. But Alec declared loftily, “I'm on vacation.”
I hadn't seen the hippo in heat before. Neither Fran nor Beth ever managed to produce a bulge in the producer's pants. Now, staring down at Tessie… if he was wearing pants they'd be bulging prodigiously. What was the chambermaid's special allure, I wondered.
“I dig blacks,” Alec confessed, with the belligerent expression males assume when they're describing their preferences. “Jet black cunt smothered in a nest of pomaded pussy hair!” He smacked his lips. “Delicious! Black is more than just beautiful. Black is sublime. Black is where it's at, man. Why, my own wife back in Montclair is a nigger!”
The next day was not my day off. I sneaked out the side entrance, then had Matt phone the office to tell them I was taking sick leave.
“I spoke to some quim,” Matt reported, later. “She hopes you feel better 'cause you'll be busy tomorra. Somethin' about polishing somethin'. Oh yeah, an' she said next time you're sick, you can use the front door. Special permission. Gee, Doug, she sounded like a muff with a grudge against ya.”
Carla didn't like me enough to have a grudge against me. Let her do the polishing! The sun was bright this morning. Today I'd act my ass off.
The cabin door swung on its rusty hinges although no one answered our greetings. Matt wasn't alarmed.
“We never bother to lock the door in these parts,” he reminded me. “Who's gonna steal what? Once someone walked in an' left a dollar on the table. Mighta been charily. Or maybe it was for Beth. Lotsa guys-strangers-think she does it for money.”
We explored the grounds. Not a living creature on the premises. The only sound was Alec's grumbling. In single file, frowning, we returned to the cabin.
Matt was the one who found the letters. A sheaf of letters, ranging from the illegible to the ridiculous. All tucked under the pillow. Twelve sheets of paper, one separate letter to each of us from the quartet we had left the night before. I thought they'd spend their time balling. Instead, they were busy with ballpoints.
Mall passed out the correspondence, like Santa under the tree distributing Christmas presents. Some presents! I never read the messages addressed to Alec and my buddy. Those written to me were enough reading matter for the summer. The first missive started out forbiddingly:
Mr. D. Trent
Dear Sir,
I am eloping with the woman I love. You can keep my job at the Prescott. Fran and I aim to start a new life somewhere. Please don't try to trace us.
Ernest Jenkins
Beth limited herself to two unwieldy sentences:
Doug darling, I love you and Matt but I think I love Davey better, so goodbye and thanks for bringing him in my life, HI never forget you and maybe if you would a stuck around more I wouldn't be leaving.
We're going far away and never coming back and we're taking little Debbie with us, so please, Doug dear, don't try to trace us.
There were fewer crossed out words in Fran's farewell note. The message was the same though:
Wish us luck! I'm so happy! Ernie can give me what I've yearned for since my brother peddled me to his schoolmates' hot young pricks. Apologize for me to poor Alec. I'll miss him and I'll miss you, lover.
The four of us are going to stick together for a while. That way it's more convenient for swapping. One last favor, darling, please don't try to trace us.
Love and kisses, Mrs. E. Jenkins (soon, I hope)
Davey's blunt scrawl covered both sides of the page. As always, he offered helpful information:
Incest is a mug's game, kid. From now on, I'm strictly Beth's guy. I wouldn't think of screwing my sister unless Beth's got the rag on or something. Soon as it gets light we're picking up Debbie and starting out. Debbie is my new step-dawter. Goodbye, kid. Don't try to trace us.
Your friend, David P. Renfrew
P.S. Remind Alec to send what he owes us c/o Hotel Harrisburger, Harrisburg, Pa.
I wiped my eyes and forehead so I wouldn't have to look at the others. Alec appeared to be stunned. “My production!” he moaned, brokenly.
“My plans!” Matt groaned, unexpectedly.
I wondered what nefarious plans Fran had averted by fleeing. Matt's schemes, however, centered on another young lady.
“I had great plans for Debbie,” Matt informed us. “I was bringing her up like a father. Giving her a father's love. Just till shed sprout some hair on her-”
“Incest's a mug's game, Matt!”
Bereft of his superstars, Alec made a speedy recovery. “I guess you feel pretty low now, Matt,” he said, sympathetically. “Believe me, by tonight you'll forget those bitches, both of them.”
“Three of 'em, including Debbie,” Matt amended. “Did you say I'm gonna forget 'em?”
“Certainly. You're going to travel farther and faster than they ever will.”
“I am?”
“Certainly. There's nothing to keep you here. I'm taking you to New York. You'll be my Number One Superstar. I have contacts, son. Once you have a few movies under your belt, I'll send you out on housecalls. Every night-days too if you want. You'll be beating up the richest masos in the free world, balling the most glamorous chicks-”
“Gee, I couldn't afford anything like that. I-”
“They will pay you. You'll have everything-money, cars, fame. You'll live in a penthouse. Think you'd like that?”
“Yeah,” Matt sniffed, suspiciously, “but that penthouse-Is a penthouse like a sorta cabin?”