The Trickster Diaries/Chapter 56
I’d gotten off on the directing experience. The intensity of it. The creativity. The control and lack of control. The accidents and intrusions. Nothing threw me off course. Not even Candy.
“It’s been like… a MONTH since I’ve had sex!” she declared one day as the two of us walked back to her car, finally done with a scene in gorgeous green backcountry near Ryan Mountain in JTNP. Then, “You just don’t know how wonderful it is working with you. I mean it.” She stopped walking. “Will you kiss me?”
She’d turned 20 that May. She was Playboy centerfold luscious. That neck. Those lips, tits, legs. For a split second I didn’t care about STDs or her crystal meth mule history or her grandmother’s schizophrenia. But…
Me: Do you remember the last time we said goodbye at my house? How we embraced? How I got a boner? I know you felt it. You went: ‘Hmmm…’
Candy: Well YEAH. I liked it.
Me: I liked your leg, obviously. Thing is, if we kissed, it wouldn’t be just a kiss.
I guided her straight brown hair with my left hand so that it stuck behind her ear, then gently cupped her face. Her right hand circled my forearm. She kissed my palm. “Baby, understand,” I said. “There just can’t be any actor/director romance thing going on till this film’s done.”
Candy: And then?
Me: And then I want you to surprise me. Just show up some night with a bottle of wine, a little Humbolt County, a little black dress?
She insisted, after that, we stop by Theatre 29, in 29 Palms, where an old boyfriend was playing the beast in Beauty and the Beast. They met at intermission and talked. I stood by the car, smoking.
Later that day I introduced her to Bruce. “If you’re going to be involved in post production music stuff,” I said, “this is the cat you’ll be working with.”
Bruce, short of Maimie Van Doren drive-in movies, had never in his life, his real life, seen a girl who looked like Candy. His moves didn’t work. She disappeared after a half mug of Pabst.
Disappeared. Car gone. The phone rang three hours later. Bruce took the call. It was the beast. She’s leaving now, he said, to pick up Rico.
I howled. “Thank god! She’s got her rocks off, or whatever it is girls get off.”
Bruce: Yeah. However that works. If only like, when they cum, maybe if malt liquor shot out of their nipples or something.
So funny I almost threw up.
Then she came, (or arrived, rather). Relaxed.
Me: Um, listen, appreciate you stopping by, you know, the ride home and everything…
Candy: Are you drunk?
Me: Getting there.
Candy: Ready to go?
Me: Uh, no. Bruce and I are going to hang out.
She hugged me. Same squishy pelvic action as before. Same “Hmmm…”
Maybe she hadn’t gotten her rocks off.
Either way it was goodnight. Ultimately it was goodbye. We spoke on the phone a few weeks later. She wasn’t interested in doing any vocal work on the film’s soundtrack. She was rushed. Off to buy a wedding dress.
Not the beast’s child but some guy she’d met right after.