Chapter 5 #2
I vaguely wonder what happened to Shelley as Krissy breaks the kiss and leans over me to start making out with Pam. Someone’s sticky and unskilled hand clumsily grabs the shaft of my cock. Harvey stands, getting up from the mattress and helps the woman up too.
Then I see he’s not with a woman. He’s with a man.
A man with a dark beard, wearing long, false lashes that skim over Harvey’s cheek as he leans in to whisper in Harvey’s ear.
I’m still dizzy, but my dick begins to swell.
Pam bends down to put her mouth on it, and Krissy grabs my head to kiss me again.
I watch over Krissy’s shoulder as the guy with the lashes sinks to his knees.
He gazes at Harvey with a sly smile on painted lips as he tugs at the fly on Harvey’s pants.
With an unspoken signal, Krissy and Pam switch.
Krissy starts sucking me off and Pam turns my head to kiss.
I can’t see what’s happening behind me, but I try to picture it.
My mind is hazy, but I still try to sketch the scene: Harvey putting his hand on the guy’s head, his lips parting, and sliding his cock between them.
My hips buck, and my cock gets harder in Krissy’s hot, wet mouth. They switch again, so now I can look over Krissy’s shoulder. Harvey’s standing with the guy on his knees. There’s not enough light down here, and they’re angled so I can see the guy’s head moving, but not what he has in his mouth.
Harvey grabs the guy’s head with both hands. His hips move faster, fucking his mouth. And the other guy is just letting him do it. I slide my tongue in and out of Krissy’s mouth and tangle my fingers in Pam’s hair. My balls are tingling, and I thrust into her mouth and pull on her hair.
Harvey’s head drops back, eyes closed, mouth open, and he’s going to come. He’s going to come down that guy’s throat. Then his eyes open, his head turns, and his gaze locks with mine.
I groan into Krissy’s mouth and come hard down Pam’s throat.
Pam pulls off my dick and wipes her lips. “You didn’t warn me.”
After the last throes of my orgasm are over, I look down. I have spots of cum all over me now. Pam wipes one of her hands on the rubber couch, and Krissy looks me over, placing a hand over her mouth and giggling.
“Sorry. We’ll clean you up,” she says.
They go somewhere, and I feel like dizzy gelatin. I place a hand over my chest. My heart is beating like a bass drum.
I look for Harvey, but he’s not there.
He’s gone.
June 1978
The first time I saw Harvey Laden in the flesh was at my sixteenth birthday party.
I didn’t invite him.
Bonnie, Floyd, the editors of Teen Street, and the producers of the show were all in on it, and that included the guest list. That was the birthday when Bonnie and Floyd bought me a cherry-red Jaguar with a tape deck installed.
They parked it out front where everyone would see it.
It was only a few months later that I saw Harvey driving around in the same exact car.
It felt like he was copying off me and daring me to call him out.
But that night, I felt on top of the world.
I probably gloated a little bit. What sixteen-year-old guy wouldn’t?
The other guys there whistled at my new set of wheels and wanted a peek inside.
Bonnie took Polaroids of me posing with it.
Floyd got out the Super 8 and had me slide into the driver’s seat and wave.
They made a big fuss. I was the star of the evening, the envy of every teenage guy there.
A hot car, a hot chick on my arm named Margie, and a hot and happening party to celebrate.
Then Harvey walked through the door.
Heads turned, and excited chatter picked up.
I felt surprised, and a little flattered, that he showed up.
He’d just released an album, and one of the songs sat in the top twenty in the US and the top ten in the UK.
I figured he’d be on tour or something. It was about time The Boy Next Door and The Bad Boy met each other for real.
He arrived with Gayle Richardson. She was on the cover of Seventeen the month before.
He walked into my birthday party, surveying the room with that look he always wore.
Indifferent, neutral, but kind of arrogant.
Almost like a bored prince, unimpressed with his kingdom and all the subjects in it.
He wore a black suit with a white shirt underneath.
I wore a white suit with a black shirt underneath. We looked like yin and yang.
I was distracted after that. It’s obvious in the film Floyd took how much my demeanor changed.
The confidence I’d had shrunk into nerves and self-consciousness.
For so long, he’d been this distant mythical creature whose image appeared next to mine in a magazine.
Then he was in my home, as real as anyone else.
I waited for him to come say something to me—hi, nice to meet you, happy birthday, nice ride—and I tried to move into his line of sight to make it easier for him to approach me.
As the evening wore on, he acted more and more like we’d all gathered in my home for him, like it was his party.
He was aloof and hardly looked my way. I didn’t get it.
I drank punch spiked with vodka and pouted by the pool.
When I went back to the punch bowl to get more for me and Margie, I accidentally splashed red punch on the crotch of my white pants. It looked like I pissed myself. I grabbed some napkins to wipe it off, and when I looked up, Harvey stood in front of me.
I opened my mouth to say something, explain, laugh it off, but nothing came out. He looked at my wet crotch and said, “How’s it hanging, Hollywood?”
By the time I responded “what?” he’d walked off, laughing.
That was it. That was the entire conversation—the very first one I had with Harvey Laden.
I went upstairs to my bedroom, and Margie eventually found me.
I showed her the mess, and she said I should change clothes.
She’d also said she was on the pill. I locked the door and we had clumsy sex on my bed while the party went on downstairs.
I thought about everyone I knew being downstairs right below us.
I thought about Harvey Laden being down there too.
We went back to the party later, no longer virgins, and my satisfaction faded when I saw Harvey and Gayle had left.
I wasn’t completely truthful with a tipsy Bonnie and Floyd when they asked at half past two in the morning if I’d had fun.
I’d scored a groovy set of wheels, thrown a huge party, and gotten laid all in one night. What could I say?
The interaction with Harvey had left me unsettled. It created an itch inside me that I couldn’t quite scratch; a bruise that didn’t hurt enough when pressed. I wanted that feeling to go away, and every time I saw him after that, it got worse. Years later, it’s still here.
Like right now, as I carefully chew some toast with a sore jaw that radiates pain into my nose. The cause of it is sitting across from me. At least I get the satisfaction of looking at that well-deserved shiner I gave him.
“Take a picture,” Harvey says in between bites, “it’ll last longer.”
“Hey, brother.” A guy with a cast on his arm and a sparse mustache stands next to our table. “You want to come sit with me?” He says it directed at Harvey, then gives him a not-so-subtle wink.
Harvey smirks and glances at me. “I can’t.”
The other guy does too. “Oh, shit, really? You gotta eat with him? That blows.”
“I’m sitting right here,” I say as the guy walks off making kissy noises. “Want me to break your other arm?”
“Goddamn, Hollywood. Take it easy. He doesn’t mean anything. He’s kind of a ditz.”
“Don’t talk to me,” I mutter.
“Why?” He tilts his head to the side with a smirk on his face. “Didn’t sleep well?”
No, I didn’t. I don’t think I slept at all.
My jaw and nose were hurting, and I hadn’t brought anything for it.
We weren’t allowed to bring a single pill onto the property.
And then there was knowing Harvey was buck naked on the other side of the room.
I knew what he was doing, trying to get to me, to set me off, but I’m not going to let him.
He’s trying to bait me into hitting him again, like he always does, so I get thrown out and he wins. Not gonna happen.
“Good morning.” Canyon approaches our table. He’s wearing another tie-dyed shirt with some patchwork pants. He told me yesterday he makes the pants himself. “And how do we feel today?”
Harvey says “just groovy” at the same time I say “like shit.”
“Wonderful. Well, after you two finish breakfast, Timber will be out front waiting for you. We’ve got something for you fellas to do.”
“Are we gonna fight to the death?” Harvey asks.
Canyon ignores him. “Don’t worry, it’s all kosher. I’ll check you two later.” He flashes a peace sign and walks off.
I need to visit the doctor again after breakfast. If you can call him that.
When I got here the other night, Canyon took me into a little room that looked more like a witch’s kitchen than a doctor’s office.
A CPR poster was on the wall and a first aid kit, but that was all I recognized.
He’s an older guy with long graying hair, and he told me to call him Cloud.
He took all my vitals and asked me questions about my drug use.
He explained what might happen withdrawing from cocaine and pills, mentioning I might have some aggression.
He gave me some herbal tablet he said would help.
I didn’t take it. I probably should have.
Yesterday, he gave me a couple of aspirin for my nose after confirming it wasn’t broken. I’ll need to get some more from him.
So, that’s the situation. I’m on a hippie farm in a hick town so I can get on a TV show, with a painful busted nose from Harvey Laden, and the only person who can help me is an old man named Cloud.
It’s great.