Bruce Wagner - Dead Stars

Michael said, “Who was it that said ‘comedy is tragedy, plus time’?”

Bud looked it up on his iPhone while Michael excused himself to the restroom. Well, it was either Woody Allen or Carol Burnett, which probably meant neither. Other quotes were “If it bends, it’s comedy. If it breaks, it isn’t” and “Life is a tragedy in close-up, a comedy in long-shot.” Bud racked his brain. He knew Michael was right , but realized their conversation would need to have a sequel, at another time; he didn’t want to overstay his query. Michael returned to the table.

“OK, fucking brilliant . I’m not sure exactly how I’m going to apply it — I need to reframe —but this whole world just opened up. Do you think we can have just one more talk about this? I mean, once I figure it out? Just to run past you?”

“Sure. Anytime.”

“Because now I’m thinking the river can be in an amusement park. Like a Pirates of the Caribbean ride…”

“Ha! That’s good!”

Bud felt a flush of excitement, that feeling of worthiness, that he & Michael were peers in the same trade.

“And if you fall off the ride, you enter this other world—”

“It’s great, Bud. It’s like Miyazaki. Spirited Away …”

He made a mental note to watch the masterful animated film; he’d never gotten around to seeing it.

“Michael, thank you! I mean, thank you for everything. ”

“We’re writers, Bud. That’s what writers do, we talk to each other. We steal from each other. You’d do the same for me.”

Bud’s eyes drifted to the half-eaten croissant on his friend’s plate.

“Can I tear off a piece of that? All I want is a tiny bite.”

“I’m all done.”

“Are you sure?”

“Go for it.”

“You’re sure you don’t mind?”

How to Fix A Fatal Error

After

the Courage Ball, Telma couldn’t stop throwing up. Gwen took her to the doctor and he started an IV because she was dehydrated. They put her in one of the examination rooms, & Gwen sat with her as she slept.

At home, she was listless. She stayed in bed, skyping with Biggie. She wouldn’t talk to or even text or email anyone else. A messenger came to pick up a letter but Telma told her mom she didn’t have any letter. When Khloé Kardashian was told there wasn’t, she thought there must be some miscommunication. She got Gwen’s number from Tiff Koster & called to ask what was happening. Gwen told Khloé her daughter had been sick, and would need to take a raincheck. Khloé asked if she could say a quick hello but when Gwen told Telma who was on the line her daughter said to please tell her I’m asleep . A bouquet of flowers was delivered later that day, from all the Kardashians. Written on the envelope was to Telma, from Kris . Telma never opened it.

. .

On the day everything was to be settled, Gwen and Phoebe talked on the phone. The meeting was just after lunch. This time there would be no doctors, only lawyers from opposing sides.

“What did your attorney say?”

“That I shouldn’t be there. That I should just stay home & let him handle it. That he’d call from the meeting if he needed to talk to me.”

“And so?”

“Ain’t gonna happen. I’ll be there, with bells on.”

“And you’re going to talk to her after?”

“As soon as it’s done.”

“Sure you don’t want me to be there?”

Gwen nodded. “I’ll be OK. This is something I need to do for her, and for me. I need to have the courage she’s had all this time. And Telma needs to see me being strong.”

“Well… call me. After. OK, hon?”

Without warning, they cried together, a brief downpour through the wire— to the limit, to the wall— a summer storm. They still managed to get a few laughs off before hanging up.

On her way to Century City, Gwen went upstairs to give her daughter a kiss. Telma sat up in bed asleep, the computer on her lap, one stilled hand on the keyboard.

Gwen looked at the screen and saw what she assumed to be Biggie’s bedroom. She startled when he lumbered in from off-camera & sat down at his desk. (Gwen ducked out of frame.) She watched from afar; he was engrossed online while Telma slept. It was so obvious that the two were calmed by each other’s presence. There was something so sad and so sweet about it. Gwen stroked Telma’s cheek with the back of her hand, then kissed her brow; Biggie’s gaze subtly shifted in time to see it. At this moment— just this moment —Telma was an innocent, but the age of innocence was coming to a close. A new age and new time would soon begin. Gwen prayed for the strength to face it.

She prayed for them both.

Animal House

Rikki

had his cock in Montana Fishburne’s ass & was grateful to Jerzy for giving him the Viagra because he was so loaded he’d never have been able to get it up plus he thought he’d be too shy or somehow disturbed to be fucking in front of people, he’d never done that before & wasn’t sure his dick would even work in that type of situation plus he was never in a gangbang either. The tailend of that If poem he memorized for school got stuck in his head “… and which is more, you’ll be a man, my son!”

To every season, turn turn turn the fuck OVER.

The weed had something in it; or maybe the meth , he heard & SAW things, nothing too heavy. It wasn’t all bad but it wasn’t all good, which more or less described the experience of plugging Montana Fishburne’s shit chute. Plus knowing Ree was up stairs was another bit of a hard-off… not cause he worried she might come down, which she wouldn’t , it was just the just knowing of it — that she was up there — that was weird. But everything was effin weird today.

. .

Jerzy went over his booty from the Hilton honeyshot! s.

… a veritable motherlode, a motherdaughterload, motherdaughtershootyourload. All the stinkle ladies nearest & dearest to Harry’s abnormal signified & represented, or should he say presented, as in young pussycat baboonettes: Hailee, Chloë, Elle. He’d tell Harry to pony up 15K for the lot, & Harry’d give it to him too, because Jerzy had dared in drug-besotted boldness to fuck with the Hailee honeypot, dared to photoshop a tampon string, perfect & undetectable in its digi-fakery, reflecting the unutterably ineffable influence of the darkside of the moon. That would be the tipping point, & allow J to demonstrate his Trojan Magnumnimity by offering it at a rate , just 150 yards …

Dirty Harry would no doubt Sinatra-serenade his thanks:

… got the world on a string, sittin on a rainbow——

In the midst of his photocumshot labors, the crotchety crotcherazzo found himself on the horniness of a dillemmawatson.

After sliding out of a hybrid SUV, a little girl approached him at the Hilton while Jerzy was in the thick of it, the fur was starting to fly, somewhere between Elle & Chloë. The kid strode right up and said Hi! like she was family then reminded him how they’d met a few months ago outside of Sur, she was that gleek with the funny old/young look hanging around waiting for gleesters to come in & out while Mom was across the street shopping. The naggy kid chastised him again about not being on Facebook then said all would be forgiven if he took her pic, which he did, causing a bit of rubbernecking amongst tourists congregated on the other side of the glass inside the lobby of the hotel. The fuss — that she seemed to be “someone” (which of course she was, but only in KancerWorld , & not yet in the rest of the world, where she of course would be, soon enough (was just what the little gal wanted, & he’d been happy to oblige).