Bruce Wagner - Dead Stars

“See,” said Harry. “Sometimes it feels like hit & miss. You think the night’s a bust. You get home, fix yourself a drink, & stare at your navel. But then you play it back & see : that big paycheck of blow-dried pussy, so fresh, monied and young! Coddled, cosseted & guarded for fucking years by parents, handlers, agents, lawyers, personal managers, publicists. . but now it’s yours for the taking . Know how we bagged Emma? She let her guard down. That simple. Would’ve happened sooner or later, ain’ no stopping it. Sooner or later the hairpie will be placed in the bakery display case. Cause once they’re legal, I don’t sleep till we got it. Can’t sleep or eat, can’t even shit . See, cause know I’m on it. And they didn’t even used to have to even think about this shit, streetside celebrity piss flap shots didn’t even exist until THE HONEYSHOT! came along. I’m the pioneer. And as smart as they were, Emma’s people weren’t on it. . . who can blame em? I mean to know that someone was lying in wait to skate your sacrosanct client’s stink rink — we used to call it the ‘wizard’s sleeve’—well Jesus! — Hermione Granger slid out of backseats a million times without incident, why would there have been any incidences, all my single ladies have! But comes a time they cum of age. . . . & they’re distracted. Maybe they just had a fight with the boyfriend, just hung up, & now they’re stepping out of the limo for the premiere… or maybe they were just watching a video of supermodels falling on the runway, maybe they’re even a little stoned —or they weren’t talking to the boyfriend, they were just thinking about him, maybe things aren’t going so well or maybe they’re going too well, maybe they’re thinking about dick, cause a lot of my single ladies have been getting dick’d since they were 13, I can guarantee you that, nothing wrong with it, I don’t pass judgment on my girls, kids grow up quicker these days especially in show biz but a girl like Emma , a good girl, upper class — upper class with a lower crust! — maybe she only just started getting dicked, maybe only even like just a few weeks before her 18th, so maybe right before she’s about to step out of the car she’s thinking about getting a little more. After the premiere, or whenever. Which is a lot to be thinking about. There are other potentially distracting states of mind. Like maybe one of my single ladies is a little remorseful she didn’t take Petra Ecclestone up on wanting to throw her a boffo 18th, with Kanye & whomever, & deadmau5 DJing. Because they didn’t really even know Petra that well. But maybe it would have been a goof to have had the party at the old Spelling mansion instead of just with friends & family. These are the quality of problems accorded my single ladies. Or maybe they’re wondering about the burning lately when they pee, if it’s chlamydia or maybe their throat’s a little sore & they’re paranoid about maybe having smoked a New Year’s sparkler with HPV or who knows they could be beating themselves up for not having listened to management & waiting till they were 21 but just going for it and dressing like a sick whore for a Maxim shoot. . . . or maybe they’re pondering what it’s like to get fucked up the ass, which, no offense, might even cross the mind of a gal like Emma who hasn’t maybe been getting dick that long, how can we know what’s in the mind of Mrs. Weasley? I doubt if it’s Emma’s thing, but that don’t mean she’s never fancied taking it in the mugglerump, please keep in mind that all the single ladies usually do go thru a somewhat rebellious phase, after all those years of being branded and pimped , it wouldn’t surprise me if they spent a month trying it, fucked in the starfish, could be a bucket list thing for girls these days. . who knows, maybe right before they leave the Town Car they were cogitating about the rumor that Lea Michele only likes it up the ass and is saving her pussy for marriage — that’s one of those urban myths, every few years there’s some rumor about a starlet who only takes it in the ass, now it’s Lea, Selena Gomez, and Jennifer Lawrence, I remember when it was Sarah Michelle Gellar & Jennifer Love Hewitt and before that it was Sarah Jessica & Kyra Sedgwick I think… Jesus, I’m getting myself horny now, I’m thinking about Hailee Steinfeld about to climb out of a Bentley shifting those Jewish animal haunches on the seat—

oh oh oh -

& still:

he can remember

(like it was yesterday) when his dear dear Emma, when dear Emma got out of the back of the Maybach

oooooo

slither-leathersliding

Slip-Sliding-Away (Harry loved to sing that song) over the expensively slaughteredskin seats, but that maneuver (just getting out of the fucking car!) has never been an elegant thing for homo s’apes, you may as well still be getting out of a horse & buggy, but who gives a shit if it’s elegant ’cause it was never hyperscrutinized. . . until NOW ——no easy solution not unless handlers hang up sheets to shield the celeb til they’re out of the papsmear-free zone, same as it ever was, at least until some engineer thinks to make a seat that pneumatically telescopes out the back onto the sidewalk then slowly tilts like those geriatric TV Guide La-Z-Boys, it ain’t like GM’s gunna get right on it, but until somebody did, Harry’s Heroes would keep stirrin’ the honeypot & smoking the cracks, exercising their rights in this great Uptonian upskirt democracy.

Harry had no patience for the truculent managers and hypocrite PR flaks who tried to put him down when the truth was he respected those kids more than their handlers. They were shown from an early age how to be ladylike when leaving a car but now, in the ticking weeks before each one’s 18th, all the single ladies had to have that embarrassing parental/management office conversation about the birds and the papsmearazzi bees, you know, one by one, all the Hailees and the Bailees and the Chloës, Mackenzies, Abigails & Olivias were told to be mindful to cover the goods with whatever was handy — Missoni scarf or Prada/Hermès/Chanel clutch held discreetly just so to make sure the unmentionables wouldn’t be mentioned in the global conversation. What was so great about Emma’s virgin frontgryffindoor honeyshot, unmentionably so, wasn’t merely the hosiery (which Harry internet I.D.’d as a seamless silicone-beaded cat-girlish Wolford bodysuit. Emma was a Wolford/Smythson/Burberry Prorsum lass), the unmentionably perfect thing was, Harry got her by fluke , it was a new-hire schlep in the right place at the right time tho not yet fully trained, one of those sophomore in high school kids Harry liked to break in because the s let their guards down when they saw them, “He was a newbie just like you, Jerzy Shores”—his nickname for him & Jerzy took it because it could have been so much worse—“the newbie didn’t actually think he got the honeyshot! The newbie thought it was a FAIL but I knew better, I had this feeling… ” So he took the kid’s camera for a little late-night alone-time in the privacy of his bedroom & gorged on the the iMage, gorged, enlarged it & engorged—— and and and and an . . . . . . . . . . . O O O oooooooooooo— there— there— perfect English rose, wilding of heathery soap-scrubbed slit hair, peach of an unimpeachable patch sequestered behind Santa Maria Novella-powdered briefs, dampish twittering #tagged coming-out panties, evocative (to Harry, such were his passions) of mulch-dank Lake District moors, “or shall I say s’mores, ” a perfectly manicured mons that never saw nor ever thought it would the light of online-day————————but no no no! what was unmentionably mentionably awesome about Hermione’s honeyshot! was that once in a blue moon, an unsuspecting, very fortunate papsmearazzo captures the honeyshot! holy Grail: that epiphany of smushed candlewick, the sanitary napkin — a rara avis indeed! Early bird caught the worm— tail of the kite — by my word , Lord Middleton almost had a attack when he saw it, for never in his wildest dreams — his Hermione!