Bruce Wagner - Dead Stars

“When is that?”

“Mom, do you have Alzheimer’s?”

“That’s not very nice.”

“Mom, you’re on the committee . I’m going to perform .”

“O! That snuck up so fast….”

“Mom, we’ve been talking about it. I’ve been rehearsing .”

“I’ve missed the last few meetings—”

“Steve Martin is hosting! Mom, you love Steve Martin! & they’re giving an award to Michael . Michael Douglas . And O my God, Rihanna!”

“It’s going to be an amazing evening.”

“Ratchet! You don’t seem very excited.”

“I have a headache, that’s all.”

“Mommy?”

“What, honey.”

“I’m sorry I asked if you had Alzheimer’s.”

“It really didn’t bother me, sweetheart.”

“ Good. Anyway, we get two extra tickets & I thought it would be nice to ask Biggie Brainard. I mean, not that he couldn’t get a ticket himself . Because he like owns the whole hospital . I thought it would be nice for him to come with.”

“It’s very nice. Very thoughtful.”

“Can I give the other ticket to Phoebe when she comes over? Don’t you think that’s a good idea, Mom? Don’t you think Phoebe would want to come?”

Scripted Reality

Rikki

got an email from the Canoli-Maddin Casting Group, wanting him to come for an interview. They said that because they were seeing so many people, if the provided date & time didn’t work for him, they would not be able to reschedule. A Googlemap of the Westside was attached, with a near the intersection of Olympic & Centinela. The message closed with PLEASE DO NOT REPLY TO THIS EMAIL/DO NOT CONTACT BY PHONE.

He printed it out & showed it to Tom-Tom. She held it in her hand without reading, sitting on the couch stoned watching a “Behind the Scenes Feature Video!” on the Pregnant In Heels website streaming thru the flatscreen, sipping her Pharrell Williams strawberry Qream™ liqueur. Then she read Rikki’s email whereupon she closed her eyes as if having a prayerful telepathic moment before opening them again whence returning her attention to the Samsung. All she said was “knew it,” rhythmically repeating knew it, knew it, knew it, dead-eyed, understated, faintly syncopated, smoked her joint & watched her program without looking at him, not a glance, just knew it knew it knew it knew it knew it now a murmur, gurgling of a fountain, knew it , she said, cause it already happened . (The only part for her to play, being, to witness the miracle{s} & be of service.) She added — still unlooking at Rikki — that she knew it in the very same way the Mount Olympus opportunity was going to happen, knew she’d be moving into this big empty house & taking everyone with her, her ragtag “dependents,” & only the strong would survive, everyone would be forced to step up their game or leave. Funny or die. That meant Jerzy & (Rikki &) ReeRee too, cause she wasn’t gunna play favorites & had no time or patience for anybody’s shit. She was building an empire , she was branding , she was krisgenerating & putting her life on the line. And because of the energy she put out, things were moving fast. The love you make = the love you take. Tom-Tom had a vision I had a vision of love she would have her own hit reality show, Rikki was going to be a moviestar & she’d manage him on the side. (Tom-Tom had a lot of visions, some were so beautiful dark twisted fantasy she didn’t even want to summon them, it was not yet their time.) One of her visions said Rikki was gunna be huge, he was gunna POP , & her reality show was gunna BLOW the fuck UP . Cause dont let em bullshit you life’s a sprint not a marathon. Life’s a sprint nextel, you never know what’s gunna be on the frickin verizon ahahahahahahah. Yeah. Yeah, baby. This life is stevejobshort , my friends, so eat the freakin velvet cupcake.

Don’ worry bout me, & who I fire, It’s my empire, & yes I call the shots, I am the umpire——

The Tom-Tom train was leaving the station.

Our Love Is Here To Stay

“When’s

your audition?”

“Wednesday.”

“Next week?”

“This week.”

“You mean tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

“What’re you gunna do if you win? I mean if you get the part.”

“Be in the movie I guess.”

“What’re you gunna do if you get famous.”

“Be famous. I don’t know. Be famous.”

“What about us?”

“What about you ?”

“ Us. You, me & the baby.”

“What about it.”

“Are you gunna buy us a house?”

“Yeah I’ll buy us a house.”

“Would we get married?”

“I guess.”

“O now you guess. Now that you’re famous you have to guess .”

“I’m not guessing. I’m not guessing.”

“You said when you got adopted , after you were adopted we could get married.”

“OK. We will. I said we will.”

“I don’t want this baby born out of wedlock, Rikki.”

“It won’t. We can go to Vegas. Get married at the Hard Rock or some shit.”

“I don’t want to live in this house anymore.”

“What’s wrong with the house the house is tight.”

“I don’t want to be dependent on other people. Especially not that bitch .”

“I’ll move you out.”

“What do you mean you’ll move me out.”

“Move us both. I think my dad’s gunna give me some more bread.”

“Will you stop fucking other people?”

“What?”

“Are you going to stop fucking other people after we get married?”

“You’re trippin.”

“Like you do now?”

“Like I do now?”

“That’s right, Rikki.”

“O like I do now. & who am I supposed to be fucking?”

“Who? Who are you fucking? Should we start with Tom-Tom? Cause I don’t even know where to go after that.”

“I’m not fucking Tom-Tom.”

“Lowlife snaky bitch who thinks it’s cool to fuck my old man? Fucking grenade .”

“I’m not fucking Tom-Tom.”

“Rikki, don’t even . What’d you guys do, make a porn tape while you were making the audition tape? Is that what you did, you made a little porn tape too? & does my brother know? Does my brother know his dyke grenade girlfriend is fucking the father of his sister’s child? Rikki, you know you fucking make me sick .”

“He’s not even your full brother.”

“ Fuck you, Rikki—”

“& she’s not even his girlfriend——”

“I know , she’s YOURS!”

“ReeRee, come on. . . . . . . . .”

“My brother’s probably happy cause he probably can’t fuck anyway.”

“Nobody’s fucking anyone, OK? You’re paranoid. You’re spending too much time in your room.”

“O! Right! Because she fucking banned me from the rest of the house! And don’t tell me you’re not fucking the skank.”

“There’s nothing happening like that.”

“Then whose blood was that on your dick two days ago?”

“Blood on my dick? I didn’t have blood on my dick—”