This is a tribute to Paul Schrader and Charles Bukowski…
Out of all the girls I had loved in the prurient photographs, there was something about Kylee, a buxom, dark-haired, dark-eyed beauty that really got me. Kylee was different. I wondered what life she had had before she posed for porn magazines. I wondered what led her into the world of porn. I felt guilt when I looked into her eyes burning with some sort of magic-“magic,” a word that is grossly overused but all the more suiting. I saw a hint of the desire to be redeemed in Kylee’s eyes. She was waiting for a savior and I imagined me carrying her off one of those sleazy photo-shoots and offering my own brand of redemption.
I read the small ad under the photographs.
Kylee: Write me, big boy. At 25 Ocean Blvd, Hollywood, California.
When I saw the ad I knew it was fate, destiny, or whatever you want to call it. The gods and the devils were aligned with my soul. It seemed the whole universe was coming my way. All the planets and all the stars all lit the road on which I was to travel to reach Kylee. I would walk across burning ash, hot coals, glass, lie on a bed of nails, stick an ice pick in my ear, single-handedly battle an army, chop off my right nut, to reach Kylee.
I began the letter. ..
The words just poured from the pen onto the page like the blackness of an octopus’s ink into the great sea. I was scribbling furiously about gods and devils, saints and sinners, heartbreak and love and love and love and love. I opened myself with a blunt tool and bled profusely with my words. I drank wine and felt heady and I wept and I laughed and I cried and I lied and I died and was reborn by the end of the letter. When the letter was complete I sat back and looked at my monumental achievement admiring my literary prowess. I felt sick with love and drank some more wine. Kylee, you must be mine. Let me save you....And then it hit me. What did I have? What did I have to offer Kylee? I had no job. No money. No car. No ambition. No future. I just had little over a joint in my stash. But I had words and I had my heart and soul. If I were to cash in my heart and soul, what would they be worth? Could I pawn them for cab fare? Could I trade them for a fancy suit of clothes and a gold chain? Probably not. But that’s okay Kylee, because we will live on love. We will sup on soil and roses and drink the nectar of God’s bounty on this earth.
We will live on love. I folded the paper and placed it in a white envelope and slept a restless sleep haunted by dreams of Kylee escaping my grasp. I went to the post office early the next day. I sent my letter through the usual mode of delivery and went to the coffee shop.
“Hey, Johnny...how have you been?” asked George, the owner of the establishment. It was 10:30 in the morning and the morning crowd headed to work.
“Alright, I guess,” I said and grabbed a newspaper.
“Coffee?”
“Yeah, please.”
“Howz the job hunting?”
“That’s kinda on the back burner.”“
Yeah, Why?”
“Well I got something big brewing.”
“Really! What?”
“It’s classified George, but if it works out I am going to be the happiest man alive.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.”
I thumbed through the paper with superficial interest. I couldn’t stop thinking about Kylee and what she would do when she received the letter. I couldn’t wait for a reply. I went back to my hole in the wall and paced frantically back and forth. I turned on the TV and watched a daytime talk show.
On day 1, I ate nothing. It was like I was fasting for some sort of religious ritual. I pulled out the magazine and thumbed past the sluts till I reached Kylee. My pulse quickened. My brow sweated. My hands became clammy. It was bad. I had it bad. I looked at her in a seductive pose. I didn’t look at her perfect breasts. I just fixated on the eyes and was drawn in. There was no sexual arousal. For this was no longer sexual. This was cosmic. I looked at Kylee on the glossy pages and saw that she didn’t belong in this trough for swine. She was a pearl laid before swine, that’s what she was. On day two I still couldn’t sleep or eat.
I went to the bar at noon and ordered scotch and a beer. I drank them down and ordered another. There was a group of old drunks laughing. The bartender read the paper over a cup of tea. I was buzzed and went over to the jukebox. It was dark in the bar. The shades were drawn and the sunlight was hidden away. The smoke-coated lamps fluttered. The fruit flies buzzed. It smelt like vomit and disinfectant. I played an old Sam Cooke tune and I went back to my drinks. I downed the scotch and fell back in an alcohol haze and nodded along to the Sam Cooke tune. The old guys were quiet and smoked and drank.
A tear welled in my eye. I left the bar and went back to my hole in the wall and checked my mail. A bill from the collection agency, a sweepstakes packet, and...and something else? Anything else? And I stood there frantically feeling around the inside of the mailbox to find...nothing. I knew there would be nothing. It was too soon. Be realistic, I told myself. I opened my fridge. Some milk, some white bread, some peanut butter. I spread the peanut butter on a slice of bread and bit into it. I chewed and chewed and chewed... I couldn’t get it down. I could not swallow. I spit it into the garbage and threw the rest of the sandwich away. I was kind of drunk. I crawled into my bed and lay down in the afternoon with the smell of the bar on my clothes. I fell asleep in the lazy summer afternoon. I awoke at midnight. Across the room on the mirror I looked at the photos of Kylee I had pasted up. My neon lamp reflected a hellish purple light onto Kylee and her eyes reflected back at me. The purple light and my mirror and the mirror of Kylee’s eyes was too much for me. Kylee was a prisoner of the reflected images and that stifling purple light. I had to free Kylee from the devilish purple illumination. That cheap light was not good enough for my Kylee. I grabbed a coffee mug next to my bed and hurled it across the room. It crashed into the lamp and smashed it to pieces and then hit the mirror, which littered the floor with a million jagged images of moonlight from the window. I had liberated Kylee from her imprisonment and then went to sleep.
I awoke on day three and walked over to my dresser. I stared at Kylee still posted on the part of the mirror that remained. The jagged pieces of the mirror and the lamp dug into my foot and I cursed as they tore into my flesh. I walked over to my bed and sat down and tried to dig out the pieces. Blood covered the floors and was now staining the white sheets of my bed. I managed to get the glass out and cleaned out the wounds with peroxide and then I dressed my foot. It hurt when I put on my shoes and walked. There was a sharp pain in the foot as I took each step down my staircase and I was reminded of my love for Kylee.
Three more days past and I couldn’t sleep or eat. I was rapidly deteriorating. I needed a transfusion... a love transfusion. I didn’t know how long I could keep this up. For if I didn’t hear from Kylee soon I would surely die. My hole in the wall was littered with dirty clothes and bottles of beer. I lay in my unmade bed as I watched my television.
My sheets were wet with my sweat. Suddenly, the phone rang and the ring pierced my ears and penetrated my brain. I wasn’t fully aware of what was happening. I was delirious with hunger and booze. I made my way over to the telephone and picked up the receiver.
“Hello?” I muttered.
“Yes, Is this John Cole?” said a sweet angelic voice on the other end.
“Yes. Yes it is?”
“Hi, this is Kylee Roberts.”
My heart jumped and just about busted. I lay back on my bed and looked up at theceiling. There was silence.
“Hello...” said the voice on the other end.
“Yes, Kylee...hi...”
“Is this the John Cole that sent me a letter last week?” Inside I cried and laughed and rejoiced and fell to pieces. Outside I could only utter a few syllables.
“Uh, yeah...I...I,” was all I could manage.
“I...I’ve never read anything like that before. It really touched me. Most guys write shit….Yours was different.”
“Well yeah...”
“You’re different aren’t you?”
“Yeah....”
“Listen I’m in New York tomorrow....Maybe we can get together.”
“Yeah that’d be great!”
“What time should we meet?”
“What?”
There was a brief pause. “Are you okay?”
“Me?”
“Yeah”
“Yeah....yes I’m fine.”
“You sound a little out of it.”
“Yeah I’ve been out of it for a few days...I haven’t been getting much sleep. What time do you get in?”
“I’m on the red-eye...I’ll be there at about 6 am.”
“How about noon?”
“Okay. Where?”
“There’s a little Italian café on the corner of Carmine street downtown.”
“Great. I’ll see you there.”
“You got it.”
I arrived early and sat outside at a small table on the street. I sipped seltzer water slowly and looked around. Soon it was twelve o’clock and then 12:15. I nervously looked at my watch and then at the waitresses and then the street. My heart pounded. She wasn’t coming was she, Johnny? You are just a stupid fuck. How could you ever hope that she would fall for you. And then the limo pulled up to the curb. The door opened and outstretched two luscious legs. She got out slowly. She was wearing a gold colored summer dress and slipped on one of her heels. Her voluptuous breasts were glorious in the hot afternoon sun. Her eyes scanned the restaurant and met with mine. She smiled and strut into the seating area staggering left and right. She was obviously on something.
Heads turned up and down the street and inside the restaurant. When she sat herself down at my table, all eyes turned to me and they were saying, “Are you kiddin’ me buddy. This girl is gonna sit with you?”
Kylee took off her dark sunglasses and leaned over and grabbed myarm and said, “Hi.” Every fiber of my being was telling me that this was a mistake. That she was a high-class lady and what was she doing with me.
I fought it off.
“Kylee, hi.”
The waitresses came over. Kylee ordered a martini. She crushed out a cigarette and lit another one.
“John....did you really mean those things you wrote?”
“Of course I did.”
“How did you know so much about me? What I was thinking and feeling?”
“When the gods and the stars and the planets are aligned then fate just takes over.”
“Do really believe in the gods and the stars and things like that?”
“Sometimes. This time I wanted to believe it. I needed to believe it. I needed to believe in something.”
“I see. So I’m the object of your desire to believe in something...anything for that matter.” Her eyes looked heavy. She was heavily sedated.
“No Kylee...No...hey what’s your real name?”
“Why? Don’t you likeKylee Roberts?”
“No its ill-fitting. It makes you sound like another whore on the page and that’s exactly it.”
“What is it?”
“You are not like all the rest. You are a diamond in the rough...a restless soul in limbo in this godforsaken jumble of humanity.”
“Anne.”
Kylee pulled out her cigarettes and lit another one. She puffed on it and the smoke rose up.
“What?”
“Anne Ryan.”
“Anne Ryan?”“
You see...It’s boring. There’s absolutely nothing sexy about Anne Ryan.”
The afternoon was brilliant, wonderful, amazing, surprising. I ate my meal and that was the first time in days when I could swallow some food. We chattered and drank and enjoyed one another’s company even though Kylee was doped up. She got up and kissed me on the lips and told me to come to her hotel room at midnight. She had a shoot and I should come over with a bottle.
I went back to my hole in the wall. It was an amazing experience. It was all hazy and dreamlike. I felt alive. I never felt so alive in my life. Kylee was a reminder that life was for living and not for retreating. My heart exploded in my chest as I waited for the evening to roll in. And the sun finally fell down and night crept in finally.
The Waldorf-room 609. I had a bottle of fine cognac that I carried under my arm.In the other hand I had roses. My suit was ill-fitting and cheap, but it looked good in a retro sort of way. As I walked toward her room my pulse quickened-nothing new...the same whole bit—clammy hands—and weakness in the knees. I felt a twinge of pain where the jagged edge of glass had got me. But I endured the pain. For the pain was a pain of love and I would endure any pain for that sweet thing. For I was sweet redemption for Kylee. We would escape our sordid lives together.
I was redemption...a savior, a messiah in an ill-fitting suit.
I knocked on the hard wood door...the door pushed open. It was ajar.
I called out,“Anne?”
I heard the shower running. I looked to the plush carpet and saw a spot of blood. The blood left a trail. I followed the trail, as each spot on the carpet got bigger. I dropped my flowers and the Cognac and burst into the room. There on a messed bed was Kylee in the nude. Blood soaked the bed. Blood all over the walls. Kylee lay there in puddles of blood. I ran over to my fallen angel and saw that she had cut her wrists wide open. I didn’t have time to think. I checked her pulse. There was no pulse. Kylee was dead. I sat on the edge of the bathtub as the coroner’s men zipped up the black body bag. With the zipping of the black bag, I slipped into the darkness. As Kylee was emerged in the blackness of that bag, I too was emerged in a shroud of blackness. I was too late, I told myself. I couldn’t save her. She was waiting for a savior and I wasn’t there in time. What does one do in the face of loss....in the face of death....in the face of tragedy. Start over.
It was my fault and now I lost my last chance for a meaningful existence. All that I loved had vanished as quickly as it appeared.
The next day I opened my mail box: another bill from a collection agency, another sweepstakes packet, and a letter. I looked at the letter and got a feeling that could only be classified as chilling. I felt so goddamn ice cold from my head to my toes. It felt like I was standing in a blizzard. Every limb was frozen stiff. The letter was addressed to me from Sensations Productions, inc. I tore open the letter and it was typed in a beautiful typeface.
It said: “Hey John, I received your letter and it got me all horny. I’m glad you enjoyed my hot spreads as much as I enjoy spreading for you guys. You are now on my mailing list and I’ll send you free pics each month and you’ll be eligible to be a part of Kylee’s fan club for a new low fee of $15.00 a month. This will entitle you to come to cocktail parties where I make guest appearances and you get to meet me and I can sign your pictures if you like. Luv Kylee.”
I dropped the letter to the floor and I felt a nauseating feeling and I fell to my knees and retched and dry-heaved. I was swirling in a chaotic maelstrom of emotion. What was this? A sick joke? I ran upstairs and called the Waldorf. I inquired about funeral arrangements for Kylee Roberts. A rather snotty, customer service representative mentioned that he had never heard of Kylee Roberts and insisted that the management never heard of her either. Furthermore, there was nothing of an event such as I had mentioned. There was no suicide...there was no guest even registered by that name in the last week.
I called the police and the morgue and no one had any recollection of any such event. I again felt sick and nauseous. I paced my apartment and picked up the photo of Kylee and I looked in her eyes and I lay back on my bed and sleep found me. My dreams were haunted, as would be expected, by Kylee. I had visions of her stepping out of the limo in the sunlight...of her sipping a martini...and finally her lying in a pool of blood. I awoke in a cold sweat and looked around. The letter wasn’t Kylee. It was a form letter mailed to all those who wrote into the magazine. It was all a delusion strangely dreamed and I fell for it. How could I ever hope to save Kylee from her depravity? How can I ever help to save myself from my own depravity? I sat on the edge of the bed and laughed and cried and died and lied to myself. I showered and shaved and dressed. I walked down the flight of stairs. My foot was just about healed although there was a tinge of pain to remind me of Kylee. On the way to the coffee shop I passed a newsstand. I stopped and opened up the latest issue of BAD GIRLS and flipped through a couple of the spreads. Out of all the girls in the prurient photographs, one girl particularly captivated me. She was Kara....A voluptuous blond whose golden locks tried to, but failed to disguise her piercing blue eyes. There was something in that pretty face that reflected a longing to be saved. Underneath the leather and lace and makeup there was a soul that was in need of redemption...that was in need of a savior...and that savior was me. I went and had my breakfast at the coffee shop.
“Hey Johnny, howz the job hunting?” remarked George in his usual manner.
“Kinda slow. But I got something big brewing and if this goes down I’ll be the happiest man alive.”
“What is it?”
“That’s classified, George...but let’s just say it’s big.”
“Good luck Johnny-boy...good luck.”
“Thanks...Thanks a lot.”
I went back to my apartment and wrote a letter to Kara. I wept as I scrawled this masterpiece of human emotion. In the letter I lied and cried and died and was reborn...I bled and I was healed by the end of the letter, and when it was finished I sat back and admired my literary achievement.
I went to the post office and I mailed the letter. Now its day one and I can’t eat or sleep. What will happen next is anybody’s guess. But the gods and the devils and the planets and the stars are on my side and with that I just maybe able to be Kara’s redemption….