Pop Kids (10 page)

“C’mon! Don’t Stifle!” Reaching out with his camera, unharmed and unashamed, he continues snapping. “Don’t stifle. I’m a fucking artist, baby.”
Flash, flash
. “I’ll make you famous.”
KICK
. “Owe! Cunt! “ He laughs. “Don’t be a bitch—”

Extending my hand, I pull him up. After wiping his black palms on his sleeveless
Too Fast for Love
shirt, Al takes off his shades to inspect his art. He shows Mia the shots of her own ass. She giggles. And I’m ready to go.

“Well, now that we’re all here … Shall we?” Grinning over his brother’s camera, Lynch gives two thumbs up. I command, “Friends, if you would all be so kind as to follow us, we shall escort you into our new home!”

“You bought a house?” Mia throws up the horns. “Hell yeah! Michael Massi Cribs!”

Shaking his head, Lynch points across the street to the dark four stories. “We’re going in there.”

“No way, we’re gonna watch fucking
Breakfast Club
in the fucking Palace?” Cramming his sentences into one breath, Alvin takes off toward the secret door. “I fucking love this place. I knew it. I knew you’d be into it Mike. It’s totally fucked and creepy!”

In the center of a quavering streetlight halo, Alvin stalls, turns back, and waves. “Come on fuckers! I know how to get in!”

Chapter 13

We’re gathered outside our secret entrance. Anticipation crawls back and forth between us, jumping to and from each aspiring Filmgreat. Alvin pries open the leafy mouth. I squeeze through the serpentine ivy, guiding Stella by the hand. The rest of my honored guests follow. The heavy mouth of the mystical portal snaps shut, and we all stand inside the cool lounge. Our new lifestyle begins now. We all sense the elevation.

“What the hell is this? I thought we were going to watch a movie? Are there spiders in here!? Or RATS?” Mia clings to Lynch. “OMFG. Are there fucking rats?”

“I think rats are cute.” Seemingly speaking to herself, Stella curiously inspects the boarded front door. Alvin offers her his back.

“I like rats too. Rodents are fucking tits!” He crouches. “Hop on, let’s go upstairs.”

A filthy, powder-pink vermin, perched upon Stella’s shoulder, gnaws on the gobstopper beads of her plastic necklace.

“No, no rats.” I rush over to reign in the pony
.
“And we’re not going upstairs. We’re going down there.” I point to the candle lit stairwell.

“You guys, this is great!” Cruz, already descending, sounds like a realtor checking off a list of innovative features. “I love the candles. The place is creepy … so I am a little afraid … and since we broke in I feel a little guilty too. … Oh my god, it’s like church!”

“
Dios mio
it is!” Volta crosses himself. “Let us pray!”

The Boys bow their heads in mock piety. Weaving past them, I lead the procession down the Path of Prayers, across the ballroom, and up to the worn velvet wall. Lynch parts the curtains. Echo and the Bunnymen greet us.

“Alright kiddies, come on.” Ushering our guests onto the stage, he steps on my lines. “Welcome to The Palace Theatre!”

I would have delivered a far better declaration. But it’s fine. Finally, everyone is inside.

Running and launching from a couch’s arm, Alvin flips into Heaven. I stifle a gasp. I can’t have mattress diving. I can’t have the kid killing himself. Death is the death of a party. Stella lands safely next to him. Her skirt bunches up and her pink panties remind me: a good host would join his guests in such revelry. Gently, I fold and drape my coat over inflated green plastic, take a running leap, and gracefully soar over her wrinkled jersey dress. Stella shrieks. I crash down on Al. A dog pile ensues.

Floating on air, we seven Filmgreats are a buoyant ball of laughter, grunts, faux-fur, and freedom. From beneath a Calvin-Klein-scented construction worker with an unidentifiable boob pressed to my throat, I see Lynch standing in front of the wall screen. Holding his remote control, he’s grinning at our pile with pride.

“Come on man!” I creak. “Be the cherry!”

With a bounding dive, he tops off the sundae. A collective groan of compression heaves out of our flesh mound and we all squirm free. The pile-survivors wriggle up to admire the ambience of our theatre. I grab my coat and smooth my suit. Once I’m less wrinkled, I excuse myself. I’ve gotta lubricate my pipes before my opening speech.

“Mike, this place is amazing!” Slinking over to the mini-fridge, Stella moves in close to adjust my bangs. I smell cotton candy. “I never thought that it would be this cool. It’s so street. Like Banksy or something… ”

Finishing a long carbonated pull of Italy’s finest, I choke. “Thanks!” I’ve already exceeded her expectations. Her first impressions shan’t be hindering the sexually active status of our relationship. “I knew you’d appreciate our artistry.”

“Let’s celebrate!” With a bang, Stella turns all eyes on her. Raising her Cook’s, she begins a great performance of popping the cork and filling red cups with the frothing champagne.

MK serves the drinks, my guests begin poisoning their minds and bodies, and I follow the hostess back upstage.

“Lynch and I thought it was time that we all had our own thing here. … For once we’ll have something cool to do. You know? We all deserve it.”

“Well, I LOVVVVVE it!” Cradling her bottle like a little girl loving her favorite doll, Stella plops herself onto a pile of furry red pillows in Heaven.

“Me TOOO!” Mia falls next to her. The Twins concur, giving me identical sex smiles.

Secretly, Alvin captures the moment on digital. Fixing my hair, I throw my arm around MK and suck in my cheeks to make for better candid shots. When Stella puts on her modeling face, I know that she’s noticed the baby pap too.

“Yeah, this place turned out to be pretty killer, right?” Lynch, hollering from the Play Station, spins the DVD on his finger and turns off Bat for Lashes. “Wait ‘til you guys see it when I get the movie up there.”

“I’m totally impressed already!” Mia says, skipping up to the soundboard. She hugs my partner from behind and marks her words with a kiss. As her mouth lingers on his neck, she absently looks at me. I find this both creepy and arousing.

“Hey fuckers, what the fuck?” Pulling me from the uncomfortable moment of discordance, Alvin emerges from the wings in search of the female attention that he’s been digitally documenting. “Let us not forget who told you guys about this fucking goldmine!”

I take his camera. I review the shots of me.
I look good
. “It’s true. …” I turn to the girls. “If it wasn’t for Alvin we’d had never known about this place.”

Squeezing next to Ash, he drops his head onto her shoulder. “Aren’t I killer?”

Immediately, The Twins ditch the cuddly longhair to join Stella on the mattresses. Al follows. I take my speech position.

Upstage center, in front of Heaven, I stand, facing the girls. Between The Twins, Stella lies, watching me attentively. She’s grinning. Clicking my Zippo, I look down at three peering feline faces while The Boys bounce onto a purple love seat by the PA. The room falls silent.
Click, click. Click, click
.
I hope my hair’s not
a mess.

“You’re hot,” Stella mouths, and I fall in love with the night, even before it puts out.

“Mr. Lynch, are you ready?”

Sitting downstage on green plastic, snuggled up next to Mia’s huge stripped butt, he points to the catwalk with two thumbs, his hair, and flair. “Yes I am Mr. Score! Take it away!”

“My dear friends. …” Channeling Leo Di. I spread my arms, splaying my palms like Titanic. “Lynch and I cordially welcome you to our very first Premiere party!”

“Woooo!” Mia toasts and the rest follow, raising their sloshy red cups.

“Now! …” I hoist my Pellegrino. “We invite you to sit back, relax, have some popcorn and San P. … or mind-numbing libations if you must … and enjoy this very private, exclusive screening of …
The Breakfast Club
!”

Lynch casts the movie across our screen. The room applauds and with the Universal Studios earth spinning behind me, I take my first bow.

Nestled into the host’s position—between two girls—I watch our private screening glow as we all take ownership of The Palace, shouting out classic quotes in unison. “YES!” “NO!” “Eat my Shorts!” My guests gulp champagne and I keep an eye on them to make sure that no one pukes on my stage. When super-sized Principal Vernon begins to caution Bender against mouthing off, Stella pops up into the projection.

“Don’t mess with the bull young man or you’ll get the horns.” She lip-syncs, perfectly imitating him, and throwing up the horns to her equally horny, intoxicated audience.

This first solo of hers receives applause, but her following enactment of Molly Ringwald’s lipstick trick really wows us. With her cleavage and a splash of red, Stella becomes the star of the evening. The theatre fills with cheers and whistles. I don’t particularly care for being overshadowed on my big night, but putting on lipstick with those boobs is just too good to pan. I join in the uproar.

“Hot, hot, hot.” I chant along with The Boys, and the acclaimed actress resumes her position next to me. Smooching my face, she leaves a classic lipstick mark on my defined cheekbone.

“Hey Al!” I strike a cheek-to-cheek pose with tonight’s star. “Put this on the wire!”

Momentarily pausing his conversation at the back of the mattresses, Alvin flashes a few stills then proceeds to ask Ash about the secret needs of older women. She’s two years his senior.

As the film flickers on, Stella and I remain pressed against each other until the ‘stoned and dancing’ scene of the Hughes classic hits. I’m up first to try the Anthony Michael Hall. The Twins rise with Mia to do the Molly Ringwald and Stella does the Ally Sheedy—the dance that ends with her on her knees. I pull her back up from the floor so she can join Al and I for the Bender shuffle. In a line, the three of us slide through the projection as I scan the stage for Cruz and Volta. I haven’t heard a single obscenity from them since the lipstick trick
.

Stuck to together in plain view, sucking each other’s tongues, The Boys are silenced by a kiss. I’ve never before seen them make out in public, or anywhere else for that matter. For a fleeting moment, I’m jarred by my first real exposure to live boy-on-boy action, but the sight quickly becomes totally fabulous.
Those are the first activities ever to be performed on that couch
:
the first
ever
in this theatre
. I watch. Twisting across the stage, I witness the arousing revolution. I reel in the advent of unrestraint. Then Cruz and Volta jump up to start shakin’ it.

Inspired, I tackle Stella back into Heaven and we start a full-length feature make-out session of our own. The Boys, Mia, and Lynch pair off to separate couches. The Twins and Alvin flop down next to us. Stella begins unbuckling my belt. I slowly work my hands up her dress then she drops me for Anthony Michael Hall. Casting my Producer into purgatory, The Premiere’s It girl robs me of the boob I was so lovingly squeezing and leaves me empty handed. She grabs Cruz, drags him in front of the screen, and plants a Ringwald kiss on tonight’s stand-in for Bender.

“Off my man
puta
! Off my man!” As we all applaud, Volta sends a friendly flurry of popcorn toward the touching ending.

Erection crawling, I snatch up kernels before Stella’s feet can crush them into the blankets. On the edge of the bouncy mattress, I sit dumping the yellow bits into an almost empty Solo cup of flat champagne. When Bender walks away on Sherman field, we all join him in celebration, simultaneously thrusting our fists into the still basement air with a cheer. Though such theatrics would typically ruin a picture, down here it seems necessary.

Reclaiming upstage center, I bow through the scrolling projection as Lynch runs back to the PA. He unplugs plugs. He switches switches. He gives me two thumbs up.

I disco-point to the sandbags. “Let the after party begin! Let’s dance!”

The movie goes silent and “Don’t you Forget About Me” becomes Dead or Alive.