The Perils of Praline (14 page)

The techie shrugged at Praline
,
who picked up his phone and his wallet and followed the assistant into the next room. Two naked actors with semi-erections kidded with each other as though it was a locker room, rather than an audition for a porno movie. On the other side of the room, behind a long folding table
,
several people sat watching the actors on a monitor. Two of them were nearly identical twinks who could probably star in the movie themselves. Another was a young woman with fluffy hair wearing a parka as though it were freezing cold in the room. It was not.

At the center of the group, with the best view of the monitor
,
was a gentleman who seemed to be Jocks Hammer. He was a thickly muscled man of about forty-five whose hair plugs and too-hip clothing suggested he was attempting to look—
Oh shit!

Jocks Hammer was Stewart’s crazy Malvanian husband.

Quickly assessing the situation, Praline considered running back into the other room and grabbing his clothes—but if he stopped to put them on he’d be caught for sure. He could jump over the table and bolt naked through the door behind the casting people
,
ending up who k
new
where. He could grab a pen off the table and stab himself in the neck
,
saving Jocks the trouble. Or, he could wait for Jocks to look up, recognize him and then murder him in front of at least five witnesses.

The last possibility was the most distressing, not just because he’d be dead, but because the ensuing trial would expose everything Praline had done since arriving in Hollywood and the headlines would read PORN KING KILLS HOOKER TO THE STARS! Enterprising investigative reporters would uncover sex and perversion—most of it true. He could imagine the interview Stewart would sell to a tabloid
.
“He begged to use the double headed dildo—I didn’t even know how it worked. Seriously, they’re more complicated then they look.”

Suddenly, Praline’s fear-fueled fantasy was interrupted by one of the twink assistants saying, “Could the new Raphael step into frame and read his lines?” Praline had lost his sides somewhere along the way, so he snatched a set from the smaller of the semi-erect actors and held it in front of his face with one hand, while the other covered his privates. The actor attempted to grab the script back, but Praline scooted a couple feet away.

Without looking up, Jock prepped the actors, “Movie is blockbuster big…is old Rome, where you have Gladiator… you in Gladiator School, is spring break, you go to Sicily Beach, go crazy, drink lot of wine…and show pee-pee, jerk pee-pee, suck pee-pee and fuck like bunny. Okay?”

The other actors made assenting noises. Then, the smaller of the actors grabbed the truncated script back from Praline. Our suddenly shy hero spun around so that his back was now facing the camera. The casting crew murmured for a moment, then the girl in the parka said, “Well, at least he knows his best angle.”

One of the other actors turned to Praline and, after miming unzipping his pants and pulling out his dick, said, “Is this your first time at the Coliseum? What do you think about it?”

Praline responded, with enthusiasm, “It’s the biggest one I’ve every seen!”

“You want to watch the Italian sausage they sell during the games. They’re so good you’ll eat them until you gag.”

Praline, with even more enthusiasm, “Yeah, now you’re talking!”

“Okay, that was great,” said one of the assistants. “Raphael, could you turn around and face the camera now?”

“No,” said Praline, weakly.

“Okay, look…so far you’re great, but you’re going to have to get comfortable being naked…it is porn, after all. Everybody’s naked.”

“I know problem,” Jocks said. “He have puny penis fear. You, next to him, fluff him, then he turn around just fine.”

The actor next to Praline leaned over and was about to comply when he stopped
,
turning to Jocks and the casting crew
.
“Um…he’s not puny. Not puny at all.”

“Oh,” said Jocks, “Then turn around and show us not puny penis.”

Praline was frozen in place; he had no idea what to do. He was certain he was about to die. His life flashed before his eyes: being bullied through grade school
;
gaining a tiny bit of acceptance when his mother began selling pot to his high school classmates
;
one unreciprocated crush after another, until he got to Laccacoochee Technical College with it’s tiny, fledgling Gay Student Union
,
the entire membership of which wanted to have sex with Praline—and both of them did. It wasn’t much of a life, come to think of it.

And then Jocks was behind him, spinning him around, gasping when he recognized Praline, screaming, “YOU! I KILL YOU!” Praline sprang into action
;
Jocks now stood between our au natural hero and his clothes, so he ran across the room, scooted around the casting table and tried to open the door that lead to…who knows where. Unfortunately, while Praline was scooting around the casting table, Jocks was jumping over
it
, grabbing the video camera and swinging it on its tripod with remarkable accuracy toward Praline’s head.

In which our newly ambitious hero receives a lesson in business.

Luckily, the door opened and a middle-aged woman asked, “Is this the Ladies Roo— Ahhhh!” Just before the camera broke against the doorjamb, Praline ducked, slipped by the screaming woman and ran down a flight of stairs. Behind him, Jocks’ footsteps clomped down the stairs with their own unique Euro-menace. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, it was obvious to Praline that he was in the Thai restaurant, Feed You Long Time. Not wanting to run naked through the dining room, Praline bolted into the kitchen.

The entire kitchen staff was gathered around a large cutting block upon which sat an enormous silver prep bowl. The cook with the largest hat diced rapidly, tossing ingredient after ingredient into the bowl. Though he was running too quickly to know it, Praline was witnessing the preparation of the difficult and rarely made Thai dish, Num Prik.

The cooks turned to stare as Praline ran through the kitchen, slid on an oily discarded chili, and flew onto the chopping block
,
sending the enormous bowl of Num Prik flying. Immediately, Praline jumped off
and
looked over his shoulder to see Jocks bearing down on him.

He also noted the Head Chef shrieking and waving his knife in the air. Quickly, he jumped through a swinging door to find himself exactly where he hadn’t wanted to be—the dining room. Given that the choice was between humiliation and death, Praline wisely chose humiliation.

Unaccustomed to seeing a naked man while munching Pad Thai, the upscale diners gasped and screamed. Praline desperately wanted to cover himself—particularly as he knew he’d have to soon run into the street. So, he stopped at a table of four, set his phone and wallet onto the table, grabbed the tablecloth and attempt
ed
to mimic a magician’s act by pulling the cloth out from under their dinners. He failed miserably, sending noodles and curried veggies flying every which way. Snatching up his phone, his wallet, and the now hot and spicy tablecloth, he bolted out of the restaurant.

Running into the street, Praline turned and looked back to see: Jocks only a few feet behind him, the Head Chef practically at his shoulder still waving a knife, and two curry-covered diners with hate in their eyes.

Wrapping the tablecloth around him as best he could, Praline hot-footed it up the street. Fortunately, he was younger than any of his pursuers and therefore able to keep ahead of all but Jocks.

At Hollywood Boulevard, Praline ignored the traffic signs and simply sprinted across the wide street. This being the second time in two days he’d found himself in traffic, he was more experienced and thus able to maneuver adeptly between the oncoming vehicles. Playing in traffic managed to discourage the angry diners from following any further, leaving Praline with just the Head Chef, who was obviously winded, and Jocks, who clearly worked out more than was good for Praline.

Of course, our dashing hero had no idea where he might be running to
,
so when he turned onto a one-way street, speeding up its steep incline, he did not know that he was about to merge onto the Hollywood Freeway. He paused, wondering if being chased down the freeway in a tablecloth was such a good idea. Unfortunately, this gave Jocks enough time to get his hands on Praline, and when our hero zipped ahead, the tablecloth stayed with Jocks, leaving Praline to streak down the freeway.

The whoosh of cars speeding by gave Praline the extra jolt of adrenaline he needed to escape. Risking a glance over his shoulder, flashing lights seeming to be everywhere, Praline saw the Head Chef giving up several hundred feet back—bending over, struggling for breath, dropping his knife on the berm. At the same time, Jocks pumped his arms and kept up his pace, though he was now a good fifty feet behind Praline.

A long time subscriber to
Fit Man Magazine
(for the pictures, not the articles), Praline vividly remembered a pictorial on running in which a lithe and beguiling young man demonstrated proper form. Now, how did it go? Lift the knees, come down on the heel, and roll forward onto the ball of the foot? He wasn’t entirely sure that was it, but gave it a try.

Moments later he was picking up speed. Which was good, because the shoulder was narrowing and the cars careened by so close their air-wakes jostled him. Finally, he reached the next exit. He peeked over his shoulder to see that Jocks had faded and was now several hundred feet behind him.

Running down the exit ramp, Praline knew he had to get out of the angry pornographer’s line of sight. Then he had to find another bougainvillea bush to hide in. Lungs burning, calves cramping, Praline set about doing exactly that. He zigged behind a limo, ran through a crowd of hipsters waiting to get into a concert
,
and turned down a short residential street. When he was sure Jocks couldn’t see him, he dove into a bougainvillea near Cahuenga and Ivar.

While it wasn’t the same bougainvillea bush he’d hidden in the day before, Praline felt every bit as secure. He squatted while he waited for Jocks to run by. Which he did after a few minutes, huffing and puffing and cursing in Malvanian.

Then, Praline calmly went through his contact list until he found Jason’s name, next to an almost flattering picture he’d taken while Jason wasn’t looking, and hit the number.

“Hi, Jason,” he said as sweetly as possible when Jason answered. “I’m wondering if you can come and get me?”

“Where are you?”

“I’m on Ivar right above Cahuanga.”

“Um…you’re four blocks away. Why can’t you walk?”

“I’m naked.” Sometimes the truth was like a band-aid in need of removal; one had to get it over with as quickly as possible. “And I’m sitting in a bougainvillea bush.”

Jason was silent. Even his silence sounded angry. Praline knew he should have sent a text.

“You’re naked. But you have your phone?”

“And my wallet. They told me to hold on to my valuables.”

“And you didn’t consider your clothes to be valuable?”

“I told you, I was at an audition,” Praline said, hoping that would explain everything.

Jason sighed heavily. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

True to his word, Jason was there a few minutes later. Praline climbed into the car, the sullen look on Jason’s face prompting him to say, “Um, I promise I’ll find an apartment as soon as I can, and stop bothering you.”

“Did I say you were bothering me?” Jason snapped. “Did I say I wanted you to get out?”

“No, but…I seem to make you very unhappy.”

“I’m not unhappy. I’m concerned.”

Jason gave him another of his intense, impenetrable looks—just like the one he’d given him in Clayton’s room. Praline struggled to understand what it might mean. Normally, if a guy looked at him in this particular way while he was naked he’d think the guy wanted him. But with Jason it was almost the opposite. In fact, he was sure it was the opposite. Jason clearly disliked him. Or he had a bad case of indigestion. One or the other.

Several times on the drive home it seemed like Jason was going to say something
,
but then stopped himself. Praline was relieved he didn’t
,
since he was sure Jason wanted to scream at him for hours. And if Praline were honest with himself, which in general he tried not to be, he had to admit he’d deserve being yelled at.

It was eleven o’clock when they got back to the apartment and Jason said, “We should check out the news to see if the Malcolm Wright thing has died down.”

It hadn’t.

Looking like a tanned skeleton with a moussed tuft of hair atop her skull, Tawny Garcia-Gonzalez read the news, “The Malcolm Wright Sex Scandal continues to develop. Having engaged noted civil-rights attorney Endora Allgreen to represent him in his suit against drug company Burke, Malcolm Wright on his TV show today announced plans to sue the entire gay community for creating an environment hostile to heterosexuality.”

The show cut to videotape of
The Wright Way
, “In my drug-addled state I was the perfect victim for the gay agenda, a plot the homosexual community has systematically foisted on an unsuspecting and innocent heterosexual world.” Malcolm stared into the camera earnestly. “Bound and gagged by political correctness, raped by a media that foists images of sweaty, muscular young men at us every day, there were few options left me but to pay that young man—himself a victim of the vicious gay agenda—to commit unspeakable, disgusting, loathsome, repulsive, dirty, dirty sex acts.” Malcolm’s chin quivered and his eyes fill with tears. “Well, America, the violence stops here. In addition to my lawsuit against drug maker Burke, I’m instituting a suit against the gay community
,
forcing them to take responsibility for their vicious attacks on heterosexuality!”

Jason looked over and glared. Praline shrugged and said, “If you turn the sound down, he’s kind of cute.”