The pounding on the bungalow's front door would not go away no matter how many pillows Che Chasta pulled over her head. Finally she tossed back the warm covers, screaming shrilly, "I'm coming, I'm coming."
Che slipped out of bed naked.
The years in the porno business might have denuded any innuendo of youth from her face, but the hours at the gym, a starvation diet, and flawless silicon breast implants had honed her body into an erotic temple for her male audience. She pinched her nipples, hoping the cute UPS man was at the front door.
She figured him for 24.
Young deliveryman.
Naked blonde.
She knew that movie by heart.
Che peeked through the curtains. It wasn't UPS and she took a couple of deep breaths before opening the door with a smile. "Louie, I wasn't expecting you."
"You don't answer your phone, you get unwanted visitors." Louie's creased tuxedo revealed he had just arrived from Las Vegas. She saw the leather bag in his hand and sighed, "I'm really tired, Louie."
"Really? I'll tell you tired. I haven't slept all night. Why? Cause I was working, that's why?" Louie forced Che into the living room.
The furniture was buried underneath piles of unwashed clothing and his nose wrinkled at the smell of mildew.
"Che, you really should clean this place."
"What for?" Che rarely spent any time in this house. “I’m either on the road dancing or shooting a film.”
"What if guests come over?" Louie groped her breasts. They almost felt real, but only almost.
"I don't entertain here." Che never used the term 'home' for any of the motel rooms, beach shacks, trailers, condos, or rented houses at which she had stayed during her years in LA. Even the family house in Texas was just someplace from which she had run away, so her only valid images of 'home' came from watching re-runs of THE BRADY BUNCH. "This is just a house, not a home."
"If you fixed it up, then it might be a home." Louie kicked a tee-shirt off the soiled carpet.
"I didn't leave Texas to become a homemaker, Louie."
Che was happy with a warm bed, a parking space for her old Cadillac, and the freedom to walk around the house naked. Once too many people had her address or the police received too many complaints or the garbage got too high, she moved on and right now this bungalow had three of those strikes called against it .
"No, I didn't think that you had." He rolled her nipples between his fingers like the tips of Cuban cigars.
"Stop it, Louie, you're hurting me." The wide-open blackness of his pupils indicated that the producer was sizzling on Speed and she wished she had never answered the door.
"What's wrong? You don't want to play with Mr. Nice Guy?" Louie twisted her left arm behind her back. "You think you can fuck around with me, just because that Vegas charge is history?”
"I'm sorry, Louie." Che tried to play along and said, "I'm just tired."
"I'm keeping you from Mr. Pillow, am I?" Louie pushed her out of the living room.
Che almost screamed for ‘help’, except everyone in this Hollywood neighborhood minded their own business.
"Tell me, Che. Were you a good girl and did like I asked?"
"No," Che sobbed, since Louie was really hurting her.
"No, what do you mean, no? I saw you leave with the bitch."
"I went with Lena. We were in the car. We were heading to a motel,"
"And what went wrong?" The producer hooked a finger deep under her rib and tugger her forward like he was dragging her soul out of her body.
"I did nothing wrong, I swear it." The blonde quivered with fear, for Louie was playing a lot rougher than normal. "Some guy appeared out of nowhere and we almost hit him. Lena stopped and put him in the car. We drove him back to LA. She left me here. That's the honest truth, I swear it, Louie."
"What do you mean a man from nowhere?"
"Just like I said. He came out of nowhere. Lena said he looked like some guy in a movie.”
”What movie?”
”I don’t know. It sounded foreign.” She slid down the wall sobbing.
"Che, who picked you up, when you were down?" Louie lifted Che off her haunches.
"You did."
Louie had met her outside the LA County Jail and paid the bail on a prostitution charge. Che had never worried about the cost.
"And this story you're telling me isn't bullshit?" Louie released his hold on the blonde.
"No, it's the truth."
"This man from nowhere. You ever see him before?"
"No." Her head swiveled from left to right.
"What'd this guy look like?"
"Bleached blonde hair, black suit. He said he'd been in a car crash, but he looked more like he had been beaten up. He was white, maybe 35 or 40, maybe more. Maybe less."
"This guy, he say anything?"
"Just to take him to LA, that's all." She skipped the part about the $500. that she had earned the money for not throwing him out of the car.
"Where?"
"I don't know. Lena took him with her."
"I believe you and you've been a good girl. So good I brought you a present." Louie patted his bag to indicate he was holding drugs.
"Louie, I'm tired."
Years ago this act might have excited her, but Che had experienced this routine with too many men. Men better and worst than Louie.
"I can take care of that." Louie forced Che into the surprisingly neat bedroom.
"Louie, let me go to sleep, then I'll do anything you want. Anything."
"I know you will." Louie tossed her onto the bed and raised a threatening hand.
Understanding her role in this scene, Che submissively extended her hands.
The tuxedoed producer withdrew two sets of leather cuffs from the bag and strapped the restraints to Che's wrists and ankles, then he strapped a gag over her mouth.
Seconds later she was bound, face-up and spread-eagle on the bed.
Louie set up a video camera and aproached the bed with a knife. The scream of their safety word died under the rubber ball gag and she futilely struggled against the restraints.
"Che, stop the drama. This isn't a snuff film." Louie grabbed a handful of blonde hair and stuck the blade under her nose. "Not unless you move. No, I'm here to make you feel good. Just inhale."
Che had been clean the last two months and now a combo cocktail of cocaine and heroin was on the tip of the knife. Her only defense was to stop breathing.
"The funny thing is no matter how much you want to stop breathing, your body gets the better of you.” Louie clamped his fingers over her nostrils and within twenty seconds the room shrank from the corners of her vision. All of a sudden Louie let go. "This should wake you up, girl."
Che greedily sucked in air along with the powdered narcotics. The burning attack on her nasal passage was all too familiar and she tried to sneeze out of the drugs, however the purity of what she had sniffed was already charging through every vein in her body.
Her heartbeat accelerated from the rush of cocaine. A bell tolled in her ears, as blood roared inside her head. Che bit on the gag and waited for the coke crescendo to meet the trump card of heroin. It didn't take long and her body floated away on a warm opiated carpet, as she hummed the theme song to THE BRADY BUNCH.
She didn't get past the first four bars .
"Doesn't that feel good?"
Che wished this sensation would last forever, so she wouldn't have to fell guilty once she came down.
"This was just a little show of force to remind you who's on top here. You get the picture?" Louie watched the blonde's eyes roll into her skull. He went back to the camera to make sure it was running. He'd come back to free Che tonight. At her age she could use the beauty rest.
Several minutes later the slam of the bungalow door echoed throughout the quiet neighborhood and Louie Sinreich crossed the deserted street to the Cadillac, then stopped before the new car to reflect on the image of a bloody man sprawled across a highway.
The man from nowhere.
There were about a hundred thousand losers in the LA Basin fitting Che's description, but in truth the blonde man didn't matter a rat's ass to his scheme of things. He was only after the girl.
A raindrop hit his head and Louie lifted his head to the sky.
Heavy, black clouds were boiling in from the Pacific. The dense humidity in the air promised a winter storm and Louie got into the Cadillac.
Seconds later the car pulled away from the curb. No one in the neighborhood had seen him come and no one had seen him go, which was just why he bought the house in the first place.
Easy come. Easy go.
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