Stardom in Acting

"What are you, nuts!"  I said to him as we were leaving the obscure little museum of art.  I wasn't up for a walk around downtown San Jose after that.  I don't care how beautiful a day it was or how the city's recent face-lift had changed the downtown area into a "little-known and private Mecca for savvy city lovers."  We had just had quite a little journey of our own in the museum.  I just wanted to ride the light rail.  I like wanted to have a huge piece of white chocolate cheesecake at the Fairmont.  My new blue high heels were killing me, and Gordon had insisted that we dress up, of course.  He had a problem getting it up for a woman unless she was dressed to the nines and wore those sado-pumps that make her butt and boobs stick out.

"Michael's really a nice guy.  Why did you rush us off so fast?"

"I didn't want him hanging around."

"Why not?  He's so friendly and he knows so much about art."

Gordon had to feel jealous or like he was threatened by Michael somehow.  He kind of indicated by rocking his hand back and forth that he thought Michael might be a little queer.  Though I didn't let on, I personally knew otherwise.

"He doesn't know that much about art.  All that crap he was saying about that stupid picture is a crock of shit," Gordon argued.  "Besides, who in their right mind would spend so fucking much time designing something so elaborate and meaningless, and then wrapping it around a big fat pillar so you can't see the whole thing at once?"

"Well, first of all, it's not a picture, it's a landscape painting.  And second of all, it's not a meaningless crock of shit.  It's a 'bold and original statement.'  Remember, Michael called it 'serialism' -- not to be confused with 'surrealism,' he said."

“Serialism.  I got his serialism -- right here!”  Gordon let loose with one of his favorite phrases.  He loved pointing to his private parts with both of his thumbs.

"Michael's a very knowledgeable man.  For God's sake, he's got like a master's degree in art and he knows what he's talking about."

"He's got a Ph.D. in English, and he's a faggot!"  Gordon finally got to the point.

"Yeah?"  I asked him, kind of indignantly.  "Like I suppose you know that from first-hand experience?"

"Fu-uh-uck you.  You know better than that, baby," he spit, expecting me to fall on my knees and agree with his big fat opinion of himself as the biggest stud south of Oakland -- fat chance.  I just clutched my pearls and laughed like Lana Turner, then I kept walking toward the light rail.

Gordon took my arm and started heading us in a different direction.  He was so angry with me.  He was practically dragging me down the sidewalk.  He knew my feet were hurting a lot and he was just trying to get back at me in that stereotype macho way of his.  I know how sensitive he is about his masculinity.

"The hotel is only a block away, baby.  It's ridiculous to take the train" he said, like I was a kid or something.

I didn't say a word.  I just kept walking, full of dignity like Madame X, until we got to the Fairmont.  I knew that the next move was mine.  I kept my mouth shut as we walked in out of the sun.  I could feel a blister starting to puff out on my right heel -- right where the top of the shoe digs into the back of your foot.  He still had my arm in a tight grip as we rounded the corner.  I was about to laugh at him for being such a little tough.  Then suddenly he shoved me up against the wall really rough and grabbed my throat.  I was speechless.

"Don't you ever talk like that again, you hear me," he snarled.  He slapped me really hard and grabbed my throat again.  This time he pinned me up against the wall with the front of his arm and squeezed my throat harder.  I was mostly afraid that somebody was going to walk around the corner and see us.  I'd die from embarrassment if anyone ever did.  He was real strong.  It was so obvious he could hurt me if he really wanted to.

"Now say you're sorry," he demanded.

"I'm sorry," I said.  I was in no condition to argue.

Then he goes, "Good.  Now let's go home, whore."

Oh my God, when we got into the house he started taking off his pants.  I was like, "I'm sure!"  I like thought he was in a hurry, you know.  But then he pulls off his belt and hits me with it hard -- across the back mostly, a bunch of times.  I was so surprised I fell on my knees.  I guess he got his wish, didn't he?  I couldn't believe it.  But he was careful not to hit me in the face with it.

I won't tell you what he did after that.  It's kind of embarrassing.  But I will tell you that I couldn't sit down for like an hour afterwards.

I thought about it later and I figured that it was probably my fault for getting him pissed off about Michael.  I shouldn't joke around like that anyway.  I know how mad he gets.  I could never tell him the truth about Michael and I.  He wouldn't say a thing to Michael.  I know that already.  But he'd probably wring my neck again; and I'd have no one but myself to blame.

I have to admit, though, Gordon is good in bed.  It's not his fault that he loses his temper.  I have to take partial credit for that.  You know, I tease him a little too much or I forget that he told me to turn off the light in the bathroom or something.  I know it costs extra money when I forget.  And he's right.  I'm being selfish when I forget.  After all, he's just looking out for what's good for me.

Later that night I tried to drown my sorrows with vodka.  Then I found myself at the police station telling my life story and trying to stay awake.

"I don't see what all this has to do with an investigation.  So he hit me a few times, he did it for my own good," I remember saying to the policeman.

"Do you want to press charges against this guy for assault?"

"I need somebody to keep me going.  I get so lonely and depressed sometimes.  I just want someone to take care of me," I started to blubber.

"Miss Barnes, you're drifting.  Why don't we get you a cup of hot coffee to keep you awake."

"I'm damn good an' awake right here, now, ya see?  I don't need no damn coffee.  That stuff's bad for your pancreeze.  If you wanna help a lady, like the gentleman I think you are, get me some vodka with a twist uh lemmun."

"Please sit up and stop playing with that stapler.  Hey!  Put it down -- put it -- put it down right now or I'll have to put you in the tank over night," he reprimanded.

That did it.  I was in no condition to deal with the idea of spending the night in jail with a bunch of criminals.  I had no doubts I'd be a big hit with some big black "lesbo."  The thought was enough to make me break down in front of the police officer.  So what happens?  I spend the night in jail.  Fortunately I don't remember anything about it.

My mom always said to me, though, "look on the bright side of things, chile; something good always happens, even when you think it's all over."  She was sure right about that.  Jon's the cop that locked me up that night.  About a month later we were having dinner at his place.

"Here's that drink you wanted."

"You're such a gentlemen," I said.

"Would you like to try one of my homemade spring rolls?"

"Why yes, I would.  Thank you."  I didn't know what a spring roll was before I met Jon.  Now I know it's like a fried burrito, sort of.  It's crunchy on the outside and chewy on the inside, and you dunk it in sweet sauce or hot Chinese mustard.  I don't recommend the mustard.  It tastes like turpentine, kind of.  "You're a really good cook, Jon."

"Maybe you'd better reserve your judgment until you've sampled the main course.  This evening," he said, like in a fancy chef voice, "we're having steak au poivre, glazed carrots, and spinach souffle.  We'll begin with some blue points on the half-shell, New England clam chowder, and a Romaine and cucumber salad."

Blue points sounded kind of interesting, until I found out it was like really raw oysters -- ooh! still inside the shell.  There was no way he was gonna get those gross little things down my throat.  Oh my God, they looked like phlegm balls.  Yuck!  I have to quit before I make myself sick!  Ooh!  Ooh!  Too late.

Sorry.  Lately I've been getting the dry heaves really easy.  I don't know what it is, but I have to be careful what I talk about.  Well, anyway, that night, after I finished like nearly puking my guts out -- don't worry, I didn't let him know about it -- we had a really great dinner in bed by candlelight and everything.  It was wonderful.

Jon's one of the nicest guys I've ever met in my life.  I must have really good luck or something.  Making it with a cop is something I always wanted to check out.  Cops are so gentle.  I mean, they're rough out doing their job and everything, but in bed they're like day and night.  And if they're single, well, they learn how to cook like real chefs.  I know this time it's for real.  I think Jon really loves me.  I mean like really loves me.

"I don't want you to go home tonight," he says to me.

"Well I kind of have to.  I don't have any clean clothes here."

"Oh that's no problem," he says.  "I'll drive you by your apartment and you can pick up a few things.  I want to spend some time with you, sweetheart."

I couldn't believe it.  This guy just wasn't like anybody else I knew.  I felt like he really meant what he was saying.  He wasn't just trying to get me in bed -- which is silly anyway since we like already went to bed together before.  But I mean he seemed sincere.  That made me nervous.

"How'd you meet Gordon Rossi, Sweetie?"

"I was at a bar in the city and we ran into each other on the dance floor.  We were both pretty wasted."

Jon just looked at me with kind of a blank look on his face.  I thought he might act jealous.  But instead, he just seemed like he was really interested in hearing about my life.  What a change.  Somebody actually interested in my life with no strings attached.  I had to be dreaming.

"Did he ask you out right away?"

"He asked me if I wanted to get high."  I remembered I was saying this to a cop and I slapped my hand over my mouth real fast.

"Don't worry," he says "I'm not a cop when I'm off duty.  You can tell me anything you want without worrying about my job coming in between us.  Trust me, sweetheart."

He said it with such sincerity I had to kiss him.  Well, one thing like led to another and we were back in bed.  God!  This guy was like the best I ever had.  We could have gone on all night, but we had to stop eventually to take a cigarette break.  I remember he smoked the same brand as me.

Jon sort of got back to the subject we left off at before we, you know, got started.  I knew then that he had a serious case of the hots for me.  It was obvious.

"So, did you get high with him?" he asked innocently.

"You're not gonna arrest me or anything for smoking a joint, are you?"  I said sarcastically

He grabbed my arm and started pulling me out of bed.  "Come on, lady!  You're under arrest!" he yelled.  I was so startled I like thought he was serious until he busted out laughing.

"You shit head.  You scared me,"  I said pouting.  "Now I'm not gonna tell you the rest."

"Aw.  Woodsa woodsa woodsa."  He started baby talking and tickling me.

"Aaaah!  Stop it -- stop it -- I can't stand getting tickled!"  He had me jumping all over that bed screaming and laughing.  "I'll tell you anything, I'll tell you anything!  Stop!  Stop!"

"OK, but if you leave anything out, woodsa's gonna get your pretty little buh-uns," he kind of sang to me.  He was so different from what I thought cops would be like.  I think I was falling in love with him.

"OK, OK.  We went out to his car to listen to like some new group he was all hot about and we started talking while we were getting high.  He didn't waste any time.  He kind of had his hands all over me and even when I resisted I couldn't really stop him.  He was really strong.  I just couldn't get his hand out from between my legs.  I didn't want to do it in the car on a city street, so we started talking about going somewhere.  Well, turned out he lived in Campbell, like really really close to where I lived.  So I conveniently got a ride back with him.

"We ended up at his place later.  But on the way down he was trying to show me how to use a little glass thing you stick in your nose to do coke, but I couldn't get the hang of it."

"You mean a bullet?"

"Yeah.  He decided it was better if I just opened it up and dumped a little out to do, but I like dumped the whole thing out by mistake all over the floor.  I thought he was going to kill me, but he just laughed his ass off.  It turned out he didn't care because he had some more at his house."

"Did he have a lot of it?"  Jon asked, still interested.

"Not really.  He had a big sandwich bag full.  He had to break it up with a buck knife before we could get it into a powder.  It was really excellent stuff, though.  We spent the rest of the night and half the day blabbing about clothes and hairstyles, and just really bogus things until we passed out.  I think I remember waking up a couple of times with him on top of me.  Before we passed out he tried to get me to go down on him, but I couldn't do it without throwing up.  Everything, even cigarettes, made me feel like puking that night."

"I wonder why," he said kind of sarcastic.  "I like that stuff a lot myself.  But because of my job I can't very well go out and get it.  Do you think you could get Gordon to get you some without letting him know it's for you and me?  He might get the wrong idea otherwise."

"Oh sure.  He's got a friend that he gets if from in Los Gatos.  This guy is like a big time dealer, I'm sure."

"So call up Gordon and see if you can get some for later," he suggested.

"I might have to go over to his house to get it, and he might try to get me to stay," I protested.

"Well ask one of your girl friends to go with you."

"OK.  I'll get Bonnie to do it."

I knew Bonnie was nervous about going with me over to Gordon's house.  She was kind of paranoid about getting busted.  But I told her she could come over and party with us for free later if she went along.  She preferred to keep a little for herself and have me drop her off at her house later.

"So who's the newest love of your life?"  Bonnie asked while she put out a couple of big lines on her coffee table.

"His name is Jon.  He's the cop that arrested me a few weeks ago for being drunk in public."

"A cop!"  Bonnie looked at me surprised.  "The one who arrested you!"

"Yeah.  He's a great guy.  He's really really nice and he doesn't mind doing drugs, as long as he's off duty."

"I don't know about that, Kimberly.  Are you sure you can trust him?"

"Oh, silly.  Of course I can.  He's not like Gordon or Mark."

"You mean Mark Chappell?  The bastard that put you in the hospital?"

"Yeah.  Now he's somebody I couldn't trust, except to break my jaw or something."

"Oh God.  Just bringing up his name gives me the creeps," Bonnie said.  "And what about that sicko friend of his? -- didn't he have a fairly common name?"

"I don't remember."

"That guy was completely nuts.  I think he was capable of seriously hurting someone.  Hadn't he spent some time in the state hospital?"

"I don't know."

"You sure have known some real niggers, babes."

"BAH-nee!  You know they're white."

"Well, you know what I mean.  You don't have to be black to be a nigger," she explained.  "Anyway, let's talk about something pleasant, like Michael with the great little butt," Bonnie chided.

"You know, I haven't seen him around since we were at the museum with Gordon," I said.

"Come to think of it, I haven't either.  In fact, the last time I saw him we were, well...you know...and you'll never believe what happened.  Just as he started to have an orgasm, he started laughing out loud."

"He always laughs when he cums.  He's always been like that, it's really hysterical" I told her.

"But that's not the weird part.  Just as he's cumming and laughing -- and I'm in the middle of getting distracted by it all -- this chick that I know opens the door and looks in on us.  Only I'm not aware of it right away.  The funny thing is that she was so shocked by seeing his naked buns in the air, she didn't even notice that I was under him."

"What gives you that idea?" I asked her.

"Well, the next day it just so happened I was over at her house.  She was apparently so blown away by seeing him in the act and actually hearing him laughing, she said, that she just closed the door to the bedroom and took off.  She was really pissed about him laughing, she said.  She didn't even seem that concerned about him having sex with someone else."

"Is she a weird chick or something?" I asked.

"She's all right," she said, and looked down at her hands quickly.

The way she acted, for some reason, I thought maybe I had offended her.  I just changed the subject real fast.  "So how's your love life?"

"Oh.  It's OK.  Nothing special," Bonnie said.

But when she said it I noticed she wouldn't look at me.  I think she maybe was embarrassed that we were talking about guys the way we were, so openly.  I guess she just got overly sensitive, so I didn't push it anymore.  I mean, honestly, if we would go after the same guy, it’s like obvious to both of us that I would get him.  She might be smarter than me, but everybody knows I'm beautiful.  I've got big boobs and a great pair of legs.  That's the way it always was in high school, and we both know it.  It's not like a secret or anything.

"You know, I think Gordon likes you," I joked to kind of loosen things up.

"He's a pig!" Bonnie snapped at me.

"God!  You don't have to yell," I said.

"Well you know how I feel about jerks that beat up on women.  They have no right to exist.  If I had my way, they'd all be castrated," she barked at me.

"Ooh!  I love it.  I should call you Sady from now on.  You want a pair of scissors? or do you plan on using your teeth?"  I joked, to try to get her to stop being so serious.  Finally, she relaxed a little.  "Come on, let's do some of my stuff."

After a while we got to doing more and more lines and talking about old times.  I forgot all about Jon waiting for me to come by.  Bonnie started making lime daiquiris by the pitcher.  We drank them like water.  By the time I knew it, I was like totally wasted out of my gourd.  I don't remember even driving home that night.  I do remember listening to a message on my answering machine from Jon.  He sounded worried about me.  But I was too far gone to call him back.  Besides, it was really late.  I remember hearing a knock at the door sometime later.  I guess I thought it was Bonnie, for some reason.  When I opened it Gordon was standing on the step.

"You're fucked up," he said to me in a really rude voice.

He pushed his way into my apartment and closed the door behind him.  I was like, "excuse me?  I don't recall inviting you in."

"I don't need an invitation from some fucking coked out whore," he said and shoved me onto the coffee table.  "You no good whore.  Where do you get off going out on me," he said before he began hitting me in the face.

I don't remember anything after that.  I just remember how bad my face and stomach hurt before I passed out.  When I came to he was on top of me, but I was face down.  I could feel him filling me up.  It started to hurt really bad as I woke up more and more.  It felt like he didn't use any lubrication.  I thought I was going to like really die from suffocation or internal injuries.  Thank God he was so fast.  He was off me in like ten minutes.  I could hear him panting like he was out of breath real bad.  I knew I'd be hurting the next day.

"Wake up!" he hollered at me and turned me face up.  Then he got real gentle.  "I want you to be awake for this so you can enjoy every sweet, soft, penetrating minute."

I was relieved he decided to swing straight.  When he came inside me this time I was ready for it, he didn't need any lubrication now, I provided.  I actually got off on the idea that he was taking something from me by force.  I guess we got pretty involved with each other because we didn't hear Jon enter the room.  I looked up at some point and I saw him standing there just watching us, drunk as hell.

"When does this party begin, amigo," he yelled out at Gordon as soon as he caught me looking at his face.  Gordon jumped off me and spun around.  When he saw Jon standing over us he like shrank to nothing.  We both thought Jon was going to shoot him, and he would have deserved it.  Jon started taking off his clothes like he was going to dive into a lake.  "Move over there bud, give me some room to do some muff divin'," he said to Gordon.  "If you get your ass in my way it's fair game too."

Jon was obviously on something.  I never saw him like that before.  I was shocked that he wanted to make an orgy out of the situation.  But that's what he did.  Once he convinced Gordon he wasn't going to kill him, they both took turns with me.  At first they were really careful not to touch each other, but you could see them looking at each other really hard and close.  It was kind of sick, I thought, especially when I couldn't stand it anymore and I wanted them to stop and they wouldn't.

I was bleeding already from when Gordon did it to me while I was unconscious.  I could see them showing off for each other.  They were even making bets and timing themselves to see which one went the longest.  They acted like I wasn't even there.

"Let me up, I gotta gota the bathroom," I said.

"Slap that bitch!"  Gordon said to Jon with his teeth clenched, dramatically.

I was so shocked I was like "I'm sure," when Jon just did it.  He just did it!  He caught me off guard.  He just hauled off and slapped me across the face with an open hand.  Gordon did a cowboy yell and slapped me across the face the other way.  Then they just kept taking turns slapping me back and forth until I managed to crawl off the couch and onto the floor.  As I dragged myself away I could see that they'd gotten much friendlier with each other.  They were slapping each other on the back and congratulating each other on how good their dialogue was.  They were acting like a couple of filthy pigs.

They must have stayed out in the living room all night doing drugs and carrying on.  I locked my bedroom door and slept until the next day.  I forgot it was Thursday and Bonnie would be stopping by to go to lunch and catch a movie.  I was so sound asleep I didn't hear the doorbell.  Jon and Gordon had left without closing the front door, so Bonnie just let herself in.  She thought I was in the shower, so she knocked really loud on my bedroom door.

"Kimberly, I'm here, honey," she yelled like a dock worker.

"OK.  I'm coming," I said all groggy, and almost passed out when I felt the pains all over my face and body.  I got up slowly and opened the door.  When she saw how swollen my face was, she had a fit.  I just wanted her to be quiet and leave me alone, but she wouldn't stop until I promised to tell her who beat me up, or make an appointment to see a counselor for battered women.  I let her make the appointment, just to get her off my back.

I know she meant well, but I don't believe in "fixin' somethin' if it ain't broke."  There's nothing a counselor could do for me except to tell me stuff I'm not going to listen to anyway.  But she insisted, so I kept my appointment.  As a matter of fact, she insisted on driving me there so I couldn't get out of it.

When Bonnie made the appointment they wouldn't tell her where they were located right away.  They had to do some sort of background check and then call back.  They seemed really concerned that the guys who were violent should never be able to find out where their victims went for shelter.  I thought they were acting a little paranoid.  Meanwhile, Jon's like calling every five minutes to apologize for what he did, but Bonnie keeps telling him I went out of town for a few days.  She doesn't want to take any chances.  She's like really serious about this.

We went to a little gray house in Santa Cruz.  The drive there from San Jose was fun, and I was looking forward to a relaxing ride through the mountains.  It didn't have any signs or a parking lot.  The house was right at the corner of California Highway 9 and U.S. Highway 1, which is a really busy corner.  But other than that, you wouldn't know what it was unless you went inside.  The house was like a normal everyday house.  That's why I don't understand how something like that could happen.

He followed this girl to Santa Cruz.  He thought she was stepping out on him or something.  He was totally insane.  Beautiful, but nuts!  You could see it in his eyes.  I couldn't believe what he did to the doctor. . .I never saw anything like it before.  Anyway, the girl was staying with a friend to get away from him.  Me and her friend got to know each other while we were locked in the closet with the doctor.  He really did a number on Dr. Noboku.  She was out cold by the time he finished.  I still can't believe the look in his eyes when he found the gun.

"Is her friend OK?" I asked the policewoman who was guarding me in the hospital. 

"Fine.  She's fine.  Tell me just a little more about it if you can," she said.  "Tell me what he looked like."

Her friend--the one in the closet with me and the doctor--couldn't get her to report him to the police, though.  She thought the guy would find out somehow and kill her for it.  She thought he was into some kind of witchcraft voodoo stuff.  I think she was right.  There was like something real weird going on the whole time we were locked up.  But her friend finally talked her into getting professional help.  That's why she was there the same day I had my appointment.  What a coincidence.  We both were there because our friends talked us into going.

"How's my friend Bonnie--and her friend?  Colleen?" I asked the cop.

"They're safe. . .like you.  You're here now. . .safe and fine," the policewoman said to me.  I wasn't allowed to have any visitors.  The guy was still running around loose and they wanted to be real careful.

"I don't think I can do this anymore.  I feel like I'm gonna get sick."  I wasn't too much help.  There were things I couldn't remember, like what he looked like exactly.  I was sinking into the bed like a rock.

"It's probably the injection the nurse just gave you.  I'll get her right away.  Thanks for your help, Miss Barnes.  Please don't worry, you're gonna be just fine, you'll see."

I must have dozed off after talking to the cop.  I was exhausted and my leg was killing me.  After that I kept having nightmares about the devil.  Sometimes it seemed like I was half awake.  He would come in and sit at the foot of my bed and stare at me.  One time he was wearing blue jeans and he looked real familiar, but I couldn't see his face.  I remember him touching my leg.  His hands felt like they were on fire.  I wanted to scream, but I couldn't.  I was afraid he would kill me.  When he saw how scared I was he said he got what he came for.

When I finally came out of it, I found myself in a strange white room.  My throat was really sore and my mouth was cotton dry.  I sat up to see where I was.  I had a really bad feeling down in the pit of my stomach.  I was scared to move.  It was like something wasn't quite finished yet and I had to finish it.  I don't know why, but I threw the sheet off me as fast as I could--you know, the way your rip off a bandage real fast so it won't hurt so much?

I had my eyes closed when I did it and I should have kept them closed.  When I finally opened them I must have gone into shock because I only remember a piercing sick feeling ripping into my stomach, making me pass out.  I still can't talk or get around on my own yet.  That's why I'm writing this down now.  How inconvenient, huh?

But you know, it's not so bad all the time.  I'm living in Atlanta now.  I never could deal with earthquakes.  I'm lucky I made it through the last one.  I've even got a therapist who's helping me deal with my problems.  Now and then I get a little crazy and start feeling really bad; maybe a little sorry for myself.  She says that's normal.  She tells me to remember how painful it was walking around in those heels that Gordon used to make me wear all the time.  Sometimes that works.  I'm better off without them; without him.  But I still miss Jon a lot.  I don't think I'll ever get over that big brute.

Sometimes when I really start thinking about those cobalt blue pumps--I catch myself looking down at the space where my leg used to be and I can still picture them clicking on my feet.  I still have my memories.  They took away my leg, but they can't take that away from me.