by Jack Henry
Julian stood next to the Pop Singer in the last stall on the left in the ladies restroom of the hip and trendy Club Worm. They passed a button bag filled with crushed fine white powder methamphetamine back and forth as they took substantial hits through a rolled hundred dollar bill.
"This shit burns." Julian said, his left eye watering profusely. He held his head just a kid would, burning through an ice cream brain freeze. "Motherfucker."
"It's not so bad," the Pop Singer said, working the dope like a professional long term junkie. "Gotta buck up a little, Julian. You'll be okay. I promise."
"I know." Julian said as he tucked the button bag back into his coat pocket. "No big deal, really. I am fine. I can cope. There's no issue here. Really. No issue."
The Pop Singer leaned into Julian.
"Honey," she said, "oughta talk a little slower and keep that tongue in your mouth."
"I can do that. I can. I can. Do that, I mean. Do that." Julian put his hands on the Pop Singer's head and pulled her in for a stellar, full tongue, Alabama in the Summer hot and sexy kiss. The Pop Singer responded with even greater intensity. Julian's libido went from zero to hero in a blink.
"Holy shit, Julian." The Pop Singer said, pushing him away.
"What? What? Did I do something wrong? Inappropriate? Uncalled for?"
"No, darlin'. Not at all. Just I think it's time to go."
"Okay. Okay. Go we will. We shall. Go and go."
The Pop Singer grabbed Julian's jaw and pressed her middle and index finger roughly into his mouth, pressing his tongue down, fingernails drawing blood.
"If you don't fuckin' chill until we get out of here I'm gonna leave you on the side of the fuckin' road in Compton wearing nothing but a Klan outfit. You get me?" The Pop Singer stared hard into Julian's eyes.
Julian emerged first from the stall, straighten his shirt and jacket. No one looked up or noticed or cared in any way. Becca, professional restroom attendant, raised an eyebrow slightly, but nothing more. She had seen, heard and witnessed too much to really peak her curiosity, especially the Pop Singer and her circle of friends.
The Pop Singer walked out of the stall, smiling broadly. She washed her hands, accepted a towel from Becca and dropped a twenty in the tip basket. Julian stared dumbly, wondering where the Pop Singer had the twenty stashed, then blinked when he noticed a small clutch purse in the Pop Singer's hand.
"That's weird." Julian said.
"What's that, hun?"
"You're purse. I didn't realize...oh never mind."
"Silly man. So silly."
Julian held the door and followed the Pop Singer out. They walked back to the VIP room, which had filled with more rappers, C-List actors and various musicians, publicists, agents and managers. The Pop Singer broke away and sat next to Lindsey Lohan. They talked a few minutes, giggling quietly. When the Pop Singer pointed at Julian he waved back. He had a thing for Lindsey Lohan, from the moment he first saw her in a Disney movie. Before Julian could take a step toward them both women turned away from him, reengaging their close conversation.
"Julian! It's me. Amber."
Julian did a slow turn, his smile washing completely from his face.
"Amber, love. How are we doing?"
"We are doing well, Julian. Actually quite well. I landed a role on a new VH1 reality show."
"I did. It's called, Dumb as a Rock."
"Really? Dumb as a rock?"
"Starring who? All blondes in bikini's drinking and fighting over men with the collective intelligence of sand?"
"I'm guessing, but hey, it's like fuckin' twenty-grand just to show up so I am in."
"Well, I suppose if you can take 'em for some cash it works out."
"Yeah, no shit." Julian said. "So what brings you 'round here."
"Just hangin'. I know this show runner from Gray's Anatomy who comes here a lot." Amber stepped closer to Julian. "Why're you here? Lookin' for me?"
"Now that would be the fuckin' day, wouldn't it? I mean me lookin' for you. Unlikely. I mean, completely and absolutely out of the question, don't you think?"
"Jesus, Julian. Slow the fuck down. How much speed have you done?"
"Just a bit. A little. I mean, not that much. No one's counting, are they? Why would someone count how much shit Julian does."
"Well Speed Racer, you might want to chill some." Amber leaned in and kissed Julian on the cheek. "You should invite me over some time."
"Yeah, alright. I can do that. Totally. Yer at the same place then?"
"Yeah, Julian. Same place, same number." Amber turned to walk away but stopped. She looked back at Julian. "By the way, that dude with the gray suit came back by lookin' for you. You know the guy I'm talkin' about? Something about your daughter? I didn't know you had a daughter."
"What did you say? Amber! What the fuck did you say?" Julian rushed Amber, grabbed her arms.
"Nothing, man. Not a fuckin' thing. You need to chill the fuck up, Speedy." Amber brushed Julian off her like cobwebs at a haunted house. "The daughter thing surprised me but I said you moved to Phoenix."
"Yeah, I couldn't think of anything better. I figured you didn't want this guy findin' you since you suddenly moved and I'm bettin' it was 'cause of him."
"Yeah. More or less."
"So a daughter?"
"Yeah, well. Not anymore. She died."
Before Amber could respond Julian darted to the Pop Singer and pulled her to her feet.
"You wanna roll?"
"Yeah, hon. Of course, let's get the hell outta here." The Pop Singer smiled through perfect teeth, through her arms around Julian's neck and kissed him. "Bye Linds. I call y'all in few days or something?"
"Yeah, cool." Lindsey nodded toward Julian then pulled her Blackberry from a small clutch and began banging on the keys.
"Bye Miss Lindsey."
Lindsey looked up at Julian and laughed.
"She's gonna tear you up, Julian. You read about Jessica Simpson being sex crack, this girl is ten times that."
The Pop Singer laughed. "That bitch is a liar. Now c'mon. We gotta go through the kitchen. Billy, that's the owner of the Worm, he put in a secret passage so those asshole photographer's can't see us leave."
"Wouldn't want that."
"Naw, hell no. I get in enough trouble on my own. I can only imagine the hell you'd cause me."
"What about Dasha? I came with Dasha."
"Oh yeah? Sweet girl. I like her. Her accent's funny." The Pop Singer led Julian into a large kitchen, past stoves and warming table and into a storage closet. She pressed a code onto a key pad and a hidden door opened into a long hallway. "Ain't this trippy?"
"Yeah. Trippy." Julian had to bite his tongue literally to keep a small semblance of composure.
"Dasha left. With some guy. Said he was number five and to tell you that."
"Yeah, when you were talking to the reality show girl. I've seen her, you know? A couple of shows. She's as funny as fuck sometimes." The Pop Singer paused, wrapped her arms around Julian, pressing her body into his. Thanks to the enormous quantity of amphetamine toying with Julian's central nervous system and the sensitivity that provided, he became instantly erect. The Pop Singer ran her hand down Julian's chest, past his belt and cupped his bulge in her hand. She gave him a squeeze, hard, demanding, and Julian moaned loudly. Julian put both hands on the Pop Singers ass, pulling the material of dress up until flesh met with flesh. He ran his index finger down the middle of ass cheeks and stopped at the first hole he came across. Without hesitating further he shoved the finger in, well past the second knuckle. The Pop Singer closed her eyes and smiled.
"You wouldn't mind if I tied you to my bed, would you?" The Pop Singer said.
"No, of course not."
"Our safety word will be Toxic."
"Yeah, if it gets too much for you, hun, just say Toxic and I will stop."
"Okay." Julian continued to fuck the Pop Singer's ass with his finger. "What if it's too much for you?"
The Pop Singer laughed, her chortles echoing in the long hallway.
"Oh that's so cute. I'll have to tell Linds about that." The Pop Singer pushed Julian away, straightened her dress and retrieved a baby wipe from her clutch then handed it to Julian.
"So where's this bed?"
"Renaissance Hotel at Hollywood and Highland. You can drive my car. I can't afford running over someone's foot again."
Jack Henry lives, fucks and does things he really shouldn't in the high desert of Southeastern California, generally from the comfort of his single wide trailer but not always. In the mid-80s it is reported that he had a fondness for masturbating in the back of a subway train in San Francisco. Other reports tell of masturbating in the same bathroom stall George Michaels found his thrill. Both are equally strange but somewhat predictable. Henry also has a few books of poetry floating around in the world and numerous postings on a variety of Internet and print magazines and journals.