Friday, March 16, 2012

THE BEATEN GENERATION: The Dick Principle (Chapter 10)



by Dick & Poli Tico

NOTES: This part is relatively short because I withheld the Paris segment, which took up most of the chapter, pending the French elections. The French Revolution in the 18th Century was used here to counterpoint the present day events, just to fortify the arguments of decline & pretension, but does not impact much on the main thriller narrative developing in California. It will later, when all the branches of the narratives converge for the climax. This novel takes us all over the world & back in time to Sodom, Ancient Greece, Roman Empire, Judea, Mecca, Vatican,French Revolution, British Empire, etc.
Chapter 10: Plan B

"... necessitamos sentido comun!
Mariano Rajoy, Prime Minister, Spain

"Britain & the US will leave Afghanistan without a perfect democracy!"
David Cameroon, Prime Minister, UK

"Taylor Swift was the top-earning musician for 2011 with earnings of $35.7 million"
Billboard

"Vogliono il posto fisso vicino a mamma e papà, ma il mondo e cambiato"
Anna Maria Cancellieri, Interior Minister, Italy


January 21, Beijing, 4 PM, Hongkong-Beijing Time, Sanya, China

The counter bomb exploded by Patricia turned out to be a dud. Everybody was sure Commander Albert Hageman would not be dislodged from the headlines. Calls & pleas were hurriedly made to "friendly" newspapers but the hard up ones (which all of them were) refused to fiddle with the projected pick up of sales & sponsor interest in the next few days. Rumors immediately sprouted that the Oriental wife of one big media mogul called up her connections in Beijing to lengthen the unexpected bonanza because by the mid-afternoon, it would turn out that the two conjoined Americans "could not be separated" in the warship clinic & had to be airlifted to a hospital in Sanya in Hainan. Doctors consulted elsewhere would shake their heads because a simple injection of muscle relaxant would have sufficed to do the trick.

Little did they know there would be more surprises to come. Even the regional hospital "will refer" and airlift the patients later on to Beijing. Meanwhile, all the TV sets in the entire world were inundated non-stop by pixelated images of the two inseparable naked Americans. Sales of anti-vomiting medications exploded. By midnight, most of the pundits, including the perennially clueless TV talking heads, were commenting at length on how sure they were that the younger soldier must have had a gangrenous phallus by then.

As for Patricia, who everybody assumed was an atheist because she has always been "snobbish" about it, nobody was really interested on her whereabouts. But if ever somebody had the temerity to be curious, triangulating her cellphone signals would have revealed she was alone inside a dark church praying just as the Californian midnight chimed in. She was spotted from a side door by a priest- the glow from the small bulbs lighting the statues of the saints on the walls emitted enough light to enable anyone to make her out slumped on a pew, the loose skin folds on the left side of her face faintly visible in the gloomy light. The glinting tears gave her away- she was silently crying.


January 21, 2012,Midnight, Pacific Time, Beverly Hills

"She's a big-time Hollywood producer, she couldn't have been wrong!"

"His name was Richard Gluck, not Robert Glock."

"I don't recognize both names."

"Where did Patricia get the name Robert Glock?"

"The husband was Roberto."

Everybody around the table became silent.

"Her mind was on something else, I'm sure."

"Have you noticed she was always glancing at the monitor, as if checking her makeup or what?"

"Her face was molting, did you catch that?"

"No, she probably haggled for a cheap facelift so the doctor scrimped on the sutures. She must be having financial problems, no?"

Tina was just silent but she was glowing with happiness listening to the skewering of Patricia. But somehow, at one point, a small part of her conscience got through & she quipped,"Somebody must have sabotaged her."

"Who?"

"The journalist Amelia Taylor wrote the speech. If you don't know, Amelia has been left by her husband ten years ago." Stella was the one who replied.

"So?" Malcolm Frederick was curious.

Stella laughed. "You don't know anything about bitter menopausal women, do you?"

A big guffaw from Frank exploded. He remembered Amelia's call but he said nothing.

Again, silence. Most of the well-dressed group just stared at the ceiling. Most were already half-drunk or stoned before coming in. The only ones younger than 65 years old were Malcolm, Stella, Tina & the circulating waiter.

"It's obvious this one won't do. Being an important part of the industry, I would have thought she could've chosen a better target with a maximum headline potential," the gray-haired man, who had a controlling interest in a management company which controlled most newspapers in the Western states, butted in. Literally, because when he stood up, his pants was already down & his pale butt glistened in the dim lighting. His small organ was already swollen, apparently it was being played all along under the table by the old lady on his left."This one won't even merit the backpage."

Frank immediately cut in. "I guess it's time to start the orgy inasmuch as you've already done so." He didn't like that their monthly Roman Orgy had to fall on the unfortunate "Impaled Commandant Incident". People were getting careless with their tounges. But he himself was now sure that Patricia's stunt was a mere ripple. He knew, however, that by this time, the right people would have decided as much & Plan B must be in motion. Not everybody in the room belonged to the inner circle & it appeared some who were, like this publisher, were too drunk or too stoned to bother about discretion. He always looked forward to this gathering, it never ceased to amuse him that their little Hippie group in the 1960's could produce these outstanding pillars of the California establishment. They now have respectable facades and this gathering was created so they could relive secretly the hedonistic 1960's at least once a month.

He looked at the special guest."How are things so far?"

Malcolm Frederick, who was only 41 years old, laughed. "Don't mind me. I was just supposed to be an observer, remember? I was always curious on how things like this would go."

"Nothing compared to the '60's, people were younger & prettier then." They both looked at the septuagenarian who fondled the publisher under the table a while ago. She was now looking seductively at the young waiter, but the latter merely threw back glances of disgust."Now, people have higher standards, I guess."

Again, Malcolm laughed. People had this impression of him as a liberal because of his hacking background. He was supposed to be the epitome of a free spirit. He was indeed a free spirit but politics had nothing to do with it. He was nothing but an anarchic hobbyist in perpetual search for the next thrill. Stir things up & see what excited him. All these politics of "respect" & "equality" he was hearing were just turning the world into a boring place. Was anybody dumb enough to even believe he could twist the world to conform into his grandmother statements? It was easy to see that in time, there's bound to be a limit to competence to manipulate events. He learned it in a special MBA crash course that they called it the "Peter Principle" among professionals. He witnessed it among his many expensive "respected" executives & consultants. The trick was to learn to spot the perfect moment to change tact.

He could see one coming. But it didn't mean the fun had to stop. He was not a member of any political party. He had little respect for people who sought strength in choruses. Everybody had his own agenda & it could be fun messing with them.

He glanced at Frank. He knew the dark secrets of Frank Schonberg. Frank was just a foot soldier in the scheme of things but he loved hacking Frank's computer. It felt like reading an outrageous pseudo-religious science-fiction novel, he thought. As long as you ignore the kinky sex, he grimaced.

Tina noticed it. The order from Mr. Caldwell was to keep Malcolm Frederick from being bored. "You're not enjoying yourself, Mr. Frederick?"

Malcolm laughed."I always enjoy myself actually. Anytime, anywhere, anyhow..."

"You won in your last bet, didn't you?" Stella joined in the conversation. Elsewhere in the room, the old people found places on the sofas scattered around the long table. Most started taking off their clothes.

"Not much. It's only the appeal, not yet the final decision," Malcolm smiled. The $500 million he won from Herbert & Herman was not much, he lost a billion last time.He again smiled when he remembered the incongruous characters of his defeated opponents. He knew Herbert as homophobic & Herman as closet homosexual. He found it very funny how they found themselves on one side with that one. He wondered if Herman knew part of his initial investments came from servicing the latter's sex-starved wife.

"Apparently Herbert won that much when Proposition 8 lost," said Tina. The marijuana smoke has made her giddy. Somebody gave her some tablets of LSD ("just to relive the '60's") but she wanted to keep a clear head. She had no intention of joining the orgy. She saw a group of naked young men & women who entered by a side door but she had no interest in having sex with professionals. Much less with the decrepit people who seemed to gobble up the new arrivals. She decided to focus on Malcom Frederick to forestall the creeping gross feeling.

"Me & Herman were on that one. I lost $500 million," Malcolm was saying.

"The next big one is the election in France. Have you made your bet?" asked Stella who looked glowing amidst the cavorting all around her. That didn't surprise Tina. Stella had a closet husband & her friend must be so lacking in sex she would be thrilled watching two dogs in action.

"Who are the players?" asked Malcolm.

"Herbert will pass. He won big with the last one in Russia. We'll canvass your opponent. How much would be your preferred pot money?" Tina was horrified to see Stella was actually eyeing a particularly nauseous old man with a huge belly humping an adolescent blonde. She was at a loss whether to just silently pity her friend or to spank her to force her to learn some taste.

"Standard. One billion."

"Game."Stella was now breathing heavily. Tina half-expected her to stand up & join the naked bodies but Stella remained in her seat. At least she still had some taste left, Tina sighed with relief.

"How about this one? Nobody created a game for this one?" asked Malcolm.

"There is." It was Frank, still in his seat, who answered. "On who will be left in the headlines after one week. $500 million."

"Join?" Tina was eager for her first cut. There must be grace after all her sacrifices reining her upwelling stomach tonight. Tina has always professed her lack of interest on the financial side of her job. But reality has finally caught up with her, it was love that forced her to confide to Stella her money problems. She wanted to start right with Tony. She has always wondered about the connection of Right Wing money to Leftist humanitarian agencies. The primary political ruse was obvious but she wondered about the practical mechanics behind the scene.It turned out Stella was not only the head of a humanitarian group which, unknown to the public, was financed by the Caldwell Foundation. She had other functions. Tina was jaded with life's mysteries but she was still stunned by what she discovered.

She liked it though. And she now forgave the hickiness of Stella. It's not a big thing really that Stella looked like a kindergarden teacher in the Appalachian mountains in her printed dress tonight. In fact, she's now her hero. She could picture herself & Tony in a nice house in Beverly Hills. Just as grand as Stella's would be fine, she silently giggled.

The Clash of the Titans!

Their attention was broken by a loud geriatric moan. The couplings around the room were heating up.

Malcolm laughed."Athens, Rome, Los Angeles."

"Don't forget Sodom."

Malcolm followed the eyes of Frank. In a divan, the publisher was sandwiched between a busty blonde & a muscled black man. Instantly, he felt nauseous.


January 21, 1793, Bastille, Paris

(Withheld)



January 21, 2012, 1 AM, Pacific Time, Los Angeles

Herman Schonberg didn't know Adrian Lao called up Rod Thompson in Sta. Barbara that same evening. Rod Thompson has been the biggest action star in Hollywood for the past 30 years. All the hot-blooded American males (the straight ones, obviously) grew up looking up to him as their hero. Silent, brooding, real man. A succession of A-list female stars have passed thru his arms & bed- at least, as far as the gossip tabloids could be believed. Not a pink fiber in his body?

Herman knew Rod Thompson was straight. Rod was just practical. He knew how to play Herman Schonberg's piano. Hollywood was a whore town.

"They're asking for hundred milion, Herman," Herman could hear the desperation in the voice of Rod Thompson. He could imagine what was torturing the action star's mind. What if America suddenly watch him one day in an hour long clip showing him being drilled like one of his leading ladies on his back?

So, that's their game, he thought. Blackmail each & every one of them.

"They asked 2 billion but somebody bought it twice the amount." He knew what he said won't help Rod. He was at a lost on what to say.

"My grandson, Herman. I am his hero..."

This time, Herman couldn't come up with anything. He just listened to Rod Thomson crying silently at the other end of the line.

Then Rod stopped. When he spoke, it was in his steely, quiet masculine screen voice. "I have a gun pointed to my throat, Herman."

Herman Schonberg didn't know how to beat around the bush. He knew Rod Thompson. Rod would not be able to live after this.

"Do you have any choice? Pull it, Rod."


January 21, 2012,2 AM, Pacific Time, Los Angeles

Norberto Sanchez opened the door & let in the tall handsome actor. Charles Murphy wasn't alone. Another actor, just as tall & handsome, a fellow A-lister, Arthur Dandridge, followed in. Both were already inebriated. They went in directly to the entertainment room with a connecting swimming pool. The two best friends loved swimming in the nude in the wee hours of the morning. He has spotted them many times engaged in different compromising positions. The lesbian wife of Charles, another famous actress, was in Tahiti with her girl friend. Maria, Norberto's wife, has already tucked their children in their beds.

Norberto met Charles when he was still a cook in the neighboring house of a gay Hollywood TV director. Charles, newly arrived to Hollywood from Missisippi, worked as a runaround boy in the house of the director in between his casting hunts. They became close & when Charles hit it big, he remembered his old Mexican friend. Norberto & his wife became the housekeepers of Charles' mansion in West Hollywood.

Young poor Mexican men didn't have qualms using their body to earn extra money. But they knew when to stop & reassert their true personality & sexuality. He saw Charles in many compromising positions with the gay director but he didn't put much meaning into it. He thought Charles was just doing it in exchange for something, just like the poor Mexicans. The first week he worked for Charles, he knew he was wrong with his "friend". The real "wife" of Charles was Arthur. The two biggest leading men of Hollywood were lovers.

He could hear their laughter now. Raucous. Two ordinary friends on a night out. He knew anytime now, it would suddenly turn silent, but if he would just focus, he was sure to hear their moans. He was paid well by Charles but he was not sure how long he could put up with his upwellinging stomach. He was discovering it was hard to be constantly fighting nausea.

Soon, he couldn't hear their laughter. He didn't have to approach the door. He could clearly hear the pants & moans. It must be a pretty hot scene inside.

"Que asco!" he shuddered.

Then suddenly, there was a blast & Norberto was thrown a few feet away from the smoking wrecked door of the entertainment room.


January 21, 2012, 3 AM, Los Angeles

Frank was eager to be the first to break it to Amelia. He listened instead to her recorded voice.

"Hi, this is Amelia Taylor. If you're listening to this, I must be on an airplane for Rio. Yup, I hopped on the first trip out for Rio. Forget the old me. Just you wait, you'll be surprised. $300,000 worth of beautiful & young surprise..." Then the sound of her giggling like a pubescent girl.




Next: Chapter 11


Unsterblich - Die Toten Hosen



Junge - Die Ärtze