said in the schoolgirl voice she had down pat.
Lyon was sitting in the living room. On a table before her rested a bottle of tequila and two marijuana joints, unsmoked. She reached for one, then made an old Zippo lighter—the one I’d already seen in Blondie’s hands—screech. She breathed in the flame and exhaled a thread of smoke, then passed it to me without saying a word. Her boyfriend was buttoning up his shirt and running his fingers through his hair, which stubbornly stood up on end. I guessed her mother wasn’t in.
“He’s not one of us,” her boyfriend said with a nauseated expression from the other side of the room.
I made the same face back at him and took the joint from Lyon’s fingers, gave it a big pull, and held the smoke until I could feel it invading my throat. Then I exhaled, reaching for the bottle of tequila on the table.
“You called me. Here I am,” I said, taking a swig right out of the bottle, without taking my eyes off the boyfriend. He saw I wasn’t going to play his little game, lost interest, and picked up a magazine.
“Forget it, Sue. He doesn’t understand what it means to be famous. I’m already an actor, and I’m going to direct a film just to get rid of losers like him.”
“Yeah, he acted in a film,” Lyon said. “He played one of the zombies.”
“Nominated for the Oscar, no doubt.”
The boyfriend didn’t turn around. Either he hadn’t heard me or decided not to listen. He continued paging through his magazine.
“I’d like to thank you for what you did for Eva,” Lolita whispered.
“It was nothing. But I won’t be able to hold off the police for long. They can get annoying with all their silly questions about drugs, or about the guy who got away. I don’t have enough hush money for all that.”
This last phrase made Lyon’s eyes open so wide they almost popped out of her head.
“She’s already spoken to the chief of police. They drugged her and kidnapped her. It was a miracle you were able to save her in time,” she said.
“Some people call me Sir Lancelot. I’m a knight in shining armor on Saturdays, Sundays, and days off.”
“She’s a good teacher,” she continued. “She’s expanded my mind. She knows a lot and has traveled a lot. She’s not a piece of shit like all the rest. She won’t let Hollywood ruin me like it has Liz and Deborah.”
“Yeah, it’s really crummy that they’re famous and earn millions of dollars. Someone oughta get the electric chair.” I was taking it out on her, but it was Blondie who deserved my sarcasm. “If you want to ruin your life, you don’t need Hollywood’s help, young lady. You’re already well on your way.”
To her surprise, I abruptly stood up. Hampton Fancher ran toward me, full of bravado.
“You’re being disrespectful to Sue. That’s gonna hurt.”
He telegraphed his attack. I used the same punch that the Indian, Fernández, had used on me: in the face, right between the eyes.
Fancher went flying over the sofa and landed on the coffee table. The tequila and joints floated in midair until gravity did its part. I was expecting a scream or at least some tears from Lyon, but her jaw just dropped. Another dumb blonde to swell the ranks of Movieland.
“Is Eva okay?” I asked in a conciliatory fashion.
Lyon answered, completely ignoring the curses coming from her boyfriend, who was trying to get to his feet.
“Yes. Actually she’s been asking for you.”
“Tell her something nice, something she’d like. On my behalf.”
I walked out, mentally erasing Sue Lyon from future sexual fantasies.
2 PARTS VODKA
1 PART COFFEE LIQUEUR, PREFERABLY KAHLÚA
MILK OR LIGHT CREAM
B lend the vodka, chilled if possible, with the coffee liqueur. Serve in a short glass with ice. Slowly add the milk or cream to taste in order to achieve an appealing visual effect.
A cocktail for many occasions, the White Russian is named in honor of the “anti-Bolsheviks,” or supporters of the czar, from
Lyon was sitting in the living room. On a table before her rested a bottle of tequila and two marijuana joints, unsmoked. She reached for one, then made an old Zippo lighter—the one I’d already seen in Blondie’s hands—screech. She breathed in the flame and exhaled a thread of smoke, then passed it to me without saying a word. Her boyfriend was buttoning up his shirt and running his fingers through his hair, which stubbornly stood up on end. I guessed her mother wasn’t in.
“He’s not one of us,” her boyfriend said with a nauseated expression from the other side of the room.
I made the same face back at him and took the joint from Lyon’s fingers, gave it a big pull, and held the smoke until I could feel it invading my throat. Then I exhaled, reaching for the bottle of tequila on the table.
“You called me. Here I am,” I said, taking a swig right out of the bottle, without taking my eyes off the boyfriend. He saw I wasn’t going to play his little game, lost interest, and picked up a magazine.
“Forget it, Sue. He doesn’t understand what it means to be famous. I’m already an actor, and I’m going to direct a film just to get rid of losers like him.”
“Yeah, he acted in a film,” Lyon said. “He played one of the zombies.”
“Nominated for the Oscar, no doubt.”
The boyfriend didn’t turn around. Either he hadn’t heard me or decided not to listen. He continued paging through his magazine.
“I’d like to thank you for what you did for Eva,” Lolita whispered.
“It was nothing. But I won’t be able to hold off the police for long. They can get annoying with all their silly questions about drugs, or about the guy who got away. I don’t have enough hush money for all that.”
This last phrase made Lyon’s eyes open so wide they almost popped out of her head.
“She’s already spoken to the chief of police. They drugged her and kidnapped her. It was a miracle you were able to save her in time,” she said.
“Some people call me Sir Lancelot. I’m a knight in shining armor on Saturdays, Sundays, and days off.”
“She’s a good teacher,” she continued. “She’s expanded my mind. She knows a lot and has traveled a lot. She’s not a piece of shit like all the rest. She won’t let Hollywood ruin me like it has Liz and Deborah.”
“Yeah, it’s really crummy that they’re famous and earn millions of dollars. Someone oughta get the electric chair.” I was taking it out on her, but it was Blondie who deserved my sarcasm. “If you want to ruin your life, you don’t need Hollywood’s help, young lady. You’re already well on your way.”
To her surprise, I abruptly stood up. Hampton Fancher ran toward me, full of bravado.
“You’re being disrespectful to Sue. That’s gonna hurt.”
He telegraphed his attack. I used the same punch that the Indian, Fernández, had used on me: in the face, right between the eyes.
Fancher went flying over the sofa and landed on the coffee table. The tequila and joints floated in midair until gravity did its part. I was expecting a scream or at least some tears from Lyon, but her jaw just dropped. Another dumb blonde to swell the ranks of Movieland.
“Is Eva okay?” I asked in a conciliatory fashion.
Lyon answered, completely ignoring the curses coming from her boyfriend, who was trying to get to his feet.
“Yes. Actually she’s been asking for you.”
“Tell her something nice, something she’d like. On my behalf.”
I walked out, mentally erasing Sue Lyon from future sexual fantasies.
2 PARTS VODKA
1 PART COFFEE LIQUEUR, PREFERABLY KAHLÚA
MILK OR LIGHT CREAM
B lend the vodka, chilled if possible, with the coffee liqueur. Serve in a short glass with ice. Slowly add the milk or cream to taste in order to achieve an appealing visual effect.
A cocktail for many occasions, the White Russian is named in honor of the “anti-Bolsheviks,” or supporters of the czar, from
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