Read Online What We Do Is Secret by Thorn Kief Hillsbery - Free Book Online
Authors: Thorn Kief Hillsbery
Tags: Fiction
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both get excited when Blitzer says he overdosed.
Just like Marilyn.
All I know about her is the name. But Siouxsie’s all, Wasn’t she in a movie with Montgomery Clift? And I know him, he’s the dude in that Clash song “The Right Profile,” begging for another roll of pills. When
London Calling
came out and we first heard it I asked Darby what a roll of pills was, and he wasn’t sure, so he drug-checked with a pharmacist at the Walgreen’s on Vine, who said it’s a thousand. That means Montgomery Clift gulped a thousand pills at a time, according to the Clash. So make it the fright profile, and call it a trap.
“The Misfits !”
Tim and David belt it out together and we all think they’re talking about the band and mixing up Danzig with Darby. But it’s some fuckin movie, not only are they clueless on the Germs, they know less than zero about punk rock period, except they love the sound of the Sex Pistols.
The sound of the name, I mean.
Blitzer asks what kind of boonie tunes they thrive on keep alive on out in Mickey and Minniesota, and Tim screams it loud enough to wake the you know who.
“Judy!”
And that’s all it takes, the creepy-Crowley quiet since we got here is gone, the days change at night, change in an instant, just like the X song, though “Los Angeles” itself isn’t gone at all, more like the exact flip-flopposite, it’s been like number one on my brainframe grit parade ever since I said yeah yeah yeah to Idaho, back at the Jell-O factory. Though right this moment at the tomb the tune will be gabba gabba hey hey we’re the homos, with Squid and Siouxsie joining in left channel right channel on the goodbye yellow brick road action.
Some of the Oz that refreshes stuff I get, like lions and tigers and Tim’s to-die-for favorite, bears, but the rest I don’t follow at all, except that Judy overdosed too. And it just goes on and on from here to fuckin infirmity till finally Blitzer steers me over to the fence and we stand hugging the cold iron bars with the night wind blowing in our faces off the graves.
“What hey, girls talk.”
“Squid and Siouxsie really like these guys.”
“Repeat after me, girls talk.”
And I guess the girlie thing is part of it, but even though I just met Tim and David I can tell they’re like Siouxsie and Squid, foreground one, background one, I bet the whole popcorn pilgrimage was Tim’s idea but it took David to get the freak show on the road, he did the driving for example, I’m not the only one who can’t see Tim out there in Mudville, Mississippi, pumping gas in his hot pants, now am I. So it’s like team-work, really, and they’re the same kinds of teams, maybe that’s why they’re hitting it off, because the list of what they’ve got in common otherwise is shorter than a name check of the honest cops in Hollywood Division.
I ask if he thinks they’ve got much money.
“I don’t know how much cash. But making movies isn’t cheap. They’ve for sure got plastic.”
He reaches over and rubs the back of my neck.
“And they’ve got a room.”
With those fingers, with the ones I.
Yeah.
Blitzer says, “I want to finish what we started.”
I just nod.
“Tonight.”
“Cool.”
“In a bed.”
I tell him I’ll do whatever he wants. And then I wonder if he thinks I mean whatever to help get us into that bed, or whatever he wants once we’re in it.
Both, I hope.
He asks if Squid and Siouxsie have any drugs.
“MDA. They turned a two-bill trick. Siouxsie gave me some.”
“We need some fry. Feed those fairies acid and leave ’em somewhere. Buy ourselves some alone time.”
“Leave them on their own?”
There’s the hissing and
click click click
ing of the sprinklers and the laugh track of the four of them over by the van, busting up over not being in Kansas anymore. Finally Blitzer says, “With the lezzie-byrds, I guess.”
He reaches between us and hooks two fingers down the front of my jeans inside my shorts and
Just like Marilyn.
All I know about her is the name. But Siouxsie’s all, Wasn’t she in a movie with Montgomery Clift? And I know him, he’s the dude in that Clash song “The Right Profile,” begging for another roll of pills. When
London Calling
came out and we first heard it I asked Darby what a roll of pills was, and he wasn’t sure, so he drug-checked with a pharmacist at the Walgreen’s on Vine, who said it’s a thousand. That means Montgomery Clift gulped a thousand pills at a time, according to the Clash. So make it the fright profile, and call it a trap.
“The Misfits !”
Tim and David belt it out together and we all think they’re talking about the band and mixing up Danzig with Darby. But it’s some fuckin movie, not only are they clueless on the Germs, they know less than zero about punk rock period, except they love the sound of the Sex Pistols.
The sound of the name, I mean.
Blitzer asks what kind of boonie tunes they thrive on keep alive on out in Mickey and Minniesota, and Tim screams it loud enough to wake the you know who.
“Judy!”
And that’s all it takes, the creepy-Crowley quiet since we got here is gone, the days change at night, change in an instant, just like the X song, though “Los Angeles” itself isn’t gone at all, more like the exact flip-flopposite, it’s been like number one on my brainframe grit parade ever since I said yeah yeah yeah to Idaho, back at the Jell-O factory. Though right this moment at the tomb the tune will be gabba gabba hey hey we’re the homos, with Squid and Siouxsie joining in left channel right channel on the goodbye yellow brick road action.
Some of the Oz that refreshes stuff I get, like lions and tigers and Tim’s to-die-for favorite, bears, but the rest I don’t follow at all, except that Judy overdosed too. And it just goes on and on from here to fuckin infirmity till finally Blitzer steers me over to the fence and we stand hugging the cold iron bars with the night wind blowing in our faces off the graves.
“What hey, girls talk.”
“Squid and Siouxsie really like these guys.”
“Repeat after me, girls talk.”
And I guess the girlie thing is part of it, but even though I just met Tim and David I can tell they’re like Siouxsie and Squid, foreground one, background one, I bet the whole popcorn pilgrimage was Tim’s idea but it took David to get the freak show on the road, he did the driving for example, I’m not the only one who can’t see Tim out there in Mudville, Mississippi, pumping gas in his hot pants, now am I. So it’s like team-work, really, and they’re the same kinds of teams, maybe that’s why they’re hitting it off, because the list of what they’ve got in common otherwise is shorter than a name check of the honest cops in Hollywood Division.
I ask if he thinks they’ve got much money.
“I don’t know how much cash. But making movies isn’t cheap. They’ve for sure got plastic.”
He reaches over and rubs the back of my neck.
“And they’ve got a room.”
With those fingers, with the ones I.
Yeah.
Blitzer says, “I want to finish what we started.”
I just nod.
“Tonight.”
“Cool.”
“In a bed.”
I tell him I’ll do whatever he wants. And then I wonder if he thinks I mean whatever to help get us into that bed, or whatever he wants once we’re in it.
Both, I hope.
He asks if Squid and Siouxsie have any drugs.
“MDA. They turned a two-bill trick. Siouxsie gave me some.”
“We need some fry. Feed those fairies acid and leave ’em somewhere. Buy ourselves some alone time.”
“Leave them on their own?”
There’s the hissing and
click click click
ing of the sprinklers and the laugh track of the four of them over by the van, busting up over not being in Kansas anymore. Finally Blitzer says, “With the lezzie-byrds, I guess.”
He reaches between us and hooks two fingers down the front of my jeans inside my shorts and
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