Peter_J_Swanson's Blog

"How do I know you're not just trying to get me in the sack?"

 He looked at me oddly before he blinked a few times in astonishment. Then he blushed. "Oh. Oh, I'm gay as red shoes, can't you tell? Love it! Don't you know a gay guy when you see one?"

This was the first time I'd met anyone who admitted to such a thing, so I stammered like a dork, "H-h-how d-do you know you're really - that - "

He blinked a few more times, this time demurely. He slowly smiled, and crookedly. "When I look through the men's section of the catalogue - at the underwear - I just know. I look real hard. I look at that underwear for a real long time. You get my drift?" He laughed then quickly got serious again. "I just want some artsy-fartsy nude layouts - without showing your box, of course. Call me if you change your mind - that's unless you're not hip to your body, or something. Are you from the Midwest?"

"I'm not shy." I took the number from him. "I'm not some midwestern prude! I'll call you if I decide it's the smart thing to do. And by the way, how much would I get paid? What about the money!"

"I can't give you anything right off," he admitted, suddenly not able to look at me. He looked plaintively at the half naked boys on skateboards. I was turned off. He looked at his feet and continued, "I'd have to wait and share what I get if I sell. If you don't trust me, you can write the goddam contract, yourself.”

I wondered how a person would go about writing a contract. "Residuals?"

Andernach nodded. "Crumbs probably. The money thing all depends. Who knows? This town is so goddam all-or-nothing fickle. There's no middle, here. Either veal or doggy-nips."

"You're not too good at making wild promises," I accused him, darkening my dark voice.

He shrugged flippantly. "It just gets you into trouble. It's easier to work with strangers. In the long run, if you're just up front about what's expected, and cool, then there's no train crash at the end of the line. Friends are the ones who have the power to give you grief. They expect twice the favors in return. Friends act like you owe them till the day they die."

I wondered if he was he trying to warn me that he was a jerk. I stood. "I'll let you know if I decide this is what I want to do."

Andernach said to me, while watching the skateboarding boys, "It takes only a few weeks in this town before you realize you're pumping winter."

"Sure, whatever." I wondered what he could have meant by that expression in this glaring concrete desert. I looked up at the sky and crinkled all my makeup.

THE JOAN CRAWFORD MURDERS

Chapter one

The day had been so exciting that she drank way too much. Just as she was about to pass out, there was a knock at the dressing room door. She opened her eyes, opened the door, and saw a Joan Crawford in an old fashioned padded-shouldered 40s suit. She was confused. "Huh?"

"I'm Joan Crawford."

She answered, slurring, "Noooo, I'm Joan Crawford!"

"I'm the only Joan Crawford, so I'll have to kill you."

"BALLS! Look whah-you're wearing! It's goddam 1953, for chrissakes!"

"Bloody knife!" Bloody knife!"

Joan squinted, trying to see straight. "Who are you?"

Three studio security guards rushed into the hall and two of them dragged the kicking and swearing impersonator away. A third guard stayed and asked, "Are you alright Miss Crawford?"

Only able to think about having had far too much to drink, she tried to keep her eyes open, and found that her tongue had became stuck. "Mah-laaah."

He chuckled. "All right Miss Crawford. I'll lock you in now for the night."

"MGM can go-ta Hell!" She hiccupped as she slammed the door. She grabbed her razor sharp silver From the Desk of Joan Crawford letter opener and held it out to the room like a weapon as if she was still in danger. "Wha-ya want!" She sliced at the air. Then she realized she didn't see anybody else in the room. "Oh." She went to put the letter opener back but missed the desk by a foot and it fell to the floor, sounding a pretty chime. She didn't hear it as she fell to her knees knocking an empty vodka bottle to the side. Then she started to raggedly snore.

* * * * *

The phone rang. She woke up. "Goddam! Why am I on the floor? That must have been some party. Oh, my head!" She picked up the phone but it had stopped ringing, so she washed her hands, popped some aspirin and fixed herself a drink. While she washed her hands again, the phone rang again. She grabbed it. "You're speaking to a star!"

"Cranberry! You get to be Joan Crawford again! You get "

"Bill!" It was Joan's oldest friend, the ex-star, Billy Haines, who helped her start out in the silent days. "Bill!" Joan shifted the heavy metal telephone to her other ear as she began to rub freesia glycerin on her elbows. "Is that you? Bless you! How dear of you to jingle-ling me, here! How's my favorite fairy dust? How's your hubby, Jimmy? How are my favorite Hollywood homosexuals?"

It's in paperback in general fiction at: htt://stonegarden.net/

THE JOAN CRAWFORD MURDERS is a novel !!!  Search my name Peter Joseph Swanson at Amazon or Barnes & Nobles !!!  There I am !!!

Yay !!!! I just started a NEW glee group !!! It's all for Joan Crawford

You can look at pictures of Joan there - she was the ultimate gay icon in her day.

http://groups.glee.com/joan_crawford

A rambunctious tale of a young woman's folly
With mobsters and nazis and a nun on a trolley
A book that you'll surely find entertaining
On a snowy cold day or when it is raining
Hollywood glamour and Hollywood crime
Makes this read a rollicking good time

I grew up on a goat farm. The farm had other things too, beef cows, chickens, crops. But for the time and place goats were odd. They're very smart and nice, but I didn't enjoy milking them every morning and night. We didn't have machines so I did it by hand. Yuck. I'm now a vegetarian and I think it's from growing up on a bloody yucky farm I did not like.