#85 Saving Jerzy Kosinski

by Gary V. Powell

Summer 1969, we’re sent to a swanky hotel on the Upper East Side. Tall dude wearing Jockey shorts and carrying a huge honking camera answers the door. His skinny blonde wife, the baroness, explains they’re en route Paris to LA and “wish only to watch.” You know, pose us and photo us. Cheryl’s disappointed. She’d hoped to fuck this guy because he’s famous—Tonight Show, best-seller list, blah, blah, blah. But me, I’m so down with “only watching.” I mean, his horse dick could split a girl in two. Anyway, the husband directs, clickety-click, while the wife diddles on the sofa, lah-ti-dah. After she finishes and slinks off to her separate bedroom, he introduces ropes and cuffs, candles and long-neck bottles. Oh yeah, his kink is as long as his dick—takes all night to work it out.

Later on, I read about those poor people killed in LA. That evening, the husband calls, says if he hadn’t been with me and Cheryl he’d have been slaughtered, too. Says we saved his life and this unites us spiritually, like I fucking care. After last night, I’ve decided to quit The Business, okay. No, really, I’ve had enough weirdoes. Months pass, I see him on TV. He lies and tells Johnny Carson the reason he didn’t make it to Polanski’s that night was a luggage problem with the airline. Asshole doesn’t bother mentioning Cheryl or me. Years later, he offs himself—Easy Way Out.

Good title for a novel, huh?

1 comment:

CR said...

Disturbing, creepy story. I won't forget this one soon. Not pretty but intriguing and very well done.