Sex and Violence in Hollywood Read Free Page A

won.
    The New Yorker called Emily “the Edith Head of our time.” Michael’s bitter response was, “That’s not the kind of head I’m interested in.”
    Her Oscar ate at him like a cancer. After she won it, things fell apart fast. They shouted instead of talked. Adam would find his mom crying in the kitchen or living room, sometimes with bruises on her arms, neck, or a swollen black eye.
    Emily was beautiful, but not in a Hollywood way. Her beauty was authentic and shone from inside. Everyone loved her and her work, and everyone with an I.Q. higher than their shoe size agreed that Michael was a prick who pulled his scripts out of his ass.
    Adam was convinced that Oscar was why his dad had killed his mom. He had no proof. Nothing solid he could show anyone. Just a certainty deep in his gut.
     
    * * *
     
    “How’s the movie coming?” Gwen asked, delicately dabbing the corners of her mouth with a napkin. Adam watched. There was no sign of such delicacy when she had his cock in her mouth. She caught him staring and smiled.
    “It’s coming along. Everybody’s worried it’s gonna piss off the gay community,” he said as he lifted his hands and hooked invisible quotation marks in the air with the first two fingers of each. “Those dipshits never learn. Of course it’s gonna piss off the queers. The cannibal serial killer’s a fag, for Christ’s sake, it’s gonna make ’em all nuts.” He stabbed his fork hard at his food, took in a mouthful and chewed, but kept talking. “But that’ll mean another, what? Twenty? Thirty million at the box office? You can’t buy the kinda publicity you get from a buncha Judy Garland fans picketing theaters and whining on radio talk shows. That kinda stuff sells tickets, for Christ’s sake.”
    Gwen asked, “What if this is the time everybody decides to agree with them?”
    “Never happen,” he said. “This movie’s already got everything going for it. Sex and guns, a couple kick-ass car chases, some kinky killings. The protests’ll be a plus. And with any luck, there’ll be some controversy over the MPAA rating. You know, they’ll wanna give it an NC-17, we need an R for it to be a success, we’ll have to cut some sex, that kinda thing. The movie’s gonna make a fucking fortune, and they all know it. The only reason the studio’s worried about the fags protesting is that half the people who work there are fags, and they don’t want their friends talking bad about them under the hair dryers.”
    Adam could not hold back a quiet laugh.
    “You think that’s funny?” Michael asked, turning to him with a smirk.
    “I was just...laughing at the way you put it.”
    That was partly true. Adam was repulsed by his father’s harsh language toward homosexuals and racial minorities. He often referred to Mrs. Yu as a “chink” when he thought she was out of earshot. His favorite term for black people was “jungle bunnies.” He practically fell over laughing every time he said it. The reason Adam had laughed at the dinner table was that he knew a great number of the people his dad worked with, and for, were indeed openly gay. And because his dad regularly attended benefits to raise money for AIDS research and to support gay rights. They were two of the biggest thorns in Michael Julian’s side. A bit of him died each time he attended such a function. Ate at him from the inside out, because he did not give a damn about the charities he was donating to or the causes being supported. More often than not, he was completely opposed to them. But he knew everyone who was anyone would be there and it was important to attend to be seen. And it was nice tax write-off. Adam found that funny.
    Somewhere in the house, a phone purred.
    Michael and Gwen exchanged a lingering look. He started in his chair and laughed quietly.
    Adam knew they were playing footsie under the table and suddenly, no matter how delicious the food, he lost his appetite.
    Mrs. Yu entered the room with a cordless