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FICTION: Cowboys and Lesbians

April 10, 2010

Image by Richard Prince for Interview Magazine

The following story, which will be serialized once a week on this blog, is FICTION. Though set within actual cultural set points of time and place, as one would find in historical fiction, no one character is based on anyone living or dead, but imaginary.

This is satire. I hope it’s a fun ride, which is my sole intention as the author.

This work is registered with the Writers’ Guild of America and is additionally protected.  Law will prosecute any use of the following work without explicit permission by the author.

Cowboys and Lesbians

Let’s pretend.

It all started a little less than two decades ago, with the kids who got discovered around the same time that movie “Kids” came out, about those post children, barley adults who caught AIDS just fucking around.

Remember the character who spread H.I.V. to all the little girls? Leo Fitzpatrick played him. In real life, after this first lucky role, he now works  as a downtown artist who assembles exhibits from cut out headlines that he pairs with random images.  Some might call them collages.  And, of course, when not exhibiting, he deejays.

But this story is not about him.  After all, some of director Larry Clark’s own random picks — the skaters he thought looked the part for “Kids” from Tompkins Square Park — did not make it. Some even died. Not everyone can bite down with the acting chops of Chloe Sevigny, the female protagonist in “Kids.” To note, this story is not about her either, but rather about a world that arose from a perverted soul-killing obsession with Mother Fame.

I’m about to unfold a phenomenon where fat boys with body odor and bug eyes or big ears can drop pounds with white powder, and with the help of a camera, can remake themselves into sexual mythological cowboys.

These cowboys, driven enough to build a cache’ around themselves, have opened the door wide open to a tornado of lesbians who double as hookers for powerful straight men. The publicly closeted lesbians — Initially with the help of second-hand designer clothes dry cleaned from thrift stores — play the cowboys to get remade as `it girls’ In magazines.

Each year, they hit the scene younger and younger, the latest starting at nineteen, cheating on her German fashion designer girlfriend by screwing an editor cowboy. But she and the German laughed their asses off since schtupping a guy does not count as betrayal. Plus, she landed on the blog page of the biggest newspaper in the world as some edgy provocateuse.

Score.

Not everyone on this scene qualifies as a cowboy or a lesbian.  Some stand out more than others.

The Zoroastrian who flatters B list actresses with a peace-loving “I see you for your inner spark” got into the party pages too.  No one really understands what Zoroastrians believe.  But he bows before everyone he meets, no matter what. That move really pulls them in. He started drawing symbols on sticky pads and taking them to 47th Street – jewelers’ row—where all but one Orthodox Jew kicked him out of his shop.  He finally met the cousin of a cousin of a B list actress who partnered with him to create these symbols. Suddenly, odd hands of peace and flaming hearts in gold and diamonds appeared in the pages of Vogue.

Score.

Then there’s Mamma Kat. The challenging middle child of an Ohio middle class family, no one knew she had escaped from a mental ward at twenty when she boarded a Greyhound bus to Manhattan. She hitched herself to a much older literary critic in the sense that he allowed her to stay with him in exchange for blow jobs. Half the time, he returned home too boozed to make it past the elevator that opened directly into his duplex. And Kat – Kitty Kat – as she was then called, ran around with the club kids at the Tunnel, the dance den where Michael Alig had murdered his lover. She bartended for a bit and in two years opened her own public relations firm. Now, a decade past her days with the lit alcoholic, she can drink any old dog under the table. Often her employees need to pick up from the floor at night. And she had pocketed a hefty advance to write a book called “Take the Power Girls, Like I Did,” a self helper for young women, with a talk show to the same effect, in the works.

Score.

******** (Next installment, coming soon….)

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