This is the third year of coming here in the Fall and I’m blown away again.
Marvelous hues: gold, red, green,
And breathless yellow.
I don’t know what other people are doing today, but I’m going to go out and breathe some more beautiful, clean air.
Friday Vermillion was a sexual being.
You didn’t have to spend more than five minutes with her to hear it in her voice and it didn’t take more than one good steady look. The rumor around Hollywood a year after she was done filming her scenes in Jimmy’s Brain was that Electric Light Orchestra’s “Don’t Bring Me Down” was written about her.
That morning before the ‘big scene’ there was nothing else to do but rub one out in the shower as Friday tried to calm down. That wasn’t a 70s term, but it was one Marcy liked to use. (You remember Marcy, don’t you?)
Marcy flicked the bean, occasionally, or rubbed one out. She’d thought about Aidan Mann a time or two hundred over the years. She hated Friday Vermillion’s lips and hands and breasts. She didn’t hate the woman, that would be petty, but she hated that she had been naked with Aidan’s hands running all over her body.
Paul had looked at her like she was crazy when the words, “I bet him and we both lost” came out of Marcy’s mouth. He looked at her like she had two heads. He looked at her with eyes that said, “What the fuck, oh wait, I am starting to get it.”
Paul looked at her that way and all she could think about were Friday Vermillion’s tits.
Marcy had realized that the movie was different when she was watching Jonathan stumbling through the morgue when Aidan should have had his hands all over Friday Vermillion, AKA “Nurse Dayna.” Where were those damn boobs? She had hated them since the first time she saw the movie.
Paul was talking away at her when she found her way back to the present.
“Marcy. Please start talking to me. I don’t understand,” he was saying.
When Marcy found the strength to reply, she almost crumbled under the weight of her pending admission. She didn’t fully fold, though, and before she knew it, she was telling Paul everything. He was good about it, she thought, and sat quietly as she unwrapped her story for him.
At one point while she was telling him about “Jimmy” talking to her, he held up his hand and asked if it was really “Jimmy” or was it Aidan? It had not occurred to Marcy that this might be hard for Paul to believe since his new friends was the man who brought “Jimmy” to life on screen. She gently said, “No, babe. That wasn’t Aidan. I don’t know why he’s here, but maybe he has to be.”
She continued her story and brought them right up to speed, including telling Paul that she had made a bet with a dead man.
See you tomorrow.
Gotta love AI art.