When first he saw me, he gasped, “oh My Gawd! Has anyone ever told you you look Just. Like. Paris. Hilton!” After a slight pause, I thoughtfully replied, “why no. No one ever has told me that.” For a point of reference, I vaguely resemble Anita Ekberg, if she looked marginally Benetton and sported long frizzy black hair.
From that moment on, N., who ran around the whole week wearing a t-shirt with armholes cut all the way to the hem and magic markered, “I love Paris Hilton” on the front of the shirt, and “tori Amos” on the back (or visa versa, depending which way round he happened to put it that day), he began to offer me gifts. A bracelet – plastic beaded, like we make in theraputic recreation hour, with spelled out I LOVE PARIS HILTON, various heart beads, and a large translucent purple toto dog bead. I wore it the rest of my stay till hegot irritated with me and said to take that off and never defile it again.
A symbolist painting, filled with cryptic symbols and masonic secrets. The painting I refused. He wouldnt speak to me for a day, then tried to make up by offering me a date to the secret naked masonic rites where Tori Amos and Paris Hilton would all be there naked and we could have an orgy. I tinformed N that there would be no such date, and I wouldnt entertain a little hustler like him. He shrieked and said, you know it, I am going right back out there on the street, but not if you would marry me! Then I’ll look you up on Santa Monica and Vine, was really all I culd say, right? He arched a blond eyebrow and got all sideways looking and whispered, how did you know? I said, Cause I know everything. That seemed satisfactory.
But lastly, N’s love letter, tightly folded, and pressed into my palm.
Be thy Lover (to you love N—–)
Begun as the sun as mid-winter dream
this testament of Old and New
Mary was your Magdallen name or heart of
silver now gold
Wed to me my dearest take this meat and
With Blew of candle middle path way a
cherished catalyst of country
Test me now or forever hold my fate
this honor of madalion
Rose Rose Rose red as the set of sun
lust painfully as arms
this compationate heart of thine is my kingdom
I hope for pink chakra in hollow
haunting suit of casper
Bekon my siren and let them curse as we
And when the mascarade settles and the party
it chimes this deseart will fill from morrow