A Beverly Hills Experience
August 1995
The night before I was to begin my
senior year at USC, I was trolling Santa Monica Blvd dressed in drag with my
friend Jackie, aka Eric. Jackie Jones had 10 feet of legs and was wearing a
short denim onesie to show them off. There was something in the humid
August air that stimulated my sense of adventure. I was up for anything because
this would be my last night of summer bliss.
That was the reason I paid attention
when a man with an indiscernible accent motioned for me to stop. Jackie saw
dollar signs in his eyes. Communicating with him was akin to playing an
epileptic mime, what with the series of hand signals and grunts of pidgin
English we were resorting to. We couldn't understand a word he said.
We introduced ourselves and asked
him his name. When he didn't respond with a moniker, we simply named him
Maurice and invited him to come along. "We'll take care of you, Now where
shall we go?" I said.
It became clear that Maurice had
stopped us under the presumption that we were good time girls that would be
able to find him a man to have sex with. He was interested in any one of
the grade A slabs of prime West Hollywood beefcake that we saw strolling about
the blvd. Ducking into the Mother Lode, a watering hole that stank of stale
piss and cologne, we squeezed our way through the throng of shirtless jocks to
search for anyone we thought might be game to the adventure. Maurice had
whipped out a fat wad and in halting, broken English and hand gestures explained
that he would pay us $500 if we could find him a man. The boys proved to
be too nelly or prudish to take us seriously and I panicked for a minute.
I didn't want to pass up the opportunity to get my hands on that cash simply
because the bitches on the blvd were feigning shock and dismay.
"Hell, for $500, I'll fuck you," Jackie offered. Before Maurice
had a chance to mull it over and potentially refuse, I linked his arm and
suggested we go to his place. As we made our way back down the blvd, I
instructed Jackie to follow three paces behind me.
Maurice stopped in front of
Mickey's which happened to be the first gay bar I had ever been to, just a couple years prior. On my first gay night out with the boys
from USC's queer student group during the first week of my sophomore year, I
had slept with a bar back, eight years my senior. The place was significant to the story of myself which made it more apropos that I should cause the scathingly
delicious scene that ensued when Maurice paused in front of the bar and pulled
out keys to a car that screamed Beverly Hills. He opened the passenger
door of a giant, luxurious, champagne colored Aston Martin convertible
and escorted me in. Suddenly, I heard a familiar cackle as a group of
scandal mongering gossip queens that I recognized from school cried out,
"Hello, Michael Angelo, What are you doing?" Their lisp was laced
with slime but I didn't care. As Maurice shut my door, I buckled my seat
belt and without so much as a glance to indicate I was interested in them, pressed
on. Jackie was instructed to follow us in my car.
penis and other phallic iconography with fascinated interest. Jackie had followed us as instructed to this detour and I was nervous about keeping her attention focused on the task at hand, which was to get Maurice to whatever our destination was so we could talk turkey. That money seemed too tantalizing to be true but I was going to take it all the way. After buying a few supplies which included an enormous dildo and anal beads, he seemed satisfied and we set about on our way. I was horrified when I reached the parking lot and discovered my car sitting empty with no sign of Jackie in sight. "Where the fuck is she?" I could feel the money slipping through my fingers. Then, from across the concrete lot, I saw Jackie click-click-clicking with her Candies heels holding a bowl of something in one hand as she used the other one to scarf down its contents. "Tabithaaaa!!, she screamed. Want some peanuts?"
What are you doing? I was so mad I
was shaking and the bossy bitch tone became obvious in my voice. Get in the
damn car~! She threw the basketweave bowl to the gravel and was back on the road before I had a chance to start shrieking.
Once we were back en route to our
mystery destination with Jackie dutifully following behind, I was able to relax
a bit. We seemed to be shedding the tacky environs as we made our way
into the thick of bona-fide Beverly Hills. We pulled up to a big
high rise tower with a faux fancy name, something like La Mirage from Dynasty.
As we embarked down the slope of large underground parking garage, I could see
Jackie still following in my car as the gate shut behind her. It seemed
to swallow us up.
I still didn't really have an idea
about what was going to happen because I simply couldn't imagine Jackie fucking
Maurice or anybody for that matter The white-trashy, long legged lass was
really a gawky lad with what I considered zero sex appeal in bad drag. It was a
far cry from the heavenly hunks that Maurice had indicated he was interested
in. The natural stage of progression that would make this whirlwind experience
even more unbelievable occurred when we reached the penthouse. There was
a humongous chandelier in the foyer and a panoramic view of the entire Southland which shimmered in night lights from every angle. "Get a load of
this place," said Jackie. She walked in like she owned the place but it
was obvious she had never been in similarly refined surroundings.
"Nice view, you got here,"
Jackie seemed not at all impressed as if her Sammy Jo from Dynasty costume and
countenance had seen better. Maurice began moving nervously about the floor
plan as Jackie and I found our way to the back bedroom which appeared to be set
up as the nerve center of whatever activity was going to take place. He handed
us both 5 Benjamin Franklin notes which I immediately stuffed into my pink,
plasticine Barbie purse while Jackie stuffed hers down her bra.
I settled myself on the settee and focused my attention on whatever Maurice was doing as he tweaked around the house. I made a note to myself that he stashed the rest of his cash wad into a nightstand drawer but didn't breathe a word of my discovery to Jackie.
I settled myself on the settee and focused my attention on whatever Maurice was doing as he tweaked around the house. I made a note to myself that he stashed the rest of his cash wad into a nightstand drawer but didn't breathe a word of my discovery to Jackie.
Maurice made his way from room to
room as I heard crashing sounds that caused a commotion. As he lined up the
dining room chairs in a singular file in front of the main door, he seemed to
be constructing a bastardized booby trap. He was preparing for the
hypothetical plausibility of an ambush and secured fragile crash sounding items
as a jury-rigged alarm. Crystal ashtrays and the like were placed on and around
the chairs as a barricade with a warning signal. While that was taking place,
I noticed that Jackie had stashed her slingbacks and was in the process of
peeling off her pantyhose. Maurice brought in the enormous shrink wrapped dildo
he had just purchased at Pleasure Chest as Jackie balked.
"Can you handle that,?" My God can you handle that?" she gulped. From the sea of babble that was our mode de communique, I had gathered that my role was to watch the ensuing sexual activity. Maurice was a voyeur.
Jackie backed up in the bed and clutched the sheets over her. "Do you want me to fuck you with that?" I took great delight in the comic scene unfolding before me as Maurice rocked and writhed while rolling around on his stomach with his bare derriere in the air. Jackie slapped and spanked him with the dildo a few
times while my attention zeroed in on the nightstand drawer and its precious unsupervised contents.
"Can you handle that,?" My God can you handle that?" she gulped. From the sea of babble that was our mode de communique, I had gathered that my role was to watch the ensuing sexual activity. Maurice was a voyeur.
Jackie backed up in the bed and clutched the sheets over her. "Do you want me to fuck you with that?" I took great delight in the comic scene unfolding before me as Maurice rocked and writhed while rolling around on his stomach with his bare derriere in the air. Jackie slapped and spanked him with the dildo a few
times while my attention zeroed in on the nightstand drawer and its precious unsupervised contents.
My gaze became so focused on that
that I was suddenly startled when Maurice appeared beside me and began chopping
out lines of cocaine on a mirror that was now my responsibility to guard. He
rolled up a $100 bill and used it as a straw from which to snort the chalky
white powder. I had no interest in the cocaine; having grown up under the
War on Drugs regime, I believed what they said would happen to my brain. Over
the course of the next few hours, Maurice's paranoia increased to the point
that he was walking around in the nude and peering through peepholes.
Jackie and I were becoming bored and a bit weathered, considering we both
still had our wigs on. We sat on the balcony and sucked on chocolate covered strawberries as the
sun made its way up from the vista.
"Holy shit! What time is it? We
gotta get outta here!" I was suddenly very aware. It was gaining on
5 AM and we were trapped in the heart of a very bourgeois Beverly Hills
building in bad drag that had long ago faded from glory.
"Time to hightail the hell out of this hacienda, I cautioned. I ran into the back bedroom and frantically transferred the money
from the drawer into my pink purse. Then, I grabbed a green leather
trimmed Diesel jacket from Maurice's closet and bypassed the booby trapped front door altogether to exit through a servant's door that led us to the hallway elevator..
Maurice (who we had surmised was Brazilian) was holding his big, uncut dick in one hand and trying to
make signs with his other one to makeup for his native words that went over our heads. He didn't pose so much of a threat standing there with every inch of Argentinean bronze manhood exposed. Had I been a bit older and not such a sexual neophyte. I would have taken my liberties with the Brazilian beefcake. But in the moment we attempted to escape with his pirate booty in my Barbie purse, the volume got turned way up to urgency and waiting for the elevator seemed out of the question. "Hell, we can
walk," said Jackie. She flung open the fire exit door and we frantically began descending 20 flights of stairs with half buckled straps nearly tripping our high heels. When we were finally out of the building, we rejoiced for half a split second before the reality of our circumstance occurred to me. "Whaaat the fuck did you do?"", I lit into Jackie whose haste had locked us out of access to my car which was parked somewhere in the bowels of the gated garage of this private, millionaire's high rise residence.
Maurice (who we had surmised was Brazilian) was holding his big, uncut dick in one hand and trying to
make signs with his other one to makeup for his native words that went over our heads. He didn't pose so much of a threat standing there with every inch of Argentinean bronze manhood exposed. Had I been a bit older and not such a sexual neophyte. I would have taken my liberties with the Brazilian beefcake. But in the moment we attempted to escape with his pirate booty in my Barbie purse, the volume got turned way up to urgency and waiting for the elevator seemed out of the question. "Hell, we can
walk," said Jackie. She flung open the fire exit door and we frantically began descending 20 flights of stairs with half buckled straps nearly tripping our high heels. When we were finally out of the building, we rejoiced for half a split second before the reality of our circumstance occurred to me. "Whaaat the fuck did you do?"", I lit into Jackie whose haste had locked us out of access to my car which was parked somewhere in the bowels of the gated garage of this private, millionaire's high rise residence.
Now we would have to go plead our case to the security guards and I hadn't forgotten the way were regarded by law enforcement in these parts. The night before, Jackie and I were innocently strolling down Santa Monica when we crossed the official Beverly Hills border at Robertson. Two boys in blue instantly buzzed around our finery with severe inquisitive natures. We had to explain that we were on our way to the Peninsula. I didn't include the reason we were going to the ritzy cruise bar which was to follow up on a tip Jackie had heard about it being a prime place to hustle rich guys with big pockets. "Jesus, is it really against the law to walk anywhere in LA?" Officer? I was wearing a Diff rent Strokes vintage baby tee with red piping on the sleeves that matched my hot pants. The cops were itching to cite us for turning tricks but Viv and Kit weren't working that stretch. This was Hollywood, after all, the land of make believe. We never
made it to the Peninsula but were instructed to meander back to the fag side of
the track.
We skulked around to the front of the building until we were in plain view of the security guard's post in the lobby that could be seen through a giant glass wall. A group of about 6 uniformed rent-a-cops turned in unison to take in the effect of two stumbling, haggard drag queens. They came barreling out of the building like a guided missile. Taking my cue from the only Beverly Hills hooker reference I knew, I channeled Julia Roberts from Pretty Woman in the Reg-Bev-Wil lobby scene. "We were just visiting our uncle in the building last night...(and I need to get my car from the parking garage!)" A couple of the mall-cops broke from the pack and ushered us down the embankment to the bowels of the garage that I remembered from the night before. "Just get on out of here," they cautioned
We skulked around to the front of the building until we were in plain view of the security guard's post in the lobby that could be seen through a giant glass wall. A group of about 6 uniformed rent-a-cops turned in unison to take in the effect of two stumbling, haggard drag queens. They came barreling out of the building like a guided missile. Taking my cue from the only Beverly Hills hooker reference I knew, I channeled Julia Roberts from Pretty Woman in the Reg-Bev-Wil lobby scene. "We were just visiting our uncle in the building last night...(and I need to get my car from the parking garage!)" A couple of the mall-cops broke from the pack and ushered us down the embankment to the bowels of the garage that I remembered from the night before. "Just get on out of here," they cautioned
I had never been more relieved
when we finally drove my car up and out of that underground garage. As we
drove back to my USC door room in South Central LA, we compared notes,
"How much money did you get from that drawer?" asked Jackie.
I knew not to reveal the true amount lest Jackie want to share it equally. "About $300, I lied." "You're splitting it," said Jackie. I smiled to myself and a warm feeling of comfort overcame me like a glazed doughnut. I had gotten away with $1,200 in $100 bills. When we got back to my dorm room, I counted out the bills, placed them into a sealed folder and walked them to the Bank of America Figueroa branch where I deposited them into my account. It would be my windfall for the entire school year. I was so cunning.
I knew not to reveal the true amount lest Jackie want to share it equally. "About $300, I lied." "You're splitting it," said Jackie. I smiled to myself and a warm feeling of comfort overcame me like a glazed doughnut. I had gotten away with $1,200 in $100 bills. When we got back to my dorm room, I counted out the bills, placed them into a sealed folder and walked them to the Bank of America Figueroa branch where I deposited them into my account. It would be my windfall for the entire school year. I was so cunning.
