Blood Test

Carmichael didn’t seem to have heard.

“I mean it’s not like I’m hooking or anything,” he insisted. “I don’t need the money — in a good week I pull in six, maybe seven hundred bucks.” He dismissed that kind of money with a wave of his hand, operating from the distorted value system of one born into wealth.

“Doug,” said Milo, with authority in his voice, “stop defending yourself and listen: we don’t care about what you do with your dick. Your file will stay sealed. Just tell us about Nona.”

The message finally got through. The look on Carmichael’s face was that of a child who’d received an unexpected gift. I realized that I kept thinking of him as a big kid because, except for the manly outer husk, everything about him was childlike, immature. A classic case of arrested development.

“She was a barracuda,” he said. “You had to hold her back or she got too aggressive. The last time we worked together was a stag party for an older guy who was getting married for the second time. A bunch of middle-aged men, salesman types, in this apartment in Canoga Park. They’d been drinking hard and watching fuck films before we got there. We were doing jock and cheerleader that night. I had on a football uniform and she was wearing a jersey top, a little pleated skirt, and sneakers. Pompons, her hair in pigtails, the works.

“Those guys were harmless old farts. Before we got there they’d probably been talking big, hooting at the movies like guys do when they’re nervous. Then we walked in, they saw her, and I thought a few hearts were gonna give out. She wiggled at ’em, batted her lashes, showed a lot of tongue. We had the skit all planned out but she decided to ad lib. The script says we do a little minor league fondling while trading suggestive lines — you know stuff like I ask her how she’d like to be my wide receiver and she says ‘Do it again, we like it, we like it!’ She was a lousy actress, by the way, real flat, no emotion. But the audiences seemed to dig her — her looks made up for it, I guess. Anyway, these old guys were eating it up and she got off on it. That’s probably what gave her the idea of getting really outrageous.

“All of a sudden she reached into my pants, grabbed my cock, did a bump and grind, started jerking me off, all the time gyrating at them. I wanted to stop her — we’re not supposed to go past the script unless we’re asked to.” He stopped, looked uncomfortable. “And paid to. But I couldn’t do it because it would have ruined the skit and been a downer for all those old guys.

“They were staring at her and she was groping me and I was smiling through it all. Then she let go and waltzed over to the guy who was getting hitched — pudgy little fellow with big eyeglasses — and slipped her hand down his pants. Everything got real quiet then. He was red as a beet but he couldn’t say anything cause it woulda made him look like a wimp in front of his friends. He got a sick look on his face, forced himself to smile. She started tonguing his ear, kept yanking his chain. The other guys started to laugh. To relieve their tension. Soon they were yelling out lewd comments. Nona was high, like she was really getting off on groping the poor sucker.

“Finally I was able to ease her away without it looking like a hassle. We got out of there and I yelled at her in the car. She looked at me like I was nuts, said what was the matter, we got a big tip, didn’t we. I could see it was no use talking to her so I gave up. We got on the freeway. I was driving fast because I couldn’t wait to get away from her. Then all of a sudden I felt her pulling at my zipper. Before I know it, my cock is out and she’s got it in her mouth. We’re going seventy and she’s sucking me off and telling me to admit it, I love it. I was helpless, just praying the highway patrol wouldn’t pull us over — that would be my balls, right? I asked her to stop but she had me and she wouldn’t let go until she finished me off.”

“The next day I complained to Rambo, insisted I wouldn’t work with her anymore. She just laughed, said Nona would be great in films. Later I found out she’d left, just walked out.”

Telling the story had made him sweat. He excused himself, went to the bathroom, and came back freshly combed and sprayed and smelling of aftershave. Milo started questioning before he sat back down.

“And you have no idea where she went?”

Carmichael shook his head.

“She ever talk about anything personal?”

“Nope. There was nothing personal about her. She was all on the surface.”

“No hint where she might be headed?”

“She never even said where she came from. Like I told you, we did three or four gigs, then she split.”

“How’d she connect with Adam and Eve?”

“No idea. Everyone gets into it differently. Rambo called me after she caught my act at Lancelot’s. Some find out by word of mouth. She runs ads in the underground papers and skin mags. Gets more applications than she wants.”

“All right, Doug,” said Milo, standing, “I hope you’ve been straight with us.”