Crime of Passion
IMPORTANT NOTE: This was my LJ Idol "intersection" entry for Season 7, Week 21 (Open Topic), collaborating with roina_arwen. We each wrote our own entries, with some cross-editing and coordination of plot points. If reading both parts, read her entry first.
(Further note: some mature language below)
- - - - -
"Why is this night different from all the other nights?"
"That's not funny, Lucy." And it's not, at least I'm not in the mood for it.
I look out the window, staring at the lights of the Strip, wishing I could get lost in that wilderness. My reflection in the glass mocks me, in the white outfit I wear on stage. It comes complete with too many rhinestones and a wide belt with that godawful "Taking Care of Business" buckle. I also can't help but see her reflection, dressed smartly in executive mode, but all-business and all-temptress whatever she wears. I can still remember when she told me all this below us could be mine someday...
"Yeah, it is Passover this time of year, isn't it? Hadn't noticed." Her tone mocks. "Not that you've been the perfect Jew."
"Seen my reviews? They'd beg to differ." Or at least they used to. Three years as the hottest act in Vegas. But now, one bad Friday, and my days are numbered.
"J.C. You know you're in trouble. We've got to get a handle on this. You're the magic man, the miracle worker, the inspiration, the King!" She pauses. "But this shit. I'm not sure you're gonna 'TCB' your way out of this one."
At her words, my anger flares. "So I lost it, okay! I couldn't handle the lack of respect for me, for what I do..."
"What you do?" She shoots back. "You put on a show. It's lights, special effects, 'Love Me Tender,' while the tourists get fat off the all-you-can eat fish special. Then it's back to spending all your time with whores and crooked accountants."
"I help them..."
"And I'm sure they return the favor." She stops, realizing she's struck a nerve. "Now look, I'm no angel, but I've gotten behind you all the way."
"Yes," I agree. "Not like some I could name."
"In a way, I can't blame them." She says calmly. "After that stunt. Turning over all the merch tables. Screaming matches with the hotel's lawyers..."
"Those hypocrites!" I blurt out almost reflexively.
"Yeah, you called them that and more, 'I'll rip your goddamn tongue right out by the roots!' -- what the fuck was that about?"
"It was... I don't know what came over me." My anger subsides briefly, then slowly bubbles back as I remember what happened next.
I'd been down in the Garden Lounge, where I often went to get away from the stress that bears down on me in this town. I was sharing a glass of wine with Pete and John, when Jude approached. Jude, the money-man. I knew he was there to rat me out. Turns out he embezzled $30,000 cash to get out of his contract with me. "Why don't you kiss me when you screw me like this?" I asked him angrily, adding that thirty large wouldn't be nearly enough to get him square with who he'd dealt with. He'll be dead tomorrow. Just as bad as Jude's betrayal, was what happened with Pete. He gets into a fight to try and help me, but hours later when there's serious heat, he swears up and down he doesn't know me from Adam. God knows where John ran off to.
So here I am in my room. The view out my window reminding me how far I've got to fall. What became of that innocent boy in Memphis? He - I - could have been a humble but charismatic teacher, making a difference. But I became some sort of superstar, with crowds cheering my name -- until they move on to Penn & Teller down the street.
Time to face my accusers. "Ready to descend into hell?" I ask Lucy, smiling, as we walk to the door.
"When we get there, keep your mouth shut," she scowls. "They're gonna fucking crucify you."
- - - - -
Inspired by "Jesus in Vegas," by Chumbawamba. The "I'll rip your..." quote, part of the song's chorus, was, according to the band, Elvis Presley's onstage outburst at journalists who suggested he was on drugs.
(Further note: some mature language below)
- - - - -
"Why is this night different from all the other nights?"
"That's not funny, Lucy." And it's not, at least I'm not in the mood for it.
I look out the window, staring at the lights of the Strip, wishing I could get lost in that wilderness. My reflection in the glass mocks me, in the white outfit I wear on stage. It comes complete with too many rhinestones and a wide belt with that godawful "Taking Care of Business" buckle. I also can't help but see her reflection, dressed smartly in executive mode, but all-business and all-temptress whatever she wears. I can still remember when she told me all this below us could be mine someday...
"Yeah, it is Passover this time of year, isn't it? Hadn't noticed." Her tone mocks. "Not that you've been the perfect Jew."
"Seen my reviews? They'd beg to differ." Or at least they used to. Three years as the hottest act in Vegas. But now, one bad Friday, and my days are numbered.
"J.C. You know you're in trouble. We've got to get a handle on this. You're the magic man, the miracle worker, the inspiration, the King!" She pauses. "But this shit. I'm not sure you're gonna 'TCB' your way out of this one."
At her words, my anger flares. "So I lost it, okay! I couldn't handle the lack of respect for me, for what I do..."
"What you do?" She shoots back. "You put on a show. It's lights, special effects, 'Love Me Tender,' while the tourists get fat off the all-you-can eat fish special. Then it's back to spending all your time with whores and crooked accountants."
"I help them..."
"And I'm sure they return the favor." She stops, realizing she's struck a nerve. "Now look, I'm no angel, but I've gotten behind you all the way."
"Yes," I agree. "Not like some I could name."
"In a way, I can't blame them." She says calmly. "After that stunt. Turning over all the merch tables. Screaming matches with the hotel's lawyers..."
"Those hypocrites!" I blurt out almost reflexively.
"Yeah, you called them that and more, 'I'll rip your goddamn tongue right out by the roots!' -- what the fuck was that about?"
"It was... I don't know what came over me." My anger subsides briefly, then slowly bubbles back as I remember what happened next.
I'd been down in the Garden Lounge, where I often went to get away from the stress that bears down on me in this town. I was sharing a glass of wine with Pete and John, when Jude approached. Jude, the money-man. I knew he was there to rat me out. Turns out he embezzled $30,000 cash to get out of his contract with me. "Why don't you kiss me when you screw me like this?" I asked him angrily, adding that thirty large wouldn't be nearly enough to get him square with who he'd dealt with. He'll be dead tomorrow. Just as bad as Jude's betrayal, was what happened with Pete. He gets into a fight to try and help me, but hours later when there's serious heat, he swears up and down he doesn't know me from Adam. God knows where John ran off to.
So here I am in my room. The view out my window reminding me how far I've got to fall. What became of that innocent boy in Memphis? He - I - could have been a humble but charismatic teacher, making a difference. But I became some sort of superstar, with crowds cheering my name -- until they move on to Penn & Teller down the street.
Time to face my accusers. "Ready to descend into hell?" I ask Lucy, smiling, as we walk to the door.
"When we get there, keep your mouth shut," she scowls. "They're gonna fucking crucify you."
- - - - -
Inspired by "Jesus in Vegas," by Chumbawamba. The "I'll rip your..." quote, part of the song's chorus, was, according to the band, Elvis Presley's onstage outburst at journalists who suggested he was on drugs.