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“The cop said he thought the dog might be rabid. Wasn’t that the title of what I was watching last night?”
“Yeah. It was aCujorip-off. A woman and her lover get trapped inside her cabin with a rabid—oh,” she said, breaking off. “Oh God.”
“Mm. And didn’t you also play a character who died of a heroin overdose?”
“As a bit, in a show that no one saw.” She rolled over to face him and found him watching her, one arm propping up his cheek. She faltered, unsure where to look, and grateful for the darkness that hid her face. “What are you saying? Do you think someone is recreating the ways my characters were killed or almost-killed in my movies?”
But her mind was already spinning towards the necklace that Rafe had found. InSleepover Fiends, one of the girls had found that same necklace in her front yard, only to follow a narrow, curving path, to the place where the school loner had been brutally eviscerated.
She had played that loner.
“Do you think they thinkIdid it?”
“I don’t know. Either way, it looks bad for you, doesn’t it?”
The intensity in his eyes scared her. “I didn’t die in most of those movies.”
“I know.” He reached over and flicked the collar of the golf shirt, letting the fabric flutter against her throat. “Well. Maybe someone wants to change that.”
STARFUCKER
(Directed by Johnathan Steel; starring Adonica Blake and Theo Ross; 1998)
There is something rather endearing about watching a star performance in an otherwise terrible movie. In a film likeStarfucker, with a title that hearkens back to the days of grindhouse screenings in back-alley theaters, one knows exactly what one is getting into, but the performance of Donni Blake floats to the top of this pool of sleaze like cream.
Starfuckeris about up-and-coming rockstar, Donovan Blythe (Ross): a pelvis-thrusting, guitar-smashing heartthrob known for his wild personal life. One night, he hooks up in a bar bathroom with a waifish groupie in a miniskirt and ripped tights (Blake) named Thorn. The acrobatic performance is followed by an encore in his trailer, where they share a post-coital joint and Blythe drunkenly tells Thorn that he “loves her.” She takes the sentiment at face-value, little aware that Blythe is already engaged to his childhood flame, a woman named Rose.
Hell hath no fury like a psychotic woman spurned, and the movie unfolds exactly as one would expect, devolving into a furious spiral of betrayal, stalking, and murder. The manic caperings of the lithesome Blake-as-Thorn sell what would otherwise be a rather lackluster contribution to a genre already bursting with stalkers and creeps.
Blake’s thousand-yard stare is as chilling as it is compelling, and brings a rather frenetic energy to her couplings with the decidedly milquetoast Ross. There is something almost French about this film; even when Thorn is using a safety pin to carve her lover’s name into one of her perky breasts, she manages to conjure up the image of a modern-dayjeunesse dorée.
Movie Score: C+
-James York (Movie Critic Depo, 1998)
Chapter Ten
Seeing Other People Bleed
Warm.
Donni stirred awake, bumping up against something solid. For a moment, she relaxed, sleepily content and glad for the reassurance of her husband’s solid frame. But then she blinked and the angle of the light and the shade of the walls were unfamiliar, jarring free the realization that she hadn’t shared a bed with Marco for over a year. That he was nowdead.
And then she froze, remembering who was really in bed with her.
And why.
Rafe’s arm was draped over her waist, keeping her pressed against his body. Her shirt was bunched around her thighs, and she could feel the stiff prod of his morning erection where his hips had settled against her ass. When she shifted uncomfortably, he squeezed her breast and kissed her neck, before leaning forward in a way that increased the pressure between her thighs.
“Morning, beautiful.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Tell me,” he said. “How was it.”
“Sleeping in this rotten icebox of a room? Awful.”
“Fucking me.” He gave her shirt collar a little tug with his teeth. The hand at her breast was toying with her nipple now, which obliged him by going hard. As he continued to pluck the stiff bud through the cotton, he said, “I seem to recall you pleading with me as if you were the nervous virgin.”
