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Subject: CODY: THE STAND-IN Chp.1-4
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THE STAND-IN
By Cody Ann Michaels
c. All rights reserved
"The age at which the girls seem interesting is clearly dropping,
but it's only the maniacs who go for girls below the third grade." --
editor of a Japanese magazine featuring naked elementary school girls. NY
Times, 4/2/97
...in any case, it is legal in Tokyo for men to have
sex with children over the age of 12. -- ibid.
Chapter 1
"Did you ever think...," Martin asked, "ever stop to consider,
this 'hobby' of yours might... how it might affect others?"
"What do you mean?"
"What I mean is, suppose someone, some guy got so carried away
reading what happens to you, that he actually went and did that. What
then?"
"I don't know. What?"
Martin paused to think of something. Martin's my shrink now.
This was our last session before the summer break. I knew he was trying
to caution me. Martin has never been as enthusiastic about my internet
activities as Liz. "You tell people that your roommate, Kelly, ships you
around the country to beat up. Be beaten up."
"y..yes."
"Like mail order porn, except it's mail order hard core sadism."
"Right."
"Suppose some guy just decided to do it on his own."
"I suppose he could. There are thousands of guys out there
beating up their old ladies. So what?"
"But they don't all read your stories for pointers."
"What are you trying to say, Martin?"
"You may be having an undue influence on some people."
"Oh, you mean like Tom?"
"Who?"
"Tom. He's some kind of serial sadist who writes to me."
"What does he say?"
I knew this was a trap. Martin loves to hear what happens in
these stories. I hadn't told him about Tom. Maybe I'd been saving it.
Waiting for just this kind of moment, when he was going away, and he would
be left hanging. "He likes to beat up littl e girls."
"You mean really?"
"How should I know. This is the internet. He says he does.
Since he can't get his hands on me, he gets a substitute. Someone to
stand in. And then he writes and tells me what happened."
"How long has he been doing this?"
"About a year."
"You never told me."
"I forgot." I lied.
Well, I sort of forgot. I can't keep track of everyone who writes
to me.
"Cody, do you realize you could be an accessory to this man?"
"Oh yeah?"
"An accomplice."
"Come on. All I do is give him tips. I don't actually hurt the
girl."
"My God!"
"It's no big deal. Is it?"
Martin thought. "Where is this? I mean, where does Tom live?"
"I don't know."
"You must have some idea."
"He sort of moves around a lot. Something makes me think he's in
Georgia. But I can't be sure."
"Have you thought of going to the police?"
I just looked at him. What a dumb question. Me? The cops?
Trying to explain about Uncle Tom. Come on.
I knew Martin wanted to ask me another question, but our hour was
up, and I wouldn't see him again until September. He advised me to be
careful. I could tell he had already lost interest.
*
It started this way:
>From ringman@aol.com Thu Dec 1 12:47:13 1996
Date: Wed, 30 Nov 96 18:17:35 PST
From: Tom Ringman <ringman@aol.com>
To: mythryl@walrus.com
Subject: Re: Cody: Female Sub
You are a pig.
I would like to hang you up by your tits, and whip you til you
bleed. I want to hear you scream. I would make your long legs kick. I
hope you are as pretty as you say cause I like to hurt pretty women like
you. I wish you had a dick, cause I would cu t it off and make you eat
it. You are a fucking cunt slut.
I wrote back:
Gee, Tom, I like you, too. Was it something I said? Or are you
having a bad day under your pet rock? Maybe if you tried carving a face
on your penis, you could pretend it was me and beat it the way you want
to. Otherwise, drop dead.
Cody
Okay. It wasn't the cleverest thing I ever wrote, but consider
the inspiration. What a jerk.
I was surprised when he wrote back.
>you tried carving a face on your penis, you could pretend
>it was me and beat it the way you want to. Otherwise
I did something better than that. I got this girl here, with big
knockers who looks like you, and I'm going to have fun with her. You want
to know about it?
Well, at first, I thought he meant a blowup doll. At least, I
hoped that was what he meant. But I wrote back, "sure. Tell me
everything."
It was horrible. He had no command of syntax. And the spelling,
forget about it. If that girl suffered as much as I did reading that
piece of shit, it must have been totally horrible.
He started by telling me he had gotten this girl; she was 22 and
had long red hair; he had picked her up in a bar somewhere and taken her
to a cabin his buddy had out in the woods. Sure, and you have a desktop
out there in the boonies and you're writing to me about it. Come on. Get
real. Next time it was in a gas station.
I didn't believe him. These were my stories. As I lived them and
as I wrote them. He was recycling. There was nothing original about
them. I told him what a faker he was. He said, okay. He'd show me.
The next time, I had a little bit of trouble suspending belief.
It seemed a little too gory. And there were details that I had never
thought of. The way the girl begged. She was fourteen. And worked
nights in a supermarket. Down south. It's not un common. At least she
didn't lap dance. Well, she did, before it was over. But that was more
for show. I asked him what he did with the body. He dumped it somewhere.
I knew he was playing with me.
Then he started to tell me about this mother and daughter combo
who lived in his town. The daughter was fourteen, too, and the mother
didn't seem much older. Twenty four or twenty five. I found that hard to
believe. He said it didn't matter. They bo th looked like teenagers.
Would he like me to do something with them? I said no. I felt it was a
trap. I wasn't going to take responsibility for his trip. It was up to
him. What do you want me to do, he asked. I don't want anything I said.
What do they look like? The mother has long black hair. The kid's a
redhead. Big for her age. Where do they work? Circuit City. The mother
did. The girl was in school. Just the mention of a real brand name sort
of startled me. Put me off. Forget it. I didn't want to be involved.
Which would he like me to get first? The old lady or the frail. I said
neither.
Tom said the woman's name was Felony and the girl was named
Shiloh. Oh God. What names. What's their last name, I asked. He
wouldn't tell. Not so fast. He knew I might try to warn them. I thought
of doing it anyway. How many Felonies were there i n America? Especially
with kids like Shiloh. Single mother. The Salley Jessie show had
hundreds of them. Having trouble with their daughters. I had done this
show dozens of times with different mothers. But one of the best had been
named Felony. We did the standard mother-daughter bit; she was a white
trash single parent; I was 12 and out of control. We had been all over
the dial. Salley. Jerry. Jenny. Tempest. Morrey. Morrey loved us.
Especially me. Maybe he saw it and that's where he got the na me. If so,
he knew what I looked like. I had had to hold up a sign saying I was a
teenage tramp who sucked cock. Don't be a dummy like me. Right on the
street. While they videotaped what people said to me. It was so sick. I
was so humiliated. I ha d to give them my name, too. Shiloh Grep. Was
that it? Was that who he was stalking? But Shiloh Grep was me. I looked
around. Naaaa, that couldn't be it. It had to be a coincidence. Felony.
Take Felony first.
Well, she wasn't really my mom. My real mom. If it was the right
Felony. I felt he was playing a game with me. Until he started to
describe what he had done to Felony.
It was painful. I think I told you, I'm an empath. I can feel
what happens to other people almost as if it's my own pain. Like you know
who. Except for me, it's real. And I sure felt Felony's. It was
mesmerizing. I didn't think a woman could go th rough that. It was worse
than childbirth. I wondered how he sound proofed the room. Some guys use
egg cartons. Others have a professional job. Or they have a bunker
underground. Keeps the noise in. The joy of hearing a woman shriek. And
not have t o worry about the neighbors. The girl went mad.
Then he let her go. I was amazed. He actually let her go. I
staggered home. Clutching myself. Every step tore me apart. On high
heels. They felt like they had been pounded up into my legs with nails.
I fell down the stairs trying to get up to the door. My silver dress was
hiked up over my bleeding haunches. No one cared. I finally crawled up
the steps one at a time, and scratched at the door. Shiloh let me in.
Hi, ma. I got to go. She left. I could hear the school bus pulling up
outside. I crawled through the door and passed out.
The girl was next. Wasn't she? Tom let me hang for awhile. He
went out and got someone else. Killed her. Told me about it. In
meticulous detail. While I sweated, wondering what would happen next.
After awhile, he began to talk about Shiloh. Virg inia. What it was
like. Why it was important. What happened there. The bloodiest battle
of the civil war. Between mother and daughter. Right there on camera.
The ratings soared. Eat your heart out, Oprah. "I'm going to kill you,"
Felony said. He r face looked like steak. We made up this absurd story I
had had beaten her up. And broken her leg. And had her tattooed. Salley
made her stand up and bend over so they could see the words across her
bottom. Jonny had done it with an electric shaver. Mom sat down. "Show
them your tits." The tits were even worse. She shook her head. Salley
waited. Finally, she reached up and pulled the dress down. I reached
over and jerked it down. Cody! "Shiloh, you dumb ass." I hissed at her.
Shiloh! I d on't think anyone notice. I had pulled her bra down, too.
Her big jugs flopped out with "cum" "pig" stenciled on them. It was all
we could think of at the time. Salley looked at me sternly. Why would
you do that to your mother? I said I didn't know. It just come to me
while we was doing it. "I wanted to put 'urinate on me' on her but none
of us knew how to spell it." A couple of guys had wanted to fuck my mom
and I said they could do it. I just wanted to watch. And take a video.
Salley said to roll it. The audience watched fascinated as the two guys
beat up my Mom and fucked her. And then tattooed her tits and ass. Then
we took her out to a bar.
In a tight white dress. And made her stand there and give it
away. She was bleeding out of her cunt, she had been fucked so raw.
That's when I made the deal with Tom to take her home. It was fun. I
really liked it.
What happened? Martin wanted to know. But I hadn't told him. I
wanted him to think about it through August and let him come up with his
own answer. Tom said he had Shiloh. Was I ready for this? Oh my God, I
forgot. I'm Shiloh Grep. So who did he have? Wait a minute. Who do
you have? Shiloh. Shiloh Grep. You want to talk to her?
My hands touched the keyboard. Sure. Go ahead.
Cody, Shiloh said, get me out of this.
What's going on?
What do you mean, what's going on? He's got me.
Who? Who's got me.
Tom Ringman. He works at the store. In the meat department. He
brought me home.
Sure. Right. Come on. Who are you?
my nmae is shiloh grep anddioir di aaaa help me
he hit je
me
he said I'm you. I'm not. I'maargaegadrgaergh
afdgeasf
I wondered what had happened to her.
pealsfa codayg ghelp me
'Shiloh, let me speak to Tom.
Yeah. What?
Tom, I don't know if you have someone there or not, but if you do,
let her go.
I'm going to.
Now, Tom.
I waited.
Okay. I untied her.
I wondered. Was he fooling?
Let me speak to Shiloh.
Another wait.
hi. I'm okay.
Are you sure?
Yes. It was just a misunderstanding. He said he'd take me home.
If he tries anything else, call the police.
I will. Thanks.
Tom came back on. I'm going to take her home. Then I'll write to
you. Okay?
Okay.
I knew I was in big trouble. When she got home, she was going to
call the police. And report he had raped her. And he would say I put him
up to it. But I hadn't. I had sicced him on Felony, but not Shiloh. She
was totally off limits. But they woul dn't know that. If they believed
him, I could be arrested for sexual offenses against a child. I had to
shut her up.
I picked her up in a jeep and we drove out into the woods. There
I tied a rope around her neck and hung her from a tree. It was just short
enough to keep her on her toes. Her wrists and elbows were tied tightly
behind her back. A rope tied to her wri sts came through her legs and
tied to a rope round her waist. It was just tight enough for her to ride
it. Each time she tried to put weight into it, she cut off her air. Then
she straightened herself again. She was getting tired. I stood back and
wa tched as she died. She jerked the rope up into her crotch. Spasming.
Then she relaxed and regained consciousness. She was dazed. In a few
minutes, it all began again. The cycle of air and breathing and then
sinking down into my nether regions. Becoming one with them. And then
being cut off. Suddenly, and then coming back up. How long could it go
on? I was desperate. I slowly died. My brain becoming more and more cut
off. Only a central core kept me alive. Made me stand up straight and
breat he. My hair hung in my face. I sucked air in and out of my mouth.
I blew it out. My hair danced in front of my face. I was going down
again. oh god no.
i passed out I died. The chick was dead. I hung limp from the tree. my
toes trailing in the dirt. Then I came back. I remembered who I was and
what I looked like. I got up. And came towards you. Smiling.
*
THE STAND-IN
By Cody Ann Michaels
c. All rights reserved
Chapter 2
Don't send me back there. Please!!!!!
Kelly said, Shut up. You're going. So you might as well stop
whining.
But they were so mean to me.
That's the point, isn't it?
Oh God, Kel, please don't make me go back to Arkansas. I hated
it.
She laughed. You'll hate these instructions even worse. She was
reading the fax.
What do you mean?
You have to wear a teddy.
So?
Garter belt. High heels. Stockings. A very small teddy. Black.
See through. A bra that just covers your nipples, but pulls your juggs up
against your chest. Hair pulled back, but loose. Highly made up. Seven
inch stillettos.
So what's the big deal? That's what I always wear.
To fly in.
Huh?
That's what they want you to wear to the airport.
Under a coat, right?
She looked at me.
Noooooo. I won't.
She grabbed me by the neck and pulled my face close to hers.
You'll do it, you little dick licker, or I'll have Otto break you in half
and we'll ship you to Arkansas in a footlocker UPS. She slapped my face.
God, you are such an aggravating slut. Otto. Come in here.
Yeah. Whadayou want?
Make Cody cry.
Okay.
No, Kel. I will. honest aaaaagaeei
Make her scream, Otto. aaaagiiii9igggiigig
Now will you do as you're told?
yes.
That night, I had to write my column for the Canberra Times. My
hands shook as I typed, trying to collect my thoughts on the latest
political scandal. It wasn't easy. The next morning, Kelly made sure I
looked just right. I looked at myself in the mi rror. I couldn't go to
the airport in this. The black teddy clung to my body. My breasts were
like big round pancakes held back by the string of the bra. Both eyes
were swollen nearly shut. Otto had beaten me up again. That was part of
the instructi ons. That I had to look battered. Like my boy friend had
beat me up. Only technically, he was Kelly's friend. She said it didn't
matter. The main thing was I had to look totally trashed. The teddy was
nearly falling off. My stockings were torn. An d my hair was falling in
my face. Part of it. The rest was held back by a baretta. Then she took
me downstairs. And put me in a cab. For the airport. All I had was a
ticket and a heavy suitcase. I had to carry my own bags. That was
another stipula tion. Through the terminal. On high heeled shoes. I
felt like everyone was staring at me.
As I stood in line. Checked in. Went through security. I hate
security. Those fucking perverts. Walked down the ramp to the waiting
area. Gate seven. Oh, long black gloves. Those too. And wrist
restraints. Although, I wasn't tied up, yet. Well , I got there. There
was a two hour wait.
We had to fly non-stop to St. Louis. Then there was a commuter
flight to the little town in the Ozarks where I was expected. People
stared. As so often happened when she was in an awkward situation, Cody
began to think of herself in the third person. She was sitting in an air
terminal almost naked. Naturally, the thought made her horny and she
began to play with herself. Soon she was very hot indeed, and she moaned
as she tried to curl up into the seat. It was too much, and the spanish
fly Kelly h ad fed her for breakfast was taking effect at lightning speed.
The young girl spasmed and stretched out. Her crotch was on fire. She
began to hump herself on the chair arm. This went on until her flight was
called, intermittently with her rolling arou nd on the floor. She could
barely stagger onto the plane.
Once on board, it was no better. The guy sitting next to her had
a field day. At St. Louis, she had to wait another hour for the commuter.
After that, it was a forty minute flight. When they finally touched down,
Cody was a soft, squishy bundle of self-annihilated spit.
Her hosts were very pleased. They took her back to their cabin
and cleaned her up. Then they tied her to a chair and looked at her. For
the whole weekend. They just stared. While Cody went berserk. You
didn't have to do anything to Cody. By this t ime, she just did it
herself. Smash herself into a wall. Tie herself up. Immolate herself.
Spike herself on a dildo. A broomstick. A broken broomstick with lots of
splinters. It was quite a show. She couldn't help it. They were a nice,
friendly m iddle-aged couple. The sort of folks Charles Kuralt might have
interviewed before lupus interfered. She had written about his death in
her column to the Australians. It was a slow week. They did nothing to
interfere. Except supply the ropes and other implements. The raw
materials, so to speak. Hooks. Duct tape. The dog dish. The Alpo. The
rest was Cody. Cody hanging herself from the hay loft. Cody crawling
through the mud. Cody in the swimming pool, at the bottom, drowning.
When it was done , they took her back to the airport and put her on the
plane. The woman patted her on the cheek. The place she had burned
herself. Come again. Anytime. Cody flew back to New York. Huddled up.
Crying. Feeling totally violated. Her hair was a mess. She practically
crawled off the plane. No one was there. She had to get home by herself.
And she had no money. She offered to suck off the cab driver. They went
by the Triborough. When we got to my apartment house, I got out. Okay,
he said. Pay me. I looked at him. I just did. That was just for
starters, kiddo. But... He walked me upstairs. Kelly was there. She
owes me a fare, he said. Oh. Fine. Use the bedroom. He shoved me
through the door. I tried to fight him off. That was a mis take. He hit
me again and again. Throwing me up against the wall against my ripped
tits. My face felt like steak. He pounded me so hard. I screamed each
time he broke a bone. Finally, I couldn't breathe. He left me in the
middle of a pool of blood and walked out. Have a nice day, Kelly said.
Chapter 3
Cody sat on the edge of the bed, crying. It hurt so much.
Several days had passed since her beating. But she still hurt. Her tits
had swollen to 60 Zs after the incident. She could still barely move, and
never without excruciating pain. She held he r head. Her breasts hurt so
bad. She was afraid to touch them. Of course, it was almost impossible
to move without bumping or touching one of the big hanging sacks of
purplish abraided tit meat. Over and over again in her mind she went over
what had h appened. Every punch. Every blow. Every cracking of her
skull on the dresser or hooking her nose on the end of the bed. Inside,
she was hemmorahaging. She clutched her belly, whispering. Please let it
go. Don't hurt my baby. They ripped it out of her. She would be kept
pregnant perpetually, so her tits would grow and give milk. At the
lactation station where she was held.
The point was to keep her flowing both through hormones and
constant massage. Her tits were pummeled. Let's look at the specs again.
Okay?
Okay.
Tom's letter was waiting for her. He had had Shiloh Grep, and was
going to tell her about it. Could she handle jpegs?
Child abuse is a big issue in America she wrote in the Times.
Now we've got to figure something out.
Is what he's sending child pornography if he's sending it to me? I
watched as he took Shiloh apart on the other side of the cabin. It was
like it was happening to me but it wasn't. I sat there dumbfounded. Is
this the way to go home? I should hate hi m for this. But I don't.
Funny. I don't hate anyone. But people do such bad things to me, I
should hate it. Maybe that's why I hate myself. Because I did it. "I
hurt her bad, Kelly." Cody. oh yeah, I was talking to Kelly while you
was gone. He w as? She didn't mention it. Now come here. It was like a
mirror. As if I was doing that to Kelly instead of watching. What's the
difference. Can you get this to the Supreme Court by Jpeg> Missile
launched and completed. Do it right next time.
The jewels were out and being fondled
As if they meant something the way they are drooling over them
hey get away. I pushed him. I tried to fight back. And then I just lay
there and let them do it to me.
you know what I mean?
Do you get it?
Am I coming through to you?
Use me.
They did.
She lost count how many of them.
What did numbers count?
nothing.
in the end, nothing.
nothing. nada nope no
hey, no means no
it didn't
stop him.
she came in his mouth
this girl could do anything
what's it worth if I shut up, Pa
America's father had been all over america up and down the alley ways
giving fuck to thousands of women, and you want more? Are you crazy? Hit
her. They jumped on her. She was eaten alive. They vomited her out in
their puke. She crawled along the al ley way giving birth to his
children. Now pay you, fucker.
It is not whether Autumn is innocent
as is he guilty?
Now, on to Versace. You should have seen the funeral. Not that picture
in the Times. The real funeral. What do you mean? They were his wives.
They're all marked. Who's next?> Naomi>? They burned with him as the
funeral pyre drifted out to see. Hey, what is thiss? He's on fire. What
a fuck. That's Kate. Scream Kate. This is your last obsession, to die
with Gianniiiiiiii,.' You could hear it all over Naples. The screaming
women. The shrieking widows of the great Versace. All coming for a piece
of the steak. They ate him. Well, what do you expect? He was a genius.
A god. An exemplar of the working class. They had to take him out. It
was inevitable. I think that's Linda. Bell tone. Very good on the high
eees. Cover your ears. Cindy struggled. She didn't want to g o. She
wanted to live. Fancy that. These Americans. Krissy died like a child,
folding into his arms. So peaceful. She took her cat. Rasmas.
Familiar. Wasn't that? One of the horned hounds of Hell. Curses.
She'll eat him alive. They went down with the c.
Australians will read anything. Shalom.
She was also picked up in Brisbane. Brisbrane loved her. He would have
done anything to save her. But he was out of town. Call you later. He
told the story in long slow installments, pausing now and then to go off
on a tangent. Like the wall of the cabin. Squish. A pop doll. You can
do anything to her. See. She just screams like that. I submit you take
her out in the alley and do that. Cody picked herself up and stood
against the Brick Wall. He beat her. She doubled up. Clutching herself.
She was in stitches. They sewed her into the skin so that she was
completely enclosed like a tumor.
Nothing else to say.
Her column stopped. She waited. She had to rest. You don't know about
rest, do you? Here. I'll show you. She was knocked out. That wasn't
resting. That was being unconscious. He socked her again. No let up.
You get tense. You get jumpy. You make mistakes. You can't defend
yourself. Can you? no. See. I told you. Now get up. This isn't
resting either. You're wondering what to do. Stop it. He slapped her
face. She was stunned. No one had ever dared do that to her before. She
glared at him, and got hit again. That trained her to be docile and do
what she was asked. Again and again they forced her to get up and be
knocked down again. There was just no let up. It had to come from
within. She let go. What was this? The superpower s are invidious. Try
again. This time they let her stand up. She got up slowly. Now what?
Keep hitting her. I want to see what happens. Alec!!!!!! Stop it. Her
brother controls her, you know, from their home in Florida.
now get up. Slowly. I want to see you bleed, pig.
he watched on video as she went through the motions
of sticking up for herself
And wham. When she was hit. And went down. And got up. And went down
again. no. each time was worse. She bounced off the walls. Drugs were
horrible. That was another column. The drug scourge. You could sell a
lot of herb here.
no one reads books anymore. It's coming out. I'm telling you.
cut off his air
going down.
dust bouncing
you do the dust first. Then the floors.
she was a french maid.
upstairs.
in the bedroom
quick march.
She hated it when they came back from Africa. They wanted her to be black
like they were used tur. she wasn't a slave
/She was maid to dress up in uniform and be his commanding officer. Then
he would rebel and humilate me.
I went down under the onslaught
They put Russian girls on their cannon and pulled the trigger. Half the
Ukraine is German. You never know what our allies are up to. That
Norwegian girl, for instance. Bring her in here. I want her to suck me.
Greta cralwed through the door.
I was amazed at how quick it had happened. I was in LaGuardia one minute
and the next I was in Rome. At the funeral. The bells of the holy city
rang out as they carried him through the empty streets not a soul. no one
around. Only the silent cortege. And the corpse. And Erica. Erica was
the oldest. And the other two girls. Now do you remember? Oh yeah. My
older sister. We don't hang out much. When one was finshed with her
someone else took over. The train took him to Naples where a barge was
waiting. He went on board. Gianniuiiiii9... They strangled her. As he
watched with sad eyes as she went down. diodn't have a thing to wear
bright colores. She went out. When she woke up, she was lying in a back
alley with her hands tied behind her back. But not the elbows this time.
She is loose at the elbows. This holds her in check. They weren't
costumes. They were controls. Each fiber fed action into her body and
took it out. Totally bonkers. You can do anything with her. See. Make
her jump. Lying on the floor. She spasms. Then lies still. The ball
gag in her mouth keeps her silent. The noise feeds back into her brain
and bounces off the ball. She fries. Lift her up. Drop her. Her eyes
bulge at the pressure from inside. The silk clad body is a mass of
contradictions. That she is abraiding herself on broken glass makes it
worse. The suit shorts. Then goes wild. Th e computer controlling it is
having a meltdown. Backups kick in. The girl spasms. Then lies still.
But the knife is all the way through her.
She lies embedded on it, ass up in the air. Face on the concrete.
Hands jerking behind her back. Leave it. Let her lay. See what she does
to herself next.
The fourteen year old crawls over to the sofa, hilt dragging on the floor.
Sending signals up into her gut that she's been skewered. Got to get out.
please, daddy. take it out.
She groaned and lay still. Big buttocks up in the air. Smeared with
grease and sweat. God, what a pig. He stomped on her face.
gaaaagggaggggggagggaaffgg heel sticking in her mouth
pressing against her brain.
Right though the palate.
He kept jabbing her.
Get up. No let up. Do this. do that. You got to work at the store.
She had to run in harnass. It was goosing her. Her own foot was poking
her membrane, trying to get to the brain.
I moved.
I'm in your stomach.
Did you ever know the brain moves?
That's right.
It's like an octopus.
It can get in anywhere.
in fact, it is an octopus. Our primal ancestor, all curled up in our
heads waiting to get out.
Like a gigantic squid.
It mingled with her intestines. She had to go.
She shit all over herself. Down her legs. Clean her up.
Our affair grows more and more incestuous as I turn myself over to you,
Daddy. There in the trailer, out on the edge of the badlands. Milking
Cody. Like a cow. Kicking that big udder as he rode her into town. Get
along little flossie. The saddle kept her cinched to fifteen inches. Her
tits bounced along the pavement. That was child neglect. Come here.
I'll show you. They had to wade though a lot to get here. And where was
it? Kansas. Prairie Dog holes as far as you can see. And Cody's in all
of them. Fucking mother earth. They pumped her dry. Big cow udders fed
the institute. How much. They sold her back and forth around the trailer
park. Making extra money out of my cow leavings. I was skinny as a
heiffer. I hate cow comparisons. Stop it, G. I look like I just came
from Africa. Gianni. That isn't the point. Put this on. I liked it.
He could throw yards of silk up in the air and they would come down
patterned flowers. He made you feel sexy. I loved what he did for me.
Each morning they practiced sword form. That isn't it. Father and
daughter. How's your mother? Ok. No. ok. Got it? Yes. ok. Good.
Now go on. He followed her into the next room and picked up the whip.
Now we make you a costume to wear home. You walked home and you didn't
know you were there. It was that simple. Ribbon wire. He wove it into
the most in teresting fabrics. You didn't even have skin when he was
through with you. He went into the flesh but not too far. Just sort of
floated it on the surface. Until they stood there skinned alive. By
Giannniiiiiiiiiiiiii, it echoed out across the moors. Now, something in
Baskerville Tweed. For a hair shirt. Under the chain link mesh. Put it
on. I want to see how you bleed through it. Nothing stopped her. Little
sister. Come see me sometime. It wasn't an invitation. It was a
command. What kind of a linkup was it?
Wasn't there any way to stop?
She had to see a doctor.
*
THE STAND-IN
By Cody Ann Michaels
c. All rights reserved
Chapter 4
'Cody, when you've gone too far, take one step further.'
-- Gianni Versace
"Cody."
"uh, yeah. Oh, hi." I had to think. Who was it? It took awhile
before I could come up with a name. Smalhausen. But there was something
else. Then I remembered. What was he doing here?
His mother owns the trailer next to Gran's. In the camp. 'Cept
her's is a double wide. I had known him for years. "Hi." He was maybe
in his fifties. He always used to watch me. I mean, like all the time.
But I never knew he came to New York. He said he lived here. Wow. I
thought he lived with his mother. He was always there. Or seemed to be.
At least whenever I was. Now it turned out he lived in my block. In my
building, in fact. In fact, right across the hall. It was sort of
strange. He said maybe we could get together. I said I was pretty busy.
This was all I needed. Having some old guy who knew my grandmother. From
back home. Here.
I asked how his mother was. He made a face. She was as old as
Gran. And even more evil. Like, at least my gran had had a life. The
Widow Smalhausen didn't seem to have ever done anything. Except complain.
She was totally into herself. Poor guy. I sort of felt sorry for him.
I asked what he did? He said he was an artist. Maybe I would
like to pose for him sometime. I said maybe. I had to go. I thought his
mother said he was into computers or something. Maybe she didn't know.
Anyway, I didn't care. I had enough on my mind.
I had sort of promised my friend, Joe, that I would write him a
story. About him and his daughter. And his weird friends. And neice.
Did you ever notice, when you start to do something, suddenly everyone is
doing the same thing. Like, first I had To m telling me what he was doing
to little girls pretending they're me, and then Joe chimes in. Actually,
it's not the same, because Joe hadn't done anything to Tiffany, or
whatever her name was -- so far. He's just a guy who's been writing to me
for some time now, with different ideas he has. One of the latest seems
to be that I become a columnist and crusade for better government. Oh
please! For a guy who spent 20 years in the military, he is such an
innocent. He lives in a trailer somewhere out on the edge of the American
outback and keeps me informed of the various doings of a pack of
characters who seen to have all the attractive qualities of a nest of
rattlesnakes. The other day he floored me though when he told me that his
fourteen year old daughter was staying with him. Naturally, that twisted
everything around; gave it a whole nother perspective. Of course, Joe is
not the sort of guy who would do anything felonious to his next of kin.
But there are recovered memories. You know, the dead bodies that bubble
up out of the quicksand of other people's minds; the fantasy world that
any healthy teenage girl takes for reality. I figured I could have a lot
of fun with that, especially when he told me that it was his job to ferry
his equally nubi le teenage neice and Tiff to the old swimming hole. And
what the neice looked like. And what she wore. Or didn't. Then he got
off on the subject of how one of his buddies was going to beat up some
rodeo rider when he got back from Panama for sleeping with his slut wife.
The guy from Panama's wife. Not Joe's. Joe's divorced. The buddy lived
down on the border and shot Mexican immigrants for sport or something
before he shipped out for Panama. But now he was due back. And Peter,
the rodeo rider, had better watch his ass. The woman was named Sheila.
I wrote and asked Joe why he thought Pete was going to stand around and
get whipped, and besides, why shouldn't Sheila sleep with who she damned
pleased. Her husband sounded like a jerk. Joe wrote b ack and filled me
in on the logic of male bounding, er bonding, which I couldn't quite
follow, except it sounded pretty gritty. Especially the part where Ray
busted up everything in the house except Sheila before he split for
Panama. There was also a sc ene where Ray's pals, Joe included, sat on
him for days and weeks to give him an excuse for not having had the balls
to shoot Pete down like the dirty dog he was. Come on. These guys are
cowboys. American losers. Do you ever listen to their music? I mean the
stuff from the forties and fifties. These guys are flatter than the
interstate when it comes to rolling over them. That story made me think
of the song where the old man says how he killed some guy to steal his
wife, Harry Clay's, I think it wa s, and now she gets uglier every day,
"but I got her, boy, and I guess that makes me a winner!" Yeessh!
Don't get me wrong. I love Joe. But he's redneck all the way.
Well, not totally. He's no racist. He's more like a biker. Trailer
trash. Like me. Well, more like Kelly. Kelly is totally trailer trash.
Me. I grew up in a house. It's Gran who li ves in the camp. I think she
and Joe would get along. She came from Texas. Place called Eagle Pass.
Joe said his neice was prettier than his daughter. I suggested he
should dye his daughter's hair red, and then she would look like me.
Though the C cup is a little small. She's about an inch taller, too. I
hestitated to go too far, though, because I didn't want to seem to be
encouraging him to do something outrageous, tempting him so to speak. I
mean, that could get me in trouble, like twenty years. But I was curious
to know what happened. Especially to Sheila, the slut mother of Ray's
children. Pete sounded like a wimp. And Ray and the rest of them like
dorks. But a good looking blonde in a border town on the edge of nowhere,
that seemed to have possibilities. I could picture this place. A few
trailers strung out in the mesquite along a dirt road leading to nowhere;
junk cars. Timothy McVeigh reading a copy of True Confessions on the
front porch. Guys talking about getting O.J. And Sheila in that tight
yellow silk dress. I love film noir. I wanted to make the movie. I
would play Tiffany. It would all be through her eyes. Her old man. His
buddies. Their miserable bonding rights. Sheila.
And my cousin.
Yeah.
Who Dad has the hots for.
Don't you, Daddy?
Pretty. Blonde. Out to there.
Do you think I burned too much, Uncle Joe?
He touches her. It looks a little red. He puts something on it.
She giggles.
I mean, in that suit. You're going to the pool in that?
Tiffany is wearing a white one-piece bathing suit. I mean, at
least that's how I see myself. We were Baptists. Bikinis were strictly
taboo. Cut high on the hips with a thong back. And about a size too
small.
She walks around the trailer park in it.
You should hear my grandmother when she sees it.
For one thing, the hormones have made my tits so big I can barely
keep the nipples covered. Also, ... Wait a minute. This is off the
point.
I don't want to remember that. It's ... something else.
I can feel Smalhausen watching me. His eyes go right through me.
What a creep. It's as if he's trying to get inside. Become me. I can't
say I blame him. I ride my bicycle faster past their house. I don't want
to get caught.
Let me alone.
Not that he would try anything. He's always very cheerful. Hi.
How are you? Nice day. What's up? Nothing much. See you around. Yeah.
Sometimes he sits on the steps when I come out of the building. I can
feel him watching me as I walk up the str eet. Other times he wants to
counsel me. Or comfort me. I know he just wants to get into my pants,
but doesn't know how. Doesn't know the open Sesame. What makes it
happen. What will make me lie down and spread my legs. Ask him for it.
Beg him. Please fuck me. Please. Piss in my face. Beat the shit out
of me. God, do it. I want it so bad. What's his name? I forgot. Maybe
I never knew. I always called him Smalhausen. His mother's name. She
was as old as my gran. But a lot nastier. Not really. Whinier, maybe.
Like a damp old armpit. Sad. She made sad. She loved it. She did
research on it. Promoted it. She had a mastership in sad. I felt sorry
for him. He seemed like a nice guy. But what a burden. I wondered why
he put up wi th it. Well, why did I put up with Gran? Or Alec? Or
Kelly? I put up with Kelly because I loved her. She was so stunningly
beautiful. I had to put up with Alec because he controlled me. But Gran
was different. She was so terminal. I mean, this woman had seen it all.
And reduced it to shit. Michael Collins. Adolph Hitler. My father's
entire life. Even his almost winning the lieutenant governorship. Which
must have been the high point in his life. She just trashed it all. That
must mean something.
So yeah, you could say I put up with Gran. Maybe I thought I
could learn something. I mean, like, what was it like to sleep with Jodl?
She said he was okay. Goring? A faggot, but he had a nice art
collection. I said he stole it from jews. She shru gged. Well, she
would have if 1. she had heard me, and two if she could, what with the
mastectomy. It hurts her. So she's sort of sunken in. A shrug would be
a major no no. Frankly, Gran doesn't know about the holocaust. She
worked in a prison durin g the war. An internment camp. Like they have
in Arizona. I forget its name. Bob Dole was entranced by it last year.
Just the place. Stalag 13. She voted for Clinton.
Okay. You might think someone like Gran would be pretty right
wing. And she is. She's somewhere east of the Wagners and Sigfried's.
To her, Wotan would have been soft on communism. The only other time she
ever voted Democrat was for Jimmy Carter, bu t only because she was pissed
at Gerald Ford for taking Richard Nixon's job. So that might give you
some clue what she sees in Clinton. But I am not going to get political
here. I am through with politics, except for the column I write for the
Canberra paper. I wanted to call it "Growing up in America," but I needed
them to think I was older, so I just call it "Letter from America". Sort
of like Paul's letters to the Ephesians. Except mine is to the kangaroos.
Oh shit. I just remembered. This was supposed to have a
dedication. To the muse. You know how in the old days, nobody wrote
anything without writing five or six pages calling on the muse and
dedicating it to her. Or whoever. I was going to do that. And I forgot.
Shit. Fucking Smalhausen. Distracted me. No wonder I can't get it
together. That and the weed. Boy, this is good stuff. Living on the
border has its advantages. We just pretend to shoot wetbacks. Actually,
this is a way station on the underground railroad. A way way station, if
you get what I mean. So that's why it's important no one goes messing
around with someone else's old lady. You get what I mean? Sort of messes
up the train schedules. Having dead bodies all over the tr ailer park.
Very messsy. You get it, asshole? He held me by the collar and banged my
head against the trailer. Wham wham wham. Then he let go and I dropped.
I lay on the ground and he kicked me in the gut. I lay huddled up,
clutching myself while h e walked away. Fucking Marlboro man. Joe would
never let him do that to me. Smokey Joe's daughter. I'd fix him. "What
happened?" I walked back in the trailer. "Ray beat me up." Dad got up
and went outside. Later, we heard the police cars. Arizona BSDF. What
were those initials? He told me once. Guys with cowboy hats and big
mustaches. And shotguns. Come out, Joe. We got your daughter.
Daddddedddddyyyyyyyyyyy. It sure got interesting around here. Especially
with the choppers. And the na palm. I love Peckinpah. He's one of my
main influences. The one with the cowboys. In Mexico.
They dragged Shiela. Behind their bikes. In that yellow dress.
Her long yellow hair dragging in the dirt. Big tits flopping. Around and
around in a circle. Shooting off their guns. Joe's neice was somewhere
around there. But I couldn't see her. One of the rancheros must have
gotten her. Boy, were we high. I guess keep thinking, what else could I
do with that story. Turn it around. What did it look like?
Miami. South Beach. 8:44 in the morning. Gianni lying on the
sidewalk. Running down the street. He went into the house. Later, they
found the clothes next to the truck where he had left them. He's still
there. Living in Versace's house. What bet ter place for someone like
Andrew to hide out. I mean, come on. This is no penny ante killer. This
is Andy C. Anti-Sea. Anticapatory. Angel. Dust. He moved through the
rooms. Effortlessly. That Gianni had crafted for him. Now we are seeing
the effects of this evil fallout. The body was brought back to the house
one more time. Then it was taken to be burnt. The pyre drifted out to
sea. He watched from one of the upstairs windows. Naaaa. Too trite.
Joe would track her down and kill her for what she had done. He
would make the pig die slowly. Her betrayal would eat her out. Like
cancer. From smoking too much. It would sneak up on her. And she would
have it. But he was taking no chances. He w anted to see the bitch die.
He crawled over to where she had fallen. She was already out of it.
There was nothing more he could do. Except put her out of her misery.
But why should he do that? Let her rot, he thought. I hate her. But did
he? What was it like to truly hate someone. So bad that it had an
effect. That it actually changed things. Like a lazer. He wanted to
hate Cody that way. Cut her to ribbons. But what if she was already
dead. What then? How could you kill a dead woman? Or even make her
bleed? That was a problem. The smoke died in her head. There was
something else. She picked up the two bottles.
Oh Joe, it hurts so. I didn't aim that at you. You just took it.
I hope it's okay. I didn't mean to hurt you. Here, let me lick it. She
took it away with her tongue. My god, what happened? I was alive again.
I wanted to breathe. I wanted to liv e. Don't hurt me again. Joe wound
further back into the trailer. Following her. Daddy. Please Daddy. The
other girl waited outside. She heard the screaming. You could hear it
all over camp. But this was really it. Stop breathing. Now everything
was quiet. The girl waited. He came out. Okay. They went and got in a
car and drove off. I don't know where they was heading. Why do you want
to know?
He's her father. Why?
You don't want to know.
What happened.
The bridge washed out.
I told you to fix it.
I did.
She's dead.
It wasn't my fault.
He wrote like that. Crisp letters against a blue background. It was very
attractive.
He knew everything about color.
What it did
and who owned it.
Very important. Who owns blue?
Is there a copyrite on it?
I think so.
Get it.
Boggie down.
Game match
Chek.
Roman.
Mir.
More
more oxygen, you asshole. Let it in. Breathe.
they were totally out of it.
out there on the edge of space.
What a camp.
Riding the airwaves.
Around mir.
Fuck.
That's it.
It all takes place in a trailer camp in the sky.
A big junky trailer camp with space junk orbiting it in all sorts of crazy
patterns so no one can get into them. Even the police. And Joe's
daughter is fucking everyone in camp. And you are only allowed to breathe
once every five minutes to conserve air. Oxygen. To conserve Oxygen, not
just air.
Who owns the oxygen on Mir?
Good question. Do the Russians do it or the Yaks. You had to wait your
turn. To breathe. It produced some interesting side effects. Thought
patterns. Somewhat like the space junk outside. Whizzing around. Old
hacksaw blades. Needles. Shotgun shells. Space mines. Old data
printouts. Remember those? Hillary's billing records. So that's where
they were. Versace's brains. They didn't tell you. The entire cranium
was empty. Gianni's brain ooozed out between his legs and went on down
the sidewalk. That's what they caught on camera.
Versace's brain. Leaving. So what?> It's space junk. No one reads it.
You'll never get caught.
Cody's brains are in her tits. She has two of them. Somehow they got
split in half. And they've been crawling all around her body ever since.
Sometimes one gets up inside her face and looks out. And watches while
the other one gets beaten to a pulp. It's an interesting arrangement. Now
breathe. She took in a whiff and let out one. Then the hallucination
came back to her. They were on a country road, she and Charles Kuralt.
He was interviewing her. She was telling him about her father's running
for lieutenant governor. It was a big thing in her life. Florida is a
big state. Can you imagine the banquets? The line up. The
contributions. We almost made it. I put out a lot for my Dad while he
was alive. I'd do the same thing now for you. I could see he was
thinking. Well, maybe. That yellow dress on the front porch turned him
on. Made him think of Utah. What a big bang it would be. Blowing up
Utah. Those smug mormons. Don't Cody! Joe's hand locked on my wrist.
Bending it backward. You're hurting me. Drop it. I let go the gun. It
floated off down the corridor. You do that again, I'll kill you. I
really will, you fucking cunt. Jeez, he was mad. I was just going to ...
Never mind what you was going to do. You give us away. You hear, girl?
okay. okay. He gave me a push and I hit the opposite wall. WHAM. My
only consolation was, he did too. Opposite and equal reaction, r ight?
You hit me. You feel it. So go on, do it, sucker. He pasted her across
the mouth. Fucking slut. They bounced sideways. Wham. Wham. Body
pong. Body ping pong. Body slamming in space. WHAM WHAM WHAM That shook
the bejesus out of star fl eet. I thought, all the way back through the
Cody stories. Guys were just getting it. Right about.... NOW! Earth
screamed. On target. Nice. Who needs bullets. I could feel it all the
way up my spine. My brain sluiced sideways as the lazer nipped it./ the
girl was on her knees. Down, Cody. Good girl. Kick. aooooww/ Animal
rights. You ain't got no animal rites in space. You got Cody on the Mir.
No wonder it's space junk. The soyuz was coming around for another blow.
My batteries are down. Mine are even weaker. What is that thing? Cody.
Come back. Come back, Codddddyyyyyyyyy mission control. we have lost
mission control. mission control is dead. fused metal and old condoms.
Slapping the window. Stuck to it. Seeing the earth through a used trojan
is not a pretty sight. MNaybe we should go back. Can't. Way's shut off.
I lost track of Joe. Where is he? I thought he was with you. Red
Dwarf. Of course. They're red dwarves. Bread in space. Spare some
change. Which one is Crighton? There's only three of them. There were
only three on the space craft. One was a h ologram. And the computer.
Your turn. He breathed. Deeply. And let it out slowly. What is this
stuff? Versace's mansion was featured in a Vogue spread when he first
moved in. It was fabulous. He had taken two old hotels and turned them
into a Gre ek palacio. There, he would walk in the garden, wearing a
robe, like a friar. Father Andrew. Who had come to them from outer
space. And one was a robot. Such a beautiful man. Crichton, get me a
martini. As you wish, sir. Who were the other two? I
forgot. Rimmer was the hologram. Technically, he wasn't there. The
robot was a woman. Wrong. The robot was a robot. The woman was in the
computer. Oh yeah. Right. Then what? You could be anything, and you
chose Rimmer? Space junk. On Mir, Cod y was the mirror. Everything
happened through Cody. The russians spoke a patois of old English. Mixed
in with their native language. The Americans clung to their old ways.
Others lurked in the interior or floated with the scud, crafting strange
arran gements of parts and old paper. Trying to form a habitation that
worked. Then there were the Wing Surfers. Gangs in space. They skirted
the edges of the camp, always trying to seek an entry into the compound.
Sometimes they broke through. But were r epulsed by our lazers. I was in
the Fourth Division, Cadet Second Grade. I looked cute in uniform. My
father was the Company Commandant. I was slated to the Citadel when he
found out. That I was fucking a space rat. It was so absurd. They
drummed m e out of the corps. I was humilated. My father cut off my
epaulettes himself. And whipped me there in the center of the compound in
front of everybody. Fill in the gaps. Then I was put in stocks and made
to stand in front of the entire company. Whil e they used me. As my
father watched. I forgot all about it until later, when I accused him of
child abuse and devil worship. He had moved back east to North Carolina.
Home of the new Salem. Witchhunt. Jesse Helms. Guys went to jail for
working in a nursery. We told the most improvidable stories. They ate
them up. Especially the part about the gorilla. We said he was three
stories tall and liked to eat little girls. While my daddy watched. Mary
Beth said it was just that way. She remembered it. Watching Daddy do it.
But then she suppressed them. Repressed. Whatever. Until just now, when
she's remembering it in living color in front of a jury. Best audience in
town. A jury of my peers. Night court in the Carolinas. Under the
magnolia trees. Honey blossom. Let's all wander down to the center of
camp and see who is getting her ass flogged tonight. Whore alley. On the
space craft. Was an unyielding number of bars. Whiskey bars. Mahagony.
Old tars in from the star fleets. Gerbil s wiggling their hyknees to get
picked up. Hi. Want some? That yellow dress. There on the border. Out
there on the edge. Is it better in a dress? Want some? Space Tramp.
hi. just like on irc. Only different. Like, she's really here.
Hi fellas. That smile. Give us a song. Someone will take me home to
night. Lotta Lenya. Kurt Weill. Oh show me the way to the next whiskey
bar. Oh, don't ask why. I tell you, we must die. hi. breathe.
She couldn't let go. Back out of it. no way. She was trapped.
The doorbell rang. It was Smalhausen. Could I come in? My mother just
died.
The man was in tears. She consoled him. Maybe it's for the best.
She was old. She had a good life. No she didn't. She had a terrible
one. Smalhausen wiped the sleeve of his robe across his face. It was
covered with mascara. He was in drag. I fo rgot to mention. He was
dressed like well, who? Dietrich. No. Madonna. No. He looked like...
I'll tell you what he looked like, an old photo of Gran. Like maybe when
she was fifty. Before she started to look like a muppet. An old racist
muppet living there on the edge of the sea. She hated niggers, but she
loved Tiger Woods. And Bill Cosby. America's dad. Ha! Shows you the
kind of way my grandmother thinks. And she voted for Clinton. Think
about it. Madonna sat there devastated. They had just killed Gianni, and
all he could think about was his mother. I wanted to scream. Do you know
who is dead? Yes. Your mom, too. My mom? Yes. Isn't that your mother?
Mrs. Seinfelden. The old lady. She's dead, too. I sat down. She's my
grandm other, you asshole. What about her? She's dead. I told you,
she's dead. Gran? Yes. How do you know? I killed her. oh.
Don't you see? So we could be together. Smalhausen, this is so sudden.
That's all I needed, a lunatic serial killer in my house. I suppose you
killed Gianni, too? No. That was my brother. Andrew. Oh. Like, what's
your name? George. Oh. I'd nev er known. Maybe the whole family was
nuts. I like your corset. Do you? Sixteen inches. He lied. He was fat
as a turd. The last time he'd been sixteen inches was his last erection.
You can't imagine. I mean. At least. Why did your brother kill V
ersace? I asked. How should I know? Aren't you glad to see me? Well,
yes. Sort of. He was sort of spectacular. If you like sixty zeeee tits.
I was amazed. They looked real. They were. How did you? Everything
seemed twisted around. The red hair . The makeup. The hump back. I
wondered, was Smalhausen trying to look like me. To become me. Then it
hit me. Kelly. He wanted to look like Kelly. Why hadn't I thought of it
before? He farted. I said I was sorry about his mother. What happened?
I couldn't tell if he was lying or not. Ich bin Erica vonn Smalhausenn.
Erica? I thought he said his name was George. Ich bin Erica Slutmadchen.
He was screaming. Right. Sig Heil and all that. Look, I said. I love
the Fuerher as much as you, but it's been a long night. Couldn't we talk
about this in the manana? The next day, he looked like he always did.
He said he was sorry.
I said forget about it.
I called Gran. She said he was a nebbish. What did I expect?
They're all that way. Like she knows. She started to talk about Jodl. I
hung up.
Well, that's about the best I can do off the top of my head. I
hope you liked it.
Your daughter,
Tiffany Ann Grosnick
I woke up on the floor. Smalhausen was on top of me, drooling. I
shoved him off. Get off me, asshole. What are you doing?
Giving you c.p. I think you OD'd.
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