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Sunday, March 20, 2016

312. Professions

“Let’s see. Cost of equipment per client. Rental fees. Personnel costs. Training. What else?”

Oh no. I could tell by the dialogue that C.W. was onto another of his get rich schemes. Don’t ask me why. I don’t even think they use money on Falloonia. I turned and tried to slip away, but he heard me. Unfortunately,

“Hey Big Dope. Come here. You will want in on this. Don’t you have a good friend who is a cinematographer?”

I contemplated running away, but I get a kick out of his schemes sometimes, so I walked into the next room to fine a perfectly formed shape of what Cecil B. DeMille must have looked like in his prime. He was pouring over sheets of paper and scribbling with a furious intensity that reminded me of a schoolboy running out of time on a test.

“What the …?”

He looked up and flashed a smile. “How much do those little gadgets cost that you can hook up to a cell phone and make credit card charges?”

I ignored him. “What are you doing?”

“Working on a plan to make us rich.” He drew a line under a column of figures with a flourish and smiled again. “To an extreme and often disgustingly extent rich.”

“So how are we going to become filthy rich this time?”

“Prostitution.”

That stunned me. “Prostitution?”

“Actually prostitution plus.”

“Prostitution is illegal almost everywhere in this country,” I said. “You are going to get us all arrested.”

“Oh no,” he said, “and besides, they can’t imprison me. I’ll just change to an insect and fly out.”

“Some folks around here already think of you as an insect, so don’t press your luck in a house with so many fly swatters.” Then I thought. “But what about me? I couldn’t fly out of jail so what would happen to me?”

“I’ll change into a priest and bring you reading material,” he said. “But anyway, nobody is going to get arrested.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Prostitution Plus,” he said. “That’s what we’ll call it.”

“And how does that make a difference? Prostitution by any other name is still illegal.”

“Ah yes,” he said. “But art films depicting intimate behavior among consenting adults is not.”

“You mean porn films?”

“We prefer the term ‘results of vintage adult situations,’ as more sophisticated,” he said. “Now, here’s the deal. How does a prostitute normally approach a john?” He laughed. “That’s what we call them in the business: ‘Johns.’ Is that cute or what? I would prefer ‘chumps,’ and Mrs. Big Dope agrees.”

“You mentioned his to her?”

“Yes. I had to ask someone how working women or men approached their chumps, …  uh, … Johns, … uh prospects.”

“And what did she say?”

“She said to ask you.”

“Let’s just stop this right now,” I said. “We’re still talking about accosting someone with a proposal for participating in an illegal act.”

“Isn't it odd among your species," he said, that politicians can sell their souls for money but people can't rent their bodies for pleasure? Anyway, so a person says to a stranger, 'Hey mister. Want to make an art film?' That’s an illegal proposal?”

That stopped me. “Well,” I said, “what about the sex?”

“Incidental,” he said. “Just part of the plot line.”

“But the, uh, John will pay?”

“Of course, but only for the studio, equipment rental, actor’s fee, and the cost of the complimentary copy of the DVD.”

I let that one pass since my mind was whirling.

“So?” he said. “You considering it?”

“No,” I said. “I’m having a ‘John Agar Moment’ and I have to think.”
If she is a senator offering to sell her vote,
then it's a perfectly legal act. How odd. - C.W.


“You mean that actor that played in the science fiction movies years ago with all the monsters and such?”

“Yes.”

“So what moment do you refer to?”

“The moment at which his girlfriend comes up with a way to destroy the monster.”

C.W. thought. “And what does he say?”

“It just might work.”


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