The Last Fluffer in La-La Land

Pills and porn have always gone together like a pair of plastics in a double D cup, but these days it’s not dolls and dexies they hand around. The pills are small and blue and purely functional. It should be working by now but it’s not. It never does.

Asia Carrera’s sitting at a desk that’s all chipboard and hollow and works just enough that she can pull a drawer half open and take out a Rabbit. I’m meant to walk in on her and she makes to slam it back in horror and we all know it’s not her libido that changes her mind, it’s that if she slams it the whole thing’ll fall to pieces.

This suit’s scratching and the pill’s definitely doing nothing.

“I need a piss,” I say.

“No fucking way,” says Greg. “We’re out of here in an hour.”

“He’s gonna clean off, yeah?” says Asia and she looks like she’s about to bring a fist down on the desk and fuck the schedule worse than soaping a guy’s dick.

Greg goes over and massages her traps and says, “He’s not going anywhere, sweetie.” He looks at me and his eyes say get the fuck on with it, shit for brains.

“Look,” I say, flicking my eyes and trying to be shifty. I move in and bend to his ear. “I really need to do some coke, man.”

Greg takes a hand off Asia, puts it on me and smile and says, “Be quick already.”

“Sure, man.”

I head out the studio down the bare concrete floor, past the toilet, and turn he handle of the producer’s assistant’s door.

I can feel something already. I wonder sometimes if it’s the pill kicking in after all but I’m never going to take the chance finding out.

Kelly looks fan-fucking-tastic like she always does with her grey suit stretched over fake tits that hang slightly too high on her chest and black hair held in place with a bit much spray. If she tried to wrap it round my cock I wonder if it’d cut into my skin. The thought makes me start to throb and twitch.

“So I wrote the last two chapters,” she says, undoing my belt, pulling my pants to the floor, and sliding my boxers down.

“You figured out an ending at last.”

“I told you about that already.”

“Yeah,” I say. “The story ends before the book begins.”

“That’s right. The rest is just shooting the shit till someone remembers they forgot to turn off the lights.”

She cups my balls in the palm of her left hand and puts the fingers of the right in her mouth, takes them out and squeezes gently on my shaft.

“So what happens to Elle?” I ask, one hundred percent hard by now as she pulls my foreskin back and begins to inscribe semi-circles on my glans with her wet fingers.

“Nothing happens. One day she doesn’t go into work, and the next day she packs her things and goes back to her parents.”

“Are you leaving?” I feel the ligaments slacken slightly. She moves her left hand under my balls, forms a fist, sticks out her middle finger, and begins massaging my asshole.

She’s writing this novel called The Last Fluffer in La-La Land and it’s 100% autobiographical, Kelly was a fluffer at the studio, through two boob jobs and three breakdowns and in and out of rehab and she was the only one who ever got me hard the moment her skin and her nails touched me feather light, and then Viagra came along and Greg told her to fuck off and I said fuck man, your PA’s just fucked off to Portland with a meth head, why not let her do that? and Greg said Suzy’s fucked off to Portland? and I said Suzy’s just had her fifth kid, Madeleine’s fucked off to Portland and Greg said how the fuck do you know that, are you the father? and I said no I just know what the fuck’s happening and Greg said I guess you’re right, I need a PA, and so here she is.

“Asia’s six years older than me,” Kelly says, like it answers the question.

“I know.”

She runs her tongue up the underside of my cock. I put my hand on the top of her head and pull her away. Her hair’s softer than it looks.

“So what do her parents say?”

“Her parents take one look at her false tits and slam the door.”

I can see all the way to the bottom of her cleavage. Her skin’s wrinkled and pinched from sun and surgery, and it makes me so hard my knees begin to give.

“So what does she do then?”

“Fuck should I know?” she says. “That’s where I stopped writing.”

I shake my head and exhale loudly and say “What kind of ending’s that? Shit needs sorting. Something good happens, something bad happens but fuck it, something has to happen.”

She looks up at me. Her eyes are as black as the lenses of my Ray-bans. I wonder how much coke she’s done and remember to do a couple of lines before I leave. “That’s not how it works,” she says. “Shit never ends with something. It always fades to nothing. You can try and hang on or you can lie down and let it happen but in the end it’s just fucking entropy.” She closes her eyes and impales her face on my cock and I hear her gag and have to pull her off me before I shoot.

“Please,” she says, so quiet I can hardly hear.

“No.”

I put my clothes back on, do two lines, and head back to the studio still throbbing. There’s a sound in my ears as I leave. I can’t tell if it’s the noise of sobbing coming from the office or just a faint ringing from the coke.

Greg looks at me. I wipe my nose to leave him in no doubt I’ve been doing coke not Kelly, and he calls action. Asia pretends to take a call on a phone that’s not even got a lead. She feigns anger, then giggles and opens the desk drawer and takes out the Rabbit, looks at it like it’s a new flavour sandwich filling at the deli, and sticks it in her cunt although the only thing making her wet is lube. I go on set and ten takes and thirty minutes later I come on her tits and Greg calls wrap.

I pick up the suit, take it off set, and dump it, putting on my sweats and T-shirt. I take some time to sit and listen to some Green Day and enjoy the fact I’m wearing non-scratch clothing again.

It’s only half an hour till I leave but the building has an empty feel already, the smell of disinfectant and too much echo. No after-filming party, no chat, no drink-fuelled giggles and screams. Everyone’s gone home or at the editing suite or speaking to distributors and sales managers in sedans and suits.

I know she’ll be last to leave, so I stop by Kelly’s office, turn the handle and go in.

She looks ridiculous, sprawled out on the floor like she’s been waiting for me, with her top half naked and those ludicrous tits pointing straight at the ceiling. I try to stifle a laugh so I don’t hurt her feelings, and then I realise she might look dumb but the site of her like that has made me hard, and it’s only after that I see the Vicodin bottles and notice her inflated chest isn’t moving.

I can’t move, and for what must be minutes here we are like some cartoon, her pneumatic and half naked and dead and me mouth open in shock with eight inches of wood bursting against my sweatpants.

“Stupid bitch,” I say at last, and then I shout it and then I scream it and the lot echoes back at me, and I want to kick her, the dumb fuck. I want to kick her so hard her fucking silicones pop, and I stand over her with my feet touching her skin and I can see her stomach begin to shine like she’s sweating in the lights, only she’s not sweating, it’s just my tears making random lines through the fine hairs and tanned-out scars. I pull down my sweatpants and briefs, and keep my eyes open and mutter “no” again and again under my breath and watch white drops spatter her tits like a Jackson Pollock, and I pull my clothes back on and leave the office and I don’t hear shit in my ears, not even echoes.

A sheet of quarto by the exit screams at me “Last one out turn off the fucking lights”. I stop for a moment, give it the finger, wipe off the last drops of come so the print streaks on the paper, and shout, “Fuck you, everyone’s gone home, they’ll just have to stay turned on.”

~ by yearzerowriters on March 12, 2010.

46 Responses to “The Last Fluffer in La-La Land”

  1. Dark, disturbing, dangerous material – it’s heartbreaking and perspective-shifting. It’s hard to feel sorry for those in this particular industry, for the choices they make, but that’s not what you’re doing here, I suspect – whoever they are, they are still human beings and their idea of dignity is separate from ours. I think you’ve portrayed this in a serious, honest way. I don’t feel shocked by it. There’s a change in the air.

    DJ

    • Thanks – it’s a strange industry to write about because 1. yeah, I don’t want to convey any opinions or feelings at all about the industry; and 2. everything anyone ever does will always be seen in the light of Boogie Nights, although I DO think this is another seismic shift. It came out of a brief section of the intellectual comedy quiz shoe QI with Stephen Fry, of all places, when the panellists were talking about how the pron industry no longer uses fluffers because of viagra, and (I’m SURE you’ll have seen the reference knowing how much I love the book) it made me think of that great opening para to Brett Easton Ellis’ Less Than Zero about drivers not liking to merge on the freeway in California – I just thought hell, if ever there’s a metaphor that absolutely encapsulates what’s happening to our society, it’s the porn industry using pills instead of “contact” to do its thing. I also wanted to make the point about the changing use of drugs – that’s another great metaphor – it used to be that functional, medical drugs were subverted for pleasure, but nowadays drugs are just functional – that’s a bit the same point as Boogie Nights, of course, and I got heavy-handed with the “suits & sedans” para – things aren’t done for fun any more, they’re done for function.
      Dan

      • wow… dude, this is amazing. I’m very obsessed with the porn industry, I find it so fascinating and weird, so I really enjoyed reading this. I like that you used a real porn star here (Asia Carrera).

        the one that got to me the most is the Jackson Pollock metaphor. Brilliant.

      • Would love to put this piece up against the empty celebrity culture that thrives in the US at the moment – there are programs over here that seem to give a hint of respectability to those who work in the porn industry (HBO’s Cathouse series for one) – some of it is funny, mostly hollow. This story strips all the pretense and spotlight glamor away – there is nothing respectable about it. It is void. You’ve captured that void perfectly.

        • Thanks. Those televisual deligts have yet to reach us here – we’ve had a couple of shows about suburban amateurs, but I guess we don’t really have a mainstream industry like that in the States where it’s all shiny and, like you say, respectable. The closest we came was, I guess, in the 70s – which is why I tagged it with Mary Millington – a genuinely tragic story.
          I agree – as an industry it’s such a good lens for much of our society becaue it’s the antithesis of intimacy. It’s as much contact as is physically possible, and yet, on a human level, there’s no contact at all.
          Dan

  2. This is so in character, it’s mad. The context that it’s in, though, is a little distracting for me. But it’s nice to read something that’s not in the one-track mindset, you know?
    The last line is pretty great. Kind of innuendo-esque. You know, leaving ‘turned on’. Don’t know if that’s deliberate, but it’s clever nonetheless.

    • Yeah, I tried to write something that wasn’t just about someoen who wanted to kill themselves (couldn’t avoid a suicide somewhere, though), and come up with someone who was determined to live, like Oli said. I edited and edited and got rid of ALL the best lines to keep it in character as best I could (DAMN, that hurt – there were some beautiful metaphors, but ones he’d just never use).

      That last line – funny, I was just bringing coffee down to the office and I was thinking I ought to get rid of “turned” in case people thought it was meant to be innuendo – it’s meant just to refer to the earlier line “The rest is just shooting the shit till someone remembers they forgot to turn off the lights” but maybe a little lightness doesn’t hurt.
      Dan

      • I didn’t read it as innuendo–just that it could be interpreted as such. I have massive innuendo radar.
        Kudos for keeping it in character, then. That’s always much more difficult than it sounds.
        But yes, someone determined to live –it’s very beautiful. There’s some really stuff in here. It all works together very well.

  3. Powerful stuff – you didn’t miss a beat with the voice, and as Sarah says that’s so difficult. The only point where you lost me was where he wanks over the corpse. I just couldn’t see that, which may say something about my ego defences rather than your writing, but there you go. (I once went to a poetry reading with a group of psycho-analysts & it was the most unspontaneous evening in my life – everyone was watching everyone else for giveaway clues – and I made the mistake of reading Yeats’s An Irish Airman Foresees His Death, which gave them ample opportunity for raised eyebrows over choice of material.)

    • Yes, the last thing I want to do is make it sound like a game of soggy biscuits. That’s the key scene so I have to get it right – it’s meant to be one of those “weird but sentimental” scenes – maybe it’s too sentimental/overly romanticised? Because kelly was a fluffer, even though they had some kind of connection, they could never have that kind of intimacy – and he feels bad for having “withdrawn” earlier, and this is his way of being tender I guess.

      • I missed the tenderness – because of his wanting to kick her, and calling her ‘stupid bitch’, I read the act as abusive – and in porn when men ejaculate over women’s faces it’s often intended as an aggressive act of defilement.

        It’s a powerful piece, but I think this key scene is still a little ambiguous – but I may be the only person to have misread it!

        • Brilliant title BTW

        • I’m going to be fascinated to see what Oli makes of it because he’s always having a go at people for being too obvious and I really wanted to avoid making the scene an open book. I was intending to subvert those stereotypes and turn it on itself – I had hoped that the earlier scene between them had made it clear enough how I intended this one to be read but I think sometimes I leave too many layers there.
          Dan

          • I thought he was going to shag the corpse, so you reined yourself in on that one really

            marc nash

  4. Good God… I saw your link on the autho thread… I feel so daunted when I read writing this excellent – well done *stands and applauds*

    *encore*

    x

  5. Excellent writing here. How sad a life for people in the porn industry. Women with fake boobs (form ever follows function, eh), fluffers who start but are not meant for the finish, and the loneliness of being in a place with “too much echo.”

    8 inches? Oh you men!🙂

    • “8 inches? Oh you men!” ha ha – I will revert to my usual defence – it’s the only number that scans properly!
      Dan

  6. I just wonder how you folks do that… go inside someone’s skin and brains and eyes and *ahem*. Must try that someday.

    Applause to you Dan, great stuff once again!

  7. That’s fucking messed up. This story has hollow and fake stamped all over it, which is the essence of the world portrayed here.

    Looks like Kelly found the only way out. And the main character says goodbye to her the only way he knows how.

    Great writing, Dan. Very twisted.

    • Interesting to see how people react differently to that scene – for me it’s redemptive in its own weird way. But yes, the story is 100% about hollow – and about how hollow has levels, like the circles of hell, and maybe the awful exploitative porn world of the 90s is not as awful and exploitative as the industry today – that maybe the people in those days had some kind of soul, whereas now they have nothing – I’m not really saying that about the porn industry itself, of course, because it’s a metaphor, but you get what I mean?
      Dan

  8. i worked in the industry for a bit (writer, nothing else! read chapter 10 “Some Extra Money” in 29 Jobs) and the seedy, emotionless, drugged up landscape is just how you portray it here.

    i really wouldn’t have had a problem if you did go all the way and integrate a little–er–necromancing at the end. hey, we’re writers, we are going for dramatic effect. being too obvious? nah. people are capable of anything, we know that. in the porn industry it is an alternate universe with an entirely different context of moral agency than what we all seem to know and live by.

    i always love picking out the UK-isms in US-based lit, though! doesn’t hurt the text one bit. in fact, as a reader i LOVE seeing the writer peek through every now and then. it’s the alternative filmmaker in me enabling the 5th wall to shine through, like hitchcock appearing in his own films. in literature, that’s some bold shit and i’m trying it right now (probably not the right or talented enough person to try it, but hell, why not).

    anyway, nice piece, dan!

    ~jenn

    • Ooh, what’s the UK-ism – I was so busy trying to remember to say sweatpants I bet I missed soemthing really obvious!
      Dan

      • someone may argue with me about this, but “needs sorting” stood out a bit (organizing?); and “fucked off [to somewhere]” just doesn’t get said around these parts. when you say “fuck off” you’re telling someone to do so, but it’s not used descriptively.
        but i like it in there, as i said!

        • It would never even have occurred to me they were UKisms – thanks🙂

        • Nice spots Jenn! I can’t agree with you about it showing the writer slipping through, I think it’s just bad editing on our parts (my 5000 word story on a fading baseball player had Center-Field and dead-ahead center both spelled the English way, arrggh) – if we plump for an American voice and idiom, we have to stay true to it unles we are overtly looking to subvert it. I think my errors just eroded the stories credibility and integrity.

          • I think that’s Marc and yes, I agree, certainly in this case – it’s plain old down to my ignorance!
            Dan

          • Don’t be too hard on yourself, Dan. I use many English spellings in my work. (I can’t bear to see theatre spelled the American way.) I also have a tendency to use archaic forms (shone instead of shined). Of course, I would never light a fag in the US.

  9. After reading this, I’m starting to think that you’re a porn movie writer in disguise. You’re excellent at it. Maybe you’ve missed your calling?
    One thing I have to say is that 10 takes would take longer than 30 minutes!🙂

    • You’ve busted me!
      Yes, you’re right – it depends what was being retaken but yes, 10 takes in 30 minutes doesn’t sound right!
      Dan

  10. Spot on! & Kelly is exactly the right name for the poor old fluffer, n’all.
    Pen

  11. Damn Dan…nice. My friend Eric and I used to make lowbudget movies in the 90s (not porn heh) After many porn conversations and many festivals we said “why not make an all nude non-porn that addresses so much of the absurdity and shallow of porn” …well, not in those words exactly but for this reply’s sake that was the gist. Anyway…just got me thinking about Jungle Monkey and how disconnected I feel from porn these days. Loved the ending…I was expecting him to start fucking her and was interested to see you take another route. Really felt…engaged the whole time.

  12. Wow! What a great piece of writing. Very powerful.

  13. […] Dan Holloway – FREAKSHOW; The Last Fluffer in La La Land […]

  14. […] And what’s particularly good is that Year Zero Writers (and eight cuts gallery press) are going to be performing (represented by, er, me) this Wednesday – that’s tomorrow. Full details are HERE. It’s at Concrete in Shoreditch. Do come along and wave a Year Zero/ eight cuts flag. I’ll be reading The Last Fluffer in La la Land. […]

  15. […] And what’s particularly good is that Year Zero Writers  are going to be performing (represented by, er, me) this Wednesday – that’s tomorrow. Full details are HERE. It’s at Concrete in Shoreditch. Do come along and wave a Year Zero. I’ll be reading The Last Fluffer in La la Land. […]

  16. Amazing. Absolutely brilliant. Love the double meaning of the last line.

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