Gone Hollywood by Victor De Anda

Punk Noir Magazine

It’s late when Jaclyn and I show up to the Halloween party, but no one seems to care. People are too busy having a good time. The air’s thick with the smell of weed, sweat, and sugary perfume. Half-naked women parade past us dressed as demons, sexy nurses, and God knows what else. Hollywood’s a fucking trip. 

A hot chick dressed as a Vegas show girl eyeballs us and breaks out into a laugh. 

The multi-colored bow tie around my neck feels tighter. “You had to pick Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum? This is a fucking couple’s costume.”

Jaclyn slaps me hard on the cheek. “Relax, this is all I could get on such short notice. I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Me neither. The boss put me on a plane out of Newark this afternoon. He wants the situation with Derek taken care of. No one else can handle this shit?”

Jaclyn adjusts her suspenders. “How about my situation, Bobby? I need you to take care of me.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit, Jac. We both agreed that Atlantic City was a one-time deal. Right? You got what you wanted.”

“Whatever. Can’t blame a girl for trying.” She smacks me on the ass. “I’ve gotta say hi to some folks.”

“You work with these crazy people?”

“Yeah, so what? Get a ride home if you don’t like it,” Jaclyn says. “I figured we could have a little fun tonight before you meet with Derek tomorrow.”

“Sure, thanks for bringing me.”

Jaclyn’s eyes travel down to my crotch. “Bobby, do me a favor and try to keep it in your pants, okay?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“I mean it,” she says. “Promise me.”

“I’m not promising nothing.”

“Suit yourself. And be careful. These Hollywood bitches will eat you alive.” Jaclyn blows a kiss at me, then disappears into the crowd of partygoers.

The pot that we smoked in the car is kicking in now and all I need is a whiskey to make it perfect. I take another look at the wall-to-wall tail in the place. Jesus, so many hot women here tonight. Probably all wannabe actresses, too. One of them’s gotta be interested in a Jersey boy playing tourist in L.A. Tomorrow is all business but tonight, one lucky lady’s going to get it.

I push my way into the packed ballroom where everyone’s staring up at the ceiling. Above us is a trapeze act performing acrobatics. But they’re all little people, mostly naked and covered in body paint. They look creepy as fuck swinging around above the crowd. I spot the bar at the opposite end of the room. 

My propeller beanie falls off as I carve a path through decomposing zombies, sexy fairies, and werewolves. I’d forgotten what a big deal Halloween is out here on the west coast. Everyone out here likes to pretend they’re someone else all the time. ‘I’m a waitress, but I really want to act.’ Get a real job.

I order a drink and check out the crowd. People look drunk, high, and out of control. That’s when I spot her at the end of the bar. She’s a New York Nine if I ever saw one. She’s dressed up like Marie Antoinette and the word “hot” doesn’t do her justice.

She’s gone the whole nine yards with her costume: powdered wig, ball gown, and folding fan. Four producer-types surround her, cigars in hand and bellies spilling out of their outfits. They’re all wearing Baroque costumes too. 

I sip my whiskey and watch her talking to the pale, overweight men gathered around her. She’s flirting hard, tapping each of them on the shoulder or fondling the ruffles on their fancy shirts. They ogle her and respond in kind, a caress on her back here, a brush on her arm there. Sharks circling in for the kill. 

She turns away from them and catches my stare. She smiles at me and I know what to do next. I’ll let her wait a while, though. Can’t be too eager. Her attention switches back to the dirty old men.

She leads one of the geezers out of the room and they’re gone for a solid fifteen minutes. I’m about to go looking for her when they return. She flips her compact open and reapplies her lipstick, tracing the curves of her lovely mouth. The old-timer she was with has a shit-eating grin on his face. She’s working these guys, alright.

Another old guy starts fondling her ass and playing with the curls of her wig. She resists and pushes him away. This is my cue. 

I walk up to the group and put myself between her and the old-timers. 

“These guys bothering you?”

The old coots glare at me for crashing their little party.

She gives me that winning smile again. “They’re harmless, but you look like you’re trouble.”

“So I’ve heard.” I grab her shoulder and pull her towards me when Mr. Grab-Ass speaks up. 

“You gotta lot of nerve, asshole. You know who I am?” he says.

My face is getting hot now. “I really don’t care, grandpa. The lady’s made her choice. We’re leaving.”

The old guy takes a swing at me and misses. He’s so drunk all I have to do is shove him backward and he goes down. He crumples to the floor and his buddies help him back up. 

I lead her through the crowd and back out to the foyer. The air feels cooler out here when she grabs my arm.

“I could’ve handled that, but I appreciate it,” she says. “My name’s Lilith.”

“Bobby,” I tell her.

She squeezes my hand in hers and studies my face. “Not from around here, are you?”

I shake my head. “Afraid not. Jersey.”

“I see,” she says.

One of the little person acrobats from the trapeze walks up to us. His ghoulish body paint is smeared and sweaty. He taps Lilith on the hand.

“Hey darling, fancy meeting you here,” he says. “Enjoying the party?”

She glances at me, then back at him. “It just got a whole lot better.”

“Very nice,” he says. “See you next Wednesday.”

Then he disappears back into the crowded party.

“Friend of yours?” I ask her.

“Co-worker,” she says, “We’re doing a low-budget movie together.”

“That’s cool.” I take in her powdered face and the beauty mark penciled on her high cheekbone. “It’s a bit loud in here. How about we go somewhere a little quieter?”

Lilith adjusts my bow tie and strums one of my suspenders like a guitar string. “I knew you were trouble when I saw you.”

“C’mon, I’m not that bad. At least let me buy you a drink.”

“I’ve got booze at my place,” she says. “How’s that sound?”

A sly smile grows on my face. “Even better. Should we call a cab?”

She giggles at me. “This is L.A. honey, no one takes cabs here. My car’s parked down the street.”

“Even better,” I say.

She puts her arm in mine. “Shall we?”


Just then a guest crashes into me, spilling their drink on my costume. It’s Jaclyn.

“Shit, sorry,” she says. “I’m a little drunk.”

“I can see that,” I say. “Jaclyn, this is Lilith.”

Lilith extends her hand. “Hello. You a friend of Bobby’s?”

Jaclyn gives Lilith a limp handshake and an evil eye. “Someone’s got to be, am I right?”

“Always good to have friends,” Lilith says.

I grab Jaclyn by the chin so that she looks me in the eye. “Hand over your car keys, you’re not driving anywhere tonight.”

Jaclyn’s head bobbles as she thinks. “No worries, Zac told me I could sleep over. I’ll be okay.”

“Who the fuck is Zac?” I say.

Lilith looks at me, amazed. “This is Zac’s place.”

I nod my head from side to side. “So?” 

“Action star Zac Sawyer? Didn’t you see Carmegeddon 4? It made a shitload of money. That movie paid for this house,” Lilith says.

“Bobby doesn’t watch movies,” Jaclyn says, her words jumbling together.

“I guess not,” Lilith says.

“Who cares, let’s get out of here,” I tell Lilith.

Jaclyn presses up against me and hollers into my ear. “You promised me.”

I hold Jaclyn’s head in my hand and kiss her on the cheek. “Not tonight, baby. Maybe tomorrow.”


Thirty minutes later Lilith and I are parked in front of her West Hollywood bungalow. She’s taken off her Marie Antoinette wig and thrown it in the backseat. Her real hair is long and sandy brown. I’m kissing her slender neck and it smells like baby powder. 

“How about that drink?” she says.

I nuzzle her cheek. “Whiskey sounds good.”

“Alright then, it’s settled.”


Lilith pours two whiskeys and hands one to me. We both take a sip, but we didn’t come inside to drink. We put our glasses down and start making out. She grabs my ass with both hands and pulls me into her. Twirling us around, I shove her up against the bookcase. A porcelain vase teeters and falls off one of the shelves, shattering on the hardwood floor.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says.

Several nimble moves later, we fall onto the couch, our bodies entangled. She rips off my bow tie and throws it away. I’m on top of her and she’s pulling me tighter and tighter like she wants to swallow me whole. Her soft lips and firm breasts feel like heaven.

After a few minutes of dry humping, she pushes me off and leads me down the hallway to the bedroom. She kisses me again and shoves me backward onto her queen-size mattress.

Before I can blink, she’s straddling me, still wearing her ball gown costume from the party. I reach underneath the dress and caress her round ass with both hands. She’s not wearing any panties. I feel something worm-like and muscular brush up against the back of my hand.

Lilith tosses my arms aside and stands up on the bed. From this angle, she’s a New York Ten. She yanks at my clothes. The costume comes off first, then she undoes my belt buckle and pulls my pants off. Her eyes are glued to the bulge in my boxer shorts. 

“Let’s go camping,” she says. “You’re pitching the tent.”

I look at her like a piece of sirloin I want to sink my teeth into. “I’ve got the wood right here.”

A buzzing sound fills the air. It’s my phone. Lilith gets up and grabs it from my pants pocket. She pushes it in my face to see who’s calling. It’s Jaclyn. 

“You want to talk to your little girlfriend?”

“I don’t want to talk at all.” I toss my phone back onto the floor. 

Lilith tears off her gown and pulls my boxers off. Her naked body is unbelievable. A New York Twelve, easy. She stares at my hard-on and bares her teeth like a mad dog. It’s scary and sexy all mixed together.

Lilith mounts me and it feels amazing, a bolt of hot energy coursing through my groin. She rocks her hips against mine and we get into a rhythm, our bodies joined. She rides me for what seems like forever until we both climax, our skin slippery with sweat.

“Jesus, that was amazing,” I tell her.

My eyes go even wider when a long tail whips out from the small of her back. It’s even forked on the end. “What the fuck?”

She stretches her arms outward like she’s yawning and two fleshy wings unfold from her back like a bat ready to fly.

I sit up but she shoves me back onto the mattress, pinning my arms to the bed with newfound strength.

A wicked smile forms on her face.

I glare at her. “Get off me you crazy bitch. What the hell are you?”

All she does is laugh. She’s not letting go of my dick either. I try to push her off me but I can’t. My body feels like a punching bag that’s been pounded all night long. I’m losing my hard-on, but she doesn’t seem to care.

An ecstatic look grows on Lilith’s face while I can barely keep my eyes open. My body’s getting weaker and weaker.

She grinds down on me even harder, her tail stealing glances at me like a bashful snake. I can feel her tight thighs quivering against mine. My penis feels like it’s shriveling up inside of her. Then everything goes numb.

“Sorry, got a little carried away there,” Lilith says. “I usually like to pace myself, but tonight I had to have all of you. Such a cute costume, too.”

Several figures emerge from the shadows in her bedroom and loom over me. Little ghoulish faces, wet with sweat and anticipation. That’s when I recognize them. They’re the acrobats from the party.

“Nice catch, darling,” one of them says. “He’ll do just fine.”

“He’s a good one, right?” she asks.

I try to speak, but my tongue’s a lifeless muscle in my mouth. I can move my eyes around, but nothing else. Inside my head, I can hear myself scream.

Lilith places a delicate finger on my lips. “Shhh, just let go.”

My eyelids get heavier until I can’t keep them open anymore. In the darkness, all I can hear is her voice. 

“They say this town chews you up and spits you out, Bobby. Now you’re going to understand exactly what that means. So long, lover boy.”

Victor De Anda is a writer in Philadelphia who enjoys watching movies and searching for good Mexican food. His fiction has been published in Pulp Modern Flash, and Force Yourself. You can tweet him @victordeanda and read more at victordeanda.com

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