The Coital Charade

     Excluding meth addicts, not once has anyone ever received a phone call at four a.m. that was good news.  That pattern held for me the next morning.  The Oceanside Fire Department was ringing me up to say there had been a fire at the Inana studio.      I sat bolt upright, then relaxed some as the fireman continued, "Don't worry, no structure or vehicle was damaged.  It would appear someone lobbed three Molotov cocktails over the fence towards the warehouse --- your studio --- but fell short with all three.  Beyond some scorched places in your lot, there is no damage here.  Nonetheless, if you'd be willing, we'd like you to come down and talk with us a bit."      "I'm in Encinitas, gimme twenty minutes," I told him.  Bekka got nudged awake and told what had happened, and I'd be gone a while.  I pulled on clothes, then stepped into the bathroom for a few quick hits off the glass pipe to clear the cobwebs.  For whatever reason, I chose to driv

Inana Productions as a booth at an LA adult video convention named "Eroticon."  Naturally, Bekka, Lenny, and other Inana folks are working.  It's Saturday evening in January 1991.....      Around five Bekka and I each ate another hit of the Ecstasy.  I'd stupidly left my vial of speed in the motel room, and we didn't feel like walking back to get it.  Well, the "MA" in MDMA is short for MethAmphetamine, so we were simply changing up from our usual method of ingestion.  Maybe for the party/dance happening after we closed, we'd find someplace semi-private to crush up a pill and snort it up.  We knew it worked.      It was time for a break from the booth.  We decided to go exploring, see what others had to offer.  Bekka said to me, "Give me the bag of pills."      "Okay.  Why?" I asked.      "Because I'm going to get people happy, dammit.  We'll give them out as party favors for this dance tonight.  We've got at

     Nationally, torches --- professional arsonists --- cost the insurance companies untold millions of dollars each year, and not by stealing calendars.  I will heave no great sobs of pity for the insurance companies, as I consider them to be burdensome pests.  Nonetheless, my friend and coworker Frankie was having a fun time of trying to collect on his burned-out Ferrari Testarossa.  Someone set fire to it in his driveway.      The fire and police reports both said arson was the cause.  Frankie didn't argue that.  His insurance company did want to argue that, claiming (get this) negligence on Frankie's part.  In what way Frankie was negligent went unsaid.  Because Frankie negligently bashed in a window, poured lighter fluid all over the interior, then lit a match.  All this while he was several miles away, having dinner with his wife and young daughter.  Insurance logic.      The main question with the family was who ordered the job done.  Who actually did it was almost immat

     The next day was our first full day of blocking and rehearsal, working through our interior scenes.  Me and Small Steve were moving furniture into place in Dale's "office" when Elspeth and Eddie came skipping in, hand in hand.  They both had anxious looks on their faces.      "Lenny, can we talk to you for a minute?" asked Elspeth.      "Sure, what's up?"      "Someplace more private," said Eddie, gesturing towards the door.  I followed them out.      Eddie said, "Listen, umm....  Do you have any objections to your performers dating each other?"      I smiled.  "Be damn hypocritical of me if I did.  After all, this is where I met my wife.  Why?"      "Eddie and I are seeing each other now," said Elspeth.  "We promise it won't interfere with work or shooting."      "So long as you're not bugged by still doing scenes with other people, then more power to you," I said.  "How