FAY & EDDY

FAY & EDDY Jeff Harris Imagine two people spaced out on totally different ends of the imaginary spectrum. No one can introduce them to each other except for Veronica La Fontaine who moves like pure sexual frizz, who parts the bar like the Red Sea, and moves these rivers closer than they should be. That’s how they met…and it wasn’t easy at all. But well, something happened, and they ran into each other in some enchanting moment that never ended. -1- Fay and Eddy were a real gone couple; very deeply gone, they were gone. Fate said I want these eyes to sparkle, so he sprinkled little gold flakes in her eyes, and then the fairies came and dusted off her mane. He put Eddy in place to carry her away, and even though they were completely in love, they were free. At night, the fires would rage, and all kinds of people would come around from miles off to sit by them and to bathe in Fay and Eddy’s hilarity. Eddy kept knocking on her ebony window, kissing her all up, and singing little songs to her breasts. He called them his humming birds, and he prayed that they would find no hot sorrow. He just kept telling her how fine she was, and he felt her heart flutter right in his mouth every time. After they met, the world stopped; they just stepped out of it like the Loony Tunes who pop out of that red bulls-eye—that’s all folks! Then people showed up wanting to film them all the time. That was Bee and Michael who wanted to make the masterpiece X-rated movie. They were going to do for porn what Einstein did for physics--just two amusing honey abusing pussy dancers amusing the sucked-up pleasures of blasted-all-up-home-bases, disgraced perpetual soul dwellers, dancing cellar particles of desire….They all thought that they could go down into the hole together. Well, all I can say is that a lot of wonderful things happened, and a lot of things went on, and then Fay and Eddy broke up for a while, and then they got back together. The fires deliciously burned, the spirits lost then flying well, the two hot pokers welded in time. Real men and real women undressed and prayed. And the little gold flakes in Fay’s eyes were little broken-off pieces of her soul-- a warning, Eddy said, like the nighthawk. “Picture this: you walk into the room, and there’s your mother and father fucking two gorgeous whores… does that surprise you?” Bee said, and she was pointing to Fay, but then she stopped. No it doesn’t surprise you. Eddy was completely delighted. “The music’s so damn good,… my God, honey!” Fay said, as the car’s barreling down. This road they’re on is Kansas. How they got on it is that Fay divorced her husband and ran off with Eddy, because he knew something of God’s precious sexy secrets, and then Fay came along and made every precious detail dance. They hooked up the fires and watched what happened, they started moving down the quiet breezes of summer, they stopped off in little towns to drown their sorrows, though they really didn’t have any. Fay kept talking about her halo and lotions, and Eddy kept knocking on her door, and she kept letting him in, with the blue sky. Gotta ease up, gotta ease up! Oh no, oh no! The little girl misses Bergdorf Goodman’s, and the ready ripper’s got one hand in her mouth and one in her bonnet. The mad hatter from Gleason, Missouri finds himself as two lonely people stacked up on the lone prairie. You were great, and you lasted, but momma’s got a real, real deep appetite, honey, and an awful hot-streak right in your neck of the woods! Well, that was the beginning. They toured all through northern Missouri, stopping off in the little river-towns that run through it like veins. They danced through all the little joints, and Fay felt everything in her top, and Bee felt everything in her bottom, and that was the main difference between them. And Eddy was so delighted that he couldn’t see anything, and Michael was Bee’s gorgeous boy. They fell deeper and deeper in love, and all of them began to shine. How they got back together after they broke up is that somebody introduced them all over again. They didn’t know. New Orleans--he was just sitting in this booth in a bar with the light streaming in. Somebody comes up with a girl in his hand and introduces her to him. “Hi, I’m Fay,” she says. “This here’s Eddy, doll,” the man says. Funny. Fay looks black, dark. Must be the light. Eddy’s got a hat on and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. She sees that the corners of his eyes have turned up a little bit. Funny…where the time goes. “Hey Eddy,” he says, “you got anything?” “Nay,” Eddy says, his spirits rising. “Chilly might have some when she comes in. Why don’t you wait around a while?” They slide in across the table. Some guys are shooting pool in the back. One’s really hot. Balls are clanging and crackling and dropping and stopping dead in tracks. People are looking at each other, staring, saying “hey” with their eyes. And glasses are tinkling further up front; the music’s sifting through all this gorgeous mess. The three of them in that booth get this crimson glow going on. The light settles in. Fay’s friend gets up to go to the bathroom, and she and Eddy smile their first one. Eddy thought he saw her pucker up her lips for a second, but then she didn’t. Some sadness came over her then, like a deep shadow. It was deeper and darker than anything he had seen before. That’s new, he thought.