The Nick Of Time (and other abrasions): Tombs Of The Blonde Dead part one- In The Garden Of Duchesses

The Nick Of Time

(and other Abrasions)

Tombs Of The Blonde Dead

part one

In The Garden Of Duchesses

by

Al Bruno III

Gurlich Mansion was the house that smut built and by all accounts it was one Hell of a house. It had an indoor swimming pool and an outdoor one as well, there was a huge dining room, a library, a private cinema, and of course there were the bedrooms; bedrooms of all sizes and shapes, bedrooms that had once played host to the famous, the infamous and the occasional lucky nobody. The only thing more numerous than mansion's bedrooms was the bevy of beautiful women that visited, partied and sometimes lived there for years on end. Larry Gurlich kept this a veritable army of undiscovered starlets, unnoticed models and sullied ingenues pliable with liberal doses of expensive champagne and false hope.

He sat behind his antique desk, giving the words he would speak tonight another going over. It was memorized of course but at seventy-six he no longer fully trusted his faculties, after all hadn't he forgotten that young model's name just a few nights ago? In the throes of passion no less!

Another sign that his glory days were far behind him. This new generation only saw him as an amusing relic, or a punchline; but it was more than that- Gurlich Enterprises' brand of pornography was fast being eclipsed by the Internet, home video and, worst of all, respectability. Larry got up from his desk and stretched. He should have expected this, especially when you considered many Girly Magazine monthly centerfolds – or Duchesses as the most popular centerfolds of the year came to be called- had found their way into the movies and TV over the years. Larry couldn't think of the precise number right off the top of his head but it was enough to keep nubile and trusting girls coming to Los Angeles by the busload.

It amused Larry to imagine that some of the women that he and his guests had found so delightful over the years might have retreated back to the Midwest on the very same buses in hopes of finding anonymity and respectability. He imagined a constant exchange, a perfect self-renewing system; bimbos into farm girls and farm girls into bimbos.

Sometimes he wondered if it was it time to hand over control of his empire. But to who? He had heirs of course- bastards one and all- but not a one of them had a brain for business.

The glare from the setting sun had faded enough that he could watch the party taking place in the wide, maze-like garden some three floors below. His eyesight, and his memories were strong enough that he could enjoy the delights taking place without actually having to mingle with the Hollywood carrion that his parties seemed to attract these days. There was a time when he had personally vetted the guests and the guests of the guests but it as all too tiring, especially when the same old faces seemed to make it in no matter what. Larry had learned to trust his security staff in matters like this, they were experts at keeping things under control and under wraps.

There was an expensive telescope by the window he used it to give the festivities a once over, he paused whenever an interesting specimen of femininity caught his eye. He hadn't spied any future cover girls or girlfriends yet but the night was young. The band hadn’t even started playing yet. He spied a trio girls sitting on the concrete ledge that bordered the Koi pond. They had their shoes off and were dangling their toes just a few inches above the waterline watching the fish crowd and gape and beg.

Larry chuckled, there was a metaphor for women in general if ever he saw one.

Abandoning his telescope he turned to examine himself in one of Gurlich Mansion's many full length mirrors, he always wore slacks and a tie, always something tailored and expensive; he wouldn't be caught dead lounging around in his bathrobe and he'd told Hugh Heffner so on more than one occasion. Larry was sure the snappy clothes helped him stay so young looking, that and just a touch of hair dye. Sometimes however the young beauties he brought to bed with him made him feel twice as old, had girls always been so damn aggressive and energetic? Or was it just that he got winded so much more quickly these days? Just as well he had always preferred to lie back and watch the show.

Straightening his tie he went over what he was going to say one last time, trying to find the right tone for these kinds of things always left him feeling uncomfortable. How much was too much emotion? How much was too little? You had to be careful what you said when you were a whipping boy for the far left and the far right.

Finally he turned away from the mirror and gazed at the coffin in the center of the room, it was shocking pink and held the earthly remains of the 1987 Girly Magazine centerfold of the year 'Chrystal Lustre'. It was hard to believe she had died so young, even harder to believe she had died of complications from a liposuction. The thing Larry remembered the most about her was her pale blonde hair, so pale it was almost the color of snow. Her hair color and breast size had changed almost half a dozen times since that first photo-shoot but he would always remember her as she was in that first centerfold spectacular,

But she was gone now, lost to memories and back issues and just like the eight girls before her she had asked to be buried on the grounds of the mansion, in the Garden of Duchesses.

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