The deadline for the 2008 Amanda Davis Highwire Fiction Award, a $2,500 grant given to a woman writer of 32 years or younger, is this Thursday, May 15. For more information, click here. - - - - |
Rats Live on No Evil Star.(with apologies to Anne Sexton, Bette Davis, and All About Eve) BY JEFFERY CONWAY
Producers, critics—bloodsuckers—they live off of me! They'll whine, 'The show must go on.' Bullshit. Who do they take me for? Little no- toothed Tammy from the country? This Theater of Evil need not necessarily be a place for me—the Star! I'm lied to behind my back—me—the Star! After all, it's my fame that entices these rats— I'm the goddamned Pied Piper! I'm accused of reading evil into Lloyd's Holy Gospel! I'm the one who's forced to live her life in a petrified, ageless state—no wrinkles or gray hair—I'm never to put weight on. And Bill—my lover, for Christ's sake—standing there, hard-on no doubt, salivating over Eve. Does he see a future star and therefore want to 'do' her? There will be no sex for him tonight" ... oh, right ... this is just a part. Rats! I'd love to see Gary Merrill naked. I can picture us living together someday—yes, in sin—doing all sorts of evil! I've got an eerie feeling (mostly good, but tinged with evil) that I'm slowly becoming Margo Channing, on stage and off. My own life is such a mess these days. I live with the same fear as Margo—I'm an aging star in search of true love in an industry full of smelly rats. I've lasted all these years, a standard of artistry. No one has approached my greatness—no woman or man—not even ambiguous Joan Crawford, that evil bitch. And even she loves me like a rat lusts after cheese. But I wouldn't piss on her if she was on fire! In '44, she was a washed-up MGM star, and she came crawling over to Warners—couldn't live without me I guess—sent flowers, perfume, notes. If I live until I'm 54, and my figure is shot to hell, she'll still have no clue, wear her stiletto falsies (like aggressive star- fish in her blouse) to "seduce" me. She won't be overtly evil, until she doesn't get any, like a dykey schoolgirl with a crush on the boobs and twat at the next desk. How I'd love to feed her rats. That's it! A film where I serve the bitch roasted rats, and we live in isolation, so I can carry on and beat the shit out of her and no one will stop me! We'll call it What Ever Happened to That Evil Star?
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