I had been stumped for a good two or three weeks on how to shoot the tickling scenes.
A couple of predictable sequences had come to mind, of course, but I didn't want to phone it in that time. The screenwriter had done one other project that impressed the hell out of me, and Peja's next script was unbelievable. Angie, the studio VP, was on a mission to protect it - no director was gonna fuck this one up. The writing was so good that it could be a huge kickstart for Peja...
She got him a decent chunk of change - and took a hit. But Angie had enough juice. Give me two years to get just the right director, the right stars and the right crew. We'll do this one right. Apparently she just didn't take "no" for an answer.
It made me feel good that when Angie started thinking about who to get for the DP, she showed it to me first.
At the time I just skimmed it, saying yes because it was from Peja. When I was done with "Buffeloped" I partied for a few days, caught up on my sleep - and cracked open his script.
It hooked me good. The foreshadowing was brilliant. Events that seemed to be completely unrelated were wound together like he'd been writing for twenty years.
So I busted my ass on that one. My best work, I thought. Angie was thrilled. I came up with three roving multi-pans that were just gonna make everybody flip. I made my favorite camerawoman promise she'd keep the dates clear - Angie had tentatively scheduled the interior shoots to begin fifteen months out, when Innes would be available to direct and Towhouse pretty much said he was on board. That was very good news.
Angie stroked my ego about the rest, but urged me to do more with the shots in the dungeon. And I knew she was right. They just lacked... something.
There was about eight minutes of screen time in that playroom - a fuckin' eternity for something that offbeat - in five scenes that progressed and paid off two big subplots. Most of the film was done in flashbacks and the captive - Towhouse, it seemed - was hidden away for good, which was mindboggling enough when you really started thinking about what it would be like.
During the third act the hints started to appear that the kidnapped man had nowhere else to go anyway, since the mob was after his ass... but why he'd apparently choose to stay in the dungeon when the tickling was obviously sheer torture for him personally didn't become clear until the last couple scenes. He had only one chance to escape, if it even was a real opportunity and not more head-games, but he didn't dare leave. It was wonderfully fucked up. I had no idea Peja was so kinky.
Way too warped for the heartland, if the nonconsentual scenes were done wrong. But we had a lock on how to do it - conceptually - and Angie gently sent me away to come up with the "gotcha" that would put the audience right there on that rack. In the character's head.
"This is gonna be huge," she reminded me. "All the rest of your setups are perfect. And you've got more than a year..."
When I couldn't come up with anything I called Peja.
Nice guy. New dad. But he sure had a diabolical imagination.
We met for a quick drink. Shop talk. Angie could do no wrong in his book, for obvious reasons, and he was so eager to help. I let him know which scenes were giving me trouble...
There was something real weird in his expression - maybe behind the eyes - but he chose not to say a whole lot. One time I thought he was about to say something, but he shook his head and clammed up.
The fucker just gave me a sly grin, and jotted down a couple website addresses.
There were two or three writers that definitely got the riff. Dark and inescapable...
But I'm more of a visual guy. Links led to more links, and I ordered a couple of fetish videos. They didn't quite catch that groove I was after - calm hopelessness. Permanence.
Maybe if I could talk to the right kind of tickler, and see a serious dungeon or two - but none of the writers I wanted to meet were in town right then. Without too much hope I stuck a blind personal ad in two subculture weeklies that seemed appropriate.
Nine replies came within a week. Two were from other writers - probably doing porn - and the rest were offers. There seemed to be no shortage of people looking to get tickled, from what I could see online and in the mags, but I still got propositions with generally bad spelling. And requests for photos of my feet.
There was one of those letters that stood out. Very slick offer, compared to the rest - but there was a casual tone to it. No bragging, and no awkward grammar. A direct offer to call, even if I just wanted to ask questions and never meet. The handwriting looked normal enough.
After a few minutes' thought, I went to a pay phone and called the number.
I got a voice mail greeting. It was a guy, probably around my age. Good, solid voice. Friendly. I don't know why I felt relieved, exactly. This was not a serial killer or anything. Hell, I wouldn't want to get drunk around him - but I knew how to take care of myself.
He said the best time to avoid the voice mail was around noon. I could relate.
Ruze was a smart one. Not any sign of trying to reel me in...
After four or five conversations I quit waiting for the hook. He was content to talk about his adventures. There was something fascinating about how relaxed he was. Dry sense of humor, too.
I came to realize that he wasn't talking about goofy, half-ass posturing either. Ruze was endlessly delighted by it, in a way that just chilled me to the bone. When people say they can never get enough of something, you don't take it literally. In most cases.
Without needing to boast, he made me understand how tickling some poor slob satisfied him like nothing else could. It sure wasn't my idea of a good time - but he'd found his passion, alright.
There was so little bragging that I imagined he was unthinkably good at it...
He didn't pry, either. After a couple weeks he still didn't get any big, personal information out of me, and vice-versa. He was glad to hear about any movie with serious tickling in it, but it was refreshing to bullshit with somebody who wasn't always trying to drag information out of me. Sometimes Ruze would ask a question and I'd immediately refuse to answer it, and a couple times it was the other way around...
The most revealing thing I'd admitted was using a blindfold while fucking one girlfriend. That was as kinky as I got. Right away, he saw why visualizing a dungeon - not a movie stereotype, but a functional one - was tripping me up.
At some point along the way he'd asked if I was married.
"Used to be," I said automatically. "Why?"
"You sound married."
"What - hey."
He chuckled in a "gotcha" tone of voice.
"Take that back."
"Hmmmm, I don't think so. You play it pretty safe."
This, from a guy whose idea of fun would've made Kubrick blush... "I'm still talkin' to you, aren't I?"
That got a laugh.
I sent Angie a rough idea or two.
"On the right track," she e-mailed back. "Closer."
Talking to Ruze became something I looked forward to. Vicarious excitement, maybe. Tickling the way he wanted to do it was his top priority, but he never made alarm bells go off in my head. People are into different things - rarely as dedicated as he was, true, but hey.
He had the greatest stories. Years of experience...
I'd broken down and given him my cell-phone number, and we took turns calling. He never tried to take it out of that comfortable "buddy" mode. Ruze had said it was gratifying to talk to somebody who was really interested in the details, even if I was only doing a job. From his recollections and comments it was likely that he had more experience playing with other men's private parts than I even had with my own. But he chose not to hit on me. I respected that.
Careful not to flirt, I tried to get some idea of his physical appearance - trying to picture the ticklers which would rule over the dungeon, the shadowy fetishists that would own Towhouse's character - and it sounded like Ruze had unlimited stamina. All he'd say was, "I'm not much to look at."
About a month after I first called him, the first red flag went up...
Ruze had to be extremely clever, strong as an ox - or both. It struck me whenever we talked that it was a damn good thing he was fulfilled by tickling other people, and not progressing on to more sinister things.
He seemed to be fuckin' obsessed with staying in the shadows. No recognition, no roots. Do his thing and disappear... I hadn't figured that one out. Wouldn't some things be easier if he got plugged in with the little tickle community or whatever? But he made a crack about "training wheels" - as if he approved of what they were doing even though he was way out of their league. He was so damn sure of himself. But not arrogant, exactly.
I still didn't understand why he'd responded to my ad. He said the innocence of it appealed to him. Our conversations usually had a teacher-and-pupil thing goin' on, but it was really comfortable. Ruze didn't talk down to me. One time we argued about the Raiders and their draft picks for twenty minutes, and never got around to tickling at all.
By that time I had this picture in my head of an ordinary-looking dude like me, early thirties, sitting on a ratty old sofa with the phone in one hand and a cigar in the other - he'd mentioned a weakness for drugstore stogies. Ruze would never get picked out of a lineup for being a "top," but when he was in his element... well, look out. I'd found the people who don't need to brag and do all that posturing were the ones who really ran the world. The way he brushed off compliments made me think he was one of the real experts. At tickle-torture. Guys, yet. Son of a bitch...
As he was telling me about running into a guy he'd tickled a couple times before, it almost seemed as if -
"Wait," I interrupted him. "Hold on. Just... I had the weirdest idea."
"Always up for that," he replied.
"Listening to you just then, I got this picture of..."
Oh, fuck. What had I gotten myself into here?
"Of what?," he said easily.
"You - uh... Um -"
"Cat got your tongue?"
"They're - these guys you tickle. Days, weeks."
"More like months," he admitted.
"It's voluntary. Right?"
There was a long pause. "Get real."
"Whew!," I hooted. "Okay. What a fuckin' nightmare -"
"No fun at all."
That stopped me cold. I actually pulled the phone away from my head and looked at it for a second. Took a breath. "Wait."
"Oh," he said - starting to laugh at me. "You thought - shit. Well, bro, you better sit down."
"I am sitting down. That's - oh fuck, that's why you're always on the run."
"What? Hit-and-run, sort of. I move around a lot -"
"Listen... Maybe I didn't hear you right. All those guys - they're not willing? Uh, it's nonconsensual?"
"Well, yeah. Every damn one."
"You kidnap 'em."
"Sure."
I sat there with my mouth hanging open. Remembering some of the more... imaginative things Ruze had told me. I started to chuckle - out of nervousness, at first.
"Wow. That's just... so twisted."
"Uh-huh," he said - and then Ruze lost it. I could tell he'd been trying not to laugh, but we both just whooped for a good thirty seconds.
Oh, fuck. That whole parade of guys, just laughing their guts out. For months? Was he pulling my leg?
The whole intense focus-thing made more sense. I wouldn't even know where to start - building a dungeon, picking out a guy, hauling him in... Hell, I'd run out of ideas by the second or third day. And I made a good living on my imagination.
It would've helped to convince myself that Ruze was just talking a good game. Incredibly fuckin' spooky stuff. Could anybody be that into tickling? Months and months?
I was afraid to call him the next day. But Ruze only waited until that night... and he sounded almost nervous. That was a first.
"The last thing I wanted to do was freak you out."
"I believe that. It's my shit -"
"And I've been thinkin' about this. Better get all of the surprises out of the way now."
That didn't sit well. I braced myself. "Alright."
"If you wanna hang up and lose my number," and he sighed, "I guess I can't blame you. Sitting down again?"
I wasn't, but I said, "Fire away."
"You've asked me what I look like."
"Yeah?"
"Well... I don't. You can't see me."
"Uh-huh." I can't see him. All that time, I'd been so impressed with how "together" Ruze was. Sooner or later... "But you are human. Right?"
"Um..."
I chuckled, finally. Sure. If I hadn't recognized the phone number before I picked up, I honestly would've wondered if it was really Ruze on the line. This was not like him at all. Out of nowhere. "So you're... invisible."
"Yup."
Just another lunatic in L.A. Time to wrap it up, I thought. "Well, just when you thought you've heard it all. I'd almost like to see that -"
"You can't," Ruze said. "That's the point."
He was joking. That had to be it. "I know. Look, you've said a lot of things that are hard to believe, but this is really over the top."
"I don't care. It's true," he shot back, sounding defensive. "Just thought, y'know, if you're gonna write me off, you might as well have all the information at once."
"Uh-huh."
"This has been cool. Talking to you. It's not the kind of thing I do, really."
I thought for a few seconds. "This is a setup, right? And now comes the punchline. Ruze, you're so full of shit."
"Hey, I'm just telling it like it is -"
"World-class liar."
"Actually, I've never lied to you once."
Dammit. The safe thing to do was end the call and change my fuckin' phone number. This psycho kidnapped men and tickled 'em forever...
"Do other people see you?"
"Nobody. And I'm not a person."
"Oh, yeah. That's right... You sure sound like an ordinary guy."
"Helps during the hunt," he fired back.
"Al-right. Look, I'm not that stupid. Go catch somebody else and have your fun."
"I've got somebody else," it said, getting testy. "Staff sergeant. Remember? His voice is shot, but he's catching his breath - in a sex-swing - as we speak. Waiting for me to bring, oh, ten gloves back down -"
"Got it. Too much information. Dammit. You sound so... cool."
"Yeah," he snapped. "Thanks. I guess I get the message."
"Well... hold on."
Ruze was one of the more interesting people I'd met in a long time. I didn't want him to be that far gone. Maybe I was supposed to help him or something. "If you're invisible," I said slowly, "then you've got nothing to lose by proving it."
"Of course not."
"A-ha."
"What? You asshole," it said affectionately. "I meant, of course I've got nothing to lose. You name the time and place, I'll be there."
"Oh no you don't," I laughed. "Psychotic tickling kidnapper. I don't think so."
"Relax," Ruze sneered. "I'm not asking for your home address -"
I had to laugh again at that.
"But if you want... I don't know, photos or something, well, that ain't gonna work too well."
"I know." Shit, I was on thin ice. Thinking hard, I wondered about maybe meeting in a public place. He could follow me and I wouldn't even know until it was too late. But the curiosity had me goin'. I had to be careful.
"Listen," he said firmly.
"What?"
"You need to feel safe. We've been talking for, what, five weeks now. If I've given you any reason to be concerned about me, for real, then just -"
"No, no. Fuck!," I hissed, chuckling at the brass balls Ruze had. So to speak. "I didn't know you kidnapped 'em. Against their will. You can see why I'm a bit spooked, here."
"You can't trust me. That's what it comes down to."
"Yeah."
"It'll hit you - if it hasn't already - that if I'm any good at this," and he almost sounded angry, "I could be right outside your front door right now. Following you. Just biding my time."
"Hey. Shut up."
"Had any bad dreams lately? Ghostly fingers -"
"Stop it," I yelled - because yeah, I had woken up suddenly a couple times, thinking there was somebody messing with my feet...
"Okay. This is getting old," Ruze said. "Shit or get off the pot. You wanna see me, or try to, that's fine. If not, we could just keep it... phone-to-phone. Or not. I won't bug you if - I mean, hell, there's millions of ticklish guys in L.A. You're not the last house on the block."
"I didn't mean to, y'know, offend you."
He sighed. "It's what I get for trying to talk to - um, ignore that. I just... liked this."
"So did I." Even after I knew he was hunting guys like me. Invisible, huh? That could be useful in a friend. "So do I. Fuck it - I gotta know."
"Know what?"
"Uh... A public place. Lots of people."
He made a thoughtful noise. "You sure about this?"
"I don't meet too many people - whatever - as sharp as you."
"Well. Thanks."
"You gotta promise me that you're not g-"
"For fuck's sake. It's me - okay? I swear I'm not gonna haul you off... from a fuckin' mall. A bar full of people. Okay? Shit."
"And I get to pick the place?"
"Just give me a few hours notice, so I can put this laughing bear to bed."
I groaned. "How nuts am I? One of us, anyway..."
After some thought I called the guy who cuts my hair, and asked him to suggest a place where I could meet an expert top for a beer and still feel safe.
"Research, huh? I suppose it's for a friend."
But I've known him for years. He just likes yanking my chain. "Ally, c'mon."
"Hmmmm. I'd suggest Wipe's. It's on Highland, maybe a mile up from the cattle." He meant the tourists.
"Okay."
"It's not too crowded, mid-week."
"I owe ya one."
"Come in and let me clip those dry ends off," he sighed. "Get that mane thinned out. That would be thanks enough for me."
So I called Ruze. Eleven o'clock, Wipe's, cool...
"Bring a pair of gloves," he ordered. "Good ones."
"Huh?"
"You're not going to be able to recognize me. Duh."
"Hey, watch it."
"Thin leather," it chuckled. "Smooth as you can get."
I got there at 10:30. One of the outside tables was open - in the corner, fairly dark, but there was no quick way to get out from behind the ornamental grating. Since I was fuckin' dumb enough to go along with this, slowing Ruze down if he grabbed me was all I could hope for. All day I'd been thinking about... Well, he wasn't kidding when he told me it might already be way too late to stay anonymous, anyway.
It was a good thing I brought an extra pack of smokes. I almost bolted a half-dozen times. It was insane to be waiting -
My phone rang.
Cancel, I thought wildly, tell me you can't make it.
"Heey-yyy," Ruze said, happy as hell. "Good for you."
"We had a deal."
"Sure did. Are you ready?"
I shrugged, looking around. "Okay."
He hung up -
My cigarette was pulled from my fingers. It hung in the air over my hand.
"Uh..."
Something caught my eye. There was a cell phone gliding down to the tabletop.
"Shit. Oh, shit."
"Easy," Ruze said, quiet and soothing. "Act like you're alone. Keep it together."
"I'm sorry, I - really, I didn't know you were... Aw, hell."
"Will you just relax? You're okay."
"For now, yeah."
"Did you bring something for me?"
I stared at the cigarette. "Oh. Yeah." I pulled the gloves out of my shirt pocket.
Somehow they were taken out of my hand... and pulled on. Exactly as if another person was over the table, scooting 'em down over their hands. Flexing the fingers slowly. One of them took the cigarette and snapped ash off.
"Unbelievable."
"Aaah, you get used to it."
I had to laugh. There was a hysterical edge to it, so I made myself stop.
"Dude. You're invisible! You really are -"
"Sssssh. Whisper. I'm used to that. People won't stare."
"Shit. Right. This is incredible."
"You're a lot more clever on the phone." But it snickered, to let me know it wasn't being mean.
"Well, you just blew my mind. Again."
"Yeah, I do that. You look like a guy who could use a smoke."
"And another shot. A double."
"Easy, there. You don't want to let your guard down."
I blinked. "Oh. That's right. Look, I'm sorry." I reached for my cigarettes.
"So you might trust me now? A little?"
"Getting there -"
One of the gloves grabbed my right hand. Shaking it. "Really? Then hold on."
After the handshake, the glove turned around - and backed over my fingers.
"Ruze -"
"Don't move."
Sitting still was tough... but I did, and the glove was pulled down. It moved my fingers -
"Oh. Shit!"
"Huh?" It sounded proud. The other glove started sliding over my left hand.
"This just gets weirder and weirder."
Ruze almost snickered, and the glove got me another cigarette. It held the lighter at a different angle than I did, but it moved like it had lit a million smokes before now.
"Thanks," I finally said.
"Now's when you try to convince yourself that it's some kind of magic trick."
"I brought the gloves," I said to the one cradling my cigarette. "Not you."
I heard a low whistle. "There he is. That's right."
"Dude, I'm sorry I doubted you."
"Apologize one more time and I might change my mind," he - it? - teased. "Haul ya off now."
I got worried. "Now, c'mon. You promised."
"Yeah," Ruze sighed. "I suppose I did."
My left hand played with the lighter, and I couldn't stop it. "How the fuck do you do this?"
"Tricks of the trade. Wouldn't it suck to have your own gloves make you go to a dungeon? Feathers everywhere?"
"Damn," I laughed. "I hope I never piss you off." Ruze thought that was funny, so I relaxed again. "Is this how you get 'em?"
"Sometimes. I'd rather drag 'em in. Slowly."
"Wow..."
"You wanted to know," it said easily. "Remember who called who first."
"Oh, yeah. My bad."
"I wanted to ask, uh, for a favor."
That made me look around. "Are you kidding? Name it."
"Would you mind if I read that script?"
Well, I didn't dare refuse. Just as much, almost, I wanted to get Ruze's input. The next day I sent a copy to a P.O. box in Inglewood...
"Don't touch me," I joked as soon as I answered the phone.
"Hah. You're so... amusing."
"Dammit, when you say shit like that it just makes me get the chills."
"As it should."
"You read it?"
"Dude - I wanna be in pictures."
"You ever have your way with a screenwriter? I don't know how he came up with this."
"One, I've probably bagged a few writers in my time. And two... uh, you don't really think I'm one of a kind. Do ya?"
"Oh... fuck."
Ruze chuckled in a sinister, yet lighthearted way.
"No way I'm gonna be able to sleep tonight, now," I told it.
"Well, use your head. So many feet, so little time."
"Yeah, real funny -"
"I liked it. The scenes. They should be a lot longer," Ruze joked, "and then I'd like 'em even more."
"We've gotta avoid going comic... or gross."
"Of course. How do I come off, when I talk about it?"
"Matter-of-fact," I said immediately. "Attentive. Satisfied."
"Yeeeup," Ruze drawled. "Good. Who are they thinkin' about for, heh heh, Ted?"
That made me pause - ah, yes. The name of Towhouse's character. "I'm not gonna tell you. Nobody needs any... mandatory practice. Laughing -"
"They don't laugh as much after the first couple days," it said conversationally. "They just feel it harder."
"Yikes," I wailed.
"Brighton?"
"Huh?"
"The actor. Ted, the ticklish."
I wished he hadn't said that. It made me all fidgety. "Oh. No. I can't tell you. Really."
"Sky's a lot of fun."
I just froze. Surely he didn't mean Sky the actor, one of the biggest names around. "You caught... Sky?"
Ruze chuckled. "Fuckin' great."
"You didn't really have your way w-"
"I hated to spring him. Wonder if he remembers me."
"Shit. You're one bent pup."
"He's got incredible armpits, that's all I'm saying."
"Way more than I needed to know."
"Towhouse?"
Uh-oh. "No."
"You hesitated too long."
"It isn't Towhouse, and quit sayin' names. I'm not gonna s-"
"It is." Ruze whistled. "That's gonna be... amazing."
"I didn't... How'd you think of Towhouse?"
"And it's so against type, too. You'd never expect him to be in that position. Or in my hands, for that matter -"
"You couldn't just pick that name out of thin air. Hundreds of actors."
"Oh, c'mon," it whined. "I got lucky. Are we back here again? I'm stalking you because there's nobody else I'd rather fuck with?"
"All I'm saying -"
"Get over yourself."
"I'm not... Why did you say Towhouse?"
"Because I've been through all your stuff," Ruze said, threatening as could be. "Car, desk, e-mails. All part of my plan to win your confidence, drag you out to a... underground dungeon, out in the middle of nowhere, and I'm gonna tickle you. For a year. No - even longer. That's what you wanna believe, isn't it? I don't see where it matters if I deny it or not - you're gonna think what you wanna think."
"Uh..."
"Dammit. You know what you're really telling me, don't you?"
I made a weird snorting noise. "Talk about being full of yourself - I don't want you to kidnap me -"
"Hold on. Honestly, sometimes, you guys. What I mean is... you're pretty much shouting out how ticklish you are."
After a couple seconds, I hung up the phone.
Ruze wouldn't call me again - I thought. If it was being cagey it would wait me out.
After a minute, the phone rang. If I was a pussy, I told myself, I'd just let it roll to voice mail.
"What?," I said.
"Hey!," Ruze shouted. "One more time, dammit, I'm gonna say that I've never lied to your ass!"
Why did I feel like a snake? "I never said you did."
Something in my tone must've been right. "Okay."
"I'm talking," I told him sarcastically, "to something that likes to torture the absolute shit out of guys - like me. No stopwords -"
"Never," it snapped.
"Yeah. You probably figured out long before now that I'm... oh, dammit."
"You got it bad," Ruze said softly. I didn't dare say anything. "And yet I haven't made a move. That's part of it, right? The suspense."
"Whew," I sighed.
"And you're in too deep to... forget I'm out here. All of us. Tickling."
"I'll get over it," I grumbled.
It hissed quietly - or maybe it was a thoughtful sigh. "All the cards on the table, then."
"I keep thinking about how fuckin' awful, intense..."
"But that's the point," Ruze said, with a chuckle or two. "Unbearable. Literally. And getting hotter all the time. That's fun."
"Why the hell did I answer the phone?," I asked.
"Because you're a fuckin' tease. No, now really, you were scared. I can understand that. Now, just listen for twenty seconds. Okay?"
"Yeah."
"Good. Do I wanna tickle you for... twelve months straight? I sure do. How about every eligible dude I see? Yeah. Can I give you some kind of ironclad guarantee? Not that I can think of. I hunt guys like you. Period. You took your chances answering my letter... and here we are. Now - the big question - will I kidnap your ass today? No."
"But you could."
"Of course I could! It's called self-control. Check it out sometime. And look up 'pragmatism' while you're at it."
That got my back up. "Are you gonna tickle me? Ever?"
"How the hell would I know? I'm not psychic."
"You know what I mean."
Ruze sighed. "No comment. Any other answer is gonna piss you off, scare you - or make me look like a liar."
"C'mon. That's what I... Oh."
"See?"
"Y-yeah."
"And anyway, I called to talk about the damn script. Just picturing Towhouse on that rack, indefinitely -" It started to hoot.
"You better not tell anybody."
"No way. Your secret's safe with me. Uh, all of 'em."
"Well, great," I said disgustedly. "That's just perfect."
Ruze sorta cheered at me when I called the next night.
"Yaaa-aay. Didn't think you'd dare," it razzed.
"Fuck you," I said, with a swagger. "You don't scare me."
There was a pause. "Well, I should. I'm scary."
"But I'm in a nut ward right now," I riffed. "Maximum security. That talk yesterday made me run for my life. You'll never get at me now."
"Oh ho... Remind me to tell you the 'unit six' story. Later. One of my masterpieces. You'll absolutely shit your pants."
"I believe you."
"Four cells," Ruze growled. "All mine. All occupied - Hey, that reminds me."
"Fuck this," I laughed. "I'll be hiding under the bed if anybody needs me."
"Don't go throwing lines like that around. You looked too tempting in that ribbed t-shirt, at Wipe's. Now shut up and listen. I have," and apparently it had to chuckle yet again, "a proposition for you."
"Great timing," I said sarcastically. "Damn."
"Pull the bandage off quick, that's what I'm thinking," it said. "Get it out of the way. The last surprise, I think. And don't even give me an answer yet. I fuckin' mean that."
I took a deep breath. "Okay."
"Are you happy with the camera angles you've come up with? For Towhouse?"
"They're all done," I said right away.
"Except."
And the fucker waited me out. "Well. Yeah."
"You want to do better - absolutely blow 'em away - and it hasn't quite hit you yet."
"And?"
"Pipe down," it warned. "Hyena. Alright, look. I think you're maybe relying on images from other movies, and from TV. You ever seen a bondage cuff? Up close?"
"No, but ... Heee-eyyy, wait a minute."
"Let me finish, dammit. Not you. Sheesh. I'm talking about being able to see somebody else - caught. Be the director of photography, just scouting a location or something. Not the fuckin' star. You're not gonna get it dead-on until you see what you wanna frame."
Not in a million years, I thought firmly. The sneaky son of a bitch was inviting me into one of its cells.
The very next thought I had was that Ruze was right, with that last thing it said. I'd gotten some catalogs the week before. That helped some, but I was still fuckin' blocked. I couldn't get a full sense of Ted's dungeon from his vantage point, or the feel of that area right around his rack. To get the audience to be there, I had to see it first. And I wanted it to be perfect...
"You still there?," Ruze said easily.
15nov05