Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Devil in a Blue Dress


"A man once told me that you 
step out of your door in the 
morning, and you are already 
in trouble. The only question 
is are you on top of that trouble 
or not?”—Walter Mosley,
Devil in a Blue Dress

They told me I was gonna be good as new. What they didn’t tell me was—I’d end up in a blue dress. A Devil in a Blue Dress…

They flew me to Paris—it was the only place where the surgeons could do such a thing. That’s how I ended up in a blue dress—with a you-know-what down there. Instead of what I used to have.

“as different as a
funeral piano and
electric congo drums”
—Ahmos Zu-Bolton,
“Songs from An Afro/Phone
and Belly Song, Black World
September 1974

The surgeon was the best that money could buy, they said. Cosmetic surgery had come a long way since way back then—when all they did was to pull the wrinkles tight for an expensive Hollywood face-lift. That’s about all they could do.

Things had changed. Now they had stem-cell research—and different kinds of genetic reconstructive surgery. They could rebuild an aging broken body now—with new spare parts grown in test-tubes and huge reverse genetic engineering vats of swirling, stinky bio-chemicals.

That’s how my life as a Mickey Spillane detective in drag began all over again—shedding my previous existence as a rough-trade, no-nonsense, snarling Mike Hammer Private Eye Dick outta my hardcore pulp fiction tough guy days…

And now getting started all over again with a new life—posing as a Transvestite Private Dick in a Blue Dress. My last best-selling block-buster novel made into a movie—was “Kiss Me, Deadly” directed by Robert Aldrich and starring Ralph Meeker as the butchy private eye.

The only catch to this new deal I made with the devil was—I wouldn’t be a guy anymore. I’d end up a “Devil in a Blue Dress” instead. 

“’cause it had come to me
in less time than it takes
to think”— Walter Mosley,
Devil in a Blue Dress

My whole reputation as a macho mystery writer was gonna go down the drain—no more Ralph Meeker sociopathic shoot-then-ask-questions later muy macho Private Dick. 

In fact, I wouldn’t have a dick anymore at all—I’d be wearing a slinky chic sexy blue dress and no more private dick either, baby. I was gonna end up as a Transvestite Private Dick in a Blue Dress, honey. 

It was either that or “Goodbye, Sayonara, Adios, Auf Wiedersehen, Chou, baby” and that was that. I told them I’d never do it—getting reborn as a Private Dick without a dick and a pussy instead…

My publisher laughed, the Hollywood moguls just smirked—I was too valuable an All American Best Selling Mystery Writer to lose, more successful than even Hemingway, Henry James and Edgar Allan Poe.

“After all,” they said, “your first paperback pulp fiction Mickey Spillane blockbuster best seller, “I, the Jury”—got us millions and climaxed with a really surprise ending. 

“Yeah, sure—and WTF was that?” I said.

“You know,” the Hollywood mogul and Robert Aldrich said. “The Devil in the Blue Dress in “I, the Jury”—turns out to be a Transvestite Killer who gets it right in the fucking groin with a ’45 bullet, Ka-Bang!!!”

I nodded knowingly—something told me I was heading for a similar surprise ending too. A Ka-Bang right between my legs—and it wasn't gonna be pretty either with me as a reverse genetically-engineered Brain Transplant Transvestite Private Dick on the prowl that I’d end up becoming.

And sure enough—that’s how I ended up as a new improved version of tough-guy Mike Hammer doin' drag in a slinky smooth Devil’s Blue Dress.

Plus one other thing—I forgot to mention. My new persona was gonna be this chick named Daphne Monet—whose real name was Ruby. And Ruby was this swanky beautiful High Yellow Octoroon Lady—who was passing as white in high society. The same thing with me—I was gonna end up passing for white too. Except I was a white chick with a nice dark Creole cock...

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