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Object Relations: Fear Of Success Pt. 4

The Fear of Losing Success

Now that a possible protagonist has learned to understand how they feel "castrated" when having to deal with criticism, like in Part 1 of this series, and has discovered a form of True Self in Part 2, and has battled with self-hatred in Part 3, this part of the series looks at what a protagonist may go through when they are to embrace the Work side of Freud's equation of Work and Love as a goal for mental health. With the success of any cultures and institutions, and expanding marketplaces, like with all things in life, there are limitations and drawbacks to all systems, and even if there are improvements, they are taken for granted. The mind moves onto the next problem. How can we progress? Because we are all mortal, there will always be a medical problem, and because we work, there's always a labour problem. We have relationships that go through bouts of integration and disintegration. There's always a room for complaint and a desire for a rescuer or a hope for a new system to usher in a better world. Those desires can be partially improved as technology and social systems react to injustice with real improvements, but there are also cults where promises are not fulfilled and failed attempts at reform are discarded into the dustbin of history. This is usually due to one kind of ignorance towards practicality or another. For there to be a real improvement there has to be real manifestation. It usually shows up as an improvement that is real and tangible, is exciting due to novelty, and begins to show some drawbacks, albeit less drawbacks than what prior generations had to suffer. The drawbacks lead to boredom and a new desire to transcend those drawbacks returns. Political, economic, and cultural development. We often learn the most from our mistakes and contrasts when walking down a wrong path, but with the intention of walking down the right one. Many books are written about progressives and often what some people call success, others call failure. Everyone wants to be part of a utopia, or to feel like part of a vanguard ushering in a better future. In the modern world, people seek to look for success in the marketplace or in government. Each of these institutions has their benefits and dangers.

One of the best compendiums of social complaint related to weaknesses of the marketplace was Main Currents of Marxism, by Leszek Kołakowski. Being a philosopher he was able to tap into his experiences of being a Marxist in the Soviet Union. Marxism is about alienation under Capitalism and the painful self-consciousness encountered in modern life. As Leszek moved from one strain to another, to try and revive the best humanist aspects of Karl Marx's writings, he saw that he undervalued Western society and overvalued Marxism, because of it's difficulty in finding ways to advance without embracing one form of oppression or another. Those Western influences go far back before Marx as well. Leszek found that Plotinus and Hegel were able to look at the sense of suffering in the goal orientation connected with self-consciousness. Again, like with many Western writers, you'll find lots of meditative connections towards oneness and a need to reduce the feeling of alienation in the sense of self. The Buddhist example is to weaken that impulse of Subject > Object > Time as much as possible. In the West there is a desire to use the Ego as an ally, to develop it, expand it, and to continue to transcend obstacles to life as they appear. One can adopt a sense of healthy challenge with obstacles. As soon as one obstacle is done away with, there is a momentary celebration, but then to avoid depression, it's on to the next obstacle, and there can be a zest and meaning to life when it's viewed as a game of trying to transcend limitation. Yet, medical breakthroughs are limited and the Ego has to shrink back to basic consciousness with age and with the hope that there's something more on the other side of total obliteration. God to us is continued existence, but as human consciousness grows up from adolescence, and when witnessing the death of older generations, those experiences bring in the feeling of our own finality. We are not God because we do not continue forever. An Ego desire to transcend can be presumed with its motivation to manipulate the environment to enhance life and increase independence. Plotinus describes what that would be like if we could be absolutely independent. "Certainly that which has never passed outside its own orbit, unbendingly what it is, its own unchangeably, is that which most strictly be said to possess its own being." Humans on the other hand are stuck in interdependence with the environment and a feeling of separation with individual consciousness. We can't "possess our own being."

Like you see in Freud and Psychoanalysis, when we're born, the Ego is underdeveloped and has to use comparison and contrast with the environment to slowly build up a sense of this self alienation from an environment that could be rewarding or hostile. "The first form of the existence of Mind is awareness that is still not self-awareness. It goes through a phase of sensual certainty, in which consciousness is distinguished from the object, so that for consciousness there is such a thing as being-in-itself. What was an object has become knowledge of an object, so that Being has become being-in-itself-for-consciousness. At the same time consciousness changes in character and gradually frees itself from the illusion that it is burdened by something alien. Then, when consciousness grasps things in their specific character and understands their unity, it becomes a perceiving consciousness, or simply perception. In perception consciousness attains to a new phase, that of apprehending generality in the individual phenomenon. Every actual perception contains a general element: in order to grasp that a present phenomenon is present, we must apprehend the now as something distinct from the perception itself, thus deriving an abstract element from the concrete datum. In the same way, when we apprehend the individuality of things we can do so only by means of an abstract conception of individuality, and we are on the level of generalized knowledge when we become aware of individuality as such. The actual 'thing out there' is inexpressible: language belongs to the realm of generality, and so therefore does every perception as soon as we express it. Perception, by imparting generality to the world of sense, surpasses the concreteness of the given object yet at the same time preserves it. Again, the object is distinguished by its particular qualities from other objects, and this opposition gives it its independence; yet at the same time it deprives it of independence, for the independence that consists in being different from other things is not absolute independence but a negative dependence on something else. The object dissolves into a set of relationships to other objects, so that it is a being-in-itself only in so far as it is a being-for-something-else, and vice versa."

We are also agents in the environment but we come from the environment. In meditation, tracing our interdependence tends to momentarily heal the sense of alienation, but it returns as soon as we direct our attention to differences in the environment that are more or less pleasing to our consciousness. All oneness leads to a sense of infinity when one reminds oneself that all experiences have an interdependence with something else with no known starting point, including oneself as a starting point. Yet as soon as this knowledge is available, the goal orientation to satisfy a myriad of cravings, while picking out details to transcend, we return to a sense of oneself as objectified, and there's a desire to transcend circumstance once again. We look at objects not as just "there" but as objects of utility. Objects appear to us as subjectively useful or useless, not an agenda-less objective scientific project. "...When the conception of infinity becomes an object of consciousness, the latter becomes self-awareness or self-reflection. Self-knowledge is aware that the object’s being-in-itself is its manner of existing for another; it endeavours to possess itself of the object and cancel its objectivity." For a Buddhist, you are already in alienation when chasing goals and "stop doing that!" The problem with this is Buddhist economics which relies on a religious caste that lives off of donations. The rest of the population has to manage with Ego in order to create goods that can be distributed to one religious group or another, a form of exploitation. The argument for religious types is that those goods are minimal and a true religious group has to be in self-denial while demonstrating a confident happiness for the laity to imitate in part, and in limitation with the work world as it is. In the world of work and the market, there is always attraction and rejection, including rejecting objects based on important data that could lead to damaging products and services, and there is a concomitant sense of self undergoing repeated humiliations, or as Freud put it, "castrations," that feel like mini-deaths. Each loss of a job, each divorce, and each banishment from an arena of society has the distinct feeling of death, even if one's body is still completely intact. The Ego wants to expand but when it gains some territory it doesn't like contracting, or letting go. This includes all our labour contracts and imaginations of an enjoyable sunset retirement with as little limitation as possible.

Alienation is a feeling of being contingent in time, which can't be eliminated completely, only accepted at deeper and deeper levels of meditation on our interdependence and the good choices we can make while we're conscious. Those good choices, and why we call them GOOD, has to do with a myriad of pleasures that follow those choices. As an individual consciousness competes with others, because of scarcity, a conflict within the means of production begins. As the marketplace unshackled from feudalism, Marxism viewed this more advanced state of being as having its own kind of shackles. You feel a sense of alienation, which is a loss of choice and opportunity, which is also a loss of ownership of what you produce. Your skill development is for someone else and at any time you can be rejected. In that view, the tendency is towards monopoly, since the owners want to avoid being in the position of workers, and the goal is to pay workers as little as possible in order to amass enough profit so as to live with higher consumption on tap. Profit to Marx was considered surplus-value and a signal of exploitation. The capitalist argument against that is if you are able save money as a worker, you can be a partial owner and earn dividends and interest. Profit is also necessary because a small business owner is taking a big risk by investing their capital, saved from individual renunciation, and they wouldn't do that unless there was a reward in the form of profit. Profits also help to absorb losses over time in order to make the business activity a going concern. All this falls apart when workers can't earn enough to save and can only bridge the gap with debt, which is limited as well. This also means that property owners, especially the very big ones, and as I showed in my review of Right Livelihood, those with power look at those without with an eye of objectification and utility, or disutility. When people feel objectified they feel that the more money they get from the organization, the more beholden. As workers become poorer and mistreated, because part of the consequence of leverage is that those without power can't escape mistreatment and if there are no consequences for abuse, then the owner, master, or the one with the power to make choices for others, can unleash their basest desires with no consequence. This happens in slavery situations where workers are only paid enough to work and produce more workers, and sometimes not even that. With a fractured consciousness that compares ego with other egos, the master is in the best position and is resistant to relinquish it.

The Noble Eightfold Path: Right Livelihood: https://rumble.com/v1grhrh-the-noble-eightfold-path-right-livelihood.html

American Workers Are Working At A Record “63 Hours A Week” To Afford Median-Priced Apartments - Steve Cortes - War Room: https://rumble.com/v1whktq-american-workers-are-working-at-a-record-63-hours-a-week-to-afford-median-p.html

When capitalism is working well, the competition can wipe out monopolies, but monopolies can sneak in via technological advancements and manipulation of the labour market to displace workers to reduce their value on the income statement. Each labour addition to an industry displaces another worker to force them to renegotiate their wages at a lower level or not at all. They have to seek a different occupation and try to displace someone else, or find a position that has been vacated. Each technological advance can displace many workers at one time and they have the pressure to create new skills to reenter the workforce. Again, the worker who wants to avoid exploitation needs to find work that allows for rest and recreation from burnout and injury, and enough money to save when one is old and invalid. Systems rise and fall depending on whether they can create a large middle class where a great majority can find themselves there. This means they have more time in their lifespans where they can make decisions towards the kind of work they want to do, and crucially like to do, and their choice for recreation, and choices for relationships. The more one can choose for oneself, the more one feels like an integrated self with reduced alienation, and the more one feels an ongoing sense of wellbeing. The slave scenario is having no pleasure to look forward to, only daily drudgery, if they can't find a way to enjoy their work. The worst scenario is one where one cannot handle the challenges of work, or finds work impossibly boring, like in Csikszentmihalyi's Flow system, where there is rampant abuse from the master, especially if sadism is the only enjoyment for a pathological master, and where there is also no rest or recreation that allows one to heal the nervous system and there ends up being a mixture of physical and psychological breakdowns where work ends either with injury or simple flight. The worker simply leaves work and has to look for sustenance in the form of a donation or a social program via taxation.

Van Diemen's Land U2: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Oji9TlprRk

How to gain Flow in 7 steps: https://rumble.com/v1gvked-how-to-gain-flow-in-7-steps.html

This is partially why an interest in politics and economics is necessary to understand alienation for the individual worker and the owner. The pain tends to occur when one singles out a section of reality and ties a difficult goal to it, leading to frustration. Many workers actually delay consumption by investing all their time in risk taking and creating new products and services to add something new to the world of interconnection. To not lose the social connection of endeavor, one can remind oneself how it connects to the propagation of a new generation, and also how it helps to protect against future violence and revolution when you instead have a grateful populace. There's a reciprocity that competes with individual survival. If I'm contingent, because I will exist finitely, there's a time trade. For example, if I'm a good nurse today, maybe when I'm older and sick, I'll get good nursing care in return. Like a Karma, or a reaping of what we sow. Our individual goals have to be seen interconnectedly. It's a complex balance between individual batteries, individual regeneration, and connecting that with a market where people can discharge pent up craving by making consumption choices. Unsatisfied cravings turn to social systems outside of the market. Most businesses accept that a certain amount of taxes have to be paid or else they would have to create the social services themselves. Since many corporations aren't big enough to do that, the state took up that mantle throughout the 20th century until now. Successes in creating a basic welfare state, public education, and various forms of public health care, have a cost, but one that many are willing to pay. This allowed people with varying pay rates to get basic help without them requiring a certain level of salary to pay for expensive things, you know, like dying slowly. The cost of taxes and regulation shifts back and forth based on ironically the same problem of feeling exploited. Workers in government require good pay and benefits and those in the private sector have to pay taxes and follow regulations. As those taxes and regulations get too onerous on the progressive side, the conservative side has to beat back power grabs, oppression and the same feelings of alienation. Again, seeing interconnection is important in politics because of the danger of splitting and creating false enemies. Workers in the private sector require social services when they can't find a private solution. Workers in government need to invest pension funds in the market. People who work in government are afraid of conservatives limiting their spending. Those in business, who finally managed to find enough zest and enjoyment in their work, they are afraid of over-regulation, taxes, and corrupt governments that literally plant government agents from a 1-party state political party into those business activities. The goal of course is to graft kickbacks with the threat of persecution on one side, to motivate payment, or the promise of protection on the other. Like gangsters charging for protection. Maybe one gangster doesn't take as much as another does. Private gangsterism or a Public police state. In the latter, the police can simply be seen as a glorified protection racket for a political party. Like all systems with too much leverage and power for a few, there is corruption, and workers feel a desire to limit their production because of a fear that a tax collector will simply take it way, so "why bother?," or having wealth simply means your a target for a gangster. Reducing corruption and reinstating fair rewards, so that one is more interested in production, means a thriving society. A failed state cannot thrive for the majority. People aren't just poor. They feel slighted. Even worse, one can feel slighted even if one is not poor.

Marxist efforts to change society had some successes, but power grabs where 40% of the GDP is not enough for a progressive movement, and only 100% will do, a certain acceptance of free will for the population has to be allowed again. Even a gangster or a tax collector knows that if you take too much you can proverbially "kill the goose that lays the golden egg." The person producing may not be able to produce anymore and joins the ranks of the needy. Rationality prevails a little and the exploitation has to pull back a bit because there is now less to pillage. You can also depopulate your country if slaves can't afford to have kids and produce another generation of slaves. If you displace workers enough, they may not have skills to find replacement work. It's like having a permanent buyers market for labor, and the sellers market of the labor themselves experience alienation. What's left is to join a gang or to join the government, or a massive business, which sometimes there's not much distinction between the two, depending on how much corruption there is and collusion. Like Saul Alinsky quoted in the last episode, that feeling of being slighted and frowned upon, it can lead to desires for revenge, and corruption is tempting. Another example is the Johnny Friendly character from On The Waterfront, the corrupt labor boss who has a fear of being at the bottom of society. "But my old lady raised us ten kids on a stinkin' watchman's pension. When I was sixteen I had to beg for work in the hold. I didn't work my way up out of there for nuthin.'" There's a priority to develop one's ego in contrast with others and there's resistance to lowering your position, even just a little. "First he crosses me in public and gets away with it and then the next joker, and pretty soon I'm just another fellow down here."

Johnny Friendly - On The Waterfront: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5YFonHjiCec

Losing status, even if it doesn't mean starvation, but just a lack of regard can be enough to make one fear more mistreatment, and I'm sure many people who pursue power to make choices, if they were honest, secretly harbor the motivation to escape castration and abuse. The successful influence on the West from Marxism lay in the necessities of life being provided so that actual starvation would be eradicated. Much of that has been alleviated by most Western countries adopting some form of a taxpayer funded cushion, with some cracks in systems to haggle over here and there. As self-esteem shifts over a life as it measures against different generations, different office holders, and senses that other people are having more savouring than oneself, albeit temporarily, this envy decouples the connection between necessities and self-esteem. Going from a billionaire to a millionaire can have a similar threat impulse as someone living paycheque to paycheque. It's an emotional feeding or famine, not always an actual threat of famine. When people are negotiating with those in power, they are negotiating their self-esteem, which Otto Fenichel accurately connected with money in his The Drive To Amass Wealth.

The Drive To Amass Wealth - Otto Fenichel: http://freudians.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/Fenichel-The-Drive-to-Amass-Wealth.pdf

Narcissistic Supply - Freud and Beyond: https://rumble.com/v1gveop-narcissistic-supply-freud-and-beyond-wnaad.html

The irony was that Marxist attempts in the 20th century involved self-created famines because of politics. Oppression and murder. Not universal brotherhood. The problem of decoupling self-esteem from necessities is how a cloud of depression can project over the populace, even when people aren't necessarily dying from extreme poverty. Media can also mass-produce that kind of projection by focusing on dysfunctions in society as an emphasis and ignore actual successes. If you take in those toxic emotions you might be more uneasy than you should be. "Marx took over the romantic ideal of social unity, and Communism realized it in the only way feasible in an industrial society, namely, by a despotic system of government...Marx seems to have imagined that once capitalists were done away with the whole world could become a kind of Athenian agora: one had only to forbid private ownership of machines or land and, as if by magic, human beings would cease to be selfish and their interests would coincide in perfect harmony. Marxism affords no explanation of how this prophecy is founded or what reason there is to think that human interests will cease to conflict as soon as the means of production are nationalized." Who watches the watchers? It doesn't matter what political labels you put on something "fascist," "communist," "capitalist," "gangster," etc. This person has power and leverage, and this person doesn't. Any system can be corrupted because people aren't like an inert changeless constitution. As soon as they gain power, they want to use it to gratify their personal dreams. In fact their Ego daydreams are limited and as power increases, those dreams gobble up more of the environment and the people in it. Taxation, property abolishment, or regulation can strangle and oppress just the same as any capitalist monopoly. One of the accounting tricks for a supposed non-profit government entity is to include personal expenses into organizational expenses. "Surplus-value" or profit can creep in if people so desire. In the end all corporations are creating work that benefits individuals and the corporate legal entity is just to spread risk to increase creative risk taking activity. When it goes awry, it's when the general public has to work multiple jobs 7 days a week to make ends meet, and this includes the arena of needs plus wants in modern Western countries.

"Marx moreover combined his romantic dreams with the socialist expectation that all needs would be fully satisfied in the earthly paradise. The early socialists seem to have understood the slogan 'To each according to his needs’ in a limited sense: they meant that people should not have to suffer cold and hunger or spend their lives staving off destitution. Marx, however, and many Marxists after him imagined that under socialism all scarcity would come to an end. It was possible to entertain this hope in the ultra-sanguine form that all wants would be satisfied, as though every human being had a magic ring or obedient jinn at his disposal. But since this could hardly be taken seriously, Marxists who considered the question decided, with a fair degree of support from Marx’s works, that Communism would ensure the satisfaction of ‘true’ or ‘genuine’ needs consonant with human nature, but not whims or desires of all kinds. This, however, gave rise to a problem which no one answered clearly: who is to decide what needs are genuine, and by what criteria? If every man is to judge this for himself then all needs are equally genuine provided they are actually, subjectively felt, and there is no room for any distinction. If, on the other hand, it is the state which decides; then the greatest emancipation in history consists in a system of universal rationing."

A system of universal rationing with people cheating rules here and there would fail as kleptocracies of all kinds have historically shown. "...For perfect equality can only be imagined under a system of extreme despotism, but despotism itself presupposes inequality at least in such basic advantages as participation in power and access to information." The way to understand why it is despotism that is needed is because of the clinging described above. People don't relinquish property voluntarily so you need to take by force, or gain by the threat of force. Once people gain that much power, they learn aggressive power tactics to preserve their power, like with Johnny Friendly, it includes others who work for them and have to obey orders to preserve their source of income from him. "You're a walkin' dead man! You're dead on this waterfront and every other waterfront from Boston to New Orleans. You won't go anywhere, drive a truck or a cab or push a baggage rack without one of my guys have the eye on you. You just dug your own grave, dead man, go fall in it!" Because of the complexity of human power and how it evolves over a lifespan and transfers to new generations, it's going to be impossible to plan out a perfectly just society. "Technical progress cannot coexist with absolute security of living conditions for everyone. Conflicts inevitably arise between freedom and equality, planning and the autonomy of small groups, economic democracy and efficient management, and these conflicts can only be mitigated by compromise and partial solutions." For progressives, solutions from their end have to be small, targeted, and accrue over time. This way, any large encroachments on freedom, which is what Marxism was supposed to protect against, can be beaten back without having to rebuild a destroyed system from the ground up. Any signs of success have to come from signs in reality, not propaganda to protect entrenched interests.

Waterfront Labour Corruption - On The Waterfront: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4thvTkvbZjU&t=143s

Oligarchy

Now that we've reviewed a past attempt at utopia and have come down to reality, the fear of success can also been seen as the fear of having to fight corruption that is in the way. Most whistleblowers of every stipe have to go through some kind of crucifixion. The "new kid on the block" at a workplace is a threat to the office clique, which include many of those patients we talked about in Parts 2 and 3 of Fear Of Success. The tragedy of not succeeding with this social problem is that extreme political movements in history were always connected with these very ontological sicknesses, and the common feeling of being slighted. The way to get out of being confused on who the predators are comes from Kohut's understanding of the gradient with which people are more or less connected to reality. Any political prescriptions have to be compared to their real results, regardless if the truth hurts, or narcissistically wounds certain propagandists who protect their pet theories from reality, like they protect their wounded selves. Predators change their spots with every flavor of revolution you can think of, but their psychological damage appears the same, especially when they ignore the real failure of their social projects. They resort to lies and go as far as they can get away with. For example, Walter C. Langer profiled Adolph Hitler and the rules he used to brainwash the population. "Never allow the public to cool off; never admit a fault or wrong; never concede that there may be some good in your enemy; never leave room for alternatives; never accept blame; concentrate on one enemy at a time and blame him for everything that goes wrong; people will believe a big lie sooner than a little one; and if you repeat it frequently enough people will sooner or later believe it." Now as a disclaimer, I'm definitely in the conservative camp, and think they are closer to reality, not perfect by all means, than the current globalist left, but I will explore left-wing politics as it shows up in the usual places, like the Frankfurt School, Alfred Adler, and so on. Certainly pro-business people can't stay in business if there's no connection to reality, and many business people don't like competition and would prefer a monopoly and act like their stereotypical criticisms of government power. Power is power is power is power.

Because power allows you access to more consumption, making it more addictive, there's less need to follow values and principles. You don't care if it's government or business that provides you that power. People with money and power will intermarry and create revolving doors of employment cronyism between public and private partnerships to maintain their power, which is synonymous with Oligarchy. Each person that is afraid of success is partially afraid of being on the wrong end of power. Jeffrey Winters makes his own definition of Oligarchy as a specific type. "An oligarchy is different in that the scope of oligarchic minority power extends so widely across the space or community that exit is nearly impossible or prohibitively expensive. Thus to be worthy of the name, oligarchic power must be based on a form of power that is unusually resistant to dispersion, and its scope must be systemic...Extreme material inequality produces extreme political inequality...Oligarchs alone are able to use wealth for wealth’s defense...Oligarchy refers to the politics of wealth defense by materially endowed actors." Examples of wealth defense are found in terms like "lawfare" and such. If a victim can't afford adequate legal representation, they are less able to punish transgressions. How things slip away is when a large section of the population can't save very much money compared to others who have large streams of income due to their platforms. Minority power stems from leverage with important platforms, which include ownership of as many areas that individuals purchase from and find difficult to do without. This Winters calls Income Defense. "Oligarchs and oligarchy arise because some actors succeed in stockpiling massive material power resources and then use a portion of them for wealth defense – with important implications for the rest of the social formation. It follows that oligarchs and oligarchy will cease to exist not through democratic procedures, but rather when extremely unequal distributions of material resources are undone, and thus no longer confer exaggerated political power to a minority of actors." Of course if an oligarchy is aware of people wanting to come after them they can get an active head start in co-opting any dissent and opposition through influence of politicians. They might even use the same tactics used against them by revolutionaries or buy their skills as mercenaries.

Living In A Ghost Town - Rolling Stones: https://youtu.be/LNNPNweSbp8

A Message from Michael Stipe: https://youtu.be/awX5lGiqrl4

Gal Gadot and Stars singing Imagine: https://youtu.be/bQK32bwvRuI

Let Your Love Be Known - U2: https://youtu.be/ZRjaUjJb3Z8

In modern politics there are the Alinsky tactics that have a similar noise and fog as the Langer quote on Hitler and have been increasingly used as an affective method to attack self-esteem in political candidates. These practices are so effective that his influence has gone beyond progressive politics. You have to manipulate perception with these tactics but the weakness is that a connection with reality is lost, because it's just about scoring points. If these tactics actually work, then political opposition will copy it, like sports teams copying championship teams. The discourse goes into character assassination and policy prescriptions lose attention. It helps to look at Alinsky's Rules for Radicals, to recognize what you've been seeing for a long time. "Power is not only what you have but what the enemy thinks you have." In keeping with a disconnection from reality and no room for learning, "never go outside the experience of your people." Conversely for the conservatives cut from different swathes, they often have a similar problem but they learn painfully when progressives "go outside of the experience of the [them]." Of course, those who read everyone's playbook is less surprised and can keep a better grip on reality when assaulted with these tactics. An important rule for Saul is to "make the enemy live up to their own book of rules," which has the correct understanding that Conservative Christians sin all the time and don't live up to their standards, but this has the problem of splitting where you can fall into the trap of "two wrongs make a right," and the standards that are abandoned means there's more disconnection from reality and no ability to learn from mistakes. To be a Christian, the goal is not to be perfect but to learn from mistakes and show personal progress.

One area that is a favorite of all politicians from every political stripe is "ridicule is mans most potent weapon." "I do the unforgivable. You can attack the establishment and get away with it. You can insult them but still survive, but I laugh at them and this is one thing they will not tolerate." Also throughout all politics is seeing that "a good tactic is one that your people enjoy," which means that entertainment can creep in and separate one from reality again, because reality can boring. Even a policy prescription that works gets taken for granted and becomes boring. As realistic boredom continues in politics with too much repetition, "a tactic that drags on too long becomes a drag," because people ultimately want to see real results at the end of a bout of effort and protesting, and it's also nice if an evil doer is brought down in humiliation. Reality can in fact be fun, just like an engineer coming up with an airplane design that actually works, and some fun ideas are only fun as entertainment but yield no results. It's all how one looks at it. Similar to all political movements, there's the rule to "keep the pressure on," though the danger with this is pushing ideas that don't work. More pressure is thinking harder instead of smarter. "The threat is usually more terrifying than the thing itself," which is a sign that people aren't looking at policies, just the attainment of power. When there's an abandonment of policy and cause and effect, the rationale for constant pressure is self-justified by personal interest and comradery. "The major premise for tactics is the development of operations that will maintain a constant pressure upon the opposition." Certainly not very radical and similar to all political debates is that "if you push a negative hard and deep enough it will break through into its counterside," but what is missing is replacement policies, and if those policies don't connect with reality it becomes just negative politics with a sense of futility, like choosing a lesser of two evils. Alinsky saw this so the next rule is "the price of a successful attack is a constructive alternative." Anyone who follows politics long enough knows that the most rare achievement is a constructive alternative. Decades go by without meaningful change, which is why the populace becomes jaded and tunes out. Politics then resorts to the politics of character assassination out of that sense of emptiness of having shallow alternatives.

A great past example was John King from CNN zeroing in on Newt Gingrich's divorce and making the opening debate topic to be about open marriages. "As you know, your ex-wife gave an interview to ABC News, and another interview with the Washington Post, and this story has now gone viral on the internet. In it she says that you came to her in 1999 at a time when you were having an affair. She says she asked you sir to enter into an open marriage. Would you like to take some time to respond to that?"

"No, but I will. I think the destructive, vicious, negative nature of much of the news media makes it harder to govern this country, harder to attract decent people to run for public office, and I'm appalled you would begin a presidential debate on a topic like that."

Gingrich slams CNN for asking about ex-wife: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ygtFc3eR6So

Pressure needs a focal point and politics can sidestep debates on economics and regulations through personal attacks. "Pick the target, freeze it, personalize it, and polarize it." The danger is the narcissistic tactic of goading people into reactions that aren't well thought out that lead to violence, martyrdom, which is then used as an excuse to eliminate political opposition through a conflation of targets and incrimination of dissent. The relief is that you don't have to debate people who are in jail. "The enemy properly goaded and guided in his reaction will be your major strength." If you downplay in the media a provocation that you make, and heighten the reaction caused by that provocation in the same media, it will appear in the general public that you're not the instigator but the victim. Narcissists chuckle at that one because it's their favorite tactic in divorce proceedings. Of course the weakness of this tactic is if the target appears the victim from the get go and there are enough witnesses or a large audience for the initial provocation. This is why it's important for big social changes to control political violence and aim for peaceful transfers of power. Political assassinations and violent riots just lead to escalation, desires for revenge, and the political theories and remedies again are put in the backseat.

Politicians know that most in the audience don't put the effort into finding evidence or a lack thereof in political assertions, because of the time required for research, or a lack of interest, so their opinions are based on the trust they have for media representatives and their platforms. Whether these are boring, but realistic citizen journalists, or propagandists, you have to look at any political party and focus on real results from policies, not on the promises. Left-wing, Right-wing, Capitalist, Communist, Religious, Atheist, or any labels you can conjure, these questions about which systems are good or evil can be confusing to sift through. Both sides make accusations of a similar kind at each other but the actions are what matter most. No matter the government in power, the duty of real journalists is to compare real data and actions with propaganda and write about the variance. In this psychoanalysis modality, the higher connection to reality and cause and effect, the healthier you are. It's also healthy because people bandy around the term Extremist to avoid debate, but it can't be extremism if it's cause and effect and reality that you're looking at, and the goal is non-violent. A political system that works well for more people, though not perfect because of individual choices and mistakes, can't be extreme.

The term extreme is used as a way to police dissent and leads to governments creating censorship bodies like in Orwell's 1984. The problem is again: Who watches the Watchers? The self-interested censors naturally load their fake fact checking and aim at political opponents. To have political success when there's popular dissent, everything has to be reversed. "War is peace, freedom is slavery, and ignorance is strength." I would add that the word Democracy is abused when it's used to defend authoritarianism. Recently Barack Obama supported this kind of censorship. His Stanford speech sounded really pro free speech at one point and he criticized the CCP model, but then quickly this derailed when he talked about tech platforms. Even his use of the term "toxic information," which is reserved for political opponents, you can see a line has been crossed into authoritarianism. "The good news is that almost all the big tech platforms now acknowledge some responsibility for content on their platforms and they are investing in large teams to monitor it." Obama continues to talk about the value of stopping hate speech and what incites violence, including what would be shared values for people across the political spectrum, but he then says "it doesn't go far enough. Users who want to spread disinformation want to become experts of pushing right up to the line what published company policies allow." Then he blamed the platforms for weakening against pressure from the predictable accusations of censorship, but also the motivation for profit to have as many engaged users as possible. He then applauded the use of algorithms and purposeful slowing of information dissemination against political opponents, but he wants more oversight than this. "Decisions like this shouldn't be left solely to private businesses." Leaving aside that one could pick apart his speech for contradictions on a myriad of topics, and Obama admitted that he's very aware that many people don't agree with him, a few days after this speech, Homeland Security introduced the infamous Disinformation Governance Board headed by Nina Jankowicz, which one could ascribe as Obama's real intent.

[Scary Poppins Propaganda Video]

Nina Jankowicz 'Scary Poppins': https://twitter.com/RealJamesWoods/status/1519871245856112640?s=20&t=JWM--Tc_YJoJOGZ4F8J__g

"Talking about the Deep State, and things like that, is a thread among conspiracy communities here in the United States, that there is this secret cabal here working to undermine the American people. It couldn't be farther from the truth, as someone who works in and around public servants everyday."

Democrat Steny Hoyer: "They want to eliminate what they call 'The Deep State.' The Deep State is a cadre of professionals dedicated to honoring the Constitution, the laws of this country, and carrying out the policies of the Congress and The President."

Sen. Kennedy: "Who at the department picked her?" DHS Mayorkas: "Senator we don't discuss our internal hiring processes, but I am the Secretary of Homeland Security, and ultimately I am responsible." "When the department picked her, did it know that she had said that Mr. Hunter Biden's laptop is Russian Disinformation?" "I was not aware of that. We do not discuss the internal hiring process. Ultimate as the Secretary I am responsible for the decisions of the department of Homeland Security." "When the department picked Ms. Jankowicz, did it know that she had vouched for the veracity of the Steele Dossier?" "I was not aware of that fact." Eventually Mayorkas only paused the Disinformation Governance Board, and as of working on this post, August 24th, it got terminated. Of course if power changes hands again, it could spring up again.

Typical of recent power grabs related to the COVID19 lockdowns, The Great Reset intrusions on farmers, the clamp down on trucker protests, and the CCP's method of conditioning tactics being used to intimidate the public into compliance, you know that warning you feel in your gut that asks "hey isn't this authoritarianism? Doesn't this feel like a school bully? Is this gaslighting?," the last 2 years since COVID19 has been endlessly surreal. Jordan Peterson described this intimidation process from Ordinary Men by Robert Browning about NAZI tactics. "Things get to terrible places one tiny step at a time. If I encroach on you and I'm sophisticated about it, I'm going to encroach 2mm. I'm going to encroach right to the point where you start to protest. Then I'm going to stop and wait. Then you're going to calm down. Then I'm going to encroach again, right to the point where you'll protest. Then I'm going to stop. Then I'm going to wait. I'm just going to do that forever."

All these topics I'm talking about could expand into huge detours for investigation, and that includes charges of voter fraud that both sides level at each other. Hillary Clinton famously accused Trump of stealing the election from her and even goes into pre-emptive election denial while also calling conservatives election deniers, who don't believe Biden got 81 million legal votes in the last presidential election. "Right Wing extremists already have a plan to literally steal the next Presidential Election." The debate moves between paper fraud accusations down to vote machine manipulation. There's a deep fear of voting machines with limited to no audits allowed in many American jurisdictions. In lawfare, the dollars are big and trials move slowly. One of the accused was Eric Coomer from Dominion voting machines, which is in a lawsuit with an accuser Joe Oltmann, who said he allegedly overheard Coomer on an ANTIFA group call say "Don't worry about the election. Trump's not going to win. I made fucking sure of that!" This is an ongoing legal warfare that includes others like Mike Lindell. Mike Lindell feels China was more involved more than Joe Oltmann who focuses more on Dominion. These are the typical lawsuits that nobody can pay for and losers go into bankruptcy because they need income the size of a GDP of a country to handle it. Eric Coomer is accused of being an unreliable addict, and Joe Oltmann is accused of being an unreliable used car salesman turned Conservative podcaster. You end up with weird depositions like this one.

"In the Facebook posts you use the word fuck quite often don't you?" "Actually I'm not sure I can answer that." "You don't know whether you use that word often?" "Can you define often?" "You know what often means?" "No I don't, not in your terms. Are we talking 1%, 5%, 20%, 50%? What's often, sir?" "You can define it anyway you like." "Then I would say no." "You're testimony sitting here under oath today is that you don't use the word fuck often?" "In a Facebook post?" "No, generally." "Again I won't answer that until you define the terms." "You understand what the English word often means?" "Tell me as you understand the word often, you use that word fuck a lot?" "I would say I use it less than a lot of people I know. I would characterize it as not often." In the deposition Eric said that if a person believed that Dominion Machines could steal elections it would be a "deficient" understanding. He also said that his posts on ANTIFA were all satire and not to be taken literally, and he wasn't on a group call with ANTIFA.

Certainly, there were charges of conspiracy theories when conservatives said the machines could be connected to the internet, but a recent AP news story said that "Electronic voting machines from a leading vendor used in at least 16 states have software vulnerabilities that leave them susceptible to hacking if unaddressed," but not to worry because "there is no evidence the flaws in the Dominion Voting Systems’ equipment have been exploited to alter election results." The Arizona Audit found illegal data access after the election, which is data that needs to be held for 22 months. A more recent review of election data by Verity Vote found that 740,000 ballots "do not have the required chain of custody..." This is just Maricopa County and an unfinished audit at that when it comes to the electronics to test for outside connectivity. It also didn't help to secure trust in elections when a dementia ridden President before the 2020 Presidential Election made a Freudian slip that was very particular and exacting. "We have put together, and you guys did it for President Obama's administration before this, we have put together I think the most extensive and inclusive voter fraud organization in the history of American politics." It was all brushed off as unimportant and an assertion that this voter fraud organization was to watch Republicans and their supposed voter suppression like Democrats are election hawks protecting integrity.

Voting Machines and Election Fraud - Barack Obama: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BFyMJTRaf5c

Conservatives in Arizona were also disappointed when the AG Mark Brnovich was given the information from the audit to investigate and make arrests. Very little was done in 1 year. Mark got lots of phone calls from residents to take action and here was his response. "It's Arizona Attorney General Mark Brnovich. We've gotten a lot of calls and a lot of emails, but there is one thing people definitely want to see. They want to see more chucks. So people? You want more chucks? We got more chucks." His latest report was a small investigation of dead voters but they found there were only 282 dead voters. In regards to other irregularities and the lack of chain of custody "the work of the Attorney General's election integrity unit remains ongoing." State Senator Sonny Borelli had to dive in and work with his team to sample votes and he found 20% uncertifiable votes from a 100,000 sample. He remained guarded as to why the AG didn't do their job and attributed it to laziness or corruption.

"We did it! We did it Joe. You're going to be the next President of the United States."

From then on, any criticism of election integrity was treated as if the people who want full transparent audits are trying to suppress votes and guilty of election stealing. Biden treated the Republicans like they were Joseph Stalin. "The struggle is not who gets to vote, or to make it easy for eligible people to vote, it's about who gets to count the votes, and whether your vote counts at all." Yet the irony is that the Center for American Progress, a Democratic party think tank, provided suggestions in 2018 for protecting elections, back when it was alleged that Trump stole the 2016 election, they advised to "Conduct robust postelection audits to confirm election outcomes." This of course would solve all problems because the transparency would eliminate any concerns which would help the losers gather data about why they lost so they could try new policies to gather momentum for the next election. When people believe in elections and politicians respond to constituents, there's a healthy back and forth between the public and politicians, and usually small adjustments and changes done towards progressivism and conservatism.

In the political spectrum, conservatives have a problem of "what are we trying to conserve? Is it worth it?" The strength they have is that there's a history of what has worked well in the past more or less. The problem with progressives is the question "are we actually progressing?" Their strength is when they create policies that have popular support and the populace doesn't want to relinquish those changes, because they provide protections and also enhance some freedoms. When conservatives conserve things that don't need to be conserved, that's their weakness, and progressive experiments often have little to no real world data so unintended consequences, which are signs of reality, can derail policies. Even worse, there can be new fallible policies that fail to fix past policies that already failed. You can have failure after failure. There are also repeated temptations to centralize power and then decentralize in response to overreach. Elitists from elite schools, and so called professionals or experts have trouble in competition with the rule that "more heads are better than one," but they do try. The populace goes through cycles of dependency when very young or very old and independence in middle adulthood where the need for independence or dependence can switch places depending on circumstances. Can experts really help you more than you can help yourself? Sometimes that's true, like when going into surgery or asking for a prescription, etc., but it isn't always the case. Politics is not like hard science. Politicians prefer to save face and spin excuses, rather than change course into another theory. You try to double-down and triple-down until you get away with a failure. You rarely hear politicians say "oops. We made a mistake, but we figured out a much better path. Please trust us again!" You also don't hear "actually our opposition was more correct than we are. I will now resign and promote the opposition leader." Like in British Commonwealth Parliaments, the government needs a vote of non-confidence and a new election. New movements have to arise and replace old political dynasties in order for new ideas to be acted on. This can even be seen in hard science when science gets politicized because of the need for funding and if results from studies have political consequences. Nobody wants to see real world data that threatens their job, and everyone wants to entertain theories that they can exploit to increase their wealth.

How Nietzsche Explains Woke Madness: https://youtu.be/iVY9Ljhtxnc

The reality is that many people are disengaged from politics when their lives are going according to plan. They forget that a lot of really complex systems are allowing that smoothness to happen. When something goes wrong, that's the only time when there's an alarm and a desire to change things and "throw the bums out!" The ugliness of politics tunes them out as well when they return to more interesting personal goals. Who wants to read about problems with supply chains when one can watch a comedy show and have a beer? Like René Girard pointed out, we only notice institutions when they stop running smoothly or are totally corrupt. Maybe beer becomes too expensive and now something has to be done!

A more difficult part of social change is the sense of individual helplessness in a giant machine. People can be daunted or intimidated by reality even if they want that connection. It takes a certain amount of courage to take what you see and act on it without deferring to authority figures. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn was fighting the unreality of progressives in the Soviet Union where lies were treated as common sense and what "good" people should support, and truth was always considered "extreme" and "dangerous," which is a projection of people in power who are only truthfully expressing the danger to their ongoing interests. Aleksandr had the same difficulty in convincing people to make some sacrifice in order to get involved and preserve freedom of speech and freedom of association. "But really, there is nothing to be done! Our mouths are gagged, no one listens to us, no one asks us. How can we make them listen to us?...The natural thing would be simply not to reelect them, but there are no re-elections in our country."

Alexandr's micro-prescription is to maintain a grip on reality, individual by individual, and how each person subjectively sees truth, which Alexandr was adept at including, because people do not agree on what reality is even if they feel it strongly. "...A personal nonparticipation in lies! Even if all is covered by lies, even if all is under their rule, let us resist in the smallest way: Let their rule hold not through me!...For when people renounce lies, lies simply cease to exist. Like parasites, they can only survive when attached to a person...Let us not glue back the flaking scales of the Ideology, not gather back its crumbling bones, nor patch together its decomposing garb, and we will be amazed how swiftly and helplessly the lies will fall away, and that which is destined to be naked will be exposed as such to the world...Let each man choose: Will he remain a witting servant of the lies (needless to say, not due to natural predisposition, but in order to provide a living for the family, to rear the children in the spirit of lies!), or has the time come for him to stand straight as an honest man, worthy of the respect of his children and contemporaries?"

In the old Soviet Union, people like the composer Shostakovich, had to make dog whistles and involve cryptic messaging in his music when there was a threat of persecution, repression, threats of imprisonment, threats of political audits and raids, threats of lost jobs and bankruptcy, but the desire to say what you think can only be bottled up for a certain amount of time. Eventually people lose their fear and speak up anyways. Alexandr listed out repeated behaviors of sheepish yes-people that scaffold inauthentic systems, and how to live differently.

· Will not write, sign, nor publish in any way, a single line distorting, so far as he can see, the truth;

· Will not utter such a line in private or in public conversation, nor read it from a crib sheet, nor speak it in the role of educator, canvasser, teacher, actor;

· Will not in painting, sculpture, photograph, technology, or music depict, support, or broadcast a single false thought, a single distortion of the truth as he discerns it;

· Will not cite in writing or in speech a single 'guiding' quote for gratification, insurance, for his success at work, unless he fully shares the cited thought and believes that it fits the context precisely;

· Will not be forced to a demonstration or a rally if it runs counter to his desire and his will; will not take up and raise a banner or slogan in which he does not fully believe;

· Will not raise a hand in vote for a proposal which he does not sincerely support; will not vote openly or in secret ballot for a candidate whom he deems dubious or unworthy;

· Will not be impelled to a meeting where a forced and distorted discussion is expected to take place;

· Will at once walk out from a session, meeting, lecture, play, or film as soon as he hears the speaker utter a lie, ideological drivel, or shameless propaganda;

· Will not subscribe to, nor buy in retail, a newspaper or journal that distorts or hides the underlying facts.

Alexandr knew that many people will not follow these precepts, which are very connected to Western Enlightenment and revolutions in those centuries. "And as for him who lacks the courage to defend even his own soul: Let him not brag of his progressive views, boast of his status as an academician or a recognized artist, a distinguished citizen or general. Let him say to himself plainly: I am cattle, I am a coward, I seek only warmth and to eat my fill...Let us then cower and hunker down, while our comrades the biologists bring closer the day when our thoughts can be read and our genes altered."

When people are able to let go of the body and lean on conscience it's "not an easy choice for the body, but the only one for the soul." Fear of success can also include the fear of speaking the truth and the consequences for doing so.

Main Currents of Marxism - Leszek Kolakowski: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780393329438/

Oligarchy - Jeffrey Winters: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9781107005280/

Live Not By Lies - Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn: https://www.solzhenitsyncenter.org/live-not-by-lies

Rules for Radicals - Saul Alinsky: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780679721130/

A Psychological Analysis of Adolf Hitler: https://www.cia.gov/library/readingroom/docs/CIA-RDP78-02646R000600240001-5.pdf

Group Psychology - Freud and Beyond: https://rumble.com/v1gvcxr-group-psychology-freud-and-beyond-war-pt.-33.html

1984 - George Orwell: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9781788282369/

Barack Obama Warns Social Media Misinformation Is A Threat To Democracy - Newsweek: https://youtu.be/l-QuQc_E2rI

'Ministry of Truth' - Tulsi Gabbard: https://twitter.com/TulsiGabbard/status/1520713806086696960?s=20&t=ZmCyy0d-Dg3MGGag10Q1og

"There is no Deep State" - Nina Jankowicz: https://rumble.com/v13qfz5-nina-jankowicz-says-there-is-no-deep-state.html

Adding Context to Tweets about Voter Fraud Accusations: https://rumble.com/v147uhl-clown-nina-jankowicz-wants-trustworthy-people-like-herself-to-add-context-t.html

DHS Secretary Alejandro Mayorkas claims Nina Jankowicz is eminently qualified to lead Biden’s disinformation board: https://rumble.com/v139x27-dhs-secretary-alejandro-mayorkas-claims-nina-jankowicz-is-qualified.html

Mayorkas admits that he didn't know that the head of Biden's "Ministry of Truth" Nina Jankowicz called the Hunter Biden laptop "Russian disinformation": https://rumble.com/v13i65p-may-4-2022.html

NYT finally admits Hunter's Laptop was real - Maria Bartiromo: https://rumble.com/vy2g9p-new-york-times-finally-admitted-that-hunter-bidens-laptop-was-real.html

'We made a total mistake': Jack Dorsey questioned over Hunter Biden censorship - Sky News Australia: https://youtu.be/7vJZdEk53xo

Tyranny, One Tiny Step at a Time - Jordan Peterson: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=16uBwZxtzi0

Interview with Joe Oltmann: https://rumble.com/v1fhg97-interview-with-joe-oltmann-in-response-to-recent-media-smears.html

Cyber agency: Voting software vulnerable in some states: https://apnews.com/article/2022-midterm-elections-technology-georgia-election-2020-a746b253f3404dbf794349df498c9542

Arizona Audit Results: https://youtu.be/sAAu6O33rNE

Maricopa Dropbox Chain of Custody - Verity Vote: https://verityvote.us/maricopa-dropbox-chain-of-custody/

Mark Brnovich "They want to see more chucks!": https://youtu.be/JO-wZykVHDY

Arizona Letter to Karen Fann: https://www.azag.gov/sites/default/files/2022-08/Letter%20to%20Fann%20-%20EIU%20Update%20080122.pdf

Sonny Borrelli Shows Receipts For 2020 Stolen Election In Arizona: https://rumble.com/v1rdmdo-sonny-borelli-shows-receipts-for-2020-stolen-election-in-arizona.html

CAP: https://www.americanprogress.org/article/9-solutions-secure-americas-elections/

2020 Presidential Election Voter Fraud Compilation: https://rumble.com/vb2j7b-2020-presidential-election-voter-fraud-compilation.html

Rules for Radicals - David Horowitz: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gRUP5yEm1WE

Joe Biden Breaks Down Donald Trump, Climate Change and The Election | Pod Save America: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C6u1uKznCYw

Psychology: http://psychreviews.org/category/psychology01/

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thatbanditqueen · 29 days

Text

Come Hell or Come Sundown

A Charro! One-Shot

Summary: It is the summer of 1968 and Elvis finds himself in a New Hollywood, no more production code, just a ratings system with the promise of more sex and violence. This is good, because Elvis is in transition too! He is hot off the set of his TV special and ready to make a gritty western he can be proud of. Things are going well, he's making friends on location in Arizona, but then first they cut some of the violence, and now he's not so sure there is going to be any sex scenes in this movie. What's next, are they going to make him sing to his horse?

Inspired by the cut nude bath scene and the notes in Donna Lewis' diary that there were originally sex scenes scripted in Charro!

A response to the writing prompt: "Cowboy Elvis"

Warnings: References to past sexual harassment, minor drug use implied and kissing.

WC: 13.4K

Thanks to my lovely writing support group @vintageshanny @ellie-24 @be-my-ally @lookingforrainbows @from-memphis-with-love @missmaywemeetagain @shakerattlescroll @peskybedtime and to @whositmcwhatsit for alpha-ing most of this. It is been a crazy two months, I won't go into it, but if you are still reading my stuff let me know it.

July 29, 1968

Apacheland Arizona

Ina leaned against the back side of the sound stage listening to the cactus wren sing their sunrise melody for the desert. Off in the brush she saw a lizard scurry away. It was early, but the air was already beginning to heat up and hung there thick with promise. She took a sip of her coffee, savoring the light, sweet taste, her heart full of hopeful anticipation for the sweet day ahead.

She ran her fingers down over her blouse, enjoying the smooth empty feeling underneath where round flesh had been a month ago.

This picture had been the answer to her prayers, a sign that she could still land a part as the love interest role. It was a role she knew well, one she had been playing for ten years in vehicles designed to showcase male stars: John Wayne, Paul Newman, Jerry Lewis, and now Elvis. Ina rarely got a leading role in a picture focused on a couple or a strong female character, but she accepted it was still a good salary and it kept her busy on and off between modeling gigs.

Lately, however, the on and off had been more off, and her agent, Mickey, had started talking about auditioning for roles as older sisters, aunts, and even, gasp, mothers.

But then she got this and bam! She had knocked over her phone with excitement as Mickey described this project as a “modern, gritty western.” She’d even agreed to the nudity, accepting her agent’s advice that this was going to open up even more doors now that the production code was gone and the film industry had a new rating system that allowed for mature content.

The first American western with a sex scene. That’s how Chuck, this director, had pitched his script in their first meeting, while also assuring her it would be tasteful and artistic and mainly shot using her facial expressions. She hadn’t cared, signing anywhere they wanted if it meant staving off cinematic spinsterhood for as long as possible.

And then, after carefully examining every dimple in her bottom that night, Ina had launched into a month-long disciplined regimen of ballet classes, black beauties and one meal a day. Ina took a deep breath and inhaled the earthy, floral aroma of the Arizona desert, letting it fill her with confidence. Her tummy was svelte, her skin glowed with a healthy bronze tan, and she was ready to conquer the shoot ahead. She had a feeling about this picture. A good one.

Hollywood was buzzing about the TV special Elvis had just finished shooting. Apparently it was raw and gritty and unvarnished, just like the script for this film. And Chuck, her director, was the king of the westerns, who had been promoting Charro! in the trade press as Peckinpah meets Leone with more sex appeal and heart.

Ina looked out at the orange glow of the desert sky at sunrise one last time as she stomped out her cigarette butt and murmured to herself with hushed excitement.

“What a glorious start to a glorious day.”

She headed back inside and made her way around the back of the set where she bumped into Elvis’ stunt double and friend, Jerry. Ina grinned, she couldn’t help it, Jerry’s serious eyes and rugged shoulders made her heart skip a beat.

“That was some party last night, huh?”

Jerry looked down, his low chuckle heavy with the weight of words unspoken as they both reflected on the prior evening. Ina was sure she saw an echo of her own desire in the warmth dancing behind Jerry’s blue eyes.

“You should talk, Sandy Koufax. Charlie’s grateful he can still see.”

Ina gulped, covering her mouth.. “ Oh no! Is he really hurt? I felt so bad, I was aiming for his stomach.” Ina said, twirling her hair. “Although I didn’t feel nearly as bad after watching Elvis go after Alan with the whole bucket, intentionally, over and over. He really took it to the next level.”

“Oh, that’s just how the bossman lets off steam.”

“That’s one way to put it. Say, where is the old steam engine, anyway?”

“He just went out front to get some dirt on his clothes.”

Ina raised her eyebrow.

“He wants to make sure he has that real cowboy look.”

“Huh, Elvis Strasberg. Who knew?”

Ina thought of Elvis out rolling around in the dirt and tried not to giggle. This got harder and harder as she looked into Jerry’s eyes, which were also twinkling with amusement.

In a moment of vulnerability Ina decided to let down her guard and step closer, trailing her fingers over Jerry’s upper arm. His muscle flinched slightly under her hand and it made her feel a little flight of butterflies in her tummy.

“Too bad,” she murmured in what she hoped was a sexy, flirtatious voice. “I was beginning to hope maybe you’d have to step in for him today.”

Jerry’s eyes widened for a split second, as he ran his hand through his hair. “Uh, well, as far as I know his scenes today aren’t dangerous at all.”

“That’s what you think.” Ina smiled, walking backwards for a few steps to enjoy the slight blush coloring Jerry’s scruffy cheeks.

She couldn’t be sure, but she felt there was a spark between them, and it made her feel young and giddy. Fifteen years of having her body and self worth surveyed and scrutinized and picked apart had left Ina unsure of her seduction abilities. First it had been photographers and advertising executives, then producers and directors had joined the throng out to shatter her confidence. For some women, the brutality of the business helped them create a calloused, impenetrable outer shell and distorted sense of self worth. For Ina, it had done the opposite, and she frowned as she felt the familiar knot of insecurity tighten in her stomach and vowed not let her self doubt stop her from having fun this time. No, before the end of this shoot she’d get Jerry alone and find out if he was as quiet and soft spoken in bed as he was on set.

Twenty minutes later, Ina was still smiling to herself when she slunk into a chair in make-up and pulled her thick, terry cotton robe tighter around her body.

“Look at you,” Bertie gushed as she toyed with Ina’s long, brown hair. “Excited for the scenes today?”

Ina paused and looked at herself in the mirror, letting out a nervous sigh.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

She awkwardly smiled up at Bertie, and told herself to relax even as her shoulders inadvertently rolled upward and she tugged at the hem of her robe.

“You know five, even three years ago, you would kiss, passionately, then the camera would pan to the bedside table and come back into focus with you smoking. But now, Blow Up, Bonnie & Clyde, the new rating system. It’s a whole new ball game out there. I’m not sure - “

“Oh, you’re gonna be fine.”

Ina looked down and studied the top of her cleavage, she felt strangely ambivalent about the nudity and the sex scenes they were shooting. She was proud that they wanted her to do them, it bolstered her self esteem and made her feel longed for and desired, special. But she couldn’t shake that nagging feeling deep down that she would get on set, bare it all and then have the director and DP exchange hushed whispers before pulling her off and recasting her role. She met her own gaze again in the mirror and tried to squelch her self doubt.

“I know, I know, and it’s all very tasteful. I trust Chuck. Still, I’m the one wearing a see-through robe. All Elvis has to do is take off his cowboy hat before he carries me to the bed. He might be shirtless in the second scene, but for the most part all we’ll see is a little bit of his ear.”

Bertie nodded into big rounds of hair she was smoothing over with oil and pinning into place with bobby pins lodged at the side of her mouth.

“Yeah, well, with most guys I’d be fine just seeing the ear, cuz women’s bodies are just more beautiful. But with Elvis, I kinda wished they’d have him nude too, you know?” She clicked her tongue and winked at Ina in the mirror,

“You should get Betty Friedan on that, it would really be a movement for sex equality. Though I bet he’d give you a private show if you asked him, Bertie. He’s making his way through the crew, two at a time I hear.”

Bertie wiggled her eyebrows into the mirror.

“Yeah, I heard about that, two of the pretty Mexican extras, right? They can have him, I just want to look at him. I don’t think I’d survive if he touched me.” She flipped her long red hair over her shoulder and bit her lip. “I don’t know how you are going to make love to him all day.”

“Oh, well, when it’s work, you sort of detach yourself. I mean, yes, Elvis is very handsome, but he doesn’t really send me, you know? You should have seen him last night with his guys. Like a pack of wild animals.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I think Jerry is the only one who has ever opened a book, or doesn’t eat with his hands.”

Ina tried not to move as she watched Bertha pin another round hair piece in place.

“The stunt double? He sure has that silent type thing going for him.” Bertie squinted her eyes at Ina as she stuck a few more pins in. “Ahhhh, let me guess, that’s the type you go for. Over Elvis. Are you telling me that you wouldn’t, you know, play patty cake with Elvis if he made the move? I thought he always dated his leading lady, maybe those extras are just the appetizer before the main dish..”

Ina sat up, admiring the tower of rolled hair Bertie had constructed on top of her head. Satisfied, she leveled Bertie with a friendly but stern look.

“Things can get sticky when you bed your co-star. And giving in just encourages them. You shoulda seen Jerry Lewis trailing me around off set like a creep. like I owed it to him.”

Ina grimaced, remembering Lewis’ sweaty brow as he had pushed her against the wall of her dressing room and promised that she’d like it, that she didn’t know what she was missing. She shuddered, thinking of him and all the others: the photographers who’d grinded into her as they straddled over her during a photo shoot. The producers who had invited her to an audition and then cornered her alone. She felt sick to her stomach and reached out for the random half drunk bottle of Coke on the vanity in front of her to wash away the bad taste in her mouth.

“You ok, Miss Balin?”

“Please Bertie, call me Ina. After that party last night I think we’re all on a first name basis.”

“Ha, yeah, I guess.” She turned Ina around to finish her make up. “You know, I think you might be the only woman here who doesn’t want to sleep with Elvis.”

“Thank god Elvis seems to be somewhat of a gentleman, because I’m not looking to be another notch on his belt, I’ve worked too hard to stay in this business without a casting couch reputation, and I plan to keep it that way. Plus, with all the bed hopping that happens on location, and then having to run scenes together if things get, you know, weird. Better to keep things professional between us.”

“On the other hand, a lonely stunt man...”

Ina winked, she could feel the giddy excitement bubble up just thinking of Jerry. She tried to stifle it and stay aloof as she spoke.

“A month is a long time, even a lonely stuntman deserves some company.”

A cough interrupted their giggles and the women turned to see Elvis leaning against the doorway, one hand on his belt. He squinted his eyes, looking at them with exaggerated suspicion as he wiped his hand over his forehead leaving a dark streak of dirt above his brow.

“Uh huh, and just what’d I stumble into here, huh? You two look like you are up ta no good, boy, I tell ya what.”

Perfectly lined smoky eyes sat below Elvis’ dirty forehead and more dirt billowed off his trousers as he strode toward the two women, his hands hanging off the top of his corduroy trousers. Bertie shot Ina a cautious glance in the mirror that warned her not to laugh, even as the sides of her lips seemed to hold back a chuckle.

“I’ve seen that look before Iny Niny.” Elvis said. “Right about the moment ya took aim and fired at poor Charlie Hodge, square the eyes.”

“I really didn’t mean to hurt him! Really.” Something about Elvis’ easy charm made it impossible not to smile broadly. “I - we - we’re not up to anything, you. Just chit chat. I was saying how I almost didn’t recognize you when I got here yesterday. On account of that beard you got, Presley.”

“I almost don’t recognize myself, honey.” He paused and looked in the mirror, taking a step closer as he rubbed the dirt into his forehead more. “That’s probably a good thing, maybe this picture actually has a chance to be something.”

Ina sat up as Bertie dusted her with a last round of hair spray and swiveled her chair around to face him.

“Oh, now don’t say that, there’s a reason you’re the star here. I love your movies.”

Ina may not have actually seen them all, but she knew of Elvis’ desire to be in more serious dramas. It was a common topic of conversation in Hollywood when his name came up. Ok, well, one of the common topics. Maybe not as common as his reputation for fucking his costars, she mused to herself, but still, as someone who had even less clout to be picky about projects, she sympathized with that ever present double bind of needing the money, not wanting to be seen as difficult, and yet, also yearning for more creative fulfillment.

Their eyes met and he nodded to himself, pursing his lips, as if he were reading her mind,

“Huh, so you're the one.” He grinned and took his cowboy hat off, running his hand through his hair as he tried to fill the awkward silence. “Well, sorry but I can’t issue you a refund, Iner Niner. All I can promise is that this ‘un will be better than some of the stinkers, I reckon.”

Ina smiled big, thinking of the desert sunrise this morning, all the good omens. “I don’t know if I would ever describe an Elvis film as a stinker. But I do have a good feeling about this film.”

Elvis scratched his beard, a naughty blush lighting up his cheeks as he took in the very sheer negligee peeking out from under her white terry cloth robe.

“Huh, feeling better and better the more I look- I mean listen to you, INy”

Ina felt a chill up her spine as she looked into Elvis’ dancing eyes, lingering on his face with newfound appreciation. There was something about the way the stubbly beard he had grown out for this role accentuated his jawline and made him seem more rugged, more handsome than he had looked when he played the polished romantic lead in his previous films. She felt a flutter of something unfamiliar stir in her belly; she had never been gaga over Elvis before.

And you are not now, she told herself, it’s just the characters and the scenes you know you are shooting today. Besides, he flirts with everyone, why he’d been flirting with you and every woman in the bar last night even when he had one or two extras on his lap.

Elvis arched his eyebrow, and Ina pulled her robe closer with a nervous laugh.

“Yeah, I think you’re gonna be seeing a lot more of me today.” She chuckled. “I was just telling Bertie I remembered when all I had to do to film a sex scene was lead a cowboy into my wigwam, and let the camera cut to smoke coming out of the top. We left the rest to the audience’s imagination.”

“Yeah, I think I remember that one.” Elvis whistled as he plopped into the make-up chair next to her. “Well, don’t worry, we’re only gotta pretend to make love with an audience of a hundred or so crew members watching, so no pressure.”

They laughed nervously, and then one of the production assistants peered around the door and called to Ina that the DP was ready to work out the lighting for her fully nude bath scene. She stood and gave Elvis a friendly pat, smiling inwardly as she looked over her shoulder to see Bertie trying to wipe the dirt off his forehead.

“See you out there in the ring, Presley.”

“Ok,” he smiled.

Ina studied him for another beat, wondering if the way his beard framed his lips made them look even bigger and more luscious, but she couldn’t be sure.

Striding from the building with wardrobe and dressings back to the soundstage, Ina considered how Elvis had managed to meet and completely defy her expectations. She had never seen him at awards shows, premieres or parties, nor ran into him around town or at the studio canteens. Indeed,he had a reputation for keeping to himself in Hollywood. All she knew was the second hand information she got from people who had worked with him and the Hollywood rumor mill. There were so many contradictory descriptions of him that no, she had not known what to expect when she arrived in Arizona and discovered an Elvis she barely recognized under the scruffy beard he’d grown.

When Chuck, the director, had brought her over to introduce them, he had been shy and sweet, sheepishly sticking out his hand with an affected deep “Hullo, I’m Elvis Presley.” But then by the end of the rehearsals yesterday they had become more comfortable with each other. Something about kissing Elvis inbetween jokes she knew he was making to make her feel at ease had broken the ice between them. And he had started in with the nicknames almost immediately, helping to bring her into the camaraderie that had been established with the crew before her arrival.

The run through yesterday had gone well, all jokes aside, and he had shown himself to be respectful and kind, never pushing or trying anything when they were in each other's arms. It’s probably good that he’s sleeping with some of the extras, Ina thought to herself. That way there would be no pent up sexual expectations and she could just focus on being a professional and perhaps even friends with Elvis.

Yes, she could be friends with him. Ina had only been in Apacheland for a little over 24 hours, but she could tell from Elvis’ warmth that they had established a solid rapport and chemistry for their roles. She felt as safe as she could with him as she readied herself for her first nude role on film.

“Today is going to be a good day,” Ina repeated to herself as she opened the door and entered the sound stage.

Ina was walking along the corridor behind the set when she heard Jerry’s voice on the other side of the plywood and hurried to catch him and flirt a little more. But then he said her name and she stopped, listening, as she realized he was speaking with one of Elvis’ other friends. It sounded like Charlie.

“I saw y’all. Why, she had her hands all over you, ya big stud. You really ain’t gonna try to bury the hatchet in that briar patch?”

“Oh, you know how Crazy can be. All I did was apologize to Alma and Flor for blocking the doorway last night and he ‘bout split in two. I ain’t about to try no funny business with his leading lady.”

“But you heard him call her Groucho, said he could barely stand to kiss her with that mustache above her lip. Said she was so manly, you could almost mistake her for one a the cowboy extras in drag. Like a goddamn drag queen who forgot to shave, is what he said.”

Ina felt the blood drain from her face and she began to tremble, tracing her fingers above her smooth upper lip, the one she diligently waxed every two weeks. They might as well have punched her in the gut with a steel two by four. She could almost taste something metallic at the back of her throat, where a lump formed.Tears threatened to spill from her eyes, and it took all her willpower to push them back as she stood there paralyzed while Jerry and Charlie chatted away.

“Aw, well he was off his rocker, she isn’t nearly as bad as that dog from continuity he had in his room at NBC, you know, with the big knockers?”

“Nah, I think In-ahhs pretty cute myself. If she’d been pawing my chest I’d be on that like white on rice, man.”

“Heard you like drag queens, Hodges.”

“Aw naw man, see, now that ain’t fair. Sides, that’s Lamar.”

The busy sound of the crew talking and moving around the sound stage echoed up into the lights with Charlie and Jerry’s laughter, but Ina could hardly hear anything except the pounding of her heart through her whole body. Air. She needed air. Ina hurried out a side door, her mind was racing and there was no way she could stomach the idea of filming a sex scene with Elvis now. Jerry and Charlie’s words had fractured the fragile veneer of confidence she had spent the last month building up. Dieting, ballet classes, early nights, slathering her face in cold cream and plunging it in ice first thing in the morning, staying away from alcohol and ice cream. She had worked so hard to get to a place where she had been able to look in the mirror and tell herself she could do this. Now all her self doubt had returned tenfold.

Facing the desert, she lit a cigarette and muttered under her breath, her voice cracking as tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Oh god oh god, why did I take this role? Why do I embarrass myself again and again?”

Ina pressed her hand to her throat as she sucked in deeply, willing the nicotine to steady her shaking body. She longed to run off, get in her car, and maybe drive to that bar down the road Bertie had told her about, the one where all the baseball players went.

The very idea of male attention was like a salve, and it helped her slow her breath as she slumped against the warm, concrete wall of the sound stage and looked out at the desert, focusing on the hills in the distance.

It was like looking out at a completely different view than she had faced that morning. The land was now desolate and unforgiving in the July heat, and the jagged peaks of Superstition mountain loomed like a giant, dark fiery sentinel in the sky. Her chest rose and fell with each inhale and exhale of smoke, her fingers trembled as she tried to quell the turmoil churning inside her.

Just when she was sure she couldn’t walk back inside, she smelled a hint of sage in the dust, it filled her nostrils with renewed energy. The wind whispered in her ear that she was stronger than she knew, she had trudged harder paths than this. She could put one foot in front of the other.

The door next to her exploded open and there was the fresh face of the young, blonde PA who had called to her in wardrobe.

“Oh, there you are Miss Balin, we’re ready for you.”

Ina sucked in another drag of her cigarette and took a deep breath. She could do this. Elvis and his entourage were a bunch of childish idiots. Fuck them.

True to his promise, the director, Chuck, kept the set closed for the nude bath scene Ina was shooting first. It was just him, the cinematographer, his assistant, the boom operator, and three female PAs. One to hold the clap board and two to help Ina in and out of the tub. The scene was blocked so the camera only captured her naked from behind with the side of her breast visible as she donned a sheer blue robe lined with black lace. They would run it from the top, then Chuck would run over and tell her how stunning she was and ask for another take as she shivered. It took eleven takes in all before he and the DP were content they had the footage they needed.

Ina reclined in her chair, trying to warm up during the short break before the next scene. She was rehearsing the dialogue as people trickled in to shoot her first love scene with Elvis, and she suddenly became paranoid that other crew members had heard Jerry and Charlie’s story about Elvis’ calling her a drag queen. She sat up and looked around. Suddenly every hushed whisper was about her, every glance her way was filled with pity. She gripped the side of her chair and told herself to get it to-fucking-gether.

The next scene was meant to occur directly after the bath, when her character, Tracy, discovers Elvis’ character, Jess, rummaging around in her bedroom looking for his gun. They would argue, then kiss, then argue more before he carried her to the bed. After that, he would remove her robe and begin to kiss her neck, stop and then put his hat on the bedpost, before the camera moved in for an extreme close up of her face as they made love.

Then they would break the set and set up for the second sex scene that was meant to take place at the end of the film when Jess has been victorious against the band of outlaws and takes her to Mexico with him to start a new life across the border.

Ina squeezed her hand, using her thumb as a metronome as she said her lines. “I must look new to you - toooo you - I MUST look NEW to YOU now.” She had these little games she had learned in acting class to vary the rhythm and emphasis over and over until she was comfortable in the dialogue, in the character, and it rolled off her tongue naturally, without having to think about it.

Elvis' voice rang out high above the buzz of the crew and all the words she had ever known fell out of her head. She felt her sphincter clench up tightly instinctively as if on cue at the sound of his chuckle, and a frown formed on her lips. The air was suddenly ripe with the smell of sweaty bodies and stale coffee and cigarette smoke.

Looking over her shoulder, just the sight of him surrounded by his flunkies made Ina’s stomach sour. A spark of defiance bloomed in her belly at his smug face and she longed now to walk up to Elvis and slap him sharply across the face before telling him off for being such a rotten two-faced charming bastard. But instead she popped another black beauty to fight off the hunger she had sensed growing in her belly and steeled herself to give the performance of a lifetime.

Elvis passed by her chair as she stood, a crooked grin pushing the apples of his cheeks up above his beard.

“Well, might as well get it over with.”

His despondency made Ina bristle. She was completely incapable of stopping the prickly voice that sprang out from her throat.

“We don’t have to shoot these love scenes.”

Elvis paused in his stride toward the set and looked back at Ina, his brow furrowed for a moment before he grinned again, bigger and wider.

“Huh? Course I want to shoot ‘em, love scenes are my specialty.”

Ina narrowed her eyes at his stupid, smirking expression as he glanced around at his friends as they whistled and chimed in with a chorus of stupid affirmations.

“Uh huh.”

“That’s right.“

“On and off the set”

“Well, you seem anxious to, what was it, get this over with?” She said cooly, leveling him with a glare. “So then it must be me. Maybe we could just cut them from the film altogether. CHUUCK?”

Elvis’ face began to scrunch up in a frown as Ina’s voice rang out like a knife, cutting through the chaos of a live shoot. The sound stage had been buzzing with activity as the crew readied the set, but now everyone had stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at the two leads.

Elvis’ eyes zoned in on Ina and his face clouded with concern as his hands tightened against his body in clenched fists.

“Now see here - “ then he paused and took a deep breath, smiling big.

That broad, smooth, movie star beam.

“Aw, now I think we got are wires crossed someplace.That’s jus my ole stage fright talkin’, honey. Gets me ev’ry time like a sonabitch. Didn’t mean nothin’ by it, Iny Tiny, come get over here. I feel very honored to work with you. I been sayin’ all week, haven’t I, Chuck? That I couldn’t wait for Ina to get here, class up this joint’?”

Ina looked at where Chuck stood, hands at his hips as he nodded, a terrified grin plastered on his face.

“That’s right, that’s right. Why, that's what we’ve all been saying, Ina, we couldn’t wait for our Tracy to get here.”

Chuck dug a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped it over his big, balding head as he spoke slowly, as if talking to a spooked horse. Ina

“I think I know what’s going on, my dear.”

Chuck looked over at Elvis and then put his arm around Ina, guiding her toward her mark.

“You’re nervous. We’ve just spent two hours during the bath scene. And this sort of - um - delicate, shall we say, yes, delicate feminine performance is new to you, isn't it?”

“Well, yes, I suppose, but I - “

Chuck put his finger to Ina’s mouth

“Say no more, my dear. It’s natural to feel vulnerable in this situation. But let me assure you, everything is being shot in the most artistic technique possible. And you, well, just look at you, huh?” He spun her around in the center of the set.

“Ina, you are a dream. My living, breathing Renoir painting. And I want you to know, that was my inspiration for your room here. The colors, the outfits, a Parisian chorus line meets the Old West. The colors, the costumes, they are meant to evoke the Belle Epoch, you know? You are wearing the same outfits Degas’ dancers wore, did you know that?”

“Uh huh, you mean if they wore anything?” Ina added in a clipped tone.

“See, and that’s exactly it! The original work of art is, of course, the beauty of the female form.”

“Cain’t argue with that.” Elvis smirked, but Ina shot him a withering look which threw him off again and once more he was frowning and searching her face.

Chuck noticed none of this and kept talking.

“And you are an exemplary example of the female form, a perfect specimen of a woman.”

“Well, I assure you I am no drag queen.”

Elvis coughed nervously, his hands clenched in fists at his side. The quick, sharp look he shot Joe did not escape Ina’s notice and she knew then that he had said the things Jerry and Charlie had been laughing about. She narrowed her glare at him, telegraphing her contempt as he stuttered and tried to regain control of the conversation.

“No - ah-uh -er - siree, honey, you’re the real deal, got more class than the rest of this outfit combined. Why, I reckon I’m more nervous ‘bout this scene than you are.”

Chuck nodded vigorously.

“Yes, we are all nervous shooting something that is, as I said, delicate like this. And your character is unsure in this scene, she loves Jess, but is torn, because she’s worried he is still the bandit she sent away. Channel your feelings into the scene and let’s make beautiful artwork here today.”

Ina rolled her eyes. “Ok, ok, I’m ok. Like he said, let’s just get it over with already.”

Elvis grinned as he walked around the set door to his mark.

“That’s the spirit, Iny Beany.”

Chuck yelled action, directing them through the scene as the cameras rolled.

“You see him rooting through your stuff, and you think of how long it's been, how he left you without a word. You hate him because you love him, but you wish you didn’t and you are trying to keep it all bottled up. Beautiful. Indifferent. That’s it Ina, that cool, icy glare, it’s perfect.”

It was not hard for Ina to muster a cool, icy glare for Elvis as he looked down at her. Every time they started, one of the PAs would come over and spray her body and chest with water for continuity with the bath scene that was just supposed to have occurred in the storyline.

In the third run through, she couldn’t help herself when Elvis’ foot knocked into hers. She thought of that guilty grimace she saw move across his face at the words “drag queen” and she stepped on his foot. Hard.

“Perfect! Perfect Ina, you’re nailing it!” Chuck called out from where he was watching the monitor.

“Nailing me is more like it,” Elvis said, jumping back, a hurt pout on his face. Then he reached out and stroked the side of her shoulder.

“Say, you sure you ok? You’re not sore at me for something, are you? It’d be better if we just clear the air. If I said something this morning, or did something in passing, honey, I’m sorry. But you gotta tell me.”

Ina looked in his big blue eyes, searching hers, seeking a connection. She glanced off behind him, at the brocade pink wall paper. The air smelled of bath water, sweat and cheap aftershave. Chuck was right, she thought, this could be a cheap Parisian brothel.

“I assure you, I am fine.” Ina forced her mouth into a tight smile. “Just watch where you’re going and we’ll be fine.”

He squinted his eyes at her, but seemed to decide against whatever it was he originally wanted to say, and stepped back with his arms up in surrender. “Okay. Alright. Whatever you say, Iny, my mistake. Let’s try again, I bet we’ll get it right somehow.”

They went through the whole scene three times, up until the part where Jess lifts Tracy up and carries her to the bed. Elvis’ eyes narrowed as he stepped toward her, uttering his lines in a stern, serious voice. But when he picked her up and hoisted her in the air, she heard Charlie’s obnoxious laughter in the background and their words from earlier began to play through her head again on a loop.

The shrill sound of his laugh sent a sharp bolt of pain down the center of her head and suddenly she felt as if ginger ale was bubbling up on to the top of her brain. She wasn’t sure if she could hold it together anymore.

There was the taste of bile again at the back of her throat. She swallowed, running through all of the tools she had learned in the Actor’s Studio such as telling herself she was Tracy and trying to channel her anger into the tension between Tracy and Jess. She was, after all, supposed to be fighting Jess’ advances at first and pushing him off before giving in. But she could barely look at Elvis and instinctively jerked back when he placed her on the bed and began to move his fingers over her sternum.

Her head throbbed and she could feel more tears welling up. She had to get out of there and take a little break, so she cried out, “CUT!”

Elvis jumped back, a panicked look on his face.

“Did I hurt you, Iny Beany? Wanna do it again, just to practice, from the mark by the bed?”

“No.,” she hissed under her breath, pushing him away. Maybe she didn’t need a break, maybe they could just skip this scene altogether.

“No, no no. I’m sorry, I just can’t do it. Chuck, do we really need a full love scene? We’re not making Belle du Jour here.”

Elvis had his hands on his hips, a stricken look on his face while Ina stood, straightening what was left of her dignity and snapping her fingers for the PAs to bring her thicker robe.

“Ina, darling, we just went through this.” Chuck’s transatlantic accent was getting thicker and higher-pitched the more he spoke. “And I hate to bring this up, you know I do, my dear, but it's in your contract.”

“Contract or not, I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

“My dear, what can I do to make you comfortable?” Chuck pleaded.

“Nothing. I would rather make love to a rattlesnake than to that man.”

Elvis stood taller, his fingers balled up into fists as his leveled, polished voice began to transform into a Southern snarl.

“Yeah, uh huh, well I had about enough of this bull shit. Rattlesnake, huh? That can be arranged, honey, why, I’ll get it myself.”

“Well, I bet it will be small and limp, just like you.”

He staggered back when she hurled those words at him, flustered and mumbling as he looked around the set to see who had been in earshot and heard her yell out the words ‘small and limp’ at him. The answer, of course, was everybody. Because everybody in the crew was watching.

They had, of course, originally gathered around because Charro! was making film history with today’s shoot.

All the popular European films being released had sex scenes, James Bond was having sex. Several recent westerns had initially included nude scenes, but studios had cut them at the last minute.

But 1968 marked the dawning of a new era. The MPAA had a new rating system. Bonnie & Clyde had proven last year that audiences not only had a stomach for violence, but wanted sex. And like Bonnie, they wanted it much more than they got it. And so this picture, and about a dozen others in production, were all racing to give it to them.

Even if the plan was to pan to a hat and then just Ina’s face, Charro! was going to make history.

Or rather, it would have made history. Instead, the entire crew watched in horror as Ina threw up her hands and stomped off in protest while Elvis coughed loudly, took a deep breath, and then announced to the crowd

“Don’t worry, folks, we’re gonna get Arthur Rankin in here and he’s gonna recreate these scenes with claymation. Make a little Elvis the Rednosed Cowboy.” His voice rang out with forced cheerfulness, followed by a ripple of nervous laughter that spread through the soundstage.

“Boy, I tell ya what, now that would be a historical milestone, huh Chuck? Bet audiences would pay double ta see a stop motion love scene.”

The director nodded as Elvis patted him on the shoulder with a forced, playful candor and then strode out of the studio followed by his entourage.

Elvis’ motel room was dark, save for the television, an ever present companion, and the table lamp that cast shadows against the wall outlining Alma’s silhouette. The light captured every curve of her body as it lay sideways across the bed next to him. His fingers tapped absentmindedly over her bronze thigh, but his mind was otherwise occupied and failed to register the coquettish look she was giving him as she pouted and ran her hand over his arm.

He was thinking of his first film and the time had asked his co-star, Richard Egan, the secret to good acting.

“You. You already got it kid, in spades. Why do you think they renamed this picture after your song? Just be you, unaffected, unadulterated. You’re a natural.”

But what good had natural ability been without opportunity? He’d had such high hopes back then, hopes to be in real movies about real people, stories with an edge that packed a punch. And for a time, it seemed like he was. Dramas in which the singing was a plausible part of the premise.

But somewhere along the way the edge had been sanded off and his plans had all gone wrong. He’d gotten himself typecast as the type of character he hated, a romantic lead who broke into song during an appointment with the IRS. Those roles were fine for Rock Hudson, but not for him. He knew he could do better. Better than dumb musicals, better than all this.

He had those same high hopes for this picture when he first read the script.

“Guess I should be happy this western’s actually being filmed in the goddamn desert and not in some California shrub valley,” he mumbled, balling his hands into fists as he spoke.

“What was that, baby?”

Elvis looked up at the woman lying next to him, he had forgotten she was even there. Her warm body next to him had become just another amenity of the room, like the mini fridge or the Gideons Bible. The puzzled look on her young, naive face reminded him how truly alone he was.

Oblivious to Elvis' existential crisis, Alma decided maybe he needed some prompting after their kisses had dissolved into still silence. She moved her hand to Elvis’ thigh, stopping when he flinched and jumped up almost as if he were trying to escape her touch. She frowned, then flipped her hair as she adjusted and lay prone over the polyester orange bedspread, fashioning a come hither look on her face. She could tell he was rattled by the onset fight and was trying everything in her bag of tricks to laugh it off and redirect him to something better. Her.

“Ha, small and limp. That bitch has no idea what she’s missing. It took all my self control not to cry out in front of everyone that you have an anaconda in your pants, Elvis.”

A grimace passed over his face, and Elvis started to button up his shirt and mumble to the floor.

“Don’t, baby - just-” He softened his voice at the rejection he saw in her eyes. “Honey, I can’t stand it when women do that.”

“What, what am I doing wrong?” Alma sat, her face falling as she scooted back against the pillows.

Elvis pulled on the red bandana around his neck and paced the other way, looking back at her as he tucked his shirt back into his clean, brown corduroy pants. His shoulders stiffened.

“Insincerity. I can’t, I jus hate it when women go overboard trying to puff up my ego. I’ve had my share of lovers, no one ever complained. That’s not the point.”

“It isn’t?”

“Nah, honey. What that bitch is really saying is she don’t take me serious, I’m not man enough for this fucking role, for her New York high society standards. Fat lot of good any a that did her, thinks I don’t know she’s been in what, five pictures? Jerry Lewis? Try twenty five, sister. Give me a goddamn break. She’s wound so tight, she could start a fight in an empty house, I tell ya what, boy, and that’s the god honest truth.”

He began to pace the room, wringing his hands over as he walked.

“This un’ is gonna be different, Chuck said, more raw, Chuck said, more real.” His voice trilled between a high falsetto and a deep growl. “Then first they cut the violence, and now this bullshit. What’s next? Bet they gonna try and have me sing to my fuckin horse!”

He punched the wall. “Fucking cowboys don’t fucking sing!” He screamed to the ceiling, then began to pace again, his hands now balled up in fists.

He turned and looked at Alma. “You ever see John Wayne sing? Gary Cooper? ‘Fore they walked over to the OK corral to shoot the bad guy?”

He punched the wall again and then turned and tried to compose himself when he saw Alma flinch.

“Ok ok ok ok.” He took a deep breath. “I - uh - this picture’s got me all keyed up.”

“Want some grass? Flor has some killer grass, make you forget today even happened.”

“Nah, honey - now, good lil girls like you should know better than to mess with that stuff.”

Alma pulled her hand through her hair and struck what she thought was a glamorous, come hither pose.

“Want me to give you a blow job? Help you relax?”

Elvis frowned. “Man, like a goddamn cat in heat and twice as willing. Don’t you think of nothing else?”

Alma sat up and started to put her clothes on, her voice as low as her hopes for the evening.

“You’re the one who invited me up here and had me undress while you watched. I’m just trying to do what I thought you wanted.”

“Well stop tryin’ to think, you’ll wear yourself out.”

Alma grabbed her shoes and opened the door, finding Joe on the other side with one hand about to knock and another holding up a tray of food in his hands.

“Oh, hey -”

“Hey yourself.” Alma said with a huff and a very aggressive hair flip, her long brown tresses smacking Joe’s cheek.

Elvis shrugged as Joe looked after Alma, whistling to himself.

“Man o man, EP, you got the prettiest girl here. What’s up her butt?”

“I don’t know - Something up with the chicks on this picture, man, stuck up and crazier than a sack full a possums.”

Elvis looked at himself in the mirror hanging on the wall across from the bed as Joe mumbled about how many crazy women they had met on their journeys, half-listening as he stroked his beard and reassured himself that he looked just as fit as Clint Eastwood. And more handsome. He winked at himself and straightened his belt buckle, then looked over at Joe.

“Now hold on a second, son, jus’ what in high heaven is that?”

Elvis lifted his hands from his left hip and pointed at the cheeseburgers and fries Joe had laid out on the table, fixing him with a dark glare.

“You said dinner, EP, brought you dinner.”

“Tryin’ to get me back in the 200 club like you? Don’t think I haven’t noticed you been auditioning for the part of lardass of the group.”

“But last night - I thought you -

“I thought, I thought - you ain’t thought shit, and that’s the problem. I’m supposed to be shirtless on film tomorrow and you fixin’ to get me fat as a boarding house cat.”

Joe frowned, furrowing his brow for the split second it took him to plaster a smile back on and nod. Now he understood what was up Alma’s ass, and what was about to be up his too if he didn’t turn this around.

“Right, boss, my mistake, tell me what you want and I’ll go get it.”

“What I want, what I want. Ain’t nobody cares what I want, and that’s the goddamn problem. Save a whole lotta time and money if you just thought to ask first.”

Elvis put his hands on his waist and cried out an inaudible growl to the ceiling.

“Jus… just bring me a caesar salad. A big one.”

Joe hurried out and Elvis went over to cover up the burgers, but the smell was too tempting, so instead he sat down and began to devour them one after another, mumbling to himself in between bites.

“Goddamit, if I look fat tomorrow it’ll be Joe’s goddamn fuckin’ fault.”

There was a knock at the door, and he yelled for whoever it was to come in as he went to wash up.

“Joe told me to come get rid of the - uh - food tray.”

Charlie’s voice trailed off as Elvis emerged from the bathroom and followed Charlie’s eyes to the table and the plates that were empty, save for a handful of cold fries.

“Well, have at it - wait.”

Elvis stepped back and looked around, grabbing one of the guns from the night stand and put it in his belt. He had all this nervous energy running up and down his body, he needed to just get out of this room, out of this motel, get as far as possible to just breathe some fresh air and think. He snapped his fingers at Charlie.

“Grab Gee Gee, we’re going for a drive.”

Charlie’s face softened into a big goofy, excited grin. “Okee dokee artichokee, where we heading?”

“Anywhere that ain’t this goddamn motel, numb nuts.” Elvis started to head down the exterior stairs, running his hand over the warm, wrought iron bannister. He looked back over his shoulder and clapped.

“Bring the cigars, too, then meet me at the car. Chop chop.”

A renewed sense of purpose guided his steps as Elvis walked down the corridor of motel rooms that lined the pool,and he ran his hands up and down the front of his shirt. He mulled over what he wanted to do that didn’t involve eating more hamburgers. Or eating anything.

When he looked up, he realized he had stopped outside Ina’s room. There, through the curtain, he could see the back of her through the curtain where she sat on her bed, talking to someone on the phone.

“No no no, Mickey, of course I understand. Yes, well, I don’t know, I think you have to have been on top to get back on top, but your meaning is not lost on me. I get it. Yes. Opportunity of a lifetime. I know. Elvis Elvis. Don’t worry. I’m gonna go make it right, right now.”

She looked up at the ceiling and wiped the sides of her eyes, summoning a mask of quiet cheer Elvis recognized well as she clutched the phone tight.

“Yes, no - I’ll be a good girl, Mickey. I promise. I know, I know, no bread.”

He was transfixed, enjoying the power he felt watching her unaware, and pressed closer to the glass, careful not to draw attention to himself. A small front section of her long, flowing hair fell out from behind her ears and she absentmindedly began to twist it nervously. She looked like a fragile little girl, like a beautiful flower someone had stepped on. The sight of her anxiously talking away pulled on his heart strings.

He shook his head. What the fuck had happened? Why was she so angry at him? He'd played the part of the funny, affable host from the minute they met, introducing her to the crew and having Gee Gee get her screwdrivers as they all yukked it up in the bar. He'd about busted his gut when she lobbed a handful of ice at Charlie and knocked him over the back of the couch.

He stood there watching as her big brown eyes lit up while she told her agent how nice the desert was. He almost believed her. Goddamit, why couldn’t she just be a good girl and get along? She’d been sweet and flirty in make-up and then what, an hour or two later, her claws were out and she’d aimed them at him.

He whistled and thought about the fickleness of women as he turned to walk the long way around the pool.

Thirty seconds later he heard the thud of a door opening followed by Ina’s voice calling out for him.

Elvis stopped, his hands moved out as if to balance himself as he swiveled around, slowly, to face her. A sense of dread settling in his stomach. Up above him, he saw Charlie and Gee Gee making their way down the staircase, while to his left a group of crew members were heading for the pool. The smell of chlorine wafted through the open air hallway.

He cautiously trudged back toward the doorway to where Ina stood, each footfall a slow thump of his cowboy boot against the hard concrete sidewalk.

“Oh good, I’m glad I caught you, Elvis.” She swallowed, there it was again, that cheerful mask settling over her face as she exhaled a nervous laugh. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”

Elvis straightened up, looking around again before pulling on the red bandana at his throat. He definitely didn’t want to be alone with Ina. She was unpredictable and he couldn’t stand the awkward energy that flickered between them. However, he also didn’t want another public scene and he could already hear their names being whispered by some of the crew at the pool.

So he did what he always did with an audience, he mustered a wide, beaming smile and spoke in a nonchalant, cool voice:

“Hey honey, you ain’t gotta worry bout me, I’m all good. You get your beauty sleep and I’ll see you tamarra onset an - “

Ina’s lip trembled, she looked like she might fall apart at any moment.

Shit he thought, unable to stop himself from walking over to her and stroking her shoulder.

“There there, been a rough day. This desert heat, I tell ya what, baby, does things to ya head. Now go ahead and listen to ol’ Elvis -”

Ina put her hand over his where it squeezed her shoulder.

“Could we just talk - just for a moment?” Her eyes pleaded with him. “Alone. I - I won’t take much time, I just - I’d like to apologize and clear the air if you’ll let me. Otherwise, otherwise I won’t be able to sleep and then you’ll be making love to a haggard old zombie first thing in the morning.”

Elvis' eyes softened and he looked around once more before nodding. “Ok.”

As soon as the door closed he was an obedient puppy letting her lead him by the hand to sit on the bed, where he took off his cowboy hat and toyed with it in his lap.

Ina stepped away, backing toward the dresser where she lifted herself to sit next to the TV, but then changed her mind. She felt like a ship adrift, unmoored and out of her comfort zone. Sitting and swinging her legs about was too casual, she decided, so she stood back up and swept the hair that had fallen out of her high ponytail behind her ears.

Just make it short, sweet, earnest, she reminded herself, you’re no stranger to eating humble pie. Indeed, Ina reflected on the number of times she had apologized unnecessarily just to smooth things over with her mother or sister, a producer, an ad executive. This was one of the first times she felt she actually had behaved badly and now she was lost for words. If only there was a script for life.

“I - um - thanks for seeing me - I - I - I.”

All the words left her head when she found Elvis’ dark blue eyes studying her beneath his long lashes. He was rotating his cowboy hat in his lap. The smell of the heavy floral cleaning products the maids had used lingered in the air, stronger now that the air conditioner cycled on with a heaving, mechanic whomp. She swallowed again, and counted to ten, trying to ignore the way the back of her neck seemed to prickle as a chill went down her spine. She steadied herself, forcing her eyes to connect with his.

“Elvis, I am so very sorry. I mean it. I - I - I - ’ve never lost it before onset, it is so unprofessional I can barely stand to look at myself.”

She felt a release of tension as she watched his hands relax. He took a deep breath and stroked his beard.

“You don’t have to worry about me, Ina, I been making two to three pictures a year since 1933. I can roll with the punches, ain’t nothing I can’t handle. ThoughI gotta admit you threw me off back there.”

The register of his voice changed from rougher to softer as he looked down at the floor and then back up at Ina’s face.

“Be honest, did I do anything to offend you or make you mad at me?”

His softer side was almost harder to withstand and his eyes seemed to penetrate her very being, seeking out the secrets she kept hidden in her heart. She shook it off with another nervous chuckle,

“No, no, this was 100% me. I’ve been so nervous about these love making shoots. Chuck’s is telling everyone back in Hollywood this is the first the first film with a sex scene - “

“Isn’t it?”

“Well, I mean, since the production code, maybe, but they’ve shot plenty of them. It’s just that the studio always pulls out at that last minute -”

Ina covered her mouth and gasped when she watched Elvis’ lip curl up at her words but said nothing. He didn’t need to. The glint in his eye said it all and when he waggled his eyebrows up and down Ina laughed out. She was grateful for the levity, it seemed to crack through Elvis’ cool bravada and made this conversation easier.

“Stop, you know what I mean.”

She blushed, and looked out her window, watching as the silhouettes of two people walked by. It was getting dark, she needed to wrap it up.

“But yes, today I was nervous, I haven’t been eating or sleeping much, but I promise you - “

Her voice wavered as she turned back to find his steady gaze.

“ - um - no more fights, no more difficult behavior. I am so grateful for this opportunity to work with you and I just hope you can forgive me for my lapse of judgment.”

Elvis stood up, his fingers were once more busy fiddling with his cowboy hat and he spoke in a low whisper.

“Ok. I forgive you. So long as you really ain’t mad at me.”

The breath hitched in Ina’s throat when Elvis looked up at her, biting his lip in a way that made the top jut out a bit as he searched her face once more, as if she were a puzzle he needed to solve.

She gulped. “I - uh - I - no, I just need some sleep - I “

“Honey I can’t help feeling like you’re holding something back here, and if we’re gonna get along, I need you to be completely honest with me.”

Ina looked away. Damn him, he was like one of those fortune tellers back on Coney Island who she had believed as a kid. As a teenager she had learned the truth: they had no supernatural talents, they were just extremely gifted at reading their marks. Like Elvis was reading her right now.

“Oh, I may have been upset about something but it doesn’t matter, it was silly and stupid, like me. I - I was wrong, and I apologize. I’ll happily apologize to you in front of the whole crew tomorrow if you want. Really. If that is what it will take to make amends with you Mr. Presley.”

Elvis clenched his fists.

“I don’t give a damn about a public apology or the crew or any of that. But I can’t bear it when a woman is sore at me and won’t say why. Ticks me off to no end.”

Tension hung in the air, and Ina sighed. Recounting the whole ordeal made it seem so juvenile now, though it still stung.

“I - I am, I heard some of your friends talking. They -”

“Which friends?”

“Jerry, Jerry and Charlie. I told you, it’s like high school and I can’t believe I let them upset me.”

“Well now you started, better lay it all out for me. Go on.”

“I - I well, I heard them laughing about how you had said I looked like - like drag queen that needed a shave. And they were calling me Groucho and saying I had big feet.”

Ina let her shoulders drop and forced a smile, but she couldn’t stop her hand from pulling on the necklace at her chest.

“Ha, actually now that I say it is kind of funny, you see I - um - I usually have a great sense of humor. Any of my friends would tell you. Some of them are drag queens, actually. They’d probably feel more slighted being compared to me. Your boys just, they - they just caught me right before I was filming my first nude scene and well - “

Ina’s voice trailed off as she watched Elvis get up and pace towards the bathroom growling.

“Those fucking nitwits, pulling a stunt like that and gummin up tha works -” he turned and his face fell at the pained look on Ina’s face. “You know I never said nothin’ like that.”

Ina quickly shook her head, summoning the calm veneer that usually came so easy to her. She immediately regretted telling Elvis, now she felt as raw as she did after she had a full waxing appointment at the salon.

In her heart she knew he was lying, she knew from the way he had grimaced, albeit it briefly, on set when she’d said she wasn’t a drag queen.

Yet there was something earnest and pleading in his eyes that made her question her own grip on reality. This got worse when he bit his lip and looked up at the ceiling, all vulnerable and apologetic, as if searching for the right thing to say. It made her stomach flip up into her throat. Then looked at her, his eyes wide with a newfound warmth as he sought a connection from across the room, as if he were seeing her for the first time. Ina knew right then that she needed to get him out before anything changed.

“Oh, yeah, sure, I know. And, well it doesn’t matter anyway, right? I mean it’s none of my business what you think of me - like I said, I knew some knockout drag queens, so it’s a compliment really. Ha so - “

Elvis stode over as she spoke and grabbed her hands, his thumb delicately soothing the top of her knuckles. The spicy smell of his aftershave entered her nostrils as he spoke in a low, soft voice.

“Here’s the thing now, Iny Beany, I just need you to know though that I didn’t say none a that. Ya right, them boys still in high school, and they been playing pranks like we’re still in high school. I guar-an-TEE you they knew the assistant had just called for you, and they set that whole thing up to ruin my first sex scene shoot. Have half a mind to fire 'em. They need to learn some goddamn respect."

Ina found herself transfixed, unable to step away or pull her hands from his. She looked him over. He somehow looked like a cowboy who had let a bunch of drag queens dress him.

He wore a fresh pair of dark green slacks, a thick leather belt and a long sleeve white linen shirt. Over his hands sat several jewel-encrusted rings matched by the two necklaces that lay underneath his red bandana, tied much like a silk ascot through a cravat. His foundation make-up was impeccable, and his hair was styled in a high quiff perfectly slicked back above his forehead. It made him look cavalier and polished at the same time.

Then there was the way his smokey eye makeup was now smudged around his waterline made him look even more ruggedly attractive. Sweat glistened underneath his beard, almost like glitter. There, in the dim light of her motel room he looked like the prettiest cowboy she had ever seen.

“Know what I mean?”

Ina shook her head, realizing she’d gotten caught up staring at his scruffy chin and lost track of what he was saying.

“Um, I’m sorry, what did you say?”

A sly grin tweaked up the corners of his lips.

“I said, you cain’t listen to a word outta those boys' moufs, ‘specially Charlie. His elevator don’t go all the way up, if you take my meaning.”

Elvis stepped in closer to her, cautiously, waiting to see if she stepped away or flinched. But it was all Ina could do to just keep breathing, each stroke of Elvis' thumb over her hand now sent a bolt of electricity down her chest.

“How I could I say something like that about you, Iny? Ya so beautiful, I could barely look at you too long before turning into mush.”

Ina rolled her eyes, but she could feel her own resolve waver as his hand moved to her hips and a blush crept over her face.

“Stop, you don’t have to lie to me.”

He shook his head, his nose tickling over hers.

“How can you say that Iny Meany? You have no idea, no idea what you do to me.”

Ina’s heart skipped a beat when she felt his thumb at the indent of her girdle. The air between their bodies seemed to crackle now with heat, and he pulled her closer, nuzzling his nose over hers. A tear rolled down her face and he lifted his finger to catch it.

“Ssshhhh, s’ok baby, s’ok. I got you. And I promise ain’t no one gonna talk like that about you again.”

He pressed his cheek against hers and she pushed back,willfully embracing the harsh scruff of his beard. She could feel herself teetering on the precipice of something dangerous. If she crossed this line with Elvis it would change the dynamic of their work together, it would change her reputation. She had vowed to herself she wouldn’t be susceptible to his charms, him, of all people. He was so obvious, so cliche. And yet here she was, nuzzling her nose back along his.

Emboldened, Elvis gently pressed his lips to her skin, peppering her jaw with light kisses. Ina eagerly moved to give him access to her neck and he instantly took the hint and suckled at her nape, pausing to grin as she moaned out a high, breathy unladylike moan.

Her chest heaved as their lips met and the faint aroma of mustard filled Ina’s nostrils.

“Oh my god, you taste like hamburger.”

Elvis chuckled, unsure of himself for a moment. Ina enjoyed watching him become self conscious.

"I’m sorry baby, you want me to go brush my teeth?”

She shook her head, pulling him closer and speaking between kisses.

“No - mmmm - it’s amazing — mmm - haven’t had a mmamburger in months.”

Elvis let out a nervous laugh.

“Ok, ya kook, I’ll be sure and eat hamburger every day.”

"Ha! I'm gonna hold you to that, Presley."

His fingers brushed over her thighs as he lifted her onto the dresser and Ina trembled.

“You ok? Just say the word, and I’ll stop.”

She shook her head, stopping was the last thing on her mind. Though she suddenly thought of crew members at the pool who’d seen her call Elvis into her room to apologize.

“I wonder what everyone outside thinks we’re doing in here.”

“Hmmm, whatever they’re thinking, I guarantee it's not nearly as good as what I’m thinking.”

“Elvis - I - I don’t want to have sex.”

He arched his eyebrow.

“Whoo now, who said anything about sex?”

“I mean, of course I want to have sex with you.”

He stoked her thighs, a faint smile on his face.

"Relax Iny, we’re just having some fun. Don’t overthink it. We ain’t gonna do nothin’ you don’t wanna do.”

Ina released a nervous giggle. “OK, you see, I um, well, actually the thing is that I sometimes break out when I - I do it.”

“Really? You know that Max Factor stuff will cover anything.”

“Ha! I know - I just think tonight, no matter what I say later, we should just keep it simple.”

“I gotcha Iny girl. Sweet. Simple.”

Ina’s pulse quickened at the way he leaned into her chest, his hands worked up from her thighs. She felt like a giddy teenager as she smiled gleefully into his face, her right hand fiddling with his ear.

“You have a great earlobe, you know that? I can see why you’re a movie star.”

“Huh. That right? Cuz of my earlobe?”

He leaned in and kissed the top of her nose.

“Oh yeah, it's very photogenic. I see why this is the only part of you in frame during the sex scene. I mean the rest could as ugly as Boris Karloff -” Ina waved her other hand in front of Elvis face. “But this lobe, right here, it’s a million dollar lobe.”

Elvis chuckled. “That right?”

“Uh huh. I hope you have it insured - oh god.”

Elvis' right hand moved over her breast, flicking her nipple.

“Hmm, well, maybe I should stop whateva this is and go call the colonel, get him right on that, uh huh.”

He moved as if to leave, smirking at how quickly Ina pulled him back into her arms.

“Don’t go.”

She squeaked out, voice cracking.

“You sure? You don want me to fetch a rattlesnake to kiss instead? See if you like making love to his earlobe?”

“Stop.”

Ina swatted him, straightening the line of his bandana.

“Please don’t repeat what I said earlier, I was tired and nervous and upset and I hate myself for that whole scene. I really am sorry, Presley.”

“I know, baby, I know. I'm just teasing.”

He pressed his lip son hers once more and Ina rocked forward into him, following the slow, tender rhythm of Elvis’ body. She felt like a buoy, still unmoored and adrift in the ocean, but now she didn’t want to come into shore. She wanted to stay like this, swaying back and forth to the ebb of Elvis’ tide, delighting in the wet smack of Elvis’ lips every time they smashed into hers. Again and again.

Her whole body buzzed when his fingers trailed down to her hem and absentmindedly began to work their way under her dress. He had notched himself between her legs, fitting snugly against her knee caps. She made a small squeak of surrender as she opened her hips to bring him in closer. The taste of onions and pepsi and meat filled her mouth as he took her with the tip of his tongue, slowly owning and consuming her completely.

Elvis moaned into her and deepened their kiss.

Ina lost herself in the sweet supple cushion of his lips. His hands moved over her bosom, fanning the spark in her belly into a flame. Then his fingers moved under her skirt and feathered over the warmth of her panties. Ina felt the bulge begin to swell at her thigh and then Elvis jerked back.

Every cell in her body cried out to pull him back into her embrace and then until he was inside her and they were melting into each other. Vows and boundaries be damned. Thank god he had some sense of self control.

“Whooa, whoa whoa.” He muttered slowly, almost painfully.

Ina nodded, licking her lips as she met his eyes.

“You ok?’

“Yeah, you?”

Elvis took a deep breath. “Course, honey, I - I - I just think we better put the breaks on for tonight.”

“Yeah, sure, no. Totally. This was exactly what I wanted.”

He wiped his mouth, shooting her an impish smile, like he knew exactly what she wanted.

“Guess I should clear out, huh?”

“You don’t have to leave, I mean, I enjoy your company. Is what I mean. But if you are looking to get lucky, then yes, I suppose you should find one of those extras you've been playing patty cake with.”

“Huh, okay, well I'll be on my way then. Catch ya later.”

But he didn't move, just stayed there hovering above her. His forehead leaning into her as he pushed in even closer, pressing the air out of her lungs.

“You do have a reputation to keep up. I understand.”

"Mhmmmm."

Elvis shook his head and went to sit on her bed, up against the head board.

“Look, I'm willing to put my reputation aside, jus for one night. I promise, no funny business. Clothes stay on.”

He smirked.

“Unless you’d feel more comfortable without your dress on.”

Ina hesitantly moved to perch next to him. She could still taste the mix of Elvis’ salty sweat on her tongue as she wiped her raw lips.

“That’s awfully accommodating of you, Presley.”

“What can I say, Iny Beany, I’m an open minded guy. Always say, if a girl wants to take her own dress off, who am I to say she can’t?’

“Well, if it’s all the same to you I think I’ll keep mine on. For now. There’s still time for you to make an exit.”

“Aw, now shut up with that exit junk already and get in here.”

Elvis pulled Ina down into the curve of his arm, and she sighed, embracing the cozy warmth of his body and rubbing her hand over the trim stretch of his stomach as he spoke to her in a soft, friendly voice.

"Alright now, I want you to tell me everything there is to know about you. How did the hell you end up in a god forsaken Elvis Presley picture, huh?”

“Hmmm, poor life choices? But Elvis, I thought you liked this film? I thought you were the one who made it happen.”

“Aw, well, sure, the first script was pret-tee fantastic. It was gritty and had guts, ya know, but then these damn producers been wittlin' it away to nothing, man. Chuck cornered me this afternoon once you'd left and started in on nagging me to sing the title song.”

“You don’t want to sing? Just the title? it would be so good.”

“So you like the way I sing, Iny?”

Elvis’ eyes danced but then he remembered what they were talking about and was solemn once more.

“Yeah, naw man, that would set it up as another Presley musical, the next they’ll be trying to get me to sing to my horse. No self respecting cowboy sings, you ever heard of a singing cowboy? Never seen John Wayne sing.”

“OK, sure, but what about Roy Rogers, Gene Autry, Hank Williams was the Driftless Cowboy, right?” Elvis leveled her with his blue eyes and pinched her side.

“Hmmm - guess you got me there. But it’s 1968, I’d like to see Gene Autry sell a movie in today’s economy. My boy my boy. Today it ain't no joke. Can you see him in The Good, The Bad and The Ugly?”

Ina tilted her head in agreement back onto Elvis' shoulder, she felt the same way she did sinking into a pair of comfy, worn-in slippers, and founding his chest as relaxed and welcoming,

“Trust me, I get it, I’m just grateful I don’t have to do a rape scene in this film.”

He squeezed Ina tighter, kissing her cheek.

“Yeah, me too, honey, real grateful. Boy. Don’t know why anyone want ta see that.”

“The old west ain’t what it used to be.”

“You can say that again.”

Elvis' arms closed around Ina tighter as they murmured the hours away, comparing diet pills, LA taco huts and favorite movies while their limbs easily intertwined into one another. The closest he got to undressing her was the moment around midnight when he stealthily undid her pony tail and played with her hair while she pretended to be miffed. Then he kissed her forehead and told her he had done her a favor, because it looked better this way, and she should just be a good girl and do as he said. Which got him a light slap and a big “HA!”

They spent the next hour enjoying a playful, cozy respite together in the dim orange glow of Ina’s hotel room. It was well past one in the morning when he gave her a parting kiss that turned into a series of parting kisses before he snuck back up to his suite.

Shooting began the next day at 7 a.m., and you could have knocked the director, Chuck, over with a long, pink gaudy boa feather as he found Elvis and Ina in good spirits ready to work. They exchanged playful barbs and their onscreen chemistry sizzled when they went through each sequence, pausing between takes for Ina’s chest to be spritzed while another batch of assistants dabbed Elvis’ forehead with dry unused coffee filters. The industry’s secret weapon against perspiration.

Elvis found Ina in her dressing room during a break and their lips met with stifled giggles as they kissed now with away from the ever present surveillance of the crew, laughing and talked into each other’s mouths.

“Oh my god, now you taste like bacon. I swear Elvis, you’re gonna have me off my diet and then I’ll swell up like a balloon and then Charro! will be a very different film about a cowboy and his pregnant saloon madam.”

“Baby, you gotta let yourself have one hamburger now and then, trust me now, I been doing this longer than you. It will help the cravings.”

Ina kept her mouth shut as she calculated that she had been in this business just as long as he had, since she began modelling at 15 in 1955.

“Ok. I give in. I have no willpower around you. I will have one hamburger this week.”

“Tonight, honey. Imma have you for dinner.” He winked. “Over for dinner, I mean. I’ll have one a my guys come get you and bring you up to my room later. ”

“Ok. Dinner. Tonight. Your room.” She grinned as she chased the taste of bacon on his tongue and the salty scent of his body as it enveloped her until a knock on the door brought them back into their roles on set as Jess and Tracy.

That night Elvis went through his usual routine after a shoot, which began with a shower to wash off the desert and the dust and the sweat of the set off his body. He took extra care in how he dressed, selecting a light blue dress shirt and a white suit, capping off his outfit with a small black porkpie hat. He doused himself in aftershave and the smell of Old Spice smacked Joe in the face when he came in to set up Elvis’ calls to Memphis and LA.

Once Elvis hung up his phone he leaned over and banged on the wall for Joe to come back in.

“You want me to get that sweet little Mexican gal boss? Alma?”

“Did I tell you to do that? That gal ain’t nothing but a big phony, naw man. Wait for me to tell you what to do, son."

Elvis stood up and went to slather more after shave on, exchanging one ring for another at his toiletry bag.

"Go down stairs and invite Ina up to join me for dinner.”

Joe let out a loud cackle. “What, Groucho?”

Elvis paused, taking in the look of disbelief on Joe’s face. His heart sank and he rubbed his hands over one another as he remembered how they all were howling at his jokes about her a few nights ago.

He hadn’t even really meant it. He’d just said those things after watching Alma and Flor look at Ina with envy during rehearsals. All he had wanted was to put them at ease, make them understand he was attracted to them. Saying what he thought they wanted to hear. But then the boys had chimed in and now they all thought she was a dog.

Elvis forced a low chuckle and ran his hand through his hair.

“Nah, man, not Ina - I meant Flor. Goddamn it, this picture messin’ with my head.”

He swallowed hard, thinking of the way Ina's beautiful big brown eyes looking up at him. They their legs had seemed to fit together, the way conversation had seemed to flow effortlessly. He smiled to himself thinking of the way she had blushed when he snuck into her dressing room. How her breasts had felt beneath as they ran their love scenes. He pushed away the pang of guilt for now and tamped down his desire to hold her once more. Maybe he'd sneak down to her room later if he could get away. But for now he had an image uphold. These guys looked up to him, and his control over them as their boss rested on the how cool they thought he was.

He snapped his finger at Joe.

“But I don’t wanna hear y’all calling her that no more. Tell the others. Like I said this morning, y’all shitwads talking like that is what got me in trouble in the first place.”

And with that, Elvis spent another night surrounded by people and utterly alone.

I don't really think I did Ina justice here, look at how great they looked together. We were robbed of their sex scenes.....

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i don't really have a taglist for one-shots and I apologize if you don't want to be tagged, just let me know and I'll take you off.

#elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis fanfic #elvis smut #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis #new hollywood elvis #charro!#banditqueenwrites

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