Chapter 15 
Index 
Chapter 17
Subject: CODY: THE STAND-IN Chp.16
From: mithryl@walrus.com (Mithryl)
Date: 1997/08/25
Message-Id: <5tqkjg$6kl$1@alice.walrus.com>
Newsgroups: soc.subculture.bondage-bdsm,rec.arts.prose,alt.sex.stories
THE STAND-IN
By Cody Ann Michaels
c. All rights reserved
Chapter 16
I knew Smalhausen had the hots for Kelly, but I didn't realize how
bad it was. He was beginning to scare me. Leafing through his journal, I
found long, complicated scenarios of what he wanted to do to her. Although
I was not always sure whether the gi rl in question was Kelly, or someone
else. Also, there was something about these episodes that made me wonder
if they were only fantasies of a diseased mind. Some of them went back to
his twenties. And happened at places as disparate as Santa Fe, the Santa
Cruz mountains, Los Angeles, Hanford, WA, Ottawa, small towns in the west
of Ireland, Switzerland. A chalet in the Alps. Neither Kelly nor I had
been born then. Obviously Smal had been thinking about this for a very
long time.
He had had a lot of practice. Even Ted Bundy had not had such
immunity from detection. In Smal's diary, however, Smal always kept a
firm distinction between himself and what had happened to the girl. As if
he had been merely the witness. Then who had done the deed. Not I, said
Cock Robin. My hands are clean. But were Smal's. They were always
covered with paint. When I told Martin, he explained that many people
carried collective guilt for what had been done, even if they,
specifically, had never done anything. It was sort of unfair. I could
tell how much he wanted Kelly but was afraid to touch her, for fear she
would accuse him of sexual crimes. So he sat paralysed in his deepest
thought.
I guess you could say that I was his route to her. By keeping me
around, he had a link to Kelly, even when she wasn't there. I was sort of
a substitute for her, a stand-in, so to speak. We looked alike, but I
obviously did not have her charm and vivac ious spirit. Next to her, I
felt like a drudge. But I could help him get her. He knew that, so he
strung me along.
Being nice. Buying me candy. Helping me with my homework. It
all fits now. I can see how he was using me. But then, I was so
innocent. I thought he really wanted to go to bed with me. It was her he
was after. He was slowly making a trap, using me as bait.
He even let me read his diaries. He had been around. Tibet.
Venezuela. The Marshall Islands. And seen a lot. Sunrise through a
nuclear cloud. The lion cubs playing on the beach. Central Park in the
winter, when the ducks are gone. He never found out what happened to the
ducks.
Smalhausen's diaries extended back into time, almost to 1953. The
year he got out of the hospital. He could barely crawl. His old man had
been in Vietnam. He came back an empty shell and began to sell carpets.
He wrote a lot about not being able to sleep and not being able to wake
up. Waking up was harder than falling asleep. He always came back from a
long way away. Sometimes he had to sit on the bed for an hour,
remembering who he was. Letting his brain initialize. There was an
intensity in h is dreams that did not carry over into his waking life.
But he could never remember them. Hardly anything. A face, maybe, or
some object or place. But nothing beyond.
He never tried to write them down. Once he had, but that was in
the sixties. Now, he just accepted that he could not remember. He hated
Florida. He hated having to spend time with his mother. He talked about
me.
I didn't realize he thought I was such a pig. He referred to me
as a slut and a whore. I was almost subhuman to him. He had been
watching me for a long time. I almost couldn't recognize myself as the
girl he was describing. I know I have big tits, b ut that doesn't mean
I'm some kind of freak. Or that I like getting fucked. I mean, all the
time. Sure, I like sex. But Smalhausen made me sound like I needed it
all the time. Like everyone in the camp had had me. My cheeks burned
with shame as I re ad these passages.
Is this what he thought of me? That I was so dirty. So utterly
depraved. Just because my skirts are sort of short and I show off how
nice my tits are?
Reading this made me horny. I couldn't help but start to play
with myself. I was breathing in short little breaths as I read
Smalhausen's book. When he came in and caught me. Our eyes met. I
didn't know what to say.
*
You did this, didn't you?
Yes.
Let's see. It was back in the twenties. The sixties. I was in
my twenties. But Kelly... It was a girl who looked like Kelly. They all
were. It was always the same girl. This one in the woods. Which one?
California. She was very pretty. But yo u didn't just fuck them. You
hurt them. Yes. Badly. Very badly. Smal... I backed away. Smal,
don't....
Eventually, they all began to run together. And there was no
pleasure any more at all. I could not even hold the image in my mind. I
think I killed a lot of brain cells. I was burnt out. I traveled from
one providence to the next. Often staying onl y a few nights. They
called me the Wanderer. I tried to remember the girls' faces, but they
ran off the surface of my mind like water. Not until I met you did I know
what you truly looked like. You're mad. I'm not Kelly. I know. It
doesn't matter. Smal, what have you done to her? She got what she
deserved.
The bitch.
That's what I was afraid of. Smal, you didn't?
Didn't what?
Kill her.
Of course not. She's at the laudromat doing my wash.
I didn't know whether to believe him. Old mother's boys are hard
to trust. Smal was 57 and he had never bought a pair of pants. His
mother still did it for him. At K-Mart. Botany 500s. $16.95. On sale.
36-30s. How pathetic. He stared at my tits . I felt uncomfortable. I
crossed my legs. Pulled down my skirt. Fixed my blouse. His mother
would be back soon. Don't tell. Please don't tell. I'll make it up to
you. For hurting you. Beating you up. For dragging you on the Oregon
trail. Now go in the kitchen and fix yourself something to eat.
When I was there, I had a job helping to take care of Mrs.
Smalhausen, who was paralysed from a stroke. Her son was often around.
Sometimes he talked to me. Asked me how school was going. Did I like New
York. What did I want to be? He could help. He knew someone. He would
give me an address. He had some ideas. Maybe I would like to help. I
said I was pretty busy. I had to go.
He patted me on the back. How ineffectual. I left. Later, I put
on my bathing suit and walked down to the beach. Smalhausen was standing
on the porch, watching. I didn't look at him. I was wearing high heels.
And black stockings. And a choker. I wanted to pour it on. The bathing
suit was a white one-piece. Very sheer. And cut high on the sides with a
thong back. I snapped my towel as I passed his trailer.
I knew that he followed me causally, at a distance. As if he,
too, were going to the beach, and it was just a coincidence that we were
going at the same time. In the later afternoon. When the shadows from
the australian pines lie dark and cool across the grey sand. There was a
grove of them there, that you have to go through to get to the beach.
It's a narrow path. I knew he was behind me. I waited. Holding my
breath. Was I scared? You betcha. He could have a knife.
I was afraid to move. It had gotten darker since I left the
beach. I had to shit. Cody, he said. Come out, Cody. I stepped into
the clearing. He was on the other side. Moonlight shown on the stone in
the center.
Is this the Arkhamptonshire Stone?
Yes. It came from outer space and landed here in the woods of
cool Cape May. We found it last summer. Grover and I. While we were
playing. It has all sorts of magic properties.
Like what?
Lie on it. You'll see.
Later, he said not to tell. It was our secret. Just his and
mine. And all the other little girls he had had there. Kelly was like a
summation of all those women who he was channeling through me.
I had a cl;ear line back to Kel. He was just holding on.
Going down the levels of the phone tree. What was I hearing? they put
that on here>? They knew he had a rotary because he had to say the
numbers. He wanted an operator finally they put him on hold. Well, that
was an accomplishment, wasn't it? They h ad him on hold. Who did? The
tower. I forgot him. Is he still there. Tower to KLM 800. Whoops.
Sorry. Land anytime. Watch out for Mir. Is this a docking procedure or
what? They were drunk in space. That's what happens when your air runs
out. You go into this mystic state. Forget about Mir. See what happens.
This is subversive. Put a hold on that. Come in, Kelly. Sit down.
Angry voices on the internet. Complaining about phone surface. Fone
surfing. Try 1 800 237 4277. See what you get. Oh, I didn't want
anything. I was just surfing your tree. I do it for hours. No. I don't
have any of your products. Is that wrong? I just like to hear voices and
strange requests. Like this, visit our website at www.dot.filemakers.
Why would I want to do that?
Phone trees are much more fun that the net. The goal is to see
how deep you can go before encountering a human voice or a busy signal.
I've been down to level six at Sharp. If you do get a live voice, try
starting a conversation. Get acquainted. Ask if he or she has a
computer. Are they on the internet? What are their favorite websites?
You have to remember, when these people pick up a phone, most of the
voices coming to them from the other side of the tree are by the time they
get there ready to kill. A friendly voice in the midst of all that hatred
would probably be as welcome as a highball in hell.
This is tower to mission control. We have an astronaut on board, sir.
What should I do? Throw him off. Deep space is a very mysterious concept
held only by those who have visited lite space. Lite space is like the
Mir. The Moon. Deep space starts a couple of kilos further out. And
after that are the intergalactic regions which men shudder to even think
about. It will be many years before we are on Mars. In the meantime, try
Space World. Space World burgers are yummy ymm. Made from cows that fr
ee range in zero-gravity. Now my machine saves everything.
Automatically. I lose nothing by the telling. It's you who have to pay.
Atagromea you will find is very soothing to the skin. The Russian word
for Cows Milk. Would you like to try a space w alk. They had delusions
of grandeur. Below, the volcano erupted just under where she had been
sitting. It was an aggrieved little girl who took the stands. It was
like cow hack. You shaved off a piece of meat when you were hungry.
Stand still, Cody. I'll try to make this hurt as little as possible. You
could hear her screams back to the long line of huts that made the camp.
Tarpaper shacks she would have to walk back to if she wanted to get paid.
Let's go over here. Now do it. Slave Cody. Cod y slave. Master could
have her any time he wanted. Nice almost white slave. You're still a
slave. What are you suggesting? If I tell you to, you have to help.
Right>? Yes. Why don't you ask her to come to New York with you? Yeah.
Good idea. And then you can have her there any time you want. Yeah. I
could. Couldn't I? I knew I had him. Nibbling around the hook. I
jiggled it a little. Match the hatch. Scum. Match the hatch. Kelly was
like a green titsie fly dancing around his head. He snapped at her, and
she was gone. Again. And again. Finally, he turned to me. Get her.
Sic her. I had no choice. He was in charge. I had no free will. I had
to do it. He made me. I became Kelly in the moonlight. Kelly staring up
through the wa ter in a ditch, training. Training. Training is
everything. I was a demon. I was possessed. I was Smal. I cut out her
heart and handed it to him. Gift wrapped. In a box. From Cartier.
Tiffany's is so gauche. And Barbara. And Alice. And that g irl in
Dayton. I forgot her name. Everyone's on hold. The whole nation is
paniced. Buffett sold. Everything. And left. He went back to Omaha and
sat on the porch and read the paper. He was retired. I'm out of there.
No way. I don't even remembe r most of that stuff. What was it you said?
Wells Fargo. I don't own any Wells Fargo. Panic. Buffett sold Wells
Fargo. And the stage is due in at midnight.
Mark Twain crossed the great American desert with nothing to
sustain him but a hamper of hard boiled eggs. When the Wells Fargo coach
got in at midnight, he got off and walked down the street toward the
center of town. The zoccalo. It was 1 in the mor ning when he reached
the Villa Lobos. Where the pope was staying. Come in my son, I am happy
to meet your acquaintance. Sometime between then and twelve o'clock
something happened and once more the flags flew at half staff at Castle
Gondolfo. Now listen up.
Borges was a hot sell in that part of town, but he couldn't
sustain the momentum. Eventually, someone got shot. Now the bells rang
out. Something had happened. The peasants filled the streets. He
elbowed his way through the crowd, holding on to the shotgun. The Holy
Father raised his hands in a benificence, and Fidel fell to his knees. He
was knighted into the curch. To be specific, he had always been an arm of
the Vatican. Now blood filled the eyes of the pope. A few lines further
on, he was dead.
I cannot tell you what this text meant to me. I was
flabbergasted. He had done it again. Without even moving. Now pick it
up. I reached out a gloved hand and took the holy instrument. It was old
and flabby. But I didn't care. He was paying by the hour. I heard him
whine like an old dog. Now come a little further. That's it. Keep
coming. You can get them to really flow. Eventually they can't take it
any further and they faint. This one took twenty minutes. Pretty good.
There's never any t rouble about paying. They'll give you anything,
they're so grateful. Just to be out of there. To be back on firm
grounds, so to speak, with you and the devil. Keep it that way. Okay?
They never do. They're always back for more. You take their mone y and
their manhood. And what do they get? A little breathing space. A chance
to manuever. Without those gonads pulling on you like insistent kids
whining to go to Disneyland. A chance to be themselves. Whatever that
is. I can never tell. It doesn't seem like much. I walked back to the
trailer. I had to get ready for my four o'clock.
Chapter 15 Index Chapter 17