The Perils of Praline

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2010 by Marshall Thornton

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

Published by

MLR Press, LLC

3052 Gaines Waterport Rd.

Albion, NY 14411

Visit ManLoveRomance Press, LLC on the Internet:

www.mlrpress.com

Cover photo by Dan Skinner

Cover Design by Deana Jamroz

Editing by Amanda Faris

ISBN# 978-1-60820-233-1

Issued 2010

I would like to thank my early readers, mid-readers, and final readers: Stephen Dumas, Julian Lopez, J.M. Evenson, Joan Martinelli, Amanda Faris and everyone at MLR Press
.
A book of this nature requires extensive research; sadly, those with whom I’ve researched have asked to remain anonymous.

In which our hero arrives in Hollywood and is instantly debauched.

Praline Palmetier decided to move to Hollywood while watching an all-day marathon of the reality TV show
House-Bound, Season Six
. It wasn’t that he fell in love with the stately palm trees and sandy beaches shown during the opening credits, or the trendy bars where contestants drank too much, or even the ever-present possibility of seeing a movie star around each corner. No, Praline fell in love with contestant number
five
, Dave G.

Had he been asked to describe the ultimate human specimen, Praline would have described Dave G. The young man was tall—or at least appeared so on television—with velvet brown hair and smoky gray eyes. Though he was not overly muscled, he was clearly athletic. In one episode he’d worn a thong that had shown off his body, including a delicious stream of dark hair running from just above his belly button downward. In short, Dave G. was absolute perfection.

It
wasn
’
t
that Praline decided to move to California without angst. He’d been angsting most of the summer. Having graduated with an Associate of Arts Degree in Communications from Laccacoochee Technical College, he had no further plans—no career goals, no special calling, and definitely no aspirations for additional schooling
,
as he had attained a less than stellar 2.2 GPA. Somewhat anxiously, he spent his nights making Mocha Lattes at a sci-fi coffee shop called Java the Hut, and his days loitering on his mother’s sofa, which was where he sat—well, slouched actually—watching the special
House-Bound, Season Six
reunion episode, when on came a commercial for the bestselling book,
The Key
.

 The commercial claimed that all you had to do to succeed in love was imagine down to the tiniest detail exactly what and exactly who you wanted to love you and it would come true, stunningly and amazingly true—especially if you bought the book.

But there wasn’t any need to buy the book
, thought Praline. He had just spent most of his summer imagining down to the minutest detail what life would be like with Dave G. In fact, he’d concentrated so hard, so many times, that Praline was sure if he ever happened to meet Dave G. they’d fall instantly and irrevocably in love. And that’s when he realized he had to go to Hollywood, as soon as possible.

When he told his mother about his plan, she nearly burst a vocal cord screaming, “Criminy Jickets!” As an upstanding Christian woman, Robin Palmetier refused to take the Lord’s name in vain. “Praline, you cannot move to California! It is the most sinful, most dangerous, most seductive place on this entire planet!”

And then, in order to avoid a full-on conniption, she lit a joint.

Sitting crossed-legged on the living room floor, Praline waited as his mother pulled marijuana smoke deep into her lungs. At twenty, our charming hero had floppy, almost-naturally blond hair and crystal blue eyes. Inviting, sensuous lips sat above a wide jaw with the tiniest dimple in the center of its square chin. He had an open smile, pale skin that flushed quickly, a sprinkle of freckles on his perfect nose, and an ass that was so exceptionally round, and protruded so far out behind him, that he was mortified by the very idea of it.

His mama finally exhaled. “Is it because I gave your room to your step-daddy, Spliff, to grow his special Ganja Gold?”

“No,
M
ama, I don’t mind sleeping on the couch,” Praline assured her. And he didn’t mind, though the couch was lumpy, narrow, and smelled like a bong.

Shortly after Praline was born, his unmarried teenage mother completed five weeks of a six-month cosmetology course and began making a few bucks styling her friends’ hair in her pink and turquoise kitchen. She made many more bucks selling those same friends various mood-altering substances, mostly marijuana but occasionally a tab or two of ecstasy.

After a slight hesitation, Praline blurted, “I’m going to Hollywood because I’m in love!”

Robin screamed again, this time for an entirely different reason. “Why didn’t you say so
?
That’s wonderful, darlin’. What’s her name?”

“Actually, his name is Dave G. and he’s on a TV show called
House-Bound
. He’s totally amazing.”

Praline nervously awaited her response. He hadn’t meant to wait until he was twenty years old to come out to his mother. It’s just that this was the first time he’d been in love. It was one thing to tell his mother he’d found the love of his life, and quite another to explain that an attractive older gentleman had once given him a blowjob in an antique-filled condominium and he’d thoroughly enjoyed it.

It took Robin about twenty seconds to adapt to her son’s coming out. While she knew her mega-pastor would not be pleased, she found it difficult to deny Praline the same God who’d so often looked the other way when it came to her own life.

“Well, butter my butt and call me a biscuit,” she said. “How’d you meet him?”

“Oh, I haven’t met him,” Praline explained. “That’s why I have to go to Hollywood. So we can meet.”

“You haven’t met?” His mama looked confused, and not just because she was stoned. “You mean, y’all been typing back and forth on the computer? That’s the new thing isn’t—”

“No, I mean we haven’t met. I fell in love with Dave G. while watching his TV show.”

“Are you telling me you’re gonna leave your mama and every little thing you’ve ever known to traipse across this big ole country after a man you’ve only ever seen on a TV show?”

Wow
, Praline thought,
she certainly put a negative spin on that
. Maybe she wasn’t quite as comfortable with his being gay as she seemed.

“Do you really think this is a good idea?” she continued, pinching off her joint.

“Why,
M
ama, you raised me to follow my heart no matter what,” Praline explained. “That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

“Yes, but…” Finding herself cornered by her own parenting-style, Robin brushed a few ashes off her ample bosom and lost the conversational thread. “Darlin’, do we have any of them jalapeno-flavored potato chips left? I’ve got the munchies.”

And so, the day after he told his mother about his plan, Praline asked her to drive him the two and one quarter hours from Lumpkinville to the Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. As they bounced along in his mother’s ancient F150, he watched as she fidgeted with a tuft of cherry red hair over her right eye. He knew that meant she was about to launch into a lecture, or at least offer some pointed advice. Whenever his mother wanted to channel her inner parent, she always played with her hair first.

“I want you to be careful. California is not the kind of place you’re used to. Things are different out there. Dangerous. Very dangerous.”

And then she listed the dangers he should avoid when he got to Hollywood, including, but not limited to: fad starvation diets, eco-terrorists, over-exposure to the sun, roving limousine liberals, felonious celebrities, Godless pagans, and, of course, the lay-about homeless living off the public dime.

When she got revved up she could go on and on, so Praline began to think about what lay before him. On the Internet, he’d learned that Dave G. lived in Los Angeles, read his horoscope every day—Aries—was an aspiring actor, and on weekends worked as a cater-waiter.

“…and I don’t want to hear a thing about you taking up surfing. I saw a news report about how people fall off and get hit in the head by their very own boards while sharks lurk nearby waiting for just that eventuality.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dave G. was rumored to be dating one of his
House-Bound
co-stars, Bree. Praline doubted the sincerity of their shomance. It just didn’t seem possible that having found his soul mate, Praline could lose him to a girl who once drank so many Mojitos she threw up in a fellow cast-mate’s Juicy Couture handbag. Clearly, the relationship had been concocted by the show’s producers.

 “…and if anyone asks you to join a gang you say, ‘No thank you very much. I’m just not a joiner.’ And then run like heck…”

“Yes, ma’am.”

In Praline’s mind, the really terrific thing about finding Dave G. was that it also solved the nagging question of a career. Celebrity spouse was exactly the arena he could excel in; it required good looks, red-carpet skills and unwavering enthusiasm (both public and private). He was totally qualified.

“…and whatever you do stay away from cults. There are all sorts of nutty cults out there in Lala
L
and. Crazy people believing in aliens and spaceships.”

“Mama, you believe in aliens and spaceships.”

“Yes, but I believe in Jesus, too. That makes it different.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

At airport security, Praline squeezed his mother tightly. She squeezed back for just a moment then pushed him away. “You better go. You stand here much longer and my mascara’s gonna end up all over my face. You don’t want your mama looking like some ol’ raccoon.”

Praline headed through security. As he took off his shoes to run them through the X-ray machine, he turned to take a last look at his mother hovering just outside the security checkpoint. She was readjusting her cherry red hair. With a lump in his throat, Praline wondered what color his mama’s hair would be the next time he saw her.

Suddenly she yelled, “You be a good boy, Praline! And don’t forget the Ten Commandments!”

Praline had grown up with the Ten Commandments, but it wasn’t until he was eighteen he realized the Ten Commandments his mother taught him were not the same as those in the Bible. An Internet search on a rainy afternoon had taught him that. And, having taken a long look at the more traditional list, he determined his mother’s ten to be much more practical.

The Ten Commandments As Interpreted by Robin Palmetier

Don’t lie. Unless it’s to the police.

Don’t cheat your customers. Robin always made sure her dime bags were just a bit larger than any other dealers’ in the area, insuring loyalty in her clientele.

Always be polite. Especially to people who don’t like you, as it will piss them off.

Don’t steal from anyone. Anyone meaning people, leaving corporations and the IRS fair game.

Don’t kill. This one was also on the Bible’s list but, like many Christians, Robin had a long list of exceptions to this rule. It was okay to kill sexual predators (unless they were born-again while serving time), liberal commentators, and anyone described as a “bad guy” by the greatest journalist and political leader of all time, Box News commentator Malcolm Wright. Unless, of course, Mr. Wright happened to be talking about one of her personal friends, which, on occasion, he had.

Do not take the Lord’s name in vein. Shit, fuck, cock, pussy, bitch, bastard and their ilk were just fine. Goddamn’s and Jesus Christ’s were no-no’s.

Always repay a favor with a favor. Someone does something nice for you, do something nice right back. Being in someone’s debt is a dangerous thing.

Affirm that every word in the Bible is true, except the parts that clearly aren’t. Like that thing about eating shellfish—though supposedly an abomination on par with adultery, murder, poly-cotton blends and paying interest on a mortgage—it could not possibly be God’s will. Robin loved scallops and knew the good Lord would not wish to deny her this pleasure.

Discuss all decisions with God directly and listen closely to his advice. Sadly, when Praline tried this himself he got nothing but an extended silence, while his mother always seemed to get very detailed instructions.