I walked into Joe's Erotica Features theatre with twenty-seven dollars, an apple and a wash-cloth in my jacket pocket. My hair was greasy, my clothes were buttoned crookedly and it looked like I'd never been under the head of a shower in 22 years. I took a seat in the very back away from the attentive attention-to-detail Amber Alert crew that sit up front. The movie began and I reached for my cloth. I put the half-eaten apple in my pocket and sat back with my feet kicked up.

"Joie De Vivre"

"This isn't bad," I thought.
The film opens mis en scene with a woman taking it hard on a large oval shaped bed in a pink room with seafoam paneling. I slowly unzipped my pants and as I did a petite girl with blond hair in a small white dress on screen walks in on the couple making love. She has her finger in her mouth and she's rubbing her hand slowly across her midsection, tracing the lace with her fingers. I zipped my pants back up and for a moment I thought of ripping the seats up out of the theatre, one by one, or finishing the job. The girl removes her white dress to expose small breasts with pink nipples. She's trimmed nicely. She leaps into bed with the two and goes down on the girl as the man slides his penis into her body from behind.
I dropped the wash-cloth on the ground and it took a few moments for the patrons to notice my uncontrollable sobbing.
The girl in the white dress.
Eating pussy and taking it in the ass.
"Evelyn? It can't be."

The boy at the front counter stood dazed out of his fucking skull, his eyes barely open, a copy of Ulysses in his hands, fighting to stay awake. I snapped my fingers in his fat greasy and he came to.
"Yes sir?"
"I need all the information on that film."
"Which film, sir?"
"Joie De Vivre."
The boy marked his place in the book and continued to fight his eyes open.
"What kind of information?"
"I want to know the name of the studio, the director, producers, where it was shot, I want everything."
The boy stared.
I hated him.
"I don't think I can give you all of that sir. This is a very...well, you know the industry and -"
"Give me the information."
He sat back down on his stool and ran his finger along his goatee, figuring shit out. In a few moments he left and returned with an index card.

Crowley and Vaughn was the biggest adult film studio around back in the 80's. They hooked all of the greats. Neve Rayne, Eva Angel, Amber Waves, Lucious Lisa, hell, they even managed to get Daphne Dupree at the turn of the 80's and helped bring her faltering career back to it's high game. The story goes (and is irrelevant to every aspect of the narrative you are reading) that John Crowley put both barrells of a shotgun in his mouth in 1991 after not only losing his wife and daughter in an automobile accident, but also after being tried for numerous counts of child pornography and a testimony from a 14 year old runaway who claimed that Crowley had let her stay at his home in exchange for lewd sexual favors. Jordan Vaughn merely was no more, one day. He simply got up and left. No bags, no money, no anything. He left everything as it was and was sucked up by a tractor beam. Crowley and Vaughn put out many classics - Eva's Ride, Thunderpussy, Joie De Vivre, Inside Daphne, etc. They shot every one of them in the same building. Their actors, which were family to them, whom they trusted, whom they loved and probably had dinner with and had portraits taken together for Holiday gatherings and then went to work the next morning and fucked each other - They gathered at the same house on 37th and Lowell. The same dilapidated un-occupied building that I stood in front of expecting to find Evelyn.
I threw a rock at one of the windows and it didn't shatter.
That dark blonde hair.
Those long legs.
The small breasts with pink nipples.
Love of my life, High School sweetheart, problematic ruffian.
I dropped a quarter in a payphone and dialed.
"Mrs. Nolan?"
"Is this Peter?"
"Yes, Mrs. Nolan."
"Oh Peter, Peter...It's been so long. Since High School!"
"Since mine and Evelyn's Prom, that's right."
There's something so authentic in the voice of an elder person. A spirit of some form that has grown with age and if I were to rip open Mrs. Nolan's guts that spirit would probably be a large crystal shard from fantasy films, glowing and glowing, a round neon center spinning around spreading wisdom. Pushing intelligence like a monolith. It made me sick.
"Mrs. Nolan...I believe Evelyn is either around the area or non-existent. That's all I can say. My head hurts and the only cure for that may be a bullet. Look for her, Mrs. Nolan. Bring her home if you can."
I hung up the phone and walked sluggishly down the sidewalk. Daphne Dupree made porn in the 70's. Eva Angel did porn in the 80's. Evelyn was working the millenium. And I was blocking every bit of it out of my head, because there was still a day's worth of nonsense to take care of. Sometimes I get so caught up in bills, debt, credit history, grocery shopping, crossword puzzles, television and such that I forget to take time to worry about something that cannot and will not say "Thank you."
Poor advice.