Disclaimer: this story is not about Kevin Bacon the man, the actor, the musician, but the IDEA of him, the Kevin Bacon in all of us. Disclaimer disclaimer: No Kevin Bacons were harmed in the writing/editing of this story. Heil Hitler.
He walked into the Liquid Zoo and kept his sunglasses on. The Liquid Zoo was a dive bar on Sepulveda Blvd next to a gas station in the San Fernando Valley. A place for people who have failed or are failing at life to drink in silence and not be bothered by success or luck or life, a place to give up in peace, like a grave. No one said anything about his sunglasses because he did this all the time; the guys slowly nodded their heads and stared into their drinks, and the women accepted him and his cliché completely.
"Hey everybody, it's Kev!" said Cherry, knowing no one was going to say anything but saying it anyway.
Cherry was the white-trash bartender who looked Mexican with her curled and hair-sprayed bangs and dark-lined lips because she had spent all of her life in Mexican barrios. Cherry had two kids and isn't sure who the dad is – or who the dads are – but one of the kids is black. Cherry used to be a prostitute. She isn't anymore. No one knows why. She doesn't talk about it. A majority of her clientele were black men. Her big, fat ass made her very sought after. Cherry is a recovering meth addict and alcoholic. Cherry is HIV Positive.
"Howdy," said Kev.
Kev is what everybody called Kevin Bacon at the bar. He used to be famous. Did some movies like Footloose and Flatliners and this other one about being a child molester who ended up being the good guy. After that he was in a band and that didn't go anywhere. Of course. He became a raging alcoholic. Of course. He declared bankruptcy a while back and moved into a little studio apartment in Van Nuys with a cat. $450/mo. Kev got along with the gangsters and was very popular among the corner prostitutes because of his good looks – a nice change of pace from the ugly and sweaty local Mexican day-laborers and the perverted upper-class white business men.
The jukebox was playing The Doors' "Love Her Madly." Cherry was mixing herself her fifth gin and tonic; she had relapsed recently, second time this month, and had completely stopped going to the AA meetings. She never worried about Child Services taking her kid away because she lived in a relatively pleasant part of North Hills where the cops never bothered to stop by because they were desperately needed in the worse-off areas, and she was drunk most of the time. The neighborhood was mainly made up of houses with nice lawns and American flags, with very few apartment complexes. The home-owners kept to themselves because they were too frightened or angry to go outside and see a Mexican selling corn or some black kid walking by. Cherry was invisible, untouchable, barely living, barely noticed, barely alive. It was easy to disappear.
Kev didn't have to order because he always drank the same thing and all the bartenders at the Liquid Zoo knew this: double house vodka straight and a Budweiser chaser. There was a football game on the TV. Kev tried to pay attention but lost interest. Over the years the drinking had damaged his attention span; this lead to his career's end because he couldn't remember his lines or fake the interest and passion that talented actors are conditioned to do. No one else in the bar even knew that the TV was on. They were busy giving up.
Kev finished the drink, placed it on the counter and walked to the bathroom. He stared up at the ceiling, saw a decent drawing of a penis entering an asshole or a spider with a phone number underneath. He looked through the broken window into the parking lot above the urinal. A lady was yelling at some guy in front of a car. "You owe me forty more fucken bux, mutherfucker! – twenty fo' a handy and 40 fo' anal! — thas the rates! — DON'T PLAY STUPID, MUTHERFUCKER!" The man kept trying to hush her but she was very passionate about her rates and so the man looked around, saw that they were pretty much alone and punched her in the face. Kev kept watching but he was done pissing; he didn't zip up. The man punched her again in the stomach and the lady doubled over. Kev felt his dick in his hand become hard. He stroked it a couple times. The man outside placed his foot on top of the lady's face and took out his cock. Kev stroked faster. The man outside began pissing on the lady's bloody face. She gurgled and tried to yell help but it only came out as dog-like yelps and gurgles. The man finished. Kev finished. The man took his foot off, said "y'had to be loud, dincha, you fucken whore," and slammed his foot down again on her neck. There was a pop and no more yelping or gurgling. Kev washed his hands, checked for any cum on his pants, flicked a couple of half-dried droplets off and went back to the counter. Cherry had a drink waiting for him. The best thing in the world is coming back to your seat to a drink, he thought. Tomorrow he will call his old agent and see if there was any work out there. He felt inspired and young.
The front door opened up and a girl came in. No one ever used the front door and everyone inside the bar was startled at first with the bright daylight exploding in, illuminating all the desperate faces.
"Close the fucking door!" someone shouted from the barstool.
"Oh, sorry!" said the girl.
She was only pretty but looked beautiful compared to everyone inside.
She saw Kev and sat in the seat next to his. Kev didn't pay any attention. The girl couldn't stop staring at him.
"Um, excuse me. Aren't you –?"
"No," Kev said.
"No! Really! It's you! I'm a big fan! My friends told me that you hung out here but I didn't believe them so I had to come down to see it for myself! And now, wow! It's you! I'm a big fan!"
"Thank you."
"Can I buy you a drink?"
"Yes."
"What do you drink?" she said but Cherry overheard and had already poured the vodka and brought it over.
"Here ya go, toots!" Cherry said.
"Thanks," Kev said.
He finished it off and got up.
"Where you going?" asked the girl.
"Bathroom."
"Can I come?"
"Sure."
They went into the Men's bathroom and began kissing violently and grossly, hitting teeth with teeth, missing each other's mouth sometimes entirely. He looked out the window into the parking lot and saw that the woman's body from earlier was gone. They were working each other's pants off. She had on button-fly pants so it took a little longer. Kev spat on his fingers and thrust them inside her. She squirmed with pain at the beginning but then relaxed and got into it. They stopped kissing and Kev was looking at her eyes. She felt self-conscious and closed her eyes and looked away. Kev grabbed her face with his free hand and said, "Look at me." She got a little scared but obeyed. "Put it in your mouth," he said, taking his half-hard cock out. He pushed down on the top of her head and made her get to her knees. She placed it in her mouth and started sucking it.
"Bite it," he said.
"What?"
"Bite it!"
"OK."
She bit it on the side softly.
"Harder!"
She bit it again, harder.
"Oh God," he said, bracing himself by pulling her hair.
"I want every single drop!"
"Oh God!" he said, letting himself go inside her mouth.
"I love you Kevin Bacon," she said with tears of joy in her eyes, looking up in absolute adoration.
He felt sick and started throwing up on the floor next to her. Some of it splattered on her leg.
"I love you too," he said, patting her on the head like an obedient child, feeling good being Kevin Bacon in Van Nuys, at the Liquid Zoo.
Luis Rivas lives in the San Fernando Valley, California. He was a telemarketer, construction worker, assistant drug dealer, flower delivery driver, fast food cashier, sales clerk, package handler/zip code sorter. His work has appeared in the following publications, some of which he contributes to regularly: Zygote in My Coffee, The Hold, My Favorite Bullet, Cherry Bleeds, and Sex and Guts Magazine (R.I.P.).
He dropped out of Los Angeles Valley College where he was studying journalism to work full-time at a porn shop, where he still is.
He is currently working on growing a beard.