Acclaimed novelist, Beat godfather, prolific screenwriter, and one of the founders of New Journalism, as well as the only guy to wear shades on the Beatles' Sgt. Pepper's cover, Terry Southern was an audacious original. Now Dig This is a journey through Terry Southern's America, from the buttoned-down '50s through the sexual revolution, rock 'n' roll, and independent cinema (which he helped inaugurate by cowriting and producing Easy Rider), up to his death in 1995. It spans Southern's stellar career, from early short stories and a Paris Review interview with Henry Green, to his legendary Esquire piece covering the 1968 Chicago Democratic Convention with Jean Genet and William Burroughs and his equally infamous account of life neck-high in girls and cocaine aboard The Rolling Stones' tour jet, to his memories of twentieth-century legends like Abbie Hoffman, Kurt Vonnegut, and Stanley Kubrick, with whom he wrote Dr. Strangelove. "A voice electric with street rhythm and royal with offhand intellection ... stuffed with strange and silken scraps." Troy Patterson, Entertainment Weekly "The subterranean Texan's finest moments are exquisite reads ... like a hot poker in the eye of conventional narrative." A. D. Amorosi, Philadelphia City Paper "The range of writing ... [was] as lethal as Mailer claimed and still awaiting the attention it deserves." Charles Taylor, Newsday "... reveals a writer defined by his generosity, by the pursuit of fun and by an insatiable ... literary appetite...." Claire Dederer, The New York Times Book Review
Read an Excerpt
A Hustle Not Wholly Devoid
of a Certain Grossness, Granted
Recently I was researching an article for a woman's magazine, whose considerate editor had already entitled itCon Men: Their Games and Their NAMESaiming, with the final emphasis, for a bit of the old exposé mileage no doubt. I had assumed in front that, through editorial pressures, it might gradually get bent into the usual hacksville tom-foolerya rehash of classic and clichéd hustles ... and, for the most part, so it proved to be. Most, yes, but not all, for there was one conspicuous exception, and it was deleted, totally, from the piece"because of," in the head-back closed-eyed words of the senior blue-coiffed lady-editor, "certain elements in the narrative which are simply too, how shall I say, er, uh, gross for our general readership."
I was really quite surprised. A prevalent real-life hustle "too gross" to be exposed? What a curious age we live in.
In my research I used a small unobtrusive Sony-600, obtaining verbatim recordings of every conversation. The following is the one which was deleted from the piece, and is, I submit, among the most intriguing (albeit outrageous) deceptions presently in vogue, in the U.S. of A.
The narratorwhom I shall call "Art"is thirty-four, white, college-grad, unmarried, clean-cut and boyishly good-looking, a type seen mostly in beach-movies ... a younger Jack Nicholson; andthough he was careful to keep his story always in the third person, even slightly detached, as though describing someone else, I had the recurrent and distinct impression he was talking about himself.
The interview was taking place on the terrace of the "Sow 'n Merkin," a cafe-restaurant on La Cienega, about two blocks below the Sunset Strip. Only a moderate amount of pedestrian traffic on the sidewalk that passed our table, and whenever a girl would go by, Art's eyes would flick after her with a warm, somewhat carnivorous glint in them, without interrupting his story. He's also one of those "L.A. types" (no other way to say it) who do coke quite openlythough with consummate discretion, natchcarrying it pre-chopped in an ornate antique-style snuffbox, dipping in with the little finger, for swift unobtrusive toots off the back of the nail ... which Art did throughout his narrative, occasionally sliding the box to me across the table. The first time he passed me the box, I glanced around, super-casual, to check out the neighboring tables, but Art was quick to allay my concern.
"It's cool, man" he said, "no vigilantes here." He smiled and assumed a cracker drawl: "Hell, we done strung 'em all up."
I switched on the Sony-Six, and Art took that (as per intention) to be a signal to begin.
"Okay," he said, "now here's a funny number a couple of guys I know run from time to timeI've been saving it. I mean, it could be a little heavy ... for, you know, certain tastes."
"No way, Art," I assured him, "you lay it down, and I'll pick it up."
He chuckled, somewhat cynically now that I think back on it, and then continued:
"Well, there was this chickname of Sallyvery cute, twenty-three, twenty-four years old, worked as a kind of hat-check cigarette-girl at a small club on the Strip. I forget the actual name of the club ... it was like the Crescendo, one of those, you know, with a piano-player, and maybe a combo in for weekendsthat kind of place, small but legit ... just your 'average American bar.' Anyway, this guylet's call him Alstarts coming in, almost every night. Nice-looking guy, about thirty-five, sharp dresser, leased Lincoln Continental parked outside. And he's always quite friendlynot pushy about it, just friendlyyou know: 'Hi, Ted,' 'Hello Tom,' 'Hi Sally,' and blah-blah-blah. And so finally he's like a regular customer, coming in nearly every evening. Comes in before dinner, has a couple of drinks, and splits. Now he's gradually getting fairly tight with Sally, the hat-check cigarette-girlno heavy come-on, nothing like that, just sort of a pal. And one night, a slow night, she's sitting at the bar with him, having a drink, and he lays this story on her ... about a friend of hisan older guy, a terrific guy, friend of the family, a sort of 'surrogate father' is the way he put itwho's coming in from New York in a week or so. And he goes on to describe this guy, in very flattering termsan important businessman, a well-known financier, a major executive of a huge corporation, on the board of directors of several big companies, seat on the New York Stock Exchange, private plane, and so forth. And he tells her how the guy comes to California on business two or three times a year, and that when he does, he likes to have a discreet affair with someonenot a hooker, he isn't interested in that at allhe wants someone, well, like someone to talk to, and to spend a pleasant evening with. 'He's good for a thou,' Al said, 'a thousand bucks for the evening, and usually a nice gift of some kind besides.' Al knows all about it, because he has arranged it for him before, several timesso he was able to assure her that it was 'strictly legit,' and what's more that if she didn't like the guy she could just split, she didn't actually have to make it with him. Naturally, he hoped it would happen, but it wasn't really critical, I mean it wasn't going to be a deal-breaker if she didn't let him fuck herbecause he was happily married, had a wonderful familywife, children, grandchildren, the whole bitit was just that he liked the excitement of, you know, meeting a nice young girl from time to time, and so on ... made him feel younger, whatever. Anyway, he went on to say that he, Al, knew that the guy would like Sally, and he wondered if she would be interesteda thousand bucks for a couple of hours, probably a nice present, and after she got there, if she decided she didn't want to make it with him, that would be okay, she could just leave. Well, right away she said no, it wasn't the sort of thing she would be interested in, ever, and he said 'Well, no offense,' and she said 'None taken,' and he took her to dinner, never mentioned it again, took her home, didn't hit on her in any way, didn't come in for coffee or a drink, said he had an early appointment, had to get to bed, and that was that. Saw her the next few nights at the club, never referred to it again.
"Now then, parallel to this, there was a young couple living in the Valley the guy was a stunt man, or let's say an ex-stunt man, with a broken back ... had taken a fall, a big fall, landed on a Chapman crane ... crushed his back. So he's laid uptotalled. Now the tie-in is that the stunt man had married this girl's best friend, Sally's best friend, about a year and a half before this. Bill and Mary, that was their names, and they had this kid, and the kid was about a month olda one-month-old kidlike an infant. Now the guy, Bill, had broken his back about six or seven months ago, so for the last four months they've been in heavy trouble. I mean, they bought a house, furniture, two carsall the usual stuffduring the first six months they were married ... and then he busted his back. But the studio wasn't liable, because it was some kind of unauthorized stunt, whatever, so he wasn't getting any workmen's comp. I mean, he really got ripped on the whole thingwasn't getting any money. And they had all these medical billsfor his back, and for her having the kid, plus all the regular billsthe car payments, mortgage payments, insurance payments, everything. And, of course, she can't work because of having the kid, and he's lying aroundthey don't know yet if he's going to be a full-on paralytic or notjust lying there in a full-body cast, with the wife and the newborn baby, and they're starving. No bread at all, being dunned by everybodyabout to get killed by the house-payments guy, the car-payments guy, the guys with the furniture, TV ... all of it. Murder. Wipeout. Now the wife, Mary, she would call the other girl, Sally, and they could talk, on the phone ... it was really the high point of her day, her conversation with Sally, the hat-check girl. You see, she could never get out of the house because she was stuck with the paralyzed husband and the kid. Actually, she was very much in love with her husbandwhich is what gives this whole story a certain 'je ne sais quoi,' haI mean it wasn't like she was being a ball-breaker about it, it was just a really terrible situation. And so she was sort of living vicariously on the phone, through her friend Sally, who would tell her all about her dayher night actuallyat the club ... you know, who came in with who, et cetera ... and so on that same level, of just interesting day-to-day trivia, she mentions the guy, Al, and the proposition he madebut only referring to it as something that happened at the club, no more than that. But a couple of days later, Mary calls and says that she's been thinking about that thing, that proposition. 'It's horrible, I know,' she says, 'but we're just so desperate that I think maybe I ought to do itI mean, you know, if you think he would want to.' Well, Sally knew the guy would go for Mary, because she was even better looking than Sally was. But she said, 'Well, what about Bill? What's he going to say?' And Mary says, 'Well, he won't say anything, because he won't know. I mean, I'll just tell him I've got to go to this meeting, or something like that, and then maybe you can come over and pick me up, and you know, take me thereand when it's over I'll have the money and take a cab home ... and well, he'll just never know anything about it. I mean, I realize it's terrible, and I hate it, but I just don't know what else to do.' 'Because she really did love the guy, of course, and that's the key to it, you seeof the whole caperthat she's this totally innocent person, this very nice girl, who is really in love with her husband, and had never dreamed of making it with anyone else, or with anyone for money, ever, but their terrible circumstancesand the amount of money being offered ... well, it was tempting. Of course Sally was completely surprised, she could hardly believe it. 'Mary,' she says, 'I don't think you should do itI mean it's too weird, it might affect your relationship with Billeven if he didn't find out about it.' And Mary starts crying and says, 'Yes, I know, I know ... I guess you're right, it's just that I'm so desperate ...' And she cries for a little bit on the phone, and Sally cries, and then they drop the subject, and that's the end of itexcept that a few days later, when they're about to turn off the electricity, Mary calls Sally and says, 'I know it's crazy, but that thousand-dollar thingwith the older man from New Yorkcould you try to find out more about it?' And she tells her about the electricity, and everything. So the next time Al comes in the club, Sally asks him if he's found a girl yet for his friend. And Al says, 'No, as a matter of fact I haven't, and the guy is coming out in about a week, and I'm getting a little nervous about it.' And so Sally tells him about her friend Mary, who she says is sort of thinking about it. And she goes on to describe her'a very beautiful, really nice, nice girl, who loves her husband very much,' and so on, but that they have these terrible financial problems, and she tells the whole story to Althe guy's broken back, the electricity about to be shut off, and so on, and asks him, Al, to tell her more about the guy. So he lays this heavy rap on her again about what a wonderful, gentle, sweet, attractive, generous man this guy is. 'I mean, she's really going to like him, a lot,' he says, 'he's a truly nice man. And if she doesn't like him, you know, she can just leave.'
"So they set the thing up. The cover story, for Bill, was that Mary was going out for the evening with a girlfriend, to see a movie. She would go out at seventhe baby would have had its bottle by then, and she would put it next to the husband on the bed, because he can barely get aroundhe can move, but it wasn't the easiest thing to do, you dig, in this full-body cast.
"Now then, Al gives Sally full instructions about how it's to be done. Discretion, that was the main concernyou've got to be discreet. This was because the guy doesn't want to be seen in the lobby of the hotel, or anything like that. He's staying at the hotel, but he feels it will be more discreet and more comfortable, and so on, if they do their thing in a bungalow. So Mary is to book it, bungalow ten, a big mother, at the Beverly Hills Hotel, book it in her name, go there, sign in and register. Bring a bag, and in the bag have a couple of bottles of really fine Scotch, and a bottle of good brandy. Get some mixerclub soda, and some ice, wrap it all in a towel so it doesn't rattle, and put it in the best bag she's got, check in, and go to the bungalow. 'Listen,' she asks Sally, 'where am I going to get the money for the whiskey?' Well, Sally was short and couldn't come up with it, so she went to a neighbor, whom she barely knew, and said she was desperate, she had to raise fifty dollars, could she loan it to her. So the neighbor took the money out of her sugar bowl, but emphasized that she would have to have it back the next day, because it was the household money and so on. And then Mary didn't have a really smart bag, so she borrowed that from Sallywho picked her up on her way to the hat-check joint, and dropped her at the Beverly Hills Hotel, where she had already called up and reserved bungalow ten. The boy took the bag to the bungalow, showed her in, and she waited there. See, the idea of bringing the booze in was that the guy didn't want anybody coming to the room while he was there, because of the big discretion thinghim being a famous person, well known at the Beverly Hills Hoteland he just couldn't afford any indiscretion at all. So she, Mary, was instructed to get there at about seven, order a nice dinner for herself, anything she wantedhe recommended the pheasant, and a particular wine, very expensiveand he would eat elsewhere and then join her at about nine. And that way they would avoid the whole room-service scene and any risk of him being recognized. So she went to the hotel, about six-thirty, registered her name, went to the bungalow, had the pheasant, the wine, et cetera, signed the check, and waited. Then, at about nine, he called. 'Is everything all right?' trying to sound pleasant and cheerful. He says that he'll come down now, down from his room, and meet her, if it's convenient. She says, yes of course, and so he arrives in a few minutesand he's a really nice attractive guy, very thoughtful and considerate and cultured. So the anxiety she had felt began to disappear. See, she had been getting sort of panicky about it. I mean, she hadn't been to bed with anybody in about six months, because of her husband's busted back, and then she'd had the baby ... and so this was going to be the first fuck she's had in quite a while, and she was kind of uptight about it, about the whole thing, but he really put her at ease, and began to sort of draw her out, and she told him all about her husband and about the baby, and all the depressing stuff about their situation, and she cried a little bit, and he was terrificperfect father-guy, and she found him attractive, and they drank some of the booze, and then they went to bed, and it was okay. I mean, it wasn't in any way sordid or vile, or anything like that, and she really dug him, and he was very interested in her and said that he understood there had been this money arrangement, this thousand dollars, and that was fine, but he didn't want that to be the main thing. He'd gotten to really like her, he said, and he wanted to take an active part in helping her and her husband out of this predicament, and maybe even take an interest in the child, the child's education and so on. And they talked some more and made love again, and now it was about eleven o 'clock, and he takes out this ringthis beautiful diamond ringand he tells her that he bought it for his daughter's birthday, and he wants to know what she thinks of it. And she says, 'Well, it's really beautiful. Absolutely fabulous.' It's still in the velvet case, you know, and he says, 'Well, you see, I'd like you to have one just like it, because I think you're a blah-blah-blah wonderful girl and the ring really suits you,' and blah-blah-blah. It's a big stone, very impressive. 'Oh, I couldn't,' she says. 'Don't be silly,' he says, 'I insist.' Then he gets on the phone and calls the jeweler at the jeweler's home. 'Yes, you know the ring I bought this afternoonwell, I'm leaving first thing in the morning, and I want to get another one like it. Could you come over to the hotel now? No, I've got an early flight, and I just won't have any time at all tomorrow. Yes, the same ring exactly. Just call bungalow ten when you get here and I'll meet you in the lobby and pick it up. No, I don't know the size, so bring an assortment, and we'll determine the size when you get here. All right, see you soon. Thank you.'
"So, from her point of view, everything has gone just greatshe'll have the money, she'll have the ring, she has this fantastic new friend who's going to be like a godfather to the child, and help them all out, and so on. Now her only concern is how she will handle it in terms of her husband, how to explain about the money and about the ring. And the guy advises her on that, too-he asks how well does her husband know her background. Is it conceivable, for instance, that she had an aunt or uncle, that Bill didn't know about, who could have died and left it to her? She thinks about this for a minute, and says yes it is possible, there could have been this aunt in Youngstown, or someplace ... so that little problem is settled. Now it's about twelve-thirty, and the phone rings. It's the jeweler, down in the lobby. The guy starts out, to go meet him and pick up the ring, and just as he gets to the door, the instant before he goes out, he remembers about not knowing her ring size, so she takes off her wedding ring and gives it to him so he can match it for size. He says he'll have a quick drink with the jeweler, in the Polo Lounge, just to be sociable, pick up the ring and be back in ten minutes or so, probably less. So she turns on the TV, finishes getting dressed, and sits there waiting for him. Times passes. One-thirty, two-thirty ... three-fifteen. She starts to get panicky, calls the Polo Lounge, the Lounge is closed. Calls the desk, asks for his roomhe isn't registered, they never heard of him. Never. Now she calls Sally at the club. Closed. Calls Sally's house. No answer. So, she's sitting there, alone, four o'clock in the morning, no money, a hundred-and-ninety-five-dollar hotel bill ... desperation time. Finally, nothing left but to bottom-line itcall the husband. She tells him where she isbungalow ten at the Beverly Hills Hotelhe'll have to pick her up because there's no money for a cab, and there's no way to get a cab without alerting the hotel that she's about to skip. Sonow dig thisthe husband, Bill, wearing his full-body cast, moving like something out of a horror movie, has to wake this neighbor he doesn't even know very well, at four in the morning, borrow his car, put the baby on the seat beside him, try to drive from the Valley to Beverly Hills, cruise the hotel until she can sneak outwithout the bag in case she's spottedget in the car, and drive back. And on the way back, she has to tell him what happened ... about the money she owes the hotel, the neighbor, the bag she has to replace, the wedding ring ... and, you know, man, the whole story."
And with that, the sun sinking behind the Hollywood hills silhouetting him, Art gave me his All-American, boss-charm, hero-of-many-battles smile. "Now I ask you," he said softly, sliding the snuffbox across the table, "wasn't that a heavy-put-away?"
We sat in silence then, watching the sun slowly go down, and having a few unobtrusive toots.
"Listen," I finally said, "those guys ... they must have been really ... well, one thing I'm a little hazy about is just how to characterize their motivation."
Art smiled, raising his brows, as in surprise. "Oh yeah?" He turned his eyes towards the distant hills, where the last rays of the sun bled out all along the horizonbut he didn't reply.
"Well," I went on, "I think you'll agree there is a certain ambiguity here ... I mean, let's just run it down in a recapwhat did they get out of it? Okay, on: the guy gets laid, by a beautiful young girlthat's a plus..."
"A really nice girl," added Art, nodding his head to emphasize that aspect of it.
"Right. A beautiful young really nice girl ... who hasn't made it with anyone in six months. Okay, that's all a definite plus. But is that enoughto justify such an elaborate ruse? I mean, what else did they get out of it?"
He looked at me, with something close to pity. "I should've thought it was obvious," he said, a slightly pained smile on his lips.
"Well, let's see, there was her wedding ringprobably a simple, narrow gold bandwhat was that worth? Fifty bucks? A hundred?"
"A hundred tops," said Art, "probably less."
"Well, that doesn't seem like much ... for all that trouble."
He laughed. "You've got a pretty materialistic slant on things, don't you?"
1981 The Paris Review
Reprinted by permission of The Paris Review.
Table of Contents
|Introduction: An Interview with Terry Southern||1|
|Heavy Put-Away; or, A Hustle Not Wholly Devoid of a Certain Grossness, Granted||17|
|A Run of Dimes||25|
|Fixing Up Ert||31|
|Blue Movie: Outline for Novel||40|
|Letter to Lenny Bruce||49|
|Letter to the Editor of National Lampoon aka Hard Corpse Pornography||51|
|A Letter to the Editor: Stiff Gook Rimming||53|
|Letter to George Plimpton aka Sports-Death Fantasy||56|
|Behind the Silver Screen|
|On Screenwriting: An Interview from Movie People||65|
|Strangelove Outtake: Notes from the War Room||72|
|Proposed Scene for Kubrick's Rhapsody||86|
|Plums and Prunes||89|
|Grooving in Chi||118|
|The Straight Dope on the Private Dick||130|
|The Beautiful-Ugly Art of Lotte Lenya||147|
|Riding the Lapping Tongue||153|
|The Quality Lit Game|
|Placing a MS. with New Yorker Mag?||165|
|Flashing on Gid [Maurice Girodias]||168|
|Rolling Over Our Nerve Endings [William S. Burroughs]||176|
|Writers at Work [Henry Green]||179|
|King Weirdo [Edgar Allan Poe]||191|
|The Scandal Continues||195|
|When Film Gets Good...||197|
|Drugs and the Writer||206|
|Strolls Down Memory Lane|
|Strange Sex We Have Known [William S. Burroughs]||211|
|Frank's Humor [Frank O'Hara]||214|
|Memories of Michael [Michael Cooper]||222|
|Remembering Abbie [Abbie Hoffman]||230|
|Trib to Von [Kurt Vonnegut and George Plimpton]||233|
|Origins of the Lampman [Larry Rivers]||240|
|Epilogue: Drugstore Cowboys: A Conversation with Terry Southern and William S. Burroughs||248|
|Afterword: Now Dig the Archive||259|