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I
The debilitating dirt drought of Spring； '58。
It hindered； hampered； and hog…tied 〃Hush…Hush〃。 It forced us to print presumption as veracity verified。 It forced me to misconstrue old morgue memos and pass them off as fresh scandal skank。
JACKIE GLEASON FIGHTS FOOD FIXATION AT FAT FARM OUTSIDE PHILLY！ JOHNNIE RAY MAULED IN MEN'S…ROOM MISADVENTURE！ STARLETS STATE STEVE COCHRAN TOPS TAPE AS TINSELTOWN'S MR。 KINGSIZE。
Bum bits and rumor retreads。 Libelous liabilities and lightning rods to lasso lewd litigation。 Unprovable assertions to attract unremitting heat in an unenlightened climate。
Maureen O'Hara keestered 〃Confidential〃 last year。 The mag maligned her and said she groped a guy at Grauman's Chink。 She sued successfully。 〃Confidential〃 detailed Dorothy Dandridge's dipso descent。 She sued successfully。 Monkey see； monkey do： A chain of chimps sued 〃Hush…Hush〃。 Our current courtroom count stands at o…and… 3。 We're mainlining monetary liens and moving toward Bankrupt Boulevard and Moribund Mesa。 We're taking it up the ass bad。
We've dramatically downscaled our dimensions。 We moved into a dumpy building down from the downtown dog pound。 The doped…out dentist down the hail drives my new crew crazy。 I cut my old crew loose to cover court costs and slapped up some fresh slaves from the Salvation Army。 They're all dry drunks with the shimmy…shimmy shakes。 Dental…drill noise drips through the walls and drills its way under their skin。 They drop type trays and drizzle glue all over my pasteup plates。
Our circulation has circled down to the scandal…rag cellar。 〃Whisper〃 was whispered to top our toll by ten figures per month。 Ben Luboff scammed skank for 〃Whisper〃。 I hated him。 I owed his bookie brother two big on Basilio…Robinson。 Ben bought bonus buzz…dirt off me and bought down my debts with his brother sometimes。 I hated to humble 〃Hush…Hush〃 and humiliate myself but I had to now。
I looked around the office。 A dry drunk dropped a cigarette and scorched a scalding shot primed for pasteup：
Lezzie Lizabeth Scott with a loin…lapping look at Linda's Little Log Cabin on Lankershim Boulevard。
Shit
It was time to pound the pavement proactive。 I walked down the hall and wiggled into Dr。 Dave Dockweiler's chair。
Dave said； 〃How long？〃 I said； 〃Forty…eight hours straight。〃 Dave jacked joy juice into a spike and found a vividly viable vein in my left arm。
He said； 〃Three good ones too hot to print。 I'm going to an American Legion smoker tonight。〃 I concocted a mie conspirator's clique and twisted a fist to twang my target vein。
〃Paul Robeson is pouring the pork to Pat Nixon。 I swear this is no shit。 He's got her hooked on that big roll of tar paper he's packing； and she's leaking him all of Tricky Dick's secrets； and Robeson's feeding them to the Kremlin； and they're feeding them to Senator John F。 Kennedy； who's going to run against Dick in '6o。 This is no shit； I swear to you。 Oh； and Sammy Davis Jr。 is flicking Mamie Eisenhower。 I swear to you； Dave； this is no fucking shit。〃
Dave spanked his spike on my vividly violet vein。 〃You swear this is no shit？〃
〃This is no shit； Dave； I swear to you。〃
Dave bit the bait and shook his head and let my shit sift into his system。 He shot me up with his shit and watched me shift up to the stars。
I went into orgasmic orbit。 I spun past 〃Sputnik〃 and jived with Jesus himself。 I jumped back to Earth and jumped out of the chair like a jacked…up jungle bunny。
I fly on methamphetamine moored in male hormones and a multivitamin mix。 Here's why scandal sheets fly：
People are ambivalently amped up on celebrities。 They wildly worship them。 They aim their adolescent adulation at them and get bupkis back。 It's depressingly disassociative。 It's idiotic idolatry。 Fan magazines fan the flames of fatuous fancy and reinforce the fact that your favorite stars will never fuck you。 Scandal rags rip that reinforcement and deliriously deconstruct and deidolize the idols who ignore you。 It's revisionistic revenge。 It reduces your unrequited lovers to your own low level of erratic erotics。 It rips the rich and regal and guns them into the gutter beside you。 It fractiously frees you to love them as one of your own。
I was flying on high…grade meth and a high…faluting head full of 〃Hush…Hush〃 homilies。 I hit Hollywood hopped…up to dish dirt and dig my way out of debt。
Every bartender； bouncer； B…girl； busboy； and B…movie bimbo in town has his hand out to 〃Hush…Hush〃 or whispers to 〃Whisper〃 or tattles their tails off to 〃Tattle〃。 I tripped a path through my tipsters and said； 〃How's tricks？〃 I locked in the following lowdown：
Howard Hughes had a hard…on for a high…yellow hooker named Dusky Deelite。 Rin Tin Tin ripped Lassie into renal distress at a recent kiddie roundup。 Mickey Cohen can't afford to keep Candy Barr。 Candy's starring in stag flux and moving a mountain of Mary Jane。 Mickey's tapped out and tapping his old legbreakers for loans。 Johnny Stompanato stood Mickey up at the Statler and stiffed him on a long…term debt。 Lana Turner was lamenting the loss of Lex Barker。 Stompanato stomped into her life。 He bullies her and beguiles her into long bouts of bury the brisket。 Lana now lisps； 〃Lex who？〃
Bob Mitchum mauled a mulatto mama at a niggertown niteclub。 Porfirio Rubirosa pulled out his pud at a Bel…Air bash for Bill Bendix。 Rock Hudson humps prodigiously pretty call…service boys。 He gets them from a sweaty swish carhop at Delores's Drive…In。 Lenny Bruce is handing up hopheads to the Sheriff's Narco Squad。
The Rin Tin Tin riff rated zero。 The Mitchum mishigaas might be milkable and make for a good miscegenation piece。 Stompanato was stale stuff〃Confidential〃 cornholed him three months back。 I'd played up Porfirio's pud and Howard Hughes's hooker hungries already。 Ben Luboff wouldn't bite for that batch。
But he'd bite for the boffo bit on Rock Hudson。
Ben wanted to ram Rock out of the closet。 He wanted to push him past the Pink Curtain and parade him around in a purple peignoir。 Every scandal scribe wanted to skewer and scupper the Rock。 He was the hunky height of the homo heap。 〃Hush…Hush〃； 〃Whisper〃； 〃Rave〃we all got cloyingly close to the clasp on the closet door。 But pugnacious publicists grabbed at our greed； bought our stories back； and heaped us with heat on their other homo clients。 The Rock remained ramrod erectjust past the Purple Passage。
Ben Luboff hogged a back booth at Googie's twenty hours a day。 Tipsters trucked in and tossed him tidbits。 I bopped back to his booth and blew out a blast of bravado。
〃I owe your brother two Gs。 Take care of it and slip me an item for the May issue； and I'll give you the Rock。〃
Ben belched bicarbonate of soda。 Bubbles bipped off his lips。 He looked disturbingly drawn and dyspeptic。 The dirt drought had drained him dry。
He nudged me a napkin。 I pulled out my pen and wrote down my rap on Rock and the sweaty swish。 Ben Scripto scrawled his own napkin note。 We noodled our notes across the table simultaneously。
His read：
〃Don Jordan （top welterweight contender） running string of wetback maids as hookers out of the L