People Are Scum
Man, we got letters after the Passion Cake show. Well, we always got letters.
People loved the show or hated the show. People loved Electra or they hated me for giving her too much freedom. Or they asked how much money I wanted for her.
One guy made a very good argument about her clothes, saying that Electra’s dress should be set to match that of her guests. When they were in burlap and she was in a dress, it made it very clear how differently the owners treated them, which probably embarrassed the guests.
He implored us to make sure that when the guest sylphs were naked, Electra should be naked, too.
Chrissy said it was a very good argument, well supported, carefully explained. But then he ruined it at the end, saying that if we did not adopt this policy, could we at least send him an autographed picture of Electra’s bare tits.
We didn’t, and we didn’t.
But when they aired the interview with the restaurant sylphs, the letters came, fast and furious. And in many cases, very furious.
They were angry that a show which had hosted a sylph celebrity like Amelia had stooped to a Sweeps Week stunt like on-screen nudity.
They were angry that Electra didn’t get nude for that show. And others were angry that we didn’t clothe the guests for that show.
Some were disappointed that we didn’t just go ahead and have them do a Passion Cake on the show. Or have Electra do one.
People planned to boycott the channel. To boycott restaurants with Passion Cakes. To boycott all dining (that one was written, by hand, in ALL CAPS, in five different colors of marker).
They wrote to say that Electra was going to get the Sylph Act eliminated, and that she was going to get the Sylph Act made even more stringent.
I read everything to Electra. Part of our ‘no secrets’ policy after the big fight. I hadn’t been telling her how many offers I got to sell her, or how tainted my soul was for not keeping her naked, now I stopped filtering.
Electra was stunned by the powerful emotions breaking out, both against her and in support of her.
We’d never been out to change the law, just, maybe, the way people looked at sylphs or the way they thought of them.
And, maybe, just a little bit, to stop people telling that joke about single women who own sylphs (“…big savings on batteries.”).
But we’d never imagined we’d be taken as political commentary.
She also tried to apologize for the abuse heaped upon me as her incompetent owner.
“What, for not selling you? No one has that kind of money, not even Howard Hughes.”
“No, the people saying you’re going to Hell,” she said, stroking my thumb where I held her in my hand.
“Hell?” I shook my head. “Mormons don’t believe in Hell. It’s more like three levels of Heaven.”
“You’re Mormon?” she asked.
“Technically…” I said. “I’m probably listed as an Elder. I know Dad is.”
“You never… Go… To, uh…”
“No, we never go.” I leaned way back and let her down on my chest. “See, Grandpa Loudon used to own a five-and-dime with a lunch counter, down in Castledale.
“And he was practically a bartender at that counter. Someone would come in with a problem, he’d sit and share a coffee with them, and either figure out the solution to the problem, or he’d know who to call to solve the problem.”
“He sounds neat,” she said softly.
“He was,” I said. I coughed a bit. Sniffled. Allergies. I often noticed my allergies when Grandpa Loudon came up. That’s why I’d put her down. I was pretty sure I’d need to reach for Kleenex before I was done, but I didn’t want her to think I was pushing her away.
“He, uh, he used to insist that anything short of an international war was never more than a 3-cup-of-coffee problem. Four, if women were involved.”
She laughed. She was supposed to. It was my favorite joke he ever told.
“He died. And at his funeral, two people told Dad that it was a shame he wasn’t going to Mormon Heaven, because he always drank that coffee.”
“That’s…. That’s so wrong, Conrad.” She crawled up my chest to stroke my neck.
“And that was the very last day any of us, any Loudon, as far as I know, was ever in a Mormon temple, church… Parking lot…”
We sat there for a while. I picked her up after a bit and held her to my face.
“So, anyway, when someone tells me that I, or anyone else, is going to go to Hell, or The Outer Darkness, or Third Heaven, or be reincarnated as a dung beetle, for doing what they think is right? I just generally figure they’re full of shit, and even if they’re not, their god is not one I want to get to know.”
“Okay,” she said. “So that’s all THOSE letters, sorted.” She nodded sharply. “What about my being naked with naked guests?” I broke out laughing. She covered her ears and smiled back.
“I want you to know,” I said, eventually, “that it’s a matter of respect when I say you-“
“Can go naked any time I want,” she finished. “Yeah, yeah, same song, new verse.”
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Index
51. Exploiting The Underfoot
53. The Emergency