Chapter 9: Kong

June 27, 1975

Dear Diary, America didn't let us down. After the first episode of 'Polly's Wild Safari' aired last fall, she embraced us with open arms, just like we knew in our hearts she would, just like all the research boys with their computer print-outs predicted. After the third installment, we were the undisputed ratings leader for all networks in all time slots. Philo Phoods dumped all the 'Polly' products on the market and sat back, chuckling, while our audience gobbled them up.

Even the prissy-ass bastards at TV GUIDE couldn't knock that kind of instant success. The tone of their articles shifted after the first Neilsen figures came out, from sneering contempt at "exploitation at the lowest level conceivable" to "phenomenal success, no doubt due to the complete integrity of everyone involved."

Wally and the staff felt that being on top of the heap, TV- wise, was just a start, that I should branch out into other areas of the entertainment business. So, yours truly is on her way to becoming a movie star. That's right!! I signed a ten year, ten picture contract with Sokolow Studios for more money than some countries take in, as gross national products. Right now, we're doing three re-makes of the old 'Sheena of the Jungle' series... only updated and sexed up so they're barely recognisable. The first picture, 'Sheena vs the Mafia', is due to be released in September.

That's all of the mediocre news. I'll hurry through the bad stuff and then go on to what I'm absolutely itching to write about... the really fantastic news.

First, about Harold. Last time I wrote about how he was always talking about doing something to get rid of the bowling alley's bad reputation around town. Well, the bozo's actually gone out and done it... in his own inimitable, ass-hole fashion, of course. Three days ago he held this press conference, at which he told the national media boys what kind of royal screwing he was taking at the hands of the Vice Squad.

Ho hum, right? Sour grapes from a well-known loser-about- town, right? Yeah, well, that's the way I had it figured, too. When he first told me about the conference--the night before it was to be given--I freaked out, hollered I'd divorce him if he didn't call it off. I shouldn't have put it like that. He started breaking the furniture into kindling with his bare hands, then said he'd do the same to me if I ever mentioned the word again. Hey, like I said, he scared me. And I don't mean the kind of scared like I get under the flipping ass of a Great Dane, or a snow leopard. I wouldn't mind dying in the grip of an oversexed orang-utan... but getting hit by a garbage truck would be preferable to having Harold strangle me. Anyway, I told him I was joking about the divorce and made him describe the hot scoop he was going to give the media. After he told me the lightweight, whining scam he was going to lay on them, I relaxed. He sounded like your garden variety L.A. kook with an axe to grind. I was sure the reporters would laugh him off. Sure they wouldn't bother doing the routine check on who his wife was... There was no connection between me and Harold outside the files in Sacramento... I'd used my maiden name exclusively ever since I came to Hollywood.

And they did laugh him off... up to a point. Up to the point when the big lummox stopped sniveling and started naming names and dates and large sums of money paid out the Vice Squad for "protection" by his clientele. He even had the bastards' badge numbers! The newsmen swarmed over him, then.

Was I ever mad?! Ooh-wee! I was on the phone to Wally instantly, trying to figure out an angle, a quickie way out of the marriage. There was no time for the legal way of cutting him loose, even though I had great grounds--the contract had never been consummated--because the reporters would be digging for 'background' information within the hour. The trip Wally laid on me was so obvious, so perfectly simple, that it had to work.

My agent and savior made a couple of long distance phone calls, withdrew a large sum of money from the corporation account, and took the next jet to Sacramento and, thirty minutes later, a private plane to Langousta. The genius got right to the root of the problem. There were only two copies of the certificate--I had the original in a safe deposit box--one was in Sacramento and the other was in the court house in Langousta. He bribed two very willing, very underpaid civil servants--one in each city--and with his own eyes saw the documents burn to ashes. To make absolutely sure, he visited the local paper and 'borrowed' the bound volume of back issues that contained the paper's only copy of the article they did on our wedding ceremony. After razor-blading out the entire 'Social Whirl' page, and burning it, he returned the book to the city editor, who in turn returned it to the dusty shelf.

Ooh, Harold-baby, what you don't know!!! We were never married, Monster Man. You don't have to worry about a divorce any more. Ha, ha, ha.

Discretion being what it is, I've decided to break the news to him gently and from afar. I fly to Tanzania next week for some location work on the second Sheena film, and while I am safe in the bosom of Mother Africa, I've made plans for Wally to sell the house, the cars, the furnishings right out from under Weird Harold. I thought about sending him a xerox copy of this book, but that would be too much... even Africa wouldn't be safe if I did that.

The other bad news is about Mom. She's real gone and done it this time. She's gone off the deep end. When the hot-shot network producers and the movie barons took to taking their bodyguards along with them wherever they went... for the sole purpose of driving her away... when the police began following her to the supermarket in a prowl car to make sure she didn't bother anybody... well, she just flipped. Somehow she got hold of some dynamite and wire and stuff and... yes, she made a goddamn bomb!! As if that wasn't enough, she then acquired an illegal and very definitely stolen U.S. Army ordinance automatic rifle. In broad daylight, on the corner of Hollywood and Vine, at gunpoint, she commandeered the limousine of Latham Bernooli, and kidnapped the made-for-TV-movie czar.

She forced the driver and bodyguards to get out of the car on the Hollywood Freeway and made Bernooli drive her away. Then she directed him to a hideaway she'd rented in Malibu Canyon. After tying him up and threatening him with the bomb and machine gun, trying to get him to offer me a twenty year contract... and succeeding, she called a local radio talk show and made her demands... Either I was to be made queen of the U.S.A. or she would blow up Latham Bernooli...

Luckily for everybody concerned, one of Wally's staff was listening to the show while driving to work and she alerted him to the probability that the mad bomber was my Mom. According to the radio reports, she wore a Frankenstein mask during the actual abduction so the driver and bodyguard were unable to give police a clue to her identity. There were some pretty tense minutes, trying to get to Mom before the police, but Wally came through again. The bomb was wired improperly so it would detonate when Mom pushed the plunger as our 'Safari' troops charged through the door. Mom calmed down after the doctor sedated her. And Bernooli was unhurt, if a bit ruffled. To smooth things out, I had to agree to appear in one of his incredibly dull pictures... with the stipulation, of course, that final script approval be left up to me.

The bomb lady was never found. Bernooli was unable to help police, insisting that he had been blindfolded the whole time, despite eye witnesses who swore they saw him drive the limousine away. The cops chalked it up to either a movie-land publicity stunt that went haywire, or the Mafia boys throwing a scare into one of their turkeys. Either way, it was none of their business.

Mom was very lucid after the episode. I mean if you didn't know what she'd done, you'd never suspect her of anything of the sort, not in a million years. Regardless, the whole damn thing came too close to wrecking my career and the careers of hundreds of tag-along idiots who depend on me. I am a big business now, a goddamn corporation in my own right, and no one, not even my own Mom can he allowed to hurt me.

I've made plans, through Wally and a doctor Major Scampi suggested, for Mom to be put out to pasture. I should've done it long ago, I guess, but I didn't have the stomach for it. Not that it's some shambles of an old folks home... no way. I've seen pictures of it and read the brochures. It's ultra modern, tucked away in a secluded mountain valley in the Sierra, and it has the tightest security system available outside a federal prison. I was assured... in writing... that my Mom would never again set foot on Hollywood Boulevard, not in this life.

Wow, it seems like everything's coming together at once, doesn't it? Real neat. The same day old Harold gets the bad news, the same day the house is to he sold and its contents auctioned, I have arranged for Mom to he whisked away. No big deal, no hubbub... the sanatorium orderlies, dressed in business suits will drive up to the house in an unmarked, late model sedan and inform her that I've been slightly hurt in an accident at the Studio and that I am asking for her.

Once they get her in the car, they will gas her senseless and she'll wake in padded cell. Like I said.

The only thing is, the nitwit has been doing a lot of heavy rummaging around down at the studio... just like the old days, looking for God knows what. I guess I'll have to keep this thing under lock and key until she's safely tucked away.

So! On to the good news I'm in love! No! I really mean it this time. All the other male animals in my life, the wild and wonderful affairs I've had with creatures in every possible ecological niche, pale beside the nova heat of my first true love. I'm serious. Never have I had the kind of rapport with another animal... and I don't just mean we come at the some instant, though we do... I mean, he can read my thoughts and I can read his. Whenever he lumbers into the room, my legs go to rubber, my cunt starts juicing and puckering, my tits ache at the nipples and my palms begin to itch. And I know I affect him in the same way. It's easier to tell with him because he doesn't wear pants. His gross pink cock shoots out of his furry black pouch and aches upward in a lewd salute.

His name is Kong and he's a hundred and ninety pound, coal black, Central African, mountain gorilla. We met during the shooting of 'Sheena vs the Mafia'. He was my animal co-star and what with all the times we were thrown together on the set, and in my dressing-room when it was too rainy to film, things sort of happened between us.

I think he knew I had the hots for him from the first moment he set his big brown eyes on me. I have to hand it to him, he played it pretty cool for those first few days... not letting on that I turned him on, too.

But when 'it' happened, there was absolutely no stopping us. We'd finished shooting for the day and I was back in my Winnebago dressing room, trying to shower the accumulated grit off my tits. I heard the door open and shouted over the roar of the hot spray: "Who's there?"

When no one answered, I figured that whoever it was had heard the shower and decided to come back later when I was finished. I went back to lathering my glistening body unaware that I was being observed.

Kong, the wily devil, had slipped away from the animal compound after bending the steel bars of his cage, and crept over to my Winnebago. He peeked through the crack in the bathroom door, watching with growing excitement while I made frothy suds slop all over my cunt.

I should say that it was not unheard of for the widow of a local tribesman to take in a baby male gorilla for companionship, especially if the couple had been childless. According to the native bearers, often as not. when little gorilla ceases to be a baby, he is taken into the cold marriage bed as a husband, and is trained in the arts of love, African Style. It is said, by the bearers, that such a gorilla, though he be returned to the wild to take a mate of his own species, will always prefer to mate with a human if given half the chance.

Well, standing there in the nude in my shower, I was giving the big brute more than half a chance. He took it, too.

I didn't see the door opening behind me, but the cool breeze on my back sent a shiver up my spine. At first I thought it was one of the gofer boys, stage-struck and deep in pubescent 'crush' going for broke. It wouldn't be the first time.

But when there was no nervous giggle betraying his presence, I got the distinct impression that the intruder was not only no boy, but no human as well. There was something ominous about the shape of the thing as I tried to make it out using the corners of my eyes. Ominous.

"Whoever you are, go away!" I said, my voice a shrill squeak.

Something moved behind me and I whirled around... coming face to face with almost two hundred pounds of gorilla. The scream I let out in that instant would've done Fay Wray proud.

Not that a gorilla's face doesn't have its nice points, once you get used to it, but I wasn't used to it, yet. I screamed right into his face, making him wince at the sharp sound.

His head with its giant sloping brow sat on the powerful shoulders with the barest hint of a neck beneath. It looked like an ebony, over-sized football balanced on a kick-off tee. His huge brown eyes, set too close together to appear really humanoid, were slightly bloodshot, but still bright and alert. His nose was the most startling thing about his face. It was shiny and black and sort of melted looking with great soft holes for nostrils that covered most of the lower half of his head. The fur was sparse around his eyes and nose, but the rest of his head was all shaggy like a fat man with a beard and long hair. His chin wasn't much to brag about, mostly hidden as it was by the bristly overhang of his immense upper lip. His ridiculously tiny and shell-like black ears were hidden very high up on the sides of the sloping dome, at a level well above his beetling brows.

He raised his massive, fur-coat arms and put a black skinned finger on my right nipple. A delicious shudder raced from my blushing nubbin straight to my clit.

"No!" I said, pointing to the open door. "Get out of here!"

The gorilla smirked at me, making his upper lip puff in and out.

"What do you want with me?!" I cried, trying to cover myself.

I squirmed aside as the big beast reached out for me. He put his right hand up and cupped some of the hot water from the shower nozzle. It seemed to fascinate him. He was so enraptured by the hot, steamy, tingling spritzing that he didn't even seem to notice that his arm was getting soaked.