Horse with No Name

(published in Metazen, 2014, part of a Edie Sedgwick series)

So Andy was throwing this like monstrous dig at The Factory to celebrate the opening of his new film Beauty 2, which starred me & these two other guys & I was buzzed on something this freak with outrageously thick black glasses & in tight gabardines & untied Hush puppies, called Horsefly Juice, whatever the fuck that is & the ludes were still keeping my gravity on & Andy was talking to this cute photographer named Mitch & Andy kept ignoring me because he said he was sick of hearing me complain of when I was gonna get paid, he said Don’t worry, you’ll get your money, bunny, but I keep finding dead ants in my cereal boxes & in walks in Andy’s new superstar, Miss Ovid Blue, with her fucking hair

dyed what other color? Blue. & she’s greeting everyone like she’s the new fucking Queen of England with her size Z tits, the sequined gown clinging to her overstuffed figure like a mold she’ll have to live with, I mean the bitch can’t act for shit, like Antonioni or Wyler are really gonna cast her in some Tennessee Williams four-way street collision with lives instead of cars. & the bitch can talk up a storm not like she’s selling herself but injecting herself & she’s lousy street heroin. Somewhere in the calamity I loose a

fucking shoe & have to crawl under ten pair of legs to find it. Like I’m a fucking Cinderella but freaked. So then this guy shows up, one of Warhol’s studs with big dippers but their talk is all salty anti-climax. The guy’s name is Max or Sterling. I can’t remember. But he comes up to me after he’s done cock-teasing almost every male variety in the room & says Would you like to ride my horse? I’m like Are you shitting me or something? I didn’t know you could get turned on by a girl. So I keep turning away & he’s like No, you don’t understand. I have a real horse parked outside. It’s a nice night. Let’s take a ride. Anyway, it’s foggy in here. So I tell Stud have a nice day, but next time,

get some better acid that makes you hallucinate raccoons or butterflies in the middle of the night & he takes me to the window, five stories up, and sure enough, if girls aren’t all marshmallow & melon whore, there’s a horse! & he’s not taking No for an answer. So he drags me downstairs & after several times sliding off the gorgeous brown stallion, or whatever it was, I’m sitting with hands clasped around Max the stud not the horse & we’re fucking touring upper Manhattan at 3:30 in the morning! & maybe to show off, Stud actually gets the horse to trot down an empty sidewalk. & what people are left on this strange planet called Manhattan stare at us like we’re from fucking Mars.

Actually, I think they’re jealous. So I yell out, You want a ride? You want a ride, you marshmallow whores who will never get famous? When we get back to The Factory, so many people are either gone or passed out, some naked or making strange motions with their curved fingers in the air, like they wanna be cats or panthers or they’ve entered a new level of existence, maybe some bullshit karma stuff with levitating gods with hidden mushrooms & I go up to Andy & I say, We just rode on a horse. & Andy is like Please don’t interrupt me now. I’m having this really important conversation that will ultimately lead to the best blow job of my life & don’t you know it’s rude for little girls to be rude? & I’m saying No, Andy, it’s the god-honest truth. He waves me away. But it was, I swear, the best ride of my life, it was such a beautiful and elegant horse.