Elton has two shows that night. We promise to meet him at Dan Tana’s between shows. Jace is sitting alone in the corner, resigned that Twit never felt him and learned nothing about playing from the heart. I sign to him that he should stick around for afternoon delight at the hotel, which perks him up.
“What about her?” he signs, pointing at Joan. 
“She’s totally cool,” I assure him.
Jace floats over her head. She instantly noticed his aura, looking all about. Jace signs that Joan is into him. 
“Let’s go back to the Beverly Wilshire,” I announce to her and Twit. He declines, needing to stay attached at the waist to Elton. A needy bitch, that Twit.
“I’ll show you real rock n roll,” I tempt Joan.
“Once you’ve sold millions of records, you can show me rock n roll,” she sneers.
“Girls cain’t rock. Yer all about tits and ass, Like Queens of Noise?” I totally insult her.
“Ain’t no way I’m goin’ up to yer room, even if yer gay,” she motions at Jack.
“We’ll tell ya hows we both did Patti Scialfa in Asbury Park last year.”
“Springsteen’s bitch?” 
“She came so many times, she ran out of the hotel screaming. Bruce complained the next day,” Jack relates.
“I’ll hang out, only ‘cause I wanna see you boys get it on.”
“Oh, you’ll wanna get it on, too,” I brag. “And we don’t need drugs, neither.”
Jace has a big grin on, knowing he’ll be the star of this performance. Jack looks a bit nervous until I mention Patti. Our three-way with her was a memory he’d forgotten.
Joan isn’t a bit reluctant. Once we drop Elton and Twit at the Sunset Marquis, it’s just the three of us in the back of the limo. Tony and Jimmy had to stay with the rock star, per Doug’s orders. We drape our arms around her with Jace hovering above us, stroking her short black hair.
“Why do I feel like someone’s running their fingers through my hair?” Joan is uncomfortable. 
“Oh, that’s Casper. 
He showed up to help Trip on guitar, but the twit refused his help.”
“That boy is useless.”
“I’m sure Elton finds some use for the Twit. And, Jimmy turned down his guitar, so no one noticed his poor playing.”
“Yeah, there were four guitars on Croc Rock, my version.”
“What’s the story behind Gatorsaurus?” 
“We need Tommy to tell it righteously.”
“Yeah, Tom and Huck, the Righteous Brothers,” Jack snarks.
“A little jealousy here?” Joan spots a hint of possible gossip.
“I had to escape from a monastery in Switzerland to get my boyfriend back,” Jack puts his arm around me.
“You boys just make up stories like this?”
“No way. Ya gotta have real adventures at our age, before yer too old,” I contend.
“Ya got that right. I go to Japan where I’m idolized. But Kim keeps us locked up. Cheri’s cool, but the other two are mindless fucks who don’t even pleasure themselves,” Joan confesses.
“Too much information,” we both cover our ears.
“A little girly masturbation too much fer ya? Y’all need to be more creative if’n ya wants to get it on with me.”
“Don’t worry. We have a secret y’alls gonna find real excitin.’”
“I’m creamin’ my pants.”
Jace reaches down and strokes the crotch of her leathers. Joan jerks and looks startled.
“Told ya so,” we both laugh. 
The limo stops at the hotel and the doorman rushes to let us out. Jack is prepared with a tip. Joan and I laugh at his sense of entitlement. We have arrived. All of us, including Jace, skip through the lobby and into the elevator. Jack and I laugh at Joan holding Jace’s hand as we ascend. When she sees us laughing and realizes we are not holding her hand, she lets go and shudders. By then the door opens and all four of us trip down the hall to our room, Joan and Jace holding hands again. We all throw our jeans and tees off and jump into the king-sized bed. After a minute or so of fumbling and making out, mostly me turning Jack on while Jace keeps Joan busy, she stops everything.
“What is going on?” she demands.
My legs wrap around Joan, while her legs have Jack tied up. He loves that. Jace is naked and fully aroused, with his legs also around Joan. We are not interested in explanations.
“Relax, babe. Enjoy the ride,” I assert myself. 
“Fuck that. I’m too horny to relax,” she counters. Reaching into her bag on the floor by the bed, out she pulls out a contraption with straps and a huge dildo. 
“What the fuck is that?” Jack’s eyes open wide. 
“Never seen a strap-on?” Joan explains.
Jace, the perennial 15-year-old, stops humping, not sure he is ready to be penetrated by a device.
“That’s better,” she relaxes. “I don’t like being attacked by a dick I can’t see.”
“We can pull the shades and turn out the lights,” I get up to make her more comfortable.
“I may be fucked up but I ain’t getting fucked by an invisible dick,” she decides. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Three dicks fully aroused are stymied by a rubber cigar.
“Okay,” I pull everyone off her, “I told you Patti ran out screaming last time we did this. You can’t see Jace because he’s Casper, the Friendly Ghost.”
“This ain’t Saturday morning cartoons, dickweed. Who’s Jace and why’s he a ghost.”
Our dicks are quickly melting.
“How about we get it on, and then we’ll explain. First things first.”
“Seems like it didn’t make Patti feel so great having done it. I ain’t fucking a ghost.”
It does seem pretty pervy for Jace to fuck her without her knowing what is up.
“You want the long story or just what’s happening right now?”
“What is going on?”
“Jace is a Ghost. Only people with open hearts, like you, can feel him. You instinctively trust him and let him into your heart. Jack and I love him. We love you for trusting him. It makes for great sex because we all love and trust each other.”
“How can I trust someone I can’t see while he’s trying to fuck me?”
That is a real dick-killer. We settle back against the big bed’s headboard in order to tell her the long story.
“Let me ask you what it’s like to be fucked by your strap-on. Is it better to bury my head in the pillow 
and let you go at my ass, or should I be on my back looking into your eyes 
as we go at it?”
“Both are cool. I guess it depends on how much you trust me. Sometimes you just want to be fucked or do you need to be loved while fucking?”
“Yer right.”
“Laying here talking about it is definitely not as cool as just doing it,” she remarks.
“Well, at least you’re not running out the door screaming because you got fucked by a ghost.”
“Patti’s a pussy.” 
We all agree to that.
“I don’t wanna fuck someone who sees me as skank.”
“Jace is still 15. Fucking isn’t so complicated. We know how much love is in his heart. Now we share it with you because you trust him like we do.”
“So, let’s all fuck, then.”
Joan knows the magic words. Jace looks confused from all the talking, but seeing our dicks perk up makes him horny as well. He stays out of the scrum for a minute or so while Jack and I take turns turning Joan on. Fucking should not be so complicated. We talk our way back to the initial orgy start. Joan strokes my dick as well as Jack’s. When we are sufficiently hard, she positions me on top of Jack with his legs around my hips. 
Grabbing my dick, she rubs the tip against his anal entrance, causing him to moan with desire. Out of her bag of tricks comes lube which she applies to my hard dick and Jack’s ass. As soon as I enter him, she puts on the strap-on, rubbing the dildo against my ass. I quicken my thrusting into Jack, needing her inside me. Jace thrusts his dick against Joan lips which open to give him head. Jace is lightly sitting on my shoulders as Joan enters me from behind while continuing to suck Jace off. Jack pulls Jace’s hips so he can stimulate his ass with his tongue. This complicated coupling can’t go on for long. Jace’s dick is its usual uncontrolled self, going off in Joan’s mouth after less than a couple of minutes. She pulls out of me and pushes Jace away, positioning the dildo for easy access to Jack’s ass. Jack pushes me away, in order to start fucking me. 
I get on my knees and pull Joan and Jace under me and enter her doggy-style. 
This arrangement stabilizes and all four of us are going at it simultaneously for quite a while. I see that Jace was about to cum for the second time. I reach around Joan and grab Jace’s throbbing dick in a vice-like grip-of-death. Thrusting as deep as possible into Joan, I hold my dick rigid as it approaches climax. Joan’s strap-on is gyrating wildly into Jace as she reaches orgasm, just as my reach-around causes him to go off. I’m holding my breath while rigid inside Joan. As I gasp for breath I cum in a huge spurt. My body shakes and vibrates from the orgasm, causing Jack to go off in my ass. All four of us collapse simultaneously. 
At least the bed doesn’t collapse, thanks to the luxury of expensive hotels.
We lay there breathing hoarsely. Joan is massaging Jace.
“Can you see him now?” I ask.
“Is he a blonde kid, kinda young?”
“That’s Casper. He’s been 15 for two years. Stuck there ‘cause he died.”
“He don’t look dead.” Casper is licking her left tit. “or, act it,” as she giggles.
“We was all the same age when his brother killed him.”
“That’s not cool.”
“Right. But I’ve got a spirit guide who brought him back. He’s a ghost until I die. Then we enter the spirit world together.”
“Soul brothers?”
“Except for the skin tone.”
“I’m pretty fucked up. So I won’t really remember all this. Not sure I wanna ‘member fucking three guys at once, especially one who’s dead.”
“Don’t wanna be a death rocker?”
“I’ll leave that to Ozzie. 
I’m in an all girl band”
“Casper’s crazy on guitar. He taught everyone to play from the heart. Ya wanna learn?”
“Like that fag Twit?”
“Naw. He couldn’t feel Casper. You not only feel him, ya already see ‘im.” It took Jack 24 hours on non-stop fucking before he could.”
Jack turns red. 
“How’s he gonna teach me guitar. I already play.”
“Ain’t there nothin’ ya wanna play but don’t know?”
“I know all the Suzi Quatro songs, but I kinda wanna learn Heart’s ‘Barracuda.’”
“Really?”
“Don’t mock me. I’m in a girl band. How’s it work?”
I grab the acoustic guitar we brought.
“Just let him show you the fingering to start and feel him in your heart. Start playing from there. Your heart will tell you the notes.”
Joan relaxes as Casper controls her fingers. The song just flows, even better than Heart does it.
“That’s fucking cool,” she shouts.
“It’s the same as how we learn to sing. Your voice just knows the notes.”
“What about all those notes in church hymnals?”
“Yer a church girl now?”
“Was, but no more.”
“Well, them notes is just fer white folk who cain’t sing fer shit. Ever see a black choir reading notes. It hasta be from the heart, in church or on stage.”
“I’m too wasted ta ‘member all this,” she admits, sliding back and snuggling up between Jack and Casper. 
I follow, and we are all asleep in seconds.
Blair bursts in, laughing at us all bunched together in a torn-up king-size bed.
“Showtime, boys, and girls. Andy’s ready for the Troubadour. We’ll catch the early show before dinner with Elton.
Joan stays asleep as we hastily get dressed. We look worse for wear in dirty tees and jeans. WTF.
Tony ushers the four of us plus Jace Incognito to a special table upstairs. Andy orders champagne and no one asks for IDs. The vibe is definitely West Coast, with little excitement in the air. Most of the crowd is preening for themselves, trying to look interesting, rather than being interesting. Andy says he feels like he is back in Pittsburgh.
“Don’t worry. Elton knows how to put on a show.”
True to form, the star is electric, playing his hits and chatting in his Cockney accent with the crowd that is standing in front of the stage. When he does his version of ‘Crocodile Rock,’ 
the crowd goes wild, actually dancing and bopping on the dance floor. I am disappointed that my version has not influenced his performance of the classic. He ends it with ‘Daniel Was Leaving,’ changing the title to Trevor. I am sad that Trevor might actually be leaving. Elton points out the Twit before he starts singing. The Twit looks too pleased with himself. After two encores, we leave to eat at Dan Tana’s.
It is not long before Elton arrives with Twit on his arm.
“And don’t get your hopes up,” he lords it over me, “I am not leaving.”
“What a perfect ending for Elton’s set.” I reply.
Twit just smirks at me.
“Now, boys, you know I love being fought over,” Elton responds.
“Well, Tim’s been mine since he was 14,” Andy adds to the drama.
“Well, that must be a long time ago,” Twit sticks a knife in.
“I’m only 17,” I confess.
“Not really,” Jack adds. “You turned 18 today,” as he leans over and gives me a big fat kiss. 
For the fourth year in a row, I’ve forgotten my own birthday. Everyone but Twit insists on birthday kisses.
“You can paddle me, if you want, Twit,” I dare him.
He reaches over and mock slaps me on the cheek.
“Calm down, boys. You’re obviously both still kids,” Andy declares, giving a kiss of approval to Jack, who just smirks at me. The Little Prince. 
Just in time to add to the commotion, Joan shows up, disheveled and looking wasted.
“Why’dcha leave me alone?” she complains.
“You wouldn’t wake up,” I answer.
“Then why didn’tcha call 911?”
“You were still breathing.”
“I remember this lovely.” Elton states..
“I’m Joan Jett, lead singer of the Runaways. I’m your ghost of rock n roll future.”
“I ain’t Scrooge, so sit next to me and tell me about the Runaways. I’ve read about you – Kim Fowley’s Monkees girl band.”
“Bull shit. We can play our instruments.”
“The Queens of Noise,” Jack adds.
“We’re all musicians here,” Elton adds, “except Andy, but he’s a star in his world.”
“All except Twit,” Jack and I shout.
“Don’t call me that. And I played at the studio today,” he claims.
We all laugh. This repartee keeps up until the food arrives. Elton digs into his veal and pasta, to no one’s surprise.
Soon Tony arrives to gather Elton (and Twit) for the second show. The hardest working piano player in rock n roll. 
Much to Twit’s disgust, Elton leans over, kisses me on the cheek, and whispers Happy Birthday. “I won’t play Croc Rock in my set. I’ll call you up when or if I get an encore.”
That’s the kind of birthday I like. We all leave Dan Tana’s together. I run up to Doug’s office and grab the vintage Fender Mustang 
he was given by Bo Diddly, to use if Elton gets an encore.
“Why ya got a guitar out?” Jack whispers to me at the VIP table.
“I’m gonna do Gatorsaurus Rock,” I whisper back, “if Elton gets an encore.”
“I wanna play too,” he whines. “And what about Joan?”
“Okay. Okay, Just don’t tell Twit. I’ll find two more axes.”
When I scrounge around his office, Doug walks in.
“The money’s locked up,” he answers to my harried look.
“Naw. I need two guitars, so Jack and Joan can do an encore with Elton.
“Jesus, you’re trashing my Classic Rock image. Take the Mustang.”
“Already did. We need two more guitars.”
He shakes his head, takes out his keys, and unlocks the office closet. There are at least a dozen axes stacked inside, with cords and fuzz boxes to spare.
“Joan needs a Suzi Quatro and Jack should have Lucille. I’ll bet you have ‘em.”
“Jesus, kid. Whatever happened to the sweet boy who let me fuck him in the hot tub?”
“I ain’t a boy no more. I turned 18 today.”
“Well, happy birthday. Grab what you need. Don’t let anyone know I said it’s okay.”
All the guitars are signed originals. They are actually Suzi Quatro and James Brown axes.”
I run over to the VIP table with the guitars in hand.”
“What are you doing?” Twit is quick to complain.
“We’re rushing the stage once Elton gets done and make him play real rock n roll,” I lie.
“There’s no way that will happen,” he jumps up and goes to find Tony to act as bouncer. Little does he know that Tony hates him, too.
“What the fuck, Tim. They’ll just throw us out,” Joan knows about Hollywood bouncers.
“Don’t worry. It’s Elton’s idea of a birthday present.”
When she looks at her guitar and sees Suzi Quatro’s signature, she is hooked. Joan is still a 17-year-old. Jack worries he should wear spats to do the James Brown shuffle on stage. “Ah, kids,” I reminisce, now that I am 18.
Elton does his set, omitting the hit ‘Crocodile Rock.’ The crowd is older and less into it, making me concerned there will be no encore. When he does Daniel, everyone is standing, either clapping or crying. Sentimental fools. He walks off stage, nodding to us up in the balcony. We gather our equipment and rush backstage. Twit, unable to convince Tony to do his bidding, insists on coming too.
“Listen, Twit. This is Elton’s idea. We’re going to play a couple of songs. When we’re done, you rush on stage and give him a big hug, okay?’
He looks perturbed but realizes it is the best plan. All he wants is to be on stage. Being a fag is his only talent.
Joan is all nerves. “What songs are we playing?”
“Don’t worry. Just play from the heart. Jace is right here. You’ll know what to do. Just channel Suzi Quatro.”
“I can do that,” she affirms.
The cries for an encore keep up. LA audiences want their money’s worth. Elton walks back out, to cheers and louder clapping.
“Got sumthin’ special for you tonight. My mate Andy Warhol (he bows toward the VIP table) brought some young, talented musicians. Tim turned 18 today. He’s from New York and thinks he can do ‘Crocodile Rock’ better than Bernie’s original. How about we give him a chance to prove it. Happy Birthday, Tim.”
There are a few scattered cheers, and then a thunderous round of boos. Thanks Elton.
I walk out, with Jack and Joan following. A few people yell Joan’s name, a home crowd advantage. I go up to the floor mic.
“My friend Tommy tells the story about a humongous alligator in Florida we knew, but since he’s only 15 and can’t be here, I changed Elton’s hit around to honor the beast, ‘Gatorsaurous.”
I nod to Elton and we both start with the opening riff. 
He lets me do the singing, while Jack and Joan back me up on guitar. It really rings out in the club.
I remember when rock was young
Huck and Tom had so much fun
Fishin’ the ‘Glades and skipping stones
Livin’ large in a lean-to of our own
But the biggest kick we ever got
Was what we call the Gatorsaurus Rock
While the other kids were Rockin’ Round the Clock
We were hopping and bopping to the Gatorsaurus Rock
Well Gator Rockin’ is something shocking
When your feet just can’t keep still
I never knew me a better time and I guess I never will
Oh Lawdy mama those Friday nights
Tom and Huck just gettin’ tight
Gatorsaurus Rock was out of sight
La lalalala la lalalala la lalalala la
But the days went by and the ‘Gator just cried
Tom got sick and almost died
Long nights on a breathing machine
Dreaming of the ‘Glades and stolen blue jeans
But they’ll never kill the thrills we’ve got
Burning up to the Gatorsaurus Rock
Learning fast as the weeks went past
We really thought Gatorsaurus Rock would last
Well Gator Rockin’ is something shocking
When your feet just can’t keep still
I never knew me a better time and I guess I never will
Oh Lawdy mama those Friday nights
Tom and Huck just getting’ tight
Gatorsaurus Rockin’ was out of sight
La lalalala la lalalala la lalalala la
I remember when rock was young
Huck and Tom had so much fun
Fishin’ in the ‘Glades and skipping stones
Livin’ large in a lean-to of our own
But the biggest kick we ever got
Was what we call the Gatorsaurus Rock
While the other kids were Rockin’ Round the Clock
We were hopping and bopping to the Gatorsaurus Rock
Well Gator Rockin’ is something shocking
When your feet just can’t keep still
I never knew me a better time and I guess I never will
Tom and Huck just gettin’ tight
Gatorsaurus Rock was out of sight
La lalalala la lalalala la lalalala la
La lalalala la lalalala la lalalala la
La lalalala la lalalala la lalalala la
Songwriters: BERNIE TAUPIN, ELTON JOHN
© Universal Music Publishing Group
Joan is sneering her tough girl look while Jack can’t help doing James Brown’s strutting and riffing on the chorus. Elton is standing up and banging on the Steinway. I see Doug upstairs worrying that his equipment, especially the signed guitars, will be destroyed. The crowd gets into it, laughing at us having so much fun. Whether they like my version is irrelevant.
“Okay. I think Bernie isn’t worried, but someday I’ll get Tommy up here to tell the real story about livin’ large in the Everglades. But how about another oldie? It even predates Elton and is from New York New York”
I turn around and tell everyone we’re doing Freddie Cannon’s Palisades Park. Jace shows me how to make my guitar sound like an electric organ.
The older crowd loves a song from their youth. People are even swing dancing in front of the stage. The cheers are the strongest of the night. Twit comes running out and not only gives Elton a hug but also a big kiss. That stops the show. Elton never speaks about being a homo. It is a statement.
I whisper to Jack and Joan, “Nancy Sinatra – Boots.”
We end with ‘Start walkin’’, chasing Twit off the stage. Elton, looking pained, chases after us.
The crowd is stunned, then the clapping starts and goes on for five minutes. Elton drags Twit out and they take a final bow. As the cheers keep up, he motions for the three of us to come out for a bow. Jack and I have our arms around Joan. Jace is standing behind us, hanging on as well. We bow and all 5 ½ of us leave for good. The cheers keep echoing.
Doug is in the dressing room, to collect his prized guitars. After making sure each survived, he compliments Elton. “You know how to put on a show. I suppose you want extra for these house musicians.”
“Just their cut of the last hour’s bar tab.”
“I guess that’s fair. They’re still lined up out there after dancing their asses off. And, they’re all old farts, too.”
“Just like you, Doug,” I kid him.
“Hey I’m deducting rent for use of my equipment. That’s about $50,000 in guitars right there.” 
“Spoken like a true club owner,” Jack quips.
“And you,” he looks accusingly at Jack. “Who said you can act like a Black man.”
“Hey, the hardest working man in rock n roll.”
Andy walks in, laughing at us. “You never fail, Tim. What’s your next idea?”
“How about bringing the Big Shot to Oki Dog and taking homeless kids pix?”
Blair looks pained when he sees Andy’s eyes light up.
“Who’s the Big Shot?” Doug needs to know.
“It’s a camera. Let’s start with Joan here,” Andy suggests.
“Hey, I ain’t homeless. I live at the Canterbury. It’s one step up.”
“Later,” Blair insists.
We retire back to Dan Tana’s, 
where Elton has a second dinner and revels in our joint show.
“Those lyrics don’t quite work,” he opines.
“Does it matter. I’ll call Tommy and get him to fly out from Florida. He knows how to tell a tale.”
“And you don’t?”
“Well, it’s his tale, not mine.”
“Well, it’s my song, not yours.”
“Well, it was our show, not just yours.”
“Well, it’s my club, not any of yours. Your birthday’s over,” Doug points to his watch.
“And what a birthday it was,” I glow.
“Shut up,” Joan complains. “Let’s go to Oki Dog.” 
Little do I know she needs to score. Andy has Blair get the Polaroid Big Shot and we’re off to Santa Monica Blvd in a black limo. We are going to be very popular.
Andy sets up the Polaroid inside the limo and has a steady stream of homeless punks lined up to be shot.
“Come be shot by a Big Shot,” Jack and I announce to the crowd.
“Who thinks he’s a Big Shot,” one of them asks.
“It’s some New York artist,” someone else knows.
“What’s he paying?” the first one asks.
“The standard twenty bucks.”
“That’s nothin’ but a blow job for me.”
“Naw. He’s a New York perv. Ya only gotta pose.”
“What the fuck?”
“Yeah.”
It proves to be a great success. Jack and I try to get Casper to eat an Oki Dog. He spits it all out, making a mess. Someone asks if we want to smoke weed, 
so we go out to the parking lot. 
Joan is gone, so we get high alone. Casper goes to find Joan. “I know just where she went. Y’all stay here. It ain’t fer kids.”
“Yer still fifteen.”
“Plus been dead for two years. Makes me feel like a junkie.”
“Oh,” I then know where Joan went.
Tony and Jimmy arrive from the Marquis, and Blair corrals them into plotting Andy’s escape from Oki Dog. Jack and I sit with him as Andy interviews and shoots photos of the last few hustlers. 
Andy is in high spirits from all their tales of the woes and wonders of life on the street. There are so many homeless teen kids in the year-long summer of LA that the pimps can’t compete. The kids have devised a system called ‘survival sex,’ where they find horny adults to provide room and board for an occasional blow job. I’m well aware of that arrangement from time at Doug’s house – the tee-pee boys. Once Andy’s interest wanes and he’s obviously tired, 
we shoo away the stragglers and take off for the Beverly Wilshire. It is 4 o’clock in the morning. The efficient hotel staff cleaned up our room and we tuck into a made-up bed, Casper sleeping between us. Before falling asleep, he signs to me that he saw what Burroughs’ magic typewriter predicted. I kiss him good-night and move over to the other side with Jack, who murmurs, “I love you.”
“Happy birthday, me.”
Tim at Swim 