The Automatik

Part of what kept me from going completely insane (or was I already?) during junior high was creating and sharing Duran Duran fantasy stories with my girlfriends, which we called “What-Ifs.” Like Homer, we carried on the tradition of an oral history: sitting on the bleachers near the tennis courts during lunch and filling in the other members of the group with the latest chapter of our lovelorn tales. Or, we would spin our yarns in marathon phone conversations (much to the chagrin of our parents). In these fantasies we were always older, taller, beautiful, independently wealthy, and harbored a hidden secret. A secret that we would try to hide from whichever Duran we were involved with in the story (which was usually at least two members per story)…a secret that threatened to tear us apart…or bring us closer together.

I remember some of the best ones: you went to an after-concert party posing as a twentysomething and had a whirlwind affair with John—and then he found out you were only 16. I mean, come ON! I guess we’d never heard of statutory rape charges back then. Another involved a sweet romance with Andy. The only catch? You were blind and regained your sight halfway through the relationship. I remember one in particular where you and Simon were stranded on a desert island. There was a scene where love was confessed. Simon’s lip quivered. When I heard that part, I actually cried! Of course, it was expected that when telling these tales one would have to adopt the appropriate accent for that Duran. That alone should have been worth some sort of Academy Award.

Unfortunately, I only remember snatches of these fabulous “What-Ifs.” Of the two or three actually committed to paper, only one still survives, and I do cherish it. Okay, well, I cringe, too, but it is just so hysterically funny. The ridiculous situations, the corny lines, the “tender lovemaking?” I’m cringing even as I type.

So here, for your reading and cringing pleasure are excerpts from one of the John stories. None of the dialogue has been changed. I am certainly not going to humiliate myself with the vivid details of the sex scenes (what a horny 11-year old I was!), but I will give you the highlights. . .

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You are a reporter for a music magazine (Creem). You are assigned to interview ONE member of Duran Duran. Your manager tells you to think of an original idea and gives you a backstage pass and a front row ticket. The next night is the concert. After, you realize that someone has stolen your purse (it contains keys, credit cards, etc.). However, you have $10 and your pass in your pants pocket. Everyone has left. After about 20 minutes, Nick comes up to you.

Nick: (walking up stage. He stops and crouches down.) ‘Ello there.

You: (looking up, slightly startled). Oh, hi, I’m {fill in name} the reporter from Creem. (laughs) Someone’s stolen my purse: my keys and everything.

Nick: (grinning) Oh, that’s too bad. Want to come backstage?

You nod and he helps you up some stairs at the side of the stage. In the dressing room you see John, drinking from a bottle of Jack Daniels, Simon, blow-drying his hair, Roger, exhausted and sleeping in a chair wearing only a pair of shorts, and a note on the mirror: “Left with T. Talked to M. about April 18th show. A.”

Simon: (walks up to you and Nick and pinches your cheek). Bye, Nicholas. (Looks at you and then at him, raising one eyebrow) Ooh, she’s cute. Where’d you pick her up? (Kisses you on the lips) Well, if we never meet again, darling. . . (He winks and leaves, whistling)

You: (looking at Nick, dead serious) Was I supposed to take that as a compliment?

Nick: (laughing) Simon’s a bit eccentric. Oh, this is the band. (He walks over to John) John, meet {name}, the reporter.

John: (smiling widely, with a genuinely friendly tone) Pleased to meet you. (He offers his hand)

Nick: (shaking Roger’s shoulder) Rodge, wake up. This is {name}, the reporter.

Roger: (opens one eye, closes it, opens both eyes, blushes a deep crimson, smiles and shakes your hand) Hi.

Nick: (looking around, notices Andy’s note, picks it up and reads it half-aloud, sighs and looks at you) Well, I’m sure Andy sends his love.

You grin. Nick looks behind him and spies a chair. He pulls it up to you.

Nick: (gesturing to the chair) Would you like to sit down?

You: Oh, sure thanks. Okay, well you know I’m from Creem. I wanted to do an interview with one of you—I thought something along the lines of “Three Days with Duran Duran.” I wanted to make a really good article, a serious one. Any volunteers?

Nick: (apologetically) Well, I’d really like to, but I’ve a lot of business to attend to here in this city.

Roger: (looking disappointed because he hasn’t stopped staring at you since you walked in) Oh, damn! Me, too!

John: (smiling) Well, I’m free {name}. I’d love to be interviewed.

Roger is thinking: John gets all the girls I’m interested in. Damn him!

John: (standing up) Well, why don’t we go somewhere to eat? I’m starved and we can do part of the interview then if you like.

Roger: (has been getting dressed) See you chaps later. (Looks at you) It was REALLY nice meeting you (with a touch of sarcasm in his voice)

Nick: (following him out the door) Oh, John. There’s a catch. Someone’s stolen her purse. Her keys and everything. (He smiles at you)

John: We’ll figure something out. Maybe one of the stagehands found it. Well, thanks Nick. See you later.

Nick: (waving) Bye, JT. Bye, {name}. ‘Twas a pleasure meeting you. (He hugs you) Bye!

Oh, this is perfectly plausible right? HAH! And since when did John Taylor drink straight from a bottle of JD? What is this, backstage after the Guns ‘n’ Roses concert? The preposterousness continues as John takes you to dinner. Much sexual tension and cheesy pick-up lines ensue. John then offers to let you stay at his place—on his sofabed of course. What kind of a girl does he think you are? Anyway, they all live in one apartment. A Duran Duran dorm? Then, around 4:00 a.m. or so…

Simon comes in and trips over the opened sofabed.

Simon: Oops! (leans back, very drunk) Ahhhh. Who’s this? (He sits up and looks closely at you) Darling!

You: (waking up) What?

Simon: I never thought I’d see you again! But tell me, (he fingers the sheet) why aren’t you upstairs?

You laugh sarcastically. He understands.

Simon: Want a drink?

You: No, thank you.

Simon: I’ll fix one for myself, then.

You: (alarmed) I think you’ve had too much already.

Simon: Nonsense! (Pours himself a glass of Scotch) Too much is never enough. (He smiles and sits down on the sofabed) So you like me mate John, eh? (When you don’t answer, he smiles and pats your knee) He’s awfully cute, isn’t he? (You smile and look down) Not as cute as me, I’ll bet. (You look up at him and giggle nervously)

Simon: Come on, admit it. (He laughs and takes a gulp of his Scotch) You didn’t think I was serious? Don’t you know my reputation as a kidder?

You: Not really.

Simon: So, what do you want to do now? I know! Let’s have sex.

You: What?!?

Simon: Always kidding.

You: I’m really tired.

Simon: Okay, well, g’night love. (He leans over and kisses your forehead. Then he gets up and goes upstairs)

Today, the part of Simon LeBon will be played by. . . DUDLEY MOORE! Jesus! And what are you supposed to be, a nun? The next day after John coos over you some more, you are invited for a swim in their backyard pool, borrowing a bathing suit of one of the Duran’s girlfriends. You get sunburned and John offers to rub some cream on you. . . well, you can imagine the smarminess here. You then go inside for lunch. John takes out a knife to slice some bread and…

You: (getting dizzy, hoarsely mumbling) John, John, catch me. . . (You mumble and fall)

John: (he drags you to a chair and starts shouting) Roger! Nick! Simon! Come quick!

Roger appears first, followed by Simon and Nick.

All: What happened? Oh my God, what’s going on?

John: I don’t know, she just fainted!

Roger: Why don’t you give her mouth-to-mouth, John darling?

John: (giving him a mean look) Roger, why don’t you shut up?

Nick: Calm down, you two.

Simon: Here, I’ll help you bring her upstairs.

They carry you up the stairs and lie you on Roger’s bed, because it’s closest. He starts to open his mouth, but decides to shut up.

Nick: You need any help, JT?

John: Um, no, that’s okay.

Simon: We’ll be downstairs if you need us.

They leave. John begins rubbing your forehead absently. You slip from unconsciousness into sleep and start to dream.

In the dream, a telephone rings. The scene is your own apartment.

You: (answering the phone) Hello? (It’s your sister, Susan)

Susan: Hi, could you come over? I want to show you Mom and Dad’s anniversary present!

You: Sure!

You drive over and knock on the door. Her boyfriend Brett answers and lets you in. You see Susan bound up in ropes on the bed.

You: What’s going on? (You turn around and see Brett holding a knife. You gasp.)

Susan: Give him your money. He shot someone—may have killed them—and needs to get out of town. (She is nervous and shaking and crying)

You: No, Brett.

Brett: (holding the knife up to her throat) I’ll kill her!

You: (starting to open the door) NO!

Brett stabs her. You scream, horrified, and run out. This event really happened, but it ended here. In the dream, Brett chases you and stabs you over and over again.

John: What’s the matter? Calm down? What’s the matter?

You: (crying) Um, I can’t—are my clothes here?

John: Yes, but—

You: Give them to me. I want to get dressed.

John: No, what happened tell me!

You: Call me a cab, I-I-I’ve got to get out of here!

John: (sobbing) Please tell me what’s going on? Why are you so upset?

You: I’ll do it myself! (You grab the phone and call a cab. You run to John’s bedroom. You get dressed and put all your stuff into your purse. As you’re running out the door, John grabs you by the wrists.)

John: Please tell me what’s going on? I love you! You’ve got to tell me!

You: (hearing the cab outside) Goodbye, John. (You run out the door and get into the cab. It drives off.)

Meanwhile, John has fallen to his knees crying.

This is truly poor writing. Shall I count the ways? First off, why didn’t they just take you to the sofabed? And who lets their sister’s boyfriend stab their sister and LEAVES?!?! And John is in love with you already? And sobs when you run away? At any rate, you seek therapy—thank God—and “get your life straightened out.” That’s what it says, I swear!

You return after three months to the apartment and ask the desk clerk if anyone’s home. He informs you that the occupants have moved, but gives you a note saying, “Mr. Taylor asked me to give you this.” The note says, “Dear {name}, I love you. John.” All very believable. Then you move to a beach house, where you live in seclusion for three years, “depressed, alone, hurt, and uncaring.” Just when you’d gotten your life together, too! Drat! When you hear Duran Duran is playing in concert, you find out where they are staying (I guess Creem magazine has been keeping you on the payroll!) and go to their hotel. There is a guard outside their suite.

You: Excuse me, My name is {name}. I’m a friend of John Taylor. Could I please see him?

Guard: I’m sorry, ma’am. Your name’s not on the list.

You: But I need to see him! It’s very important.

Guard: I’m sorry, but your name’s not on here. Please don’t start a ruckus.

You: (getting desperate) Please, please let me in! (You try to push past him to the door, but he pushes you aside)

John: (opening the door) What’s going on out here?

Hearing his voice makes you cry. You look up at him and your eyes meet, but there you see no flicker of recognition in his eyes. They are cold, hard and vacant.

Guard: This girl here says she knows you and it’s urgent that she see you.

John: I don’t know who she is.

You: (surprised) John! It’s me, {name}! (The guard starts to pull you away) John! John! Stop it! (You try and break away from the guard, who looks at John questioningly)

John: (hoarsely) Take her away.

“Please don’t start a ruckus.” Who talks like that? Classic, if contrived, melodrama. Could you tell I was a big fan of NBC soaps? The next day you are on the beach, contemplating. You meet a cute little boy and befriend him, but then his bitchy mom comes up and gives you attitude about talking to HER son. They leave and then, you notice John. Can you guess what’s coming up? Well, I won’t keep you in “suspense,” read on. . .

John hears you sigh and looks up. He calls your name questioningly.

You: (looking at him almost fearfully) Hi.

John: (he looks down) So, you’ve been living here for the past three years, have you?

You: (still looking at him) Yes, I have.

Suddenly, the bitchy woman comes up with the cute little boy.

Alicia: (with a sickly sweet smile) Hello, John, darling.

John: (going over and kissing her) Hello, Alicia.

Child: (tugging on John’s pants) Me too, Daddy!

You wince as John crouches down to hug the child.

Alicia: Dinner’s almost ready, darling.

John: I’ll be along soon. I’m just talking to an old friend. Alicia, this is {name}.

Alicia: (smiling wickedly) Hello, we’ve met before.

Child: (squealing) Mum, can we stay? She’s my friend!

Alicia: Maybe later. Come along, now. (She takes his hand) Bye, it was lovely meeting you. You’re such a charming girl.

You: (looking out at the water) So, Alicia’s your wife, eh?

John: (not looking at you) Yes.

You: And your son?

John: Stepson. Alicia’s first husband died. We got married, right after. . . (His voice trails off and he clears his throat)

There is a silence. Both of you are afraid to speak because you know you will start crying.

You: John, why did you make the guard take me away?

John: (closing his eyes) Why don’t you ask yourself that question?

You: (with a sob caught in your throat) What do you mean?

John: (looking at you finally) You know bloody well what I mean! I have to go now.

He leaves and you turn away crying.

More melodrama. Why does John live in your beachfront community—now that’s not unlikely, is it? I think he’s the stalker in this relationship. Why is John’s wife such a bitch? I don’t know and I wrote this damn thing! Methinks to provide yet more plot twists. Lots of weighty silences and “serious” moments here. But still lame. Later, you are at the local outdoor market and you run into Roger, Nick and Andy. Who would have thought they lived in your neighborhood, too? What a coincidence! You talk with them and Roger, ever the caring fellow, gives you his condolences over John’s marriage. Yeah, whatever.

So you decide to move to the mountains. It must be fun being a rock reporter who a) apparently never has to work and b) who can just up and move to wherever she wants at any time. One day, John calls.

You: (catching your breath) Are you sure you want to talk to me?

John: Please let me come over.

You: What about Alicia?

John: We’re not together anymore. Please, I’ve got to see you. I’ll be over in 15 minutes.

About 20 minutes later, you hear a knock on the front door. You open it. It’s Brett, the murderer. You scream, but he covers your mouth.

Brett: (forcing his way in) I’ve been looking for you, sweetie. It took me a long time to find you, but I finally did it. (He fingers the buttons on your blouse) I’ll be waiting for you upstairs. In case you don’t have any intention of coming, here’s an incentive. (He pulls out a knife and you smell alcohol on his breath) It’s be a shame to mess up that beautiful face of yours, sweetie. (He kisses you roughly and goes upstairs)

You: (hearing another knock on the door and opening it to reveal John) John, don’t say a word.

John: What?

You give him a silencing look and lead him into the corner.

You: I don’t have time to explain right now, but when a guy comes down the stairs, hit him over the head with this. (You hand him a log from the nearby fireplace. You call the police quietly and tell them to come over in 10 minutes because there’s a dangerous man in your house and you give his name because he has a record) Oh, Brett!

He comes downstairs and you say, “Now!” and John hits him over the head three times with the log. The police arrive and you tell them the story. They take Brett away.

John: Why couldn’t you tell me?

You: John, I felt so guilty about not giving Brett the money. I thought it was my fault.

John: But it wasn’t. Do you feel better now?

You: Yes.

John: (touching your hair) I want to tell you I love you, but words aren’t enough to express what I’m feeling right now. (He begins to kiss you and then carries you up the stairs) I think we’ve waited long enough. . .

EEEEEEK! If there were any more plot holes this story would be a pair of fishnet stockings! You tell the police to come over “in 10 minutes,” I’m so sure! I’m so embarrassed! And of course it was “your fault.” You left your sister with a “dangerous man,” and one who “has a record,” no less. Sheesh!

I’m sure you can gather what happens next. We’ll just skip over that tawdry little scene except for this: you were a virgin. Uh-HUH.

You move in with John and the rest of the Durans (still roomies, how cute!) because you and he are going to get married that weekend! After you accept his proposal, you go to a nearby park: swingsets, see-saws, ferris wheel. That scene is pretty boring with the exception of when John pumps his fist to the sky and shouts, “Do you hear that world? I LOVE HER!” Hmmm. . .

You and Nick discuss the fact that Roger’s in love with you. “But he only knew me for a few hours!” you exclaim, incredulously (as I’m sure YOU are exclaiming as you read this). “Well,” Nick explains, “Roger doesn’t fall in love often, but when he does he falls hard.” I guess so, Nick, whatever YOU say. Oh yeah, and Nick says he loves you, as a friend, of course. When Roger finds out about the pending wedding, he is crushed. He freaks out, throws silverware, curses a lot. You are scared and escape to a restaurant where you try to contact Nick, who is at Andy’s. He’s already left so you tell Simon what happened and he offers to pick you up. You seek solace in his arms and he, too, confesses his love for you (“Don’t take this the wrong way, but. . . ” he tells you).

So you are packing up at your mountain cabin, preparing to move in with John and getting ready for the wedding, when guess who shows up? Rodge! He breaks down, declares his love and asks if you will. . . God, this is so humiliating. . . “make love” to him. You decline but give him a kiss at least. He understands. What a swell guy. So it’s off to the church!

You get married. The priest says, “You may kiss the bride.” John leans over and kisses you. Then, he looks up and jumps up and down, shouting, “Alright!”

Suffice it to say I did not find success as a romance novelist. I hope you enjoyed this little story. Let’s never speak of it again.

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