Back to my novel The Forest Dark, and the bios of main characters.
The story is about the long-term friendship of a gay man with a straight woman – the woman, Eden von Eiff, we talked about here.
The man, fictional Noah Baldock, had several influences. I based him mostly on an idea of a beloved old boyfriend of mine who’s been dead for over 20 years. I posed the question: what would Mr. X be like, if instead of dying in his 30s, he’d survived and grew into middle age?
Same personality I remembered, but older. How age changes people: some traits get worse, some better. Some softer, other emotions more pronounced. So, really, it’s not based on a real person, rather what my imagining someone would be like who’s no longer with us.
I suspect there’s a bit of Noah in me, too, but I do feel I’m not as angry as he is.
Here’s some things you should know about Noah Baldock:
He grew up in Middleton, which is a suburb of Madison, Wisconsin.
He’s a ginger – actually, he’s a redhead, they didn’t call them gingers back then. In the second part of the book, he’s got reddish gray hair.
Noah’s got some serious anger issues.
Also he’s got some honesty issues, can you say “unreliable narrator?”
He thinks of himself as Louie’s father, even though he’s not related.
He’s a crackerjack shot.
He was gay bashed, and that forever changed him.
He likes to go to comedy clubs, loves watching standup, though he may not do it in the pages of the book.
He likes to listen to Frank Sinatra, unusual for someone of his generation.
He loves cats, but won’t admit it.
He’s got a major, Big Secret. Want to find out what that is? You will have to read the book!
More Forest Dark bios to come.
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Sometimes you just can’t include everything in the final, finished book. So it is with this passage — which goes into more detail about Ronnie and Noah, a relationship that still haunts me from “The Forest Dark.” There is nothing like love and lust in your 20s. This does diminish as one ages, unfortunately. But you can resurrect it in your imagination, and in your writing.
From “The Forest Dark” (left unpublished as part of the final draft of the book):
Ronnie Perkins was only the third man Noah Baldock had ever had sex with, but the two of them together tried to make up for any lack in this department. Ronnie was, in many ways, the surprise answer to all the hopes Noah had through those years when he mostly lied to himself that he was straight, and that all would be well once the right woman came along for him to love.
He was pretty sure no one saw them trade blowjobs that afternoon, out of sight but just yards away from one of Silver Lake’s major streets. When they were finished, Noah, now buzzed, grabbed Ronnie’s hand – calloused and warm, tough from his weights – for the few steps back down the alley toward the RTD stop. A little Latin girl in a frilly, bright pink skirt skipped by unexpectedly and he disengaged, the years of denial a much more powerful driver than his new-found lust.
“Turning Japanese, I think I’m turning Japanese I really think so,” Noah sang quietly, but Ronnie had already nodded off against his shoulder on the short, hot bus ride to the apartment. Later, there was enough in a Tequila bottle for almost two full shots apiece, considerably more sex and an alarm clock that rang way too soon for a Monday morning, rousing them both out of a dead sleep.
* * *
After a shared bowl of Wheaties, half an orange and black coffee, Noah walked Ronnie down to the express bus stop, which would take him the ten or so miles to the beach. He worked at Equipment out on Channel Road, a store that sold T-shirts, suntan oil, umbrellas and snacks. As fun as the job was hanging out at the ocean with all the cute guys and other people on vacation, Ronnie’s position didn’t pay enough for him to have wheels. He spent an enormous amount of time on the RTD.
###
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The front cover of my new family-of-choice novel, “The Forest Dark,” coming out sometime this May.
A significant chunk of the second part of the book takes place at night, and of course, the image conjures up the idea of an “urban forest.” I like that this photo even includes the relatively “new” Ritz-Carlton skyscraper at L.A. Live in DTLA.
Stay tuned for updates on book and ebook availability. What the heck is it about, you ask? The back cover copy states:
“In 1984, during L.A.’s frenetic Summer Olympics, conservative co-ed Eden von Eiff befriends young gay man Noah Baldock and his boyfriend, Ronnie. Though they become fast friends, Eden feels like an inconvenient third wheel until she meets Ruben Acosta. Little does she know that Noah has also cast his eye on the handsome Cuban. After the wild summer, Eden’s pregnant and struggling to keep this secret from her politically powerful family back east when Noah offers a solution to her problem.
Twenty-five years later, these two Boomers must come to grips with choices they made long ago. Eden’s son Louie is now a social media star with his ambitions set on reality TV. Noah struggles with job loss and his odd “friend” Jivan, who holds a mysterious power over him. Eden regrets not being part of Louie’s early life and wants to change that, but finds mothering a 25-year-old a daunting challenge.
Thinking their troubles have mostly to do with middle age, the wrecked economy and professional failure, both Eden and Noah find themselves tested in ways they could not have predicted. In the process, they discover what it is that’s essential, and what it is that lasts.”
Boomer angst, for sure, and hopefully, lots of irreverent fun along the way. I think this is a book you can even take along to the beach with you this summer – either in paper or electronic form.
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Here’s my first attempt at some (like, 100 words) teaser marketing copy for my new novel, The Forest Dark:
“The Forest Dark” is a quirky, family-of-choice drama about Eden and Noah, middle-aged friends who must find a way to reconcile their unresolved past with an unexpectedly strange present.
In 1984, conservative co-ed Eden von Eiff befriends young gay man Noah Baldock during L.A.’s frenetic Summer Olympic Games. Becoming fast and intimate, Noah offers Eden a solution to an enormous problem — which she can’t, in the end, accept.
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Twenty-five years later, these two boomers struggle to come to grips with the choices they made long ago. They must navigate not only a troubled economy and professional failure, but also control a looming and violent threat to their future.
So, the idea is to entice without giving the whole plot away. I wonder if it’s too vague? What does anyone think? Also, how weird does a story have to be called “quirky?” I don’t want anyone to think it’s about, for instance, anyone named Zooey.
Here’s a little bit more from my novel-in-progress, The Forest Dark. In the second part of the book, which takes place in 2009, I introduce Louie, who is the son of one of the characters we followed in the first part of the book, which takes place in 1984. Meet Louis Ronald Reagan White.
Well dude, Noah saves the day once more, Louie thought.
When he’d opened the box with the knife in it at his birthday party in April, it had all seemed a little dramatic.
“Don’t laugh,” Noah’d said, when Louie tried the switchblade’s spring release for the first time. “I’d be happier if you carried a gun.”
They’d all had a good chuckle at that. Maybe a gun wasn’t such a bad idea after all, though the knife seemed to work pretty well for today’s asshole in the park.
Zeke! Where are you, man? I’m hungry.
As soon as he got to the bottom of the hill, Louie’s mobile signal returned and he’d called Zeke Montero. He would pick Louie up, they would go to the Brite Spot on Sunset, like they almost always did on Tuesdays for the meatloaf.
Louie didn’t know what was in it and didn’t care much. It tasted fine and it was their breakfast.
He didn’t have to wait long for Zeke, who still drove the chill red Pontiac Grand Prix he’d fixed up in high school and tried to perfect while at Los Angeles City College. As short and thick as Louie was deceptively tall and lean, Zeke had been best friend to Louie since they were in fifth grade without interruption except for one teenage summer when the Monteros stayed with their relatives on Lake Chapala.
Louis thought he’d never see Zeke again. But there he was, first day of school, hair slicked back with Brilliantine, like no time had passed at all. Continue reading →
FICTION: A bit more from the unedited novel-in-progress, The Forest Dark, making use of L.A. location Bourgeois Pig. Hear the traffic. See the arguing baby boomers. It could get ugly:
Noah and Eden sat outside at the Bourgeois Pig tables on Franklin Avenue so she could smoke.
Since she was buying, Eden figured Noah would put up with the traffic noise. He could have ordered anything, but Noah was Noah: a simple coffee, black, with an extra shot of espresso.
He looked around as if it were unfamiliar territory. She assumed he really hadn’t treated himself much, at least in recent years when things had been so tough with money.
“Whenever I’m down here I always try to figure out who the Scientologists are,” he said, looking down the block at several pedestrians.
Eden still fumed inside about Barbara, about Zeke, about Warren fucking Medina and his Louie request.
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s their church right across here. I think all these businesses are really shadow corporations of theirs for money laundering and other activities.”
She hadn’t noticed the sign until then: Scientology Celebrity Centre. Maybe he was right. After all, he’s the one who’s lived here the whole time, not her.
“What is wrong with you?” he asked. Continue reading →
Yesterday (Sunday, October 2 2011) was the West Hollywood Book Fair, concurrent with the grand opening of the new (beauteous!) library in West Hollywood Park.
Homo-Centric booth (thanks Hank Henderson!)
Like last year, I was invited to read something at the Homo-Centric tent (thank you Hank Henderson) and was delighted to do so. Also like last year, what I read was from my novel-in-progress, but the same novel-in- progress as a year ago!
attentive listeners to John Boucher
It’s called The Forest Dark, from the Dante quotation pertaining to midlife, about losing our way, about not knowing which way to turn in the dark wood. Apparently, I’m not knowing which way to turn in my dark home office, either, as the damn thing isn’t done.
To my credit, I will say it’s way more done than last year. So there’s been progress. I wish I was a faster writer. Maybe someday. I still contend that the internet has given me a shorter attention span and I have to use helpers like Freedom and Leechblock to get through any quality time on creative writing.
John Boucher
Richard Villegas reading, Hank Henderson second from left
Kyle T. Wilson reading, Richard Villegas on the right
captive audience!
For your enjoyment and perusal, here is the extract of what I read from Forest Dark, as well as some pictures of me and other morning readers (sorry all the rest of you Homo-Centrics, I had to leave early, though I’ve seen plenty of afternoon pix on Facebook):
Jim Arnold reading at West Hollywood Book Fair, 2011
The Novel’s called The Forest Dark. It’s about the relationship of a gay man, Noah, and his straight female friend, Eden, over the course of about 25 years.
At this point in the story they’ve been separated for most of that time — but Eden’s recently returned to LA for a job and they’ve reconnected in their 50s. This piece comes right after Noah takes a new job as a caretaker at Precious Blood, which is a Catholic retreat house owned by some nuns. Eden’s excited about an upcoming reality show taping, and she’s on the phone with him. The selection is told from Noah’s point of view:
START:
Eden had called twice before but he’d ignored her and only picked up on the third try. It was the stress level, he thought, already high from that first presentation group at Precious Blood.
Which went surprisingly well. It had to, as there was no way Noah could afford to lose this job.
“How did it go – your first day, right?” she asked.
He wondered if she was mocking him.
“No bad, not bad,” he said. “They gave me this gray shirt and pants to wear – like in prison.”
She was quiet. He read her quickly: Noah Baldock had shown so much potential, so much ambition when he was younger. This latest development was really just … depressing.
“Will you wear that on Louie’s show?”
He was making the final rounds of the property for the day, not only checking locks but also looking for anything out of order, a possible clue to something more sinister, the real value to his new employer.
“No one’s said anything about it to me one way or the other. Have you been given some wardrobe instructions, Eden?”
From the convent residence above where he stood, he could hear the nuns singing grace before dinner.
“Actually, this woman called me, said I should ‘reflect that New York social circle’ I run with!” She laughed. “I can’t believe we’re going to be on TV with all these kids!”
Noah took the stone steps down from the main level to the back door of his gatehouse. The scarlet bougainvillea on the property was overgrown and he pushed a branch out of the way. A thorn scraped along his forearm, making a nice, wet, red line.
“Fuck!”
“What’s wrong?” Eden asked.
Inside the small apartment, boxes were still stacked against the wall, though the computer on his desk hummed.
“I cut my arm,” he said, grabbing a towel to stanch the bleed.
“You OK?”
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“I can come over. Or, I could call Louie, he’s closer – ”
“I’M FINE!”
* * *
The Precious Blood gatehouse had a door built right into the outer wall, meant for packages and vendors and such, but equally useful for tricks, Noah figured.
He all but hung up on Eden. Noah was as angry with himself as he was with her – after all these years, still falling for her shit, being on the yanking end of that von Eiff chain.
Bitch should’ve stayed in New York, she’ll only fuck up everything Louie’s got going, he thought.
There was a little silver bell hung on the outside of this door, something an old nun would’ve thought heavenly. It rang.
This would be Mockingbird.
The dark-skinned, dark-haired man wore a black t-shirt and black jeans and black, ankle-high boots. The blue, green and yellow of a parrot tattoo on his forearm stood out as the only bit of color.
“Finally,” Noah said, pulling Mockingbird in by the arm so he could shut the door quickly.
“So – this is your new place,” the younger man said, taking it in, a thin smile on his handsome face.
Noah had “met” Mockingbird online, but his constant text-spelling mistakes proved problematic. He’d then run into him for real at the Eagle one night, and those earlier failings were forgotten.
Mockingbird was shorter and rougher; as far as Noah was concerned, the perfect friend with benefits. He didn’t even care if he never found out what his “real” name was, undoubtedly something mundane like Hector or Juan.
“You like it?”
The main floor was all one big room, with the kitchen set off by a sparkly, formica-covered “bar” someone must’ve added in the 1960s. At the far end, next to the bathroom and the door that led to the interior courtyard, was a narrow brick staircase leading up to the loft bedroom.
“It’ll take some getting used to,” Noah said, placing his hand against Mockingbird’s chest, his fingers a lazy circle in search of a nipple. “I was in the old place for almost 30 years.”
Mockingbird grabbed Noah’s forearm and squeezed it, hard. “Don’t remind me, you’re older than my father and I don’t want to think about that.” He twisted it, making Noah gasp. He used his other hand to push Noah’s shoulder down, forcing him to his knees.
Noah knew this script well. He pulled at the younger man’s belt buckle but had only got it part way undone when Mockingbird slapped him across the face.
“Not so fast, old man. You got your bed here somewhere, am I right?”
“It’s upstairs.”
“Sir.”
“It’s upstairs, sir.” His cheek smarted – but this was only the beginning.
Mockingbird pushed Noah up the steps and he tripped.
“Get your ass up there!” Mockingbird lifted him by his belt and shoved him further.
“Quiet, sir, I don’t want to disturb the nuns.”
“Fucking nuns, I’ll show your goddamn nuns!”
Noah could only pray that the hard slaps Mockingbird then delivered, along with his resulting sighs and yelps, got mixed in with traffic noise and the occasional helicopter flyovers. He couldn’t even begin to think what Octavia and her sisters would do if they knew what was going on.
After he let Mockingbird out an hour later, he ran a hot bath in the small tub, while Harry Connick, Jr. played the piano on a CD. Noah’s ass was red from the spanking he got and his butthole sore from Mockingbird’s aggressive fuck.
For once he didn’t care about Jivan or Eden or Louie’s stupid reality show. He sank back into the lilac bubbles and closed his eyes.
* * *
So dear reader, tell me: what do you do to keep the nuns from hearing your sex noises?
OK folks, it’s Friday, my brain is fried or dead or something. Maybe it’s the weather. The politicians have temporarily exhausted me and I’ve already voted. Remember, D is for forward, R is for backward. Good thing to remember on November 2.
Biltmore Hotel, Los Angeles
In the meantime, here’s more from the novel I’m writing, The Forest Dark. Love L.A.’s Biltmore Hotel, so I set a bunch of scenes there. Here’s one. It’s July, 1984…
Senator von Eiff had called KCET and left a message that Eden should meet him downtown, at the Gallery Bar in the Biltmore Hotel. Eden thought it odd, if not ominous, that he hadn’t asked to speak directly to her since she was present when he called.
This is certainly a wonderful day, and it’s about to get better.
She took the Sunset Boulevard RTD downtown. Normally, she would’ve asked Noah for a ride but he was finally home, and sleeping, which is just what he should be doing, she thought.
Ronnie and he thought it funny that she didn’t drive. Eden had taken the bus all her life and didn’t see what the point would be in learning a skill she wouldn’t need again when back on the east coast.
From the outside, the Gallery Bar at the Biltmore emitted a golden glow, as if those entering had gone to heaven. Or, if her father was in there, maybe it was the fires of hell.
Rhino stood in the doorway wearing the usual black suit, his meaty arms folded tight over his chest.
“Where were you the other day?” Eden asked. “I waited in the gate at the Coliseum just like I was told to, just like a good little girl.”
His rings reflected the light from the chandelier above, making her blink. “The senator is waiting,” he said, cocking his head toward the bar’s interior. “Go on.”
Creep.
Eden could see her father sitting in a dark brown club chair at the far end of the room, facing her, his head framed by an enormous arched mirror, like a halo.
* * *
“I’ve already ordered you some cold California chardonnay, from a Santa Ynez Valley winery, a place called Bridlewood,” Henry said to her as she approached. A surprisingly hip charcoal sport jacket complimented his perfectly combed silver hair.
“Thanks, Daddy. It’s been a long day, I’m thirsty.”
He patted the arm of an ancient leather sofa next to him. “Did you park in the hotel garage?”
She sat and glanced around. Unfortunately, cocktail hour denizens either hadn’t shown up yet or had gone elsewhere. Perhaps everyone was so engrossed in the Games they didn’t have time to drink. She counted one elderly couple wrapped up in conversation across the polished wood floor.
“No – I took the bus,” she said. “It’s really easy from the studio and you know I don’t have a license.”
The server, a young woman – so short Eden thought at first she was a child wearing blue eye shadow – put the wine and what looked like a Gibson martini in front of her father, then soundlessly left.
“Are we still in that place?” he said, holding up his drink, inspecting the cocktail onion inside the glass, “that obnoxious place where you want to be treated like a child, instead of the daughter we raised you to be, who – and like it or not – is a young ambassador for our state?”
“Oh, Daddy – ”
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Eden now wished Rhino had come in with her.
“Cars, Dad, we make cars in Michigan.”
“We make cars! Exactly! I would have preferred for you to tell me you’d leased something like a Caddy, a nice cream Coupe de Ville or one of the big Fords, and parked it out front.” He took a tiny sip of the martini. “Instead, you tell me you took the goddamn bus.”
Eden’s head was going to explode.
She gulped down the chardonnay, which wasn’t in a very big glass anyway, and caught the eye of the tiny waitress, who was watching them from the bar.
“Yes, all right, you can have another. Yes, of course, I’ll pay for it,” he said. “You may need several, as I want to now hear the story of why you could not sit with your mother and your sister at the Olympics.”
Usually it’s not this unpleasant, she thought. Her father did have that great sense of humor. She’d even read once in The New York Times that Democrats thought he “was witty.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Eden started. “I ran into a friend – actually, he was a friend of both mine and Noah’s, the guy you met – and we got to talking and seeing some of the backstage production stuff, you would not believe – ”
“No excuses, Eden. You’ve ignored us for the good part of a week now and your sister is here to specifically see you.”
“But I was working! I’ve been doing this internship you love so much, practically all day and all night!” Eden noticed that the old couple across the room was not conversing with each other anymore, but rather being entertained by the von Eiff family.
She was being too loud.
Henry von Eiff often had that effect on her.
“An internship I can end with a quick phone call,” he said. “And this hanging around with homosexual boys, I really don’t think that’s a good idea, is it honey? We brought you up better than that.”
The waitress was back with another glass of wine for Eden. “Are you finished, dear?” she said, putting the fresh one on the low cocktail table.
She nodded to the woman, but could feel herself begin to shake. This is just what he wanted and she would not lose it in front of him, in front of these strangers.
“They are my friends, Daddy. What would you know about it anyway?”
“Henry? I thought you said the two of you would be coming up to the suite for cocktails.”
Eden wasn’t usually overjoyed to see her mother, but right now was an exception.
Just like she owned the place, Madelyn von Eiff walked across the bar toward them. The way she held her cigarette out, from a distance a person might think she was a skinny transvestite doing a Bette Davis impersonation, just like one Eden had seen in a video at Revolver.
Her dress was powder blue and perfectly matched her shoes. Her blond hair with its streaks of gray was so precisely flipped and hard she could’ve used it as a weapon if she needed to. Behind her was Barbara was almost an afterthought, like a period.
That’s it for now, a work still in progress… have a great weekend everybody!
Not far from KCET in the steep hills above Los Feliz Boulevard, there was an abandoned house where a bizarre murder-suicide had taken place 25 years earlier. In 1959, middle-aged dentist Harold Perelson killed his 42-year-old wife Lillian with a ball-peen hammer, then drank a glass of acid to finish himself off.
The house was on a great slice of land with an even greater view of the Los Angeles basin and, on clear days, Catalina Island. For one reason or another, no one had lived in the house since the murder and it intrigued Sandy Torkelson no end.
“Go up there and do a piece on this place,” he told Noah. “Work up that haunted house thing, we’ll save it for Halloween. Can Eden dress up like that Elvira woman from Channel 9?”
She could and she did. Eden told Noah she was grateful for an assignment like this, as with the waning days of summer Olympics-related stories were few and she was sure Sandy was marking his calendar to the date when she would no longer be his intern.
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Anyway, they’d found that the Perelson yard was like a corner of an abandoned park and hiked up there a couple of times afterward just for fun. Today they’d have a picnic, just the two of them.
Without regular waterings, the grounds had reverted back to their mostly indigenous plants and encroaching chaparral, with the occasional rosemary bush and eucalyptus tree providing agreeable scents and from the latter, shade.
A couple of heavy, cracked stone benches were still there. The Herculean effort it would take to steal them was probably just not worth it to most people. Noah and Eden sat on one, and spread their lunch out on the other.
“Egg salad or … tuna? I guess that’s what this is,” he said….
Sometimes you just can’t include everything in the final, finished book. So it is with this passage — which goes into more detail about Ronnie and Noah, a relationship that still haunts me from 
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