I'm not sure if I've mentioned it, but ever since last summer, my left shoulder has been bothering me. I was doing an excessive amount of swimming, and soon, I was feeling pain.

I went to my doctor, Dr. K, who prescribed me an anti-inflammatory that did nothing, so he referred me to an orthopedic surgeon named Dr. F. Now, Dr. F was kinda cute, but he also said it was inflamed tendonitis and prescribed a different anti-inflammatory. When that didn't work either, he gave me a cortizone shot and had me do 6 weeks of physical therapy. When THAT had no effect, he scheduled an MRI to see what was going on.

Now, because of my size, I had to have an "open" MRI, meaning I couldn't use the tunnel-like MRI, I had to find one that was more like a flatbed, and one that my insurance would cover. It took a couple of weeks (damn HMOs—go see Michael Moore's new film SICKO), but I was finally scheduled for an open MRI last Monday.

Now, I wasn't sure what to expect, but when I arrived, I saw the question "Are you claustrophobic?" on the patient form. I'm not, so I checked NO. I've been in tight places before (the elevator in the Paris apartment building, for example), without any problem, so I didn't think twice about it. The medical attendant, ANDREW, came and got me and had me empty my pockets of all metal objects and instructed me to lie down on the table. He placed my shoulder in a special white framework, told me it would take about 30 minutes, then went inside the computer room. The table rose, then slowly slid me underneath the HUGE block of machinery. When it stopped, I was staring literally3 inches past my nose at a giant white mechanical surface, my head and upper chest underneath.

I immediately began to have a claustrophobic panic attack. I began to breath heavy. I had flashes of the death of the title character in the original THE FLY. I started thinking, "Fuck this! I can live with the shoulder pain!" and "I'm quitting! I'm not doing this!" and wished that CVK was there so I could talk to him.

The room was playing soft relaxing music, but all for naught, as fear finally got the better of me, and I called out, "Andrew?"

"Yes?" his voice answered over a speaker.

"Am I going to be under here for the entire 30 minutes?" I asked.

"Yes," he answered.

My mouth opened to tell him that I couldn't do it, and to take me out, but then the fear started to disappear, and I started getting angry. Angry at myself.

You're not claustrophobic. Why are you acting so stupid? This isn't like you. It's not like you're in a tunnel. Look off to the side...the sides are open. I can't believe you're giving up like this...and for no reason other than you're scared!"

That did it. I WAS being ridiculous. But I could use some help. "Andrew, could you maybe let me know the time say, every 10 minutes?"

"Sure," he said.

If having the machine so close to you is bothering you, just look to the side where it's open. In fact, why not just close your eyes altogether?"

I listened to my inner adult and closed my eyes. Instantly, I felt a little better. Now breathe... Not a lot of people know this, but I am a certified hypnotist, and I began to use a relaxing breathing techniquie which helped to calm me down. Then, the music in the room became "Someone to Watch Over Me", which is CVK's and my "song". The rest of my panic melted away, as I was reminded of my husband and his love. Suddenly, he WAS in the room with me, and I lay there as the machine began to clang and did its work.

Suddenly, there was a loud sound of metal grinding and the MRI stopped. I heard the high-pitched squeal of metal stretching, and I felt a rush of heat wash over my face. I could smell a faint trace of smoke.

"Uh, Jett," Andrew said over the speaker, "maybe you'd better—"

Before he could finish his warning, there was a loud metallic crack and the entire scanning block of metal came down on my head with a loud thud, completely crushing me from the collarbone up, killing me instantly. I didn't even have time to scream. I guess that was a blessing, given the pain I would have felt had I still been alive.

My funeral was, as I suspected it would be, a complete sideshow. Porn models filed past my casket (closed, of course, except for the moment when PETER O'BRIAN came by and cracked the lid open to reach inside and pull rings off my fingers), drag queens cried, their lancombe mascara staying dutifully in place, and TREVOR KNIGHT gave the eulogy, stopping in the middle to announce his retirement. At the cemetery, a herd of HotHouse leathermen flanked my grave, oiled themselves up and flexxed and posed for the cameras as I was lowered into the ground. J.C. ADAMS wrote about the event in detail but somehow omitted my name completely.

"Jett? Are you okay?

Snuh? I shook my head lightly, waking myself from that dream. I had actually fallen asleep during the third scan.

When it was over, the table slid out, and I sat up. In the computer room, as I put my belongings back into my pockets (throwing away the lurid note and phone number that Andrew had slipped into my wallet), I had a chance to see the images of my shoulder bone on the screen. I felt a kind of fascination with seeing inside my own body...sort of like when MICHAEL BRANDON squats over a mirror, I'd imagine.

I went home and jumped in my car, then headed for San Diego to meet DINK FLAMINGO, who runs Active Duty Productions.



He had started up a new line called Dirty Bird Pictures and was interested in talking to me about directing for him. i had pitched him three ideas, all of which he liked, but two of which he wanted to do immediately. The first, BROTHER FEVER, was a high-class drama about two estranged brothers, one gay & one straight, who reunite for a road trip to northern California to visit the favorite beach of the older brother. As they drive, they reunite old bonds and become close again, but one of them has a dark secret he is keeping from the other which will affect their newly-patched relationship...forever. The second was called STEPHEN, about a divorced father whose daughter visits from college with her new fiance in tow. The father, who has suppressed his gay feelings when he got married, suddenly finds them all gushing to the surface when he meets Stephen, the young man. As he fights his desires for his soon-to-be son-in-law, he decides to alleviate the pressure by going to a video store and renting a gay porn, but to his astonishment, he sees a porn film with Stephen on the box cover! With a fishing trip approaching for the two men, can the father keep his desires to himself or will he give in to lust and make a move on the young man/ And what will happen if he does?

When I arrived, Dink told me that he had changed his mind. Instead of doing BROTHER FEVER, he wanted to do STEPHEN first. He also suggested a title change to FATHER KNOWS BEST. but upon seeing my face, told me he wasn't married to it. lol. We had a nice lunch, then I hit the road. The script for STEPHEN is already written, and has been for several years (one of those projects that I wrote for another company, then went nowhere). Upon reading it again, I see that it needs a rewrite, which shouldn't be difficult.

Yesterday, I got the results back from my MRI: tendonitis. Dr. F told me that all I could really do was do stretching and low-weight strength exercises at home and take Advil for the pain. If the pain was still there after a few months, he said, come back and we'd discuss surgery.

Yay.

For those of you in the L.A. area, tonight is the dvd release party of HOW TO SEDUCE A STRAIGHT MAN at Micky's in West Hollywood from 6:30 to 9:00. If you're in the neighborhood, stop by and see ZACKARY PIERCE, JORDAN VAUGHN and CHRISTIAN OWEN. We'll be raffling off the dvd and playing the tango scene on the monitors. Should be fun!

JBK