Oona

Aside from being perpetually glazed in a film of schmutz and not having visible ankles, there was nothing particularly special about Mike Winikoff.  He was just a really nice guy who loved to laugh at funny stories...and invent his own. Harry bought into them all, except for the one about Oona Sweeney, the youngest Oscar winner in history.

Mike was close friends with Ben Silver, whose father was a fairly successful movie producer, wildly successful by Canadian standards.

"You have to swear on your life that you don't tell this story to anyone," Mike confided to Harry behind Bunk 40 during rest hour. "I haven't told this to anyone and never will, except you. Lives would be ruined if this got out."

"I swear to God, Mike, that my lips are sealed."

"Okay. I'm trusting you with my life, Harry. So here's the story: Ben Silver invites me to a wrap party his father's throwing in his house for Target One, the movie that he produced starring Oona Sweeney."

"What's a wrap party?"

"Just a big party the producer throws after they finish shooting the movie."

"Cool."

"So everyone there is pretty old except for me, Ben and his little brothers and Oona Sweeney, who was bored to tears. She also kept on staring at me. Anyhow, I had a couple of joints on me, so I went up to Tatum and asked her if she'd like to smoke one with me."

"Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. Everyone in Hollywood knows she's a stoner. One of my contacts there tells me she's done heroin."

"You have contacts in Hollywood?"

"Of course, my Uncle Bernie's in the business. He owns a place that does costumes for the studios. Remember The Munsters?"

Harry hummed the theme song and nodded.

"My Uncle Bernie did their costumes. So he's in the know and at our last Passover Seder, he was telling us that Oona Sweeney was the wildest teenager in Hollywood...So I go up to her and ask if she's having fun. She tells me that she's bored out of her mind. I then ask her if she'd like smoke some mind-blowing weed. She doesn't even answer me, just grabs my arm and leads me outside behind the pool shack in the backyard."

"Are you fucking serious?"

"Absolutely. So we smoke the joint which is Thai Sticks by the way. She's fucking laughing at everything I say, thinks I'm like a Richard Pryor. Then Oona starts French kissing me and before I know it unzips my pants and gives me a hand job."

"Oona Sweeney gave you a hand job?"

"Fucking right, but you better not tell anyone."

"Of course," although Harry couldn't understand why Mike would want to keep it secret. Actually he should want anyone to know. And also, if Oona Sweeney was so wild and Harry had no doubt that that was true, why was Mike's story be limited to hand jobs? In any case, Oona Sweeney playing with Mike Winikoff's pecker? That would be like rubbing a dog's asshole.

Harry couldn't wait to tell that bullshit story to Finkie when he got home from camp.