Canter\u2019s was a cultural relic right out of Old Hollywood. Walking in off Fairfax Boulevard, Jackson could feel the vibrations shift, passing under the blue beveled sign. Tubular neon letters now dim against the Tangerine glow of the midday sun, as he crossed over from pavement to tile. He was met with a knowing grin. He followed the gentle swing of the hostess\u2019 hips, as she led him through the packed dining room. The d\u00e9cor hadn\u2019t changed since the place had opened in \u201953. A timeless haunt. The only time they closed was on Jewish holidays. They passed a line of occupied booths: butcher block tables sandwiched between dark orange faux-leather, buffed to a glossy shine. You could feel the history between the cracks in the conversation. Old-timers and industry movers in their prime, resonated complete with the adult contemporary jazz ambiance. At the end of the line of booths, he was greeted by a familiar face.<\/p>\n
Opti stood to greet Jackson. \u201cHey. How are ya, pal?\u201d he said, and they shook hands.<\/p>\n
\u201cHey, I\u2019m good, thanks,\u201d Jackson said, sliding into the booth.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re staying to eat, right?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSure,\u201d Jackson said.<\/p>\n
\u201cBest corned beef Reuben in the city.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ve heard.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo, how\u2019s things?\u201d Opti said.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood. Good. Final shoot\u2019s tomorrow,\u201d Jackson said.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo shit?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIf everything goes well,\u201d Jackson said. \u201cYou know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIndeed I do,\u201d Opti said. \u201cGot some good news and some bad news. Which do you want first?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust give it to me straight,\u201d Jackson said. \u201cDon\u2019t pull any punches.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou know I never do.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dominic \u201cOpti\u201d Russo had gotten his nickname in the ring. A New England Golden Gloves champion, back in \u201961, \u201cOpti\u201d was short for \u201cThe Optician.\u201d The story goes, Opti knocked out a guy named Jimmy \u201cSkids\u201d Santiago in the first round of the final fight. Santiago ended up with a detached retina, and from then on Dominic Russo was known as \u201cThe Optician.\u201d Opti for short.<\/p>\n
Opti had a way of looking at a guy, stone-faced with sleepy eyelids. He\u2019d give a guy a subtle nod, and it was as though he was looking right through you. \u201cWe\u2019re moving over to VHS.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat so?\u201d Jackson said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou heard about it?\u201d\u00a0Opti said. \u201cThe Video Home System?\u201d<\/p>\n
The beginning of the end. \u201cYeah. I\u2019ve heard of it,\u201d Jackson said.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s a home version of what they use in broadcast,\u201d Opti said.<\/p>\n
Explaining something Jackson already fucking knew.<\/p>\n
\u201cLook, it\u2019s where everything\u2019s headed,\u201d Opti said.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo I\u2019ve heard.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd you\u2019ve got some kind of problem with that?\u201d Opti said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t say that,\u201d Jackson said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou didn\u2019t have to,\u201d Opti said. \u201cIt\u2019s written all over your face. Look, this fuck film auteur stuff you\u2019ve been chasing\u2014it just isn\u2019t practical anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t they run about a grand a pop?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSure,\u201d Opti said. \u201cBut it\u2019s new technology. It\u2019ll come down. It\u2019s where my friends want to put their money.\u201d<\/p>\n
Opti\u2019s inroads into the motion picture business came right out of Boston\u2019s North End\u2014The Front Office, is what they preferred to call it. On top of that, his cousin had a small role in The Godfather<\/em>, and he was chummy with another Godfather<\/em> actor: Mo Green, AKA Alex Petricone, also a real wiseguy with Winter Hill.<\/p>\n \u201cSo what\u2019s the good news?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe can sell the tapes for a hundred bucks a pop. The adult bookstores have all started renting them out.\u201d<\/p>\n Back in \u201977, Jackson would have laughed at the prospect of VHS. Porno was entering the mainstream, as a serious art form. Deep Throat<\/em> and Behind The Green Door<\/em> had set a precedence. The world was jettisoning the old Judeo-Christian underpinnings when it came to sex. And Jackson had planned to ride the Porno Chic wave from one cresting orgasm to the next. And now this.<\/p>\n \u201cDon\u2019t you see what this means?\u201d Opti said. \u201cWe minimize production costs and maximize profits.\u201d<\/p>\n Jackson realized it had always been that way. He\u2019d first met Opti inside The Naked I<\/em>, back in Boston\u2019s Combat Zone. Jackson was fresh out of NYU film school, and anxious to work on his chops. Opti was already in tight with The Front Office, something someone had to later explain to Jackson. Jackson, who\u2019d grown up in the North End, had always known about 98 Prince Street, the shops that paid tribute, the protection rackets. But he\u2019d never really been a part of that life. Besides that, he was half Irish. His father was Italian, though. So he could have been part of that world. Jackson had become officially involved with his benefactors back in \u201974, same year the second \u201cGodfather\u201d came out. But none of the guys Jackson ever met even vaguely resembled Al Pacino or Marlon Brando. Appearance or persona. They were all mostly a bunch of fat slobs, with receding hairlines. Most of them could barely speak without using the words \u201cfuck\u201d or \u201ccunt.\u201d Jackson wondered if they\u2019d ever make a film that would get it right.<\/p>\n \u201cI could care less about the money,\u201d Jackson said. \u201cFor the most part, you know?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell, clearly,\u201d Opti said with a backwards down-up wave of the fingers, \u201cYou\u2019re spending all your money on clothes.\u201d<\/p>\n Jackson had put on a black, collared dress shirt he\u2019d tucked into his Levi\u2019s, and called it good enough.<\/p>\n Opti sported an open dress shirt, displaying a Hebrew torture device on a chain, under a luminous gray double breasted Armani blazer. The cut was so sharp it made his 240 pounds on a 6-foot frame look svelte. When he snapped at the waitress to hustle over, he did so with all the charm and compassion of an SS officer.<\/p>\n The waitress rushed over with a rigid obedience, but relaxed when Jackson smiled, and said \u201cHey, how are ya?\u201d He loved that he could do that.<\/p>\n Opti held up an empty tumbler. \u201cAnother one of these. We\u2019re ready to order now, sweetie. I\u2019ll get the corned beef Reuben. With onion rings\u201d Opti chinned Jackson an unspoken ga\u2019head.<\/p>\n \u201cPastrami Reuben.\u201d Jackson said. \u201cAnd a tonic.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHe means club soda,\u201d Opti said.<\/p>\n She swished her pen across the pad. Her perfume smelled like lilacs. The waitress, a strawberry blonde whose nametag read \u201cStephanie,\u201d had what Jackson called a beaming innocence. She probably took one look at Opti with his pinky ring and sharp suit and figured he was a Hollywood producer\u2014which wasn\u2019t all that far from the truth. Still, Jackson thought if she knew what either of them really did\u2014if she knew what this town really did, she\u2019d be on the first Greyhound bus back to Iowa. She\u2019d find out soon enough.<\/p>\n Stephanie took longer than a moment with direct eye contact. \u201cExcellent choice, sir. And what would you like on the side?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSide salad,\u201d Jackson said.<\/p>\n \u201cPerfect,\u201d Stephanie said, offering a flirty grin. \u201cSounds great gentlemen,\u201d Stephanie said. \u201cComing right up.\u201d<\/p>\n She had what Jackson called an ass built for porn, and both men watched her walk away.<\/p>\n \u201cSee that?\u201d Opti said.<\/p>\n \u201cCourse I did. We just shared the same rearview.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNah, the way she smiled at you,\u201d Opti said. \u201cShe was checking you out.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI didn\u2019t notice.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cCourse you didn\u2019t\u2014you get it all the time. That\u2019s your gift, pal.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGetting a waitress to flirt with me? Some gift. She\u2019s looking for a tip.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA fat tip in her love hole. You ought to give that girl one of your business cards,\u201d Opti said. \u201cCome to think of it, it\u2019s always been like that with you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBeen like what?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe chicks. They always dug you. You never even tried. Like that one chick that time\u2014the one with the short hair. From UMass. What was her name? The one who posed nude for you on camera, ten minutes after you met her.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDarlene.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFor free.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe was a free spirit. What can I say?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd you\u2019re not even all that good looking,\u201d Opti said. \u201cIt\u2019s a mystery to me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow would you know?\u201d<\/p>\n Stephanie brought Opti his scotch, and Jackson his club soda.<\/p>\n \u201cAll I\u2019m saying is, you ought to just follow the money,\u201d Opti said. \u201cInstead of getting hung up on this vision of yours.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat do you know about having a vision?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat do you see when you look in the mirror?\u201d<\/p>\n Jackson took a healthy swig of his club soda, as if on cue.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re tossing that back, like it\u2019s going to make a difference. I\u2019ll tell you what they see. A guy pushing 40, who makes fuck films for perverts to jerk off to.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m 34.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cClose enough.\u201d<\/p>\n If he could see his reflection in that moment, Jackson would have added enraged<\/em> to Opti\u2019s description.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat really bothers you, is your image,\u201d Opti said. \u201cHow people see you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd what does your wife see, when she looks at you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat the fuck did you just say?\u201d Opti\u2019s face was now glazed with a deepening rage. \u201cWhat do you mean by that? Huh?\u201d<\/p>\n Opti was leaning forward now. There was a heat around his eyes, as they beamed daggers, and that was a good thing. The alternative was a frozen cool. Emotionless dark irises looking like a shark\u2019s eyes, just before they rolled over. A look from Opti Jackson had only seen once, and it wasn\u2019t directed at him. The recipient was an associate\u2014one of Opti\u2019s own, more or less. A guy under indictment, who\u2019d made the fatal mistake of running his mouth to the feds. He never made it to the stand.<\/p>\n \u201cI refuse to answer on the grounds that my answer may tend to incriminate me,\u201d Jackson said.<\/p>\n Opti\u2019s hateful glare melted. \u201cYou son of a bitch,\u201d he said and laughed.<\/p>\n Jackson snickered.<\/p>\n \u201cA loving father, and a model husband\u2014to answer your question. Besides, Marie\u2019s from Medford. Her father\u2019s old school. She always knew the deal.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd does she know about last New Year\u2019s?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat about it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d Jackson said. \u201cYou tell me. Or rather, you told me. Remember?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLook,\u201d Opti said. \u201cI was coked out of my fuckin\u2019 gourd.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhen you told me, or when it happened?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHey,\u201d Opti said. \u201cYou didn\u2019t tell anyone about that, did you?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNah,\u201d Jackson said. \u201c\u2019Course not.\u201d<\/p>\n According to Opti, some guy named \u201cHenry\u201d had given him a blowjob on New Year\u2019s Eve, 1978. Before the ball dropped, as he put it. Henry, who was involved in some BC point-shaving scheme, was apparently some Lucchese family associate. A guy whose loose lips\u2014literally, could spell out the same three letter word that could seal both their fates.<\/p>\n \u201cFag<\/em>, is a word we all throw around,\u201d Opti said. \u201cBut you never want it to mean something. Know what I\u2019m saying?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, but receiving,\u201d Jackson said. \u201cInstead of giving. Don\u2019t you get some kind of pass\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLike receiving stolen goods?\u201d Opti said, downing the rest of his scotch. \u201cOnly if you\u2019re inside.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s funny,\u201d Jackson said. \u201cYou know my mom, she\u2019s sure I\u2019m queer.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh yeah,\u201d Jackson said. \u201cYou talk about old-school. I\u2019m not married. No kids\u2014that I know of. No steady relationship. I\u2019m out in California\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWait a second\u2014didn\u2019t you move her out here?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLake View Terrace.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhere the fuck is that?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe Valley. They shot Easy Rider<\/em> there.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNever saw it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSmokey and The Bandit<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGood picture. Must be a swinging place.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHardly. But it\u2019s why I never shoot porn in the valley.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cToo close to home?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSomething like that. She thinks I run a modeling agency.\u201d<\/p>\n Opti snickered. \u201cThat\u2019s what it says on your business cards.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s Catholic. You know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA fanook? Seriously? All the choice trim you run around with?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, but I don\u2019t take anyone home,\u201d Jackson said. \u201cI don\u2019t even shack up with a broad for more than a single night.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSee, that\u2019s your problem right there,\u201d Opti said. \u201cThere\u2019s girls you have a good time with, and there\u2019s girls you take home to meet your mother. But you always pay for it one way or another.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSays who?\u201d Jackson said. \u201cYour people?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSays everyone,\u201d Opti said.<\/p>\n \u201cThen they\u2019re all liquored up,\u201d Jackson said. \u201cYou see a drink in my hand?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWoopty-fuckin\u2019 doo. Then something else\u2019ll getcha,\u201d Opti said. \u201cWhat are you trying to be an organ donor? So when you kick, you\u2019ll still have a pristine liver?\u201d<\/p>\n As if right on cue, Stephanie arrived to replenish both their drinks, she placed Jackson\u2019s club soda in front of him first, with a hidden smile, then slid Opti\u2019s scotch down in front of him, on top of a cocktail napkin. \u201cBe right back,\u201d she said, before returning with two more trays. Then she gave them each their plates in the same order.<\/p>\n Jackson, the one with the keener eye spotted what looked like bruises on her arm, covered up amateurishly with splotchy makeup. \u201cHow long have you been in town?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSix weeks.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBeen on any auditions?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah,\u201d Stephanie said. \u201cOne. They didn\u2019t call me back, though.\u201d<\/p>\n Jackson reached into his wallet and pulled out a business card. It was a sharp-looking card\u2014black, with a gold, raised font.<\/p>\n Stephanie took the card. \u201cJackson Steel Productions. Modeling and exotic photography.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou ever do any modeling?\u201d Jackson said. \u201cYou\u2019ve got a nice body.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThanks,\u201d Stephanie said. Her face must\u2019ve felt warm when she got a little flushed, but she started to relax. \u201cYeah. A little. I won a bikini contest back home. When I was in high school.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow long ago was that?\u201d Opti asked.<\/p>\n \u201cAre you comfortable getting nude?\u201d Jackson asked, with a serious look, studying her reaction.<\/p>\n “Um,” Stephanie said, like she wasn\u2019t sure herself, what would come next. “I\u2014I don’t know about that. I wasn’t raised to\u2014”<\/p>\n \u201cDon’t worry about it, just come in on Thursday morning, and we\u2019ll ah, give you a screening. I won’t make you do anything you aren’t comfortable with, promise. Address is on the card.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cGreat. Thanks, Mr. Steel,\u201d Stephanie said. \u201cI can come first thing on Thursday,\u201d and slid the card into her pocket.<\/p>\n Jackson chinned a knowing nod at Opti, who flashed a smirk and must\u2019ve taken as a challenge.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m a Hollywood producer too, sweetheart. Why don\u2019t you take my card, too,\u201d Opti said, and pulled out what was likely the fattest wad of money she\u2019d ever seen. Twenties wrapped in a two-thousand-dollar roll. Stephanie just stared.<\/p>\n \u201cGo ahead, wrap your little hand around it.\u201d<\/p>\n Stephanie froze.<\/p>\n \u201cGa\u2019head,\u201d Opti said. \u201cit\u2019s not going to bite.\u201d<\/p>\n Stephanie reached over and gripped the wad, but all she could do was make a C with her tiny digits. It was too thick for her fingertips to meet. She tugged on it, and Opti held it firm, not allowing her to jerk it free from his grip. She let out a giggle.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat time you get off?\u201d Opti said.<\/p>\n She pulled her hand away from Opti\u2019s wad. \u201cOh. Um. I don\u2019t think\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI said, what time do you get off?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cEleven,\u201d Stephanie said.<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s a little past my bedtime,\u201d Opti said. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you go on break. It could be your big break.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m sorry. I don\u2019t know what this is\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSure you do,\u201d Opti said. Now he was flashing the wad, wagging it back and forth, showing off its girth.<\/p>\n Stephanie stared at it. It might\u2019ve been her third waitressing job in three weeks. Maybe she had a degenerate abusive, boyfriend she\u2019d come out to Hollywood from Sticksville waiting at home for her in some roach-infested studio in Boyle Heights. The bus ride back to a shithole like that alone would be enough motivation.<\/p>\n \u201cTell you what, Steph. I\u2019ll come back at eleven. I\u2019ll be out front. Pearl white Eldorado,\u201d he said, sliding the fat wad back into his breast pocket. \u201cI\u2019ll give you the business, if you still want my card,\u201d Opti said. Grinning smugly, as he locked eyes with Stephanie, while raising the sandwich to his widening jaws.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m afraid I\u2019ve got other plans.\u201d She swallowed hard. \u201cYour check will be waiting for you up front,\u201d Stephanie said, her eyes darting to Jackson offering a nod with pursed lips that said. I\u2019m sorry, before she turned to walk away.<\/p>\n \u201cSee you at eleven,\u201d Opti said to her back. It was unclear if she\u2019d heard him or not. \u201cWhen I count the freckles on that plump little pink ass.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cVery subtle,\u201d Jackson said, digging into his Reuben.<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019ll come around,\u201d Opti said. \u201cYou think I could fit in her asshole?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJesus Christ, Opti. I\u2019m eating here.\u201d<\/p>\n Opti cut into his veal. \u201cGot some muscle relaxants from my chiropractor.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe\u2019s you know, a nice girl,\u201d Jackson said.<\/p>\n \u201cSays the pornographer.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLook,\u201d Jackson said. \u201cYou got to ease a girl like that into it\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n Opti burst into laughter, almost choking on his corned beef.<\/p>\n \u201cNah, nah. Hey, I don\u2019t mean it like that. She\u2019s not used to, you know, guys like you\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cA nice girl? She\u2019s a nice fuckin\u2019 girl because that\u2019s where the smart money is for her. You see how she was admiring my wad? Once you tuck a wad like that in that little tart\u2019s g-string, and that nice fuckin’ girl will be down on all fours begging Uncle Dominic for more,\u201d Opti said. \u201cAnd what\u2019s with this \u2018guys like you,\u2019 and this, \u2019your people\u2019 shit? You\u2019re half a fuckin\u2019 dago. You\u2019re one foot in.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not even one baby-toe in, paisan,\u201d Jackson said. \u201cAnd you know it. I answer to you. You answer to them.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, speaking of that,\u201d Opti said, wiping the corners of his mouth. \u201cWednesday\u2019s the day. The balance plus the vig.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAbout that,\u201d Jackson said. \u201cI\u2019m going to need an extension.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo extensions,\u201d Opti said.<\/p>\n \u201cC\u2019mon,\u201d Jackson said. \u201cI\u2019m good for it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLook, I don\u2019t get extensions,\u201d Opti said. \u201cSo you don\u2019t extensions. Capisci?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo, what if I don\u2019t?\u201d<\/p>\n Opti gave him that dead-eye look. The one he\u2019d forgotten about, that jogged his memory real quick. The one that said friends is friends. Business is business.<\/p>\n \u201cSo. What? Twice the vig?\u201d Jackson said. \u201cTwo points plus two points?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTen percent.\u201d<\/p>\n Jackson dropped his utensils. \u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cTen percent if it\u2019s a week late,\u201d Opti said, shoveling a tender chunk of veal into his mouth.\u00a0 \u201cAfter that, consider it totaled. Capisci?\u201d<\/p>\n Totaled. That was where your medical bills outweighed the vig, and possibly the principle. Jackson felt his stomach drop.<\/p>\n \u201cRelax, you\u2019ve got forty-eight hours,\u201d Opti said. \u201cOh, and one more thing. I don\u2019t ever want to hear that New Year\u2019s thing cross your lips again. We straight?\u201d<\/p>\n Jackson nodded.<\/p>\n \u201cBetter dig into that pastrami. It\u2019s getting cold.\u201d<\/p>\n –<\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" You could feel the history between the cracks in the conversation. Old-timers and industry movers in their prime, resonated complete with the adult contemporary jazz ambiance. At the end of the line of booths, he was greeted by a familiar face.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":19415,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[6],"tags":[3171,3167,3166,3170,3168,3169],"class_list":["post-18683","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","tag-3171","tag-canters","tag-l-a","tag-loanshark","tag-organized-crime","tag-pornographer","writer-scotch-rutherford"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18683","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=18683"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18683\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":19416,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/18683\/revisions\/19416"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/19415"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=18683"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=18683"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/mrbullbull.com\/newbull\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=18683"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}