Concluding our two-part series on talented red-haired, dwarfish surfers sponsored by Volcom, Stab interviews Hawaii’s brightest young star, Dusty Payne.
Dusty pulled up to the curb at Los Angeles International Airport riding shotgun in his manager Blair Marlin’s 2009 Audi A6 Avant 3.0 TFSI 300 hp with six speed Triptronic automatic transmission and Quattro all-wheel drive. It was Phantom Black. Pink’s latest single, So What, blared crisply from Bose surround sound.
So what, I’m still a rock star.
I got my rock moves.
And I don’t need you. Yeah.
Dusty opened his door as the car was moving and spilled out the moment it came to a complete stop. They were half an hour late for Dusty’s American flight to Kahului, Maui. Blair looked distressed, but also looked really handsome. Dusty looked carefree. He was wearing a grey Modern Collective t-shirt that was chosen, specifically, to anger his sponsor, Volcom. The T was a size and a half too large. He was also wearing black Volcom jeans perfectly tight and sagged, Nike shoes and a Nixon backpack. And a Nixon watch. The Ceramic Player in black. Dusty is not as short as he appears in pictures. He’s long and stringy with small hands, freckled skin, bleached hair that may have once been red and a perpetual good-natured grin.
Blair hurriedly popped the back of his Audi and spilled three large cardboard boxes onto the street, tearing the tops off each when they hit the ground. They were from Volcom and Nixon. He grabbed handfuls of cellophane wrapped t-shirts and stuffed them into Dusty’s board coffin.
Dusty looked at me.
D “I heard you asked Bruce a crazy question.”
C “Yeah, I asked if he would take a million dollars for Kelly to suck his dick.”
D “Hahaha. What’d he say?”
C “He said, he’d take the money and cut Kelly’s head off.”
D “Yeah? He probably would too.”
A new Jaguar XK pulled up behind Blair’s car. An African-American driver got out, opened the passenger door letting out a demure elderly Jewish women in pearls and a sequined bolero and dress from St. John. She placed her two pieces of Louis Vuitton luggage on the curb and went with the driver to the skycap. When their backs were turned Dusty ran over to her luggage, ripped it open and stole three pairs of C. Gilson silk panties and a bottle of Coco Mademoiselle eau de parfum from Chanel. He took one of the bags and threw it under a passing bus and spit inside the other one. He then went back to Blair. The two said goodbye. Blair wished him luck in the trials and sped off into the sunset.
Dusty turned and said, still smiling, “I’m soooo thirsty let’s get a drink.”
C “I think there’s a Starbucks inside…”
D “No, a real drink.”
C “How old are you?”
D “Twenty”
Twenty-one is the legal drinking age in America. As we were walking to the Daily Grill Bar in the Bradley International Terminal I asked Dusty about Morocco, from whence he came one day earlier filming for Modern Collective, Kai Neville’s new masterpiece.
C “So Morocco…”
D “It was pretty good. Pretty weird. There’s like goats and trees. Weird.”
C “You just flew into Casablanca?”
D “Yeah, and then took a little 2 hour flight to an airstrip…”
C “How deep into Modern Collective are you guys?”
D “That was our first trip.”
C “Really?”
D “Well, there’s been two trips. One to France with Dane and Dion and Yadin and then Morocco was the second trip. We’re filming until September.”
C “Are you going to Tahiti for Modern Collective?”
D “Uhhh, I’m going to Fiji.”
C “Sorry, Fiji.”
D “Nah, that’s just a Nixon trip.”
C “Is the Modern Collective project daunting?”
D “It’s daunting to look halfway decent next to Dane.”
C “Dane’s a good ol’ boy.”
D “Oh man, he’s, he’s ridiculous. Being in a movie with him you feel like an idiot. You feel so dumb.”
C “Whatevs, you’re the Hottest up and comer. You’re going to dethrone Dane. You’re the new hot kid. Dane is old news.”
D “Yeah right, not in a million years.”
We got to the bar and Dusty ordered a double Macallan, neat. I ordered a Stoli ginger ale. The bartender asked to see Dusty’s ID and he produced the worst fake I have ever seen. It was a laminated black and white photocopy of Yadin Nicol’s still underage Australian license. Dusty, who usually looks sweet and naïve and smiley, gave the bartender a death stare. The bartender turned white with fear and shuffled off to prepare our drinks.
C “You should get a fake passport. L.A. is a good place to do that.”
D “Just the other day I was coming home from Oahu and I lost my wallet and I had no ID or anything and I get up to the front desk with no ID and I told the lady, “I’m only 17” and they were like, “Oh, ok.” She checked me in and I got through no problem.”
C “I’m gonna say I’m 17 all the time even though I look like a 35 year old pervert.”
D “Yeah, you could do some pretty wild stuff. Like, check in under a fake name, under 17, and highjack a plane. More planes def need to get hijacked.”
After three more drinks we left, heading back toward the American Terminal. Sitting outside on a baggage cart was a dirty-toed hippie playing “Free Bird” on his acoustic guitar. He had New Zealand stickers on his guitar case, dreadlocks, John Lennon glasses and corduroy pants. Dusty excused himself from the interview, went over and punched the hippie in the nose. Blood splattered everywhere, even on Dusty’s Modern Collective T. The hippie gasped and screamed, “WHAT THE FUCK, DUDE?” Dusty grabbed the back of his dreadlocks punched him three more times then wiped his hands on the corduroy pants. The hippie sobbed quietly. His John Lennon glasses lay broken on the ground.
Dusty returned to me, smiling.
C “How was the Hawaiian season, fun?”
D “Yeah it was…good…until I got smoked by Parko with two tens.”
C “Did you feel on fire the whole time or did you feel like you always feel?”
D “I just felt like, I don’t know, I just had some good boards that I was really comfortable with. I didn’t really feel like I was on fire. I just felt more comfortable and at home wearing trunks instead of a wetsuit.”
C “How many winters have you spent on the North Shore?”
D “Put it?”
C “Yeah.”
D “Like 7.”
C “So tells me more. Trip Crown.”
D “It was all going good until Pipe when Parko put on a clinic. I went into Pipe and figured if I could make the quarters or the semis it’d be pretty solidified, then round three I saw the heat draws and it was like Parko and I was like excited because it became me and him for the triple crown. So I was excited ‘cause I thought, “I could win it here or, or he can win it here.” That was the heat that won the Triple Crown right there. If I got two tens I’d have the trophy right now.”
C “Do you get a runner up trophy?”
D “No, I wish.”
C “No silver cups?”
D “No, I wish, that’d be sick.”
C “Just get the tattoo. “Runner Up. Triple Crown. 2009”
D “Hopefully next year.”
Back in the American Terminal Dusty charmed a stewardess to let him cut in front of the flight crew at the ticketing desk. His board coffin was fifty pounds overweight. His wheeled Nixon bag was fifty pounds overweight too. The ticketer went to the office to get some paper work. Dusty unzipped his coffin and told me to look at his boards. There was no foam. Just fiberglass and resin covering millions and millions of little pills. Ambien, the prescription sleep aid, made in Morocco, he told me. He zipped it back up and paid the overage charges when the ticketer returned. We sat down on a baggage cart near a pay phone.
C “Where do you surf normally in Maui? Honolua?”
D “Yeah Honoloa when it’s breaking and then a bunch of secret spots.”
C “Do you like Maui.”
D “Yeah, I’ll always live in Maui. I want to buy a house, just waiting for prices on houses to drop.”
C “Come on, it’s all dropping right now. You can scoop it all up.”
D “I got a place right now, got a condo…”
C “Where? In Lahaina?”
D “Kaanapali…I’d like to get a house though.”
C “Then you can destroy it like Taj.”
D “That’s so freaking cool. It’s a good idea. I’ll destroy my condo.”
C “Do you get tired of being gone so much?”
D “At first I did, but then I realized there’s not much going on in Maui.”
A five-year old boy skipped by holding his father’s hand. He had a Dakine backpack with a Maui Built patch. His father stopped to make a call. The boy left his bag and went to play with a cockroach in the corner. Dusty quickly pulled a large serrated Bowie knife that he had been keeping under his belt and stowed it in the boy’s bag. “I’ll get it when we land” he said.
C “So Fiji, what after that?”
D “Australia for like a month…”
C “When does the QS start cranking up?”
D “Soon. I’m going over to Tasmania, then going over to Margaret. I got a pretty good seed this year so I’m gonna give it a little run. That’s my plan.
C “Next year on the CT?”
D “That’s my plan. I’ve kind of wanted to wait cuz I know kids who, like, jump straight into the QS and they get lost. I’ve…like the way, I’ve wanted to go about it is get a profile, start proving yourself…”
C “Do hot interviews for Stab?”
D “Yeah, interviews with Stab, getting a profile, then once people recognize you give it a go. Recognition to get that 0.5 you need. Plus Stab is the sickest mag I think. They don’t care what people think. Naked chicks in each issue…it doesn’t get better. It’s better than Maxim. I’m waiting for my call to take pics with naked chicks.”
We moved over toward Dusty’s departure gate. On the way, two beautiful girls looked at him and shyly giggled and whispered. They were both twenty-three year old blondes. One was wearing a wife-beater and Dior Airspeed sunglasses in pearl. The other was wearing Juicy Couture Sparrow jean shorts and Prada pumps. Dusty excused himself, again, glided over and planted a wet kiss on Dior’s mouth. After a moment she shoved her hand down his Volcom jeans. He then turned to Juicy and stuck his tongue in her ear. She fainted. He returned, adjusting himself.
C “Do you have a signature boardshort and all already to go?”
D “Um, I was actually just at Volcom meeting and making it all.”
C “What are you going to do?”
D “Colors.”
C “What? Come on. Do something racist. Like, “Get off my wave nigger” on the butt.”
D “Woah, there’s black guys all over here…”
C “It’s cool. They understand me. Do something different, I get so tired of color patterns. Do some text.”
D “I don’t know…I don’t know. I just want them to sell.”
When we arrived at the check-in gate the flight was late to board do to a commotion. Two stewardesses and three policemen were off to the side. A large crowd had gathered around them. In the middle were the five-year old Maui Built boy and his father. One of the policemen had Dusty’s Bowie knife in his hand. The five-year old was weeping uncontrollably and the father’s face was red with disbelief. It was also purple with fear. One of the other policemen turned the father around and roughly frisked him before applying steel handcuffs. The boy collapsed to the ground. A woman, wearing gaudy baubles and bangles designed by Ernestina Casas Carvajal, shrieked. The policemen pepper sprayed the crowd, put black hoods over the heads of both father and son, threw them onto an airport security vehicle and sped off. Two college students started vomiting on the carpet. An old man wearing an orange polo shirt grasped at his heart. Dusty groaned under his breath, “I really liked that knife.” We finished the interview with tears in our eyes and snot running out of our noses. Dusty was smiling.
C “Reading any good books?”
D “Ummm, No, I don’t know how to read. Terrible reader so I won’t be able to read this interview.”
C “Seen any good movies?”
D “Oh, yeah what did I see recently…”
C “What’d you see on the plane?”
D “Some cowboy movie.”
C “Brokeback?”
D “Ummm.”
C “Do you ever cry at movies on planes?”
D “Nah.”
C “Never?”
D “Oh yeah I did one time, it was like a cartoon and I took an Ambien and right before you fall asleep you get all happy, and I was just floating and ahhhhhh and then one tear rolled down my cheek.”
C “Last time I flew to Sydney I cried to Baby Mama.”
Posts: 4
Reply #4 on : Sat May 09, 2009, 10:28:04