Chapter 6

T.V. producer Manny Willman scrutinized Rod Bradley with keen blue eyes and said, "You look a little bent since you last tested for us. Had a virus?"

Rod looked around the walls of the office, lined with autographed photos of T.V. stars and other show business notables and said, "No, I've just been feeling a little below par lately. But it's nothing believe me, Mr. Willman."

Manny Willman continued, "I know your wondering what this is all about Bradley-and I don't believe in making a big production out of good propositions. As you recall, Rod, you tested for us about six weeks ago, and as I told you then, I was impressed with you and with your tests. I've brought you here today to tell you I'm willing to take a chance on you, despite your lack of credits, if you're willing to take a chance on me."

Rod's heart darted into his throat, seemed to lodge there. "You mean...?"

"I mean we've finally tracked down a top notch property, we're lining up an experimental cast, and we want you to take a supporting part. You know Michael Moss, don't you?"

"I've heard of him, Manny. Isn't he the one who...?"

"Don't finish, Rod. Yes, he's been on the skids for a while. But I think he's coming out of it. We've signed him to direct. He's willing to accept the financial arrangement well be forced to work under."

Olga's words, uttered upon their first meeting, leaped to life in his mind, caused Rod's heart to sink. "Notoriously no pay." Was that the kind of idea he was letting himself get suckered into?

"You've heard of Morton Blair, haven't you?" Manny said. "Surely you must have. He's big guns on the literary scene right now."

"Morton Blair? Who hasn't?"

"Well, we've got a Blair book under option. One of my scouts picked it up when Blair was still a nobody. It's called "Murder off Broadway" and it's a damn good book. It'll make a marvelous movie. With the right cast, the right directing; it can't miss." He tossed over a paperback book. "Here's a copy, take it home and read it. There's no script so far, but within three weeks well have a rough script, well be able to work from that."

The man's enthusiasm was infectious, and as Rod look the book, he saw his hands were trembling. "What have you got in mind for me, Manny?"

"If you're willing to agree to our terms. Rod, we'd like to have you try Zachary's part. He's the brother, a kind of faggot ne'r do well, who blunders into the murder. But I'm giving the plot away. Anyway, he's kind of a minor heavy. It's the kind of part you can get your teeth into, the kind of part stars like Paul Newman and Charlie Coburn are made from."

"What terms do you have in mind."

"Well, this is the part of it I don't like, Rod. Right away people think they're being roped on a deal like this. But I'm in this business on a shoestring too? I'm risking my savings just to lease the old Essanbee lot and studios. But if I'm willing to take a chance there should be somebody else in this town willing to do the same.

He looked earnestly into Rod's eyes. "A hundred a week Rod. For a minimum six weeks. We're gonna put it in the can in less if at all possible." He saw the disappointed look in Rod's face and hurried to add, "With this one provision: There'll be a percentage of profits for everybody in the picture. If we get a hit, everybody'll make a nice piece of change. Not to mention a little notoriety on the side. And that never hurt any actor living, so far as I know."

Still Rod sat in silence, fingering the paperback listlessly. While a hundred doubts tossed and clashed in his brain.

Willman smiled understandingly. "You don't have to decide now, Rod," he said. "Go home and think it over. Read the book. If you aren't crazy about the part, as crazy about it as I am, just call me, tell me no. I know damn well you'll want to come in with us."

Suddenly Rod shivered, tucked the book into his pocket. He recalled the impending three o'clock appointment at Olga's. And he remembered the rotten, degenerate thing he'd witnessed between Ed and the brunette only last night, as the little blonde's coarse pleas to have her pussy sucked by Doug Lyman echoed and reechoed in his brain.

Do I have a choice, he raged, his resolve suddenly hardening to the consistency of tempered steel. Any real choice?

He stood, extended his hand to Manny Willman. "I don't have to sleep on it," he said firmly. "I've already made up my mind, Manny." He faltered, the emotion he felt getting the best of him. "This is my only chance. I'll probably never get another chance. I don't care about money. I'm your boy. I'll take the part."

His eyes shining with sincere warmth, Manny Willman took Rod's hand and shook it vigorously.

Rod's head was still spinning, a myriad of conflicting thoughts at large in his brain when he reached the Riverdale address. To enter, to encounter some hungry tramp now, was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. Instead he wanted to flee to his apartment, there to sift his thoughts, to gain some modicum of peace. And more than anything, to read the Blair novel.

But he realized it could not be. For now, more than ever, he was ruled by two masters. One expediency and practicality as represented by Olga Innstrom, the other hope and riches as offered by Manny Willman.

It meant only one thing. For now: Compromise.

And briskly, moving like a mindless automaton, committed to his ugly course for a while longer, stoic about it even, he entered the house. Went directly to his room to be ready for his client.

At three-ten he became impatient, was about to ring Olga to see if there'd been some slip up. But as he rose, started toward the phone, he heard the door buzzer sound. Changing course, he went to open it.

And was stunned into silence when he saw Olga, flanked by the scowling Mack Calabrio, standing before him. Only it was a transformed Olga, her blonde hair combed out, falling softly on her shoulders, haloing her face, giving it a child-like cast. An Olga dressed in a white, trim, nylon dress, figure hugging and chic. Wearing white, satin shoes, the toes sharp, the heels exaggeratedly high.

Transfigured, from the imperious, domineering madam into a lovely, vulnerable-and desirable-woman.

But still the significance of the change, the burning expectancy in her gave, didn't register. He blurted the words out; "Olga, I was just going to call you. I thought you said I had an ironclad three o'clock date with some bimbo?"

She smiled oddly, said. "Yes, Rod, you have. That bimbo happens to be me." She laughed lightly, beckoned to Calabrio. "Come in, Mack. Don't balk now. Remember what I said?"

While Rod stood in frozen silence, his mouth agape, moving with no words coming out. Then; "You, Olga? You aren't serious?"

"I'm very serious, Rod. Am I so repulsive?" Again she turned on Calabrio, speaking sharply. And yet taking a tone like that a mother might use with a recalcitrant son. "I said come in, Mack."

"No," Rod replied. "It's not that at all. I'm surprised, that's all. I..."

"I told you I might get around to you one of these days. Well, today's the day." The old aloofness returned. "Pull the blinds please, Rod."

When he turned she was standing in the center of the room posed provocatively, her smile sultry and seductive to the nth degree. "Will I do, Rod?" she teased.

"Yes," he stammered. "It's just that I-I don't understand."

"What's to understand? After all. I'm a woman, too. In my prime I need to be fucked-to stop my cunt from twitching. Where do you think I got the idea for this unique establishment in the first place? I figured there must be hundreds of women just like me, who needed to be screwed. Women with more money than I had."

A strange sound broke from Calabrio's throat. A sick sighing gasp, something akin to a sob. 'Don't do this, Miss Olga," he said stupidly. "Please, you don't have to do this." Rod couldn't help but see the psychotic light in his eyes, the idiotic twist to his lips.

Her voice rose, 'That will do!" The hulking man jerked, retreated, as though he'd been slapped. Olga turned on Rod. "Sit down, please, Rod. I'll be ready in a moment."

She looked severely at Calabrio. "Come now, Mack," She wheeled. "It's time now."

"Please, Miss Olga," he half blubbered. "Please don't do this. He isn't worthy of you. I... "

"I said it's time now, Mack! I won't speak again."

The brute shambled forward, his gaze clouded, looking for all the world like a small boy who'd been badly scolded by his mother. "Please, Miss Olga."

"Mack..."

Rod felt like someone had jabbed a stevedore's hook into his spine, was twisting and probing with it. He shuddered involuntarily, feeling a shriveling chill as he saw the huge man fall to his knees before her. Then reach out for her, gravely and studiously begin unbuttoning her chic gown.

"What's this all about?" Rod asked stupidly. "What kind of nut act is this anyway?"

"Don't fret, Rod," she winked, her voice placatingly hushed. "You cant understand this. Just take my word for it. It's what this ape really wants." She glanced down at Mack. "That's a good, good boy, Mack. Mummy's good little boy. Now Mummy's zippers."

The clumsy fingers came up, worked at the fine zippers in the waist of the dress. Now she shrugged out of it, turned to reveal the intricate lacework on her heavy, beige-colored slip. 'The skirt now, Mack."

Rod expected Mack to slobber at any moment. His mouth worked agitatedly, his sullen expression changed to a happy one now. As he held the skirt for Olga to step out of. He paused to run his hands along the silky length of her thighs.

"My slip, Mack," she commanded, again winking at Rod.

With painstaking care he brought up the elegant garment, lifted it over her head. For long moments he stroked her legs. "Mack, you're wasting time."

Now she brushed his hands away, stood with arms akimbo, her figure breath-taking, wearing only a sheer brassiere, a lightweight girdle, panties, stockings, and the white pumps. Rod saw the puckered darkness of her nipples through the brocaded lace effect that aureoled each bursting globe. With maddening slowness she turned, let his eyes feast on every curve and indentation of her body. "Like me?" she taunted. "You like Olga?"

Rod couldn't begin to understand this sick little pageant. Not at all. But one thing he did understand. And that was that it was taking its toll on him. He wanted to fuck this woman with all his heart and soul. Even though he knew that what she was doing to Calabrio was depraved, he was still wild to fill her cunt with his prick.

"My shoes, Mack," she purred next, willing the man to bend before her. And in a fetishist frenzy, he ran his face along her legs, began to kiss her ankles. And finally her shoes. Rod saw Olga tits rising and falling rapidly; he sensed the intensity of her savorance of this sick subservience.

"Take them off, Mack," she sighed, tiring of his cowering attention at last. "Kiss Mummy's pretty feet now."

"Pretty feet, pretty shoes," he was bubbling, his lips lingering at her instep. Now he raised her foot, kissed the sole. Olga balanced prettily on his shoulders, looked at Rod.

"He likes this, really he does," she said, talking about Calabrio as if he were not actually in the room with them. "He'd go out of his mind if I didn't let him carry on like this. It's all part of it. Even the end, when I go to bed with you. You explain I can't."

She slapped him sharply. "No, Mack! Be careful. You're hurting Mummy."

He was instantly contrite, put the foot down. "I'm sorry, Mummy, sorry."

"Take off my stockings now, Mack."

She posed regally, no trace of shame or embarrassment on her face as Mack continued his feeble-minded adoration, kissing her legs as he bared them, kissing the bare flesh of her tummy. Wallowing fervidly in his servile fantasies, until at last Olga stood nude before Rod, her magnificent body seemingly pulsing, shimmering, sending a siren call to come lose his prick in that sensual flesh.

Calabrio, in deep trance, huddled at her feet again, kissed and lapped at them with soft puppy noises, until Olga indolently pushed him away with her foot. "That's all now, dear. You go now. Leave us alone. I won't need you any more."

He howled as if in actual pain. "No! Please let me stay. I won't say anything. I'll just watch. Mummy please..."

"Outside, Mack. You wait outside the door. Just like always. You watch and guard for Mummy. Remember what I promised you? Later, when we go back downstairs?"

It was an utterly crestfallen, still blubbering man who finally relented, let himself out the door. Who, even as Rod closed and locked the door, was falling back against the door his face rapt.

I can't explain it," Olga said as Rod turned back. "I let him stay in the room once, and he got nasty, nearly killed the guy with me. Out there he dreams all sorts of wacky things. It's best that way. Later on downstairs, I'll let him indulge himself in a few other happy tricks. Then he's set for a while again. If he wasn't so valuable otherwise, I'd have got rid of the chick a long time ago."

"Why'd you bring him up here?"

"Bring him? I couldn't shake him. I don't know how he does it, but he seems to sniff it when I'm yearning for a cock.

"He's like an animal. He's violent. Hell kill somebody someday."

Her laughter was musical. "No, he won't. He's as easy as a baby if you know how to handle him. And if anybody can control him, I can." She put her hands under her breasts invitingly. "But I didn't come up here to talk about that slob all afternoon. I came up here for a good hot fuck-or two-or three." Her smile was of sultry, wanton abandonment ever used by woman through the vast reaches of time.

Her voice dropped, became husky. "Aren't you going to undress, Rod. You don't want to keep Olga waiting for her cocky, do you?"

Rod didn't need another prodding. Passionate beyond reason by the weird travesty he'd witnessed between Olga and her servile flunky, he was possessed of an overriding need to fuck this woman until he died, if necessary. And then-surveying the lush, body, the body conceived and dedicated to fuck pleasure-he was lost in the first real desire for female cunt since he started working at this pleasure-house.

Immediately he was hauling and tearing at his clothes, until, moments later, he stood trembling before the calculatingly appraising woman.

"Well, come on, baby," she purred. "I won't say no."

She whirled, reached the bed in four quick steps, fell upon it. Curled herself into a tight ball, waited for him, hellish fires burning in her gaze.

But when he came to her, she struggled free, slid away from him. "Uh, uh, doll. You don't rush things. Not with me. Boil the pot first. Like this."

And, her face twisting into a demonic grimace, she surged up, flung herself against him straddled his body. In the same fluid, sliding movement she kneed her way upward, settled there. Leaning over him, her hands sinking into the pillows beneath his head, her arms forming supporting pillars, beneath his head, she slurred. "Take those tits, baby. Suck 'em up, like you never sucked before."

A smile lit her features; her eyes narrowed. She sighed thickly as his hands drew her huge breasts down.

Now as the stinging desire spread its tentacles into every pore and cell of her body, she dropped her head, watched Rod with sloe-eyed fascination and delight. He pulled one huge nipple into his mouth stroking his tongue around the circle of the nipple until he felt her heat increase. Then he pulled the nipple itself deep into his mouth screwing and sucking the tit with his whole mouth. At the same time, his hand was gently massaging and pulling her other nipple until it was standing up practically the size of a small, little finger. Then he reversed nipples sucking the other, pulling the first. He continued sucking her tits in this fashion, until the woman was beside herself with desire. "There!" she hissed as she lowered herself with exact precision onto his huge prick.

She began to bounce in slow movements. "Oh, Rod, you're good. Man, man... Don't stop, keep it up. Don't stop." Her voice broke, emerged as a broken rasping cry.

Olga sucked in her breath, whimpered pleasurably as Rod rammed his cock deep into her cunt over and over again. Her hot, moist pussy sucking at his cock, greedily holding it as if to never let it go. "Oh, darling, oh!"

As Rod rammed his prick into her twat over and over again, as his arms locked and trapped, it seemed he was lost in time and space. That the afternoon light turned to midnight blue. But only momentarily. For suddenly it became a glaring, blinding white. Then silver and gold, a glittering screen of varicolored sequins that waved and fluttered before his eyes as he shot his hot load deep into her womb.

Olga sighed deeply when at last they were back upon the tumbled sheets, released Rod. "Don't go away, sweetheart," she husked. "More of that later."

And there was more. Twice more his cock was dipped into her cunt as far as it could go, at the same time pulling her lush nipples until they reached two more climaxes. And while they weren't as scorching hot as the first fuck, there wasn't the least bit of complaining from either participant when they were done. Only rave notices.

For perhaps twenty minutes they dozed.

When they awoke, the magic spell was totally shattered. For once more they assumed their old relationship, that of employee and employer. Rod opened his eyes to see Olga dressing, found the familiar lurching in his guts as he took in the symmetrical, sensuous curve of her back, the swell of her ass, the flare of leg and calf as she slipped into her panties.

"Well," he joked, "do I pass?"

She smiled tiredly. "Yes, Rod. You pass. With flying colors." She turned serious, suddenly all business. I came up here to find out about. Mischief flared in her eyes. "That and something else. I needed you today, Rod. Real bad."

"What're you talking about?"

"You feel up to another go tonight?"

"I suppose. If I have a few hours in between, I'm in good shape. What've you got in mind?"

"It's a special, Rod. Real special. That's why I had to find out about you, find out how sensitive a lover you were. This is going to call for a real artist in bedroom techniques."

"Clue me, huh?"

"Like I said, you passed. You love this dolly like you just loved me, they'll put you up for the Academy Award."

"You going to tell me or not?"

"No, Rod, I'm not. You might chicken out. And I need you bad tonight. It'll be worth five hundred to you if you bring it off with a bang. Interested?"

"When you say five-hundred bucks, I'd fuck an entire WAC platoon for that Olga. You know I need the money badly," Rod replied eagerly.

"This won't be a mass-production job at all, lover-boy. Just a single-but I must admit it's a weird-deal," Olga mused.

"O.K. I'll make believe it's a surprise party," Rod said, "and I'll be ready for whatever turns up. But where are you going, doll?"

"You need your rest for tonight's job," Olga said. "And I've got to go and throw Mack a bone in a manner of speaking. We can't have him going off his rocker completely!"

She left and Rod was left with his thoughts about what fuck fun and games would be on this evening.