Chapter 9

The days had flown by in a feverish whirl of wardrobe fittings, wardrobe stills, publicity stills, publicity interviews, and cast readings with the director of The Best of Nothing. Now, two weeks later, the Great Day had arrived. Charlene had hardly slept the night before not only had the excitement mounted to a screaming crescendo, she had found herself worrying about the clock not going off at six A.M., even though the telephone service would also ring her at that time. She just wasn't used to rising at such an ungodly hour. But the make-up call was at seven so as to have her on the set at nine. Not that she would be in makeup all that time. No, after her face was completed by a studio expert, the hairdresser would grab her, then the wardrobe lady. Next, she would walk from her dressing room out onto the sound stage a facial tissue tucked in at the neck to protect her dress from the pan-stick and to the edge of the set where her specially emblazoned canvas chair awaited her. She could, of course, wait in her dressing room for the assistant director's call, but she was far too excited to sit in there alone; besides, she wanted to watch the shooting of other scenes.

As she showered and dressed, her mind was buzzing so much had happened recently, she could hardly put it all in place. For instance, Sonja, who never got out of bed in the morning unless forced to do so by a job of her own, had earlier this day prepared breakfast for Charlene and the sun wasn't even up yet! Charlene had complained that she couldn't stomach anything at such an uncivilized hour, but Sonja had insisted. And besides, the "ex-actress" explained, "We're troupers now and I just had to wish you luck on your first day!" Charlene had arranged a pass for her mother to come onto the lot for lunch and watch a little of the shooting, but Rotheimer had strictly forbidden Sonja's "hanging around" afterward. He said that mothers on the set always bottled up his young actresses. It was bad enough that a welfare worker would be required.

"Good luck, baby," Sonja said, giving Charlene a hug at the door. "I know you'll be great. See you for lunch."

"Okay, Mom. And thanks."

"Jon said to give you a kiss for good luck, too. You know him, he can't get up unless he has a job to get to himself."

"I know. He wished me luck last night." Charlene remembered how he had massaged her and then given her the "special Jon treatment," but still she hadn't slept well. She hoped the make-up man would be able to erase any shadows from her eyes. She recalled how she had arranged for Jon to get a small part in the film which would come up in a week or two, a glorified bit, really. She also recalled, with a shudder, how she had swung that deal.

But now, as she drove down and around the curves of Laurel Canyon to the studio, she flipped her mind back even further to the day she had signed the contract. Hershey had called her, was thrilled for her, then furious when he found out she had a clause in her contract that said she could not fly unless it was job-related for the duration of the shooting.

"What the hell is this?" he had shouted long distance, "I get you the introduction to Dave and now you can't even fly up to see me?"

"I'm sorry, Hershey. I didn't write the contract."

"Why'd you sign it?"

"You mean you'd have me give up the part if they wouldn't let me fly?"

"Well... Goddamnit, you wouldn't even have the part if I hadn't sent you to Dave."

"Anyway, Hershey, my agent read the contract and asked for changes on what he thought was important. And he didn't even mention that."

"Your agent! What the fuck do you need an agent for?"

"To look out for my interests."

"Bull!"

In truth, of course, Charlene was delighted with that clause. She had no desire to fly to Hershey's home town and be holed up in some out-of-the-way motel. In fact, she had no desire to see him again, at all. She certainly had no desire for him. She didn't have to worry about "ole Hershey" or his account any more.

"Besides, Hershey," she had continued, "they're keeping me so busy with publicity trying to build up a public image before the film is released that they're fixing me up with dates for previews and night clubs on the weekends."

That was when Hershey had exploded. "God-damnit! My girl! Not only can't you come visit me for one lousy weekend, but they're fixing you up with every Don Juan in Hollywood!"

"Come on, Hershey," Charlene said sweetly, although she felt like telling him to shove it up his ass, "you've got a wife and family. I'm only sixteen. I'm not ready to be anybody's mistress." Sonja had always cautioned her to hold her tongue no matter how difficult it was, because in this business you never knew who might knife you in the back. Although it was doubtful Hershey could do her any harm at this point, it was senseless to make an unnecessary enemy.

"Well, wait till I tell my dear friend Dave what I think of him!"

Charlene knew Rotheimer would laugh Hershey off, but he'd never give in he'd made that clear. Of course, he would go to great lengths to make it up to Hershey in other ways. Rotheimer had indicated quite clearly that he was very interested in his young find, and definitely did not want her public image to be that of courtesan to an older man. He had, indeed, gone out of his way arranging dates for Charlene dates with budding eighteen and nineteen-year-old studio stallions.

Of course, that public image hadn't interfered with what went on in the privacy of his office under his desk.

For that matter, Hershey wasn't the only one who was annoyed. Sid Morris had suffered near-apoplexy when he discovered Charlene would still be working on the film when he would be needing her for the holiday showing.

"Half the samples have been fitted on you, Charlene! More than that, even," he thundered. "I'm a perfect size ten, Mr. M. I'm sure an agency can find another model for you."

"No one else has your great tits and cute ass," he moaned. "And I mean, literally no one!" Charlene couldn't conceal a smile in return for the ill-humored compliment. "I'm sorry, Mr. M., but you wouldn't really expect me to give up a movie career to model for Hollywood Sun-wear, would you?"

"Well... I guess not, but Goddamnit, it was Hershfield who got you in, and it was through me you met him."

Charlene thought it was ironic how men would invariably sell a girl on the idea of playing along because they could do them some good. And then when it really did happen, they seemed to think the girl might not grab at the opportunity. Mr. M. seemingly didn't realize that if she made a hit in the film she probably wouldn't ever model for anyone ever again. That being the case, Rotheimer would pick up her contract for more films and perhaps TV and maybe even the moon. And certainly a successful actress didn't model only now and then would she exchange her services in return for publicizing films.

Traffic was no problem not this early in the morning. Charlene tried to think of the day ahead of her her lines, the camera action, the wanton young girl she was playing but her mind would have none of it. Her mind, instead, seemed riveted on the day she had asked Rotheimer for a favor something she would never do again. No matter what. The recollection was just too distasteful.

"Could I ask a favor of you, Mr. Rotheimer?"

"Certainly, my dear. But you know, I'm sure, that one good favor deserves another."

"Of course, Mr. Rotheimer. Anyone knows that."

His usually severe face lit up at that. "Very well, Charlene. What can I do for you?"

"Do you know Jon Avon?" He nodded.

"He's a good friend of my mother's. And well, he'd be just perfect for the part of Dick... " Rotheimer tapped his cigar, then began to chew on it. "Yes, I guess Jon for that particular part would be perfect typecasting a bum playing the part of a bum. He can't act his way out of a paper box, you know."

Charlene first bristled, then flushed. She knew that Jon would be perfect for the part of the good-looking narcissistic young stud, if he would just act himself which was roughly equivalent to what Rotheimer had just said in overly pejorative terms. It was a small part only a cameo role, and both Jon and her mother had conducted a relentless campaign to induce her to speak up for Jon. "That's how parts are gotten," Sonja had said. "That puts you in ahead of the other guy who's waiting with his agent."

"Suppose I agree right now, Charlene?"

"Would you really do that, Mr. Rotheimer? Right now? Without an interview or anything? For me?"

"Why not? I know what he's done and I know he can do the part. Besides, it doesn't really matter. The director I'm signing could get a performance out of a dead man."

"Oh, Mr. Rotheimer, that's terrific," Charlene said, bouncing up from her chair. "I don't know how to thank you."

"Sit down, Charlene," Rotheimer replied, lighting up the cigar. Obediently, Charlene sat. Rotheimer's words had produced a fear a chill. Rotheimer leveled a hard stare at the young ingenue, and continued. "Have you ever made it with another female, Charlene?"

"What?"

"Have you had a woman make love to you?" Rotheimer's speech had now become quick and slick very salesmanlike. "I hear there's nothing quite like it. I know for a fact there's nothing quite like watching it."

Charlene felt sick. Was this the favor in return? She was quite prepared to go under his desk and play their little game, but making it with another girl? The idea revolted her.

"Oh, Mr. Rotheimer. No, I've never done that. I can't!"

"Can't, Charlene?" he smiled. "Or won't?" His face remained stony.

Charlene was on the verge of tears. "Let me go down on you, Mr. Rotheimer. That'll make you feel better." She raised from her chair.

"Stay where you are!" he ordered. Charlene slumped back, thoroughly subdued.

"You're a very fortunate young lady, Charlene. Do you know that?" He didn't wait for a reply. "You have beauty, brains, talent. But there are some poor females who have no beauty, barely adequate brains, and talent for only the pedestrian things in life. They lead very unglamorous, dull lives. You could bring a little glamour and happiness into such a life, Charlene. It's a great thing to have the power to give another human a little sunshine. Think about it, Charlene."

Charlene just sat, suddenly very small and pale. "May I go home and think about it, Mr. Rotheimer?"

Rotheimer laughed. "I'll give you two minutes to think about it. Right now. Poor Miss Stern has been pining away for you since the first day she saw you, Charlene."

Miss Stern!

Charlene could hardly believe what she heard. She now realized that Miss Stern knew what went on under Rotheimer's desk she had dropped her pencil once or twice, and when she went down to retrieve it had certainly noticed Charlene. But never had a word been said, and Miss Stern had maintained the fiction that she knew nothing. That was part of the game.

But Miss Stern actually wanting Charlene herself? That boggled the mind.

"She's a fine secretary," Rotheimer went on, as if talking to himself. "Quiet girl. Doesn't make friends easily. I feel she deserves a bonus now and then."

Charlene swallowed. She was to be the bonus? My God! But Charlene also knew that if she ran home to tell her mother that Jon wouldn't get the part because she had refused such a request, Sonja would be furious. Jon, too. They would also say it was just part of "the game."

"Just consider it business," Sonja had said when Charlene had complained about her under-the-desk-routine. "Don't get emotional about it," Sonja counseled. "Just do a good job. Remember, you're an actress now."

If she told Sonja, this very minute, about Rotheimer's proposal, her mother would probably say, "Well, if you're going to have a woman go down on you, at least you won't come home unsatisfied and upset, like you've been doing." In fact, Charlene remembered her mother telling her how, at a party, a girl had gone down on her and it had been terrific, but she didn't really dig women so had never let it happen again. Further, she couldn't reciprocate cocks were her thing. "But," Sonja had confided, "I suppose I must admit that it was a good sexual experience."

"Your two minutes are up, Charlene," Rotheimer was saying. "Of course, you can forget it, you know after all, there's no reason for you to pay for Jon Avon's favors. Or is there?" He pierced her with eyes that seemed to know.

The answer now seemed simple. If she refused, and Sonja discovered it, there'd never be peace again. Worse, Jon might not ever make love to her again. And he was the best. Those kid actors she had been forced to date had turned out like just so much cold dishwater they were just too concerned with themselves.

And, then, of course, there was her contract to be considered.

Charlene sat quietly, hands folded in her lap. Finally, in a low, conciliatory voice, she responded, "All right, Mr. Rotheimer."

"Good girl," he said quickly, displaying no emotion. He stubbed out his cigar in a huge ashtray. "You won't be sorry."

Into the intercom he said, "Miss Stern. Will you please come in? I have that special assignment you've been asking about."

Miss Stern appeared at the door immediately. She wore a droopy, high-necked, long-sleeved blouse, knee-covering skirt, clunky shoes, no make-up other than pale lipstick, her hair done up in an old-fashioned bun. She looked like her name.

She closed the door and locked it carefully behind her. Charlene vaguely wondered who was going to mind the store.

"Let your hair down, my dear," Rotheimer addressed his secretary. "You'll frighten the child."

Miss Stern's face broke into a rather pathetic half-smile. Then, when her dark hair fell about her shoulders, the improvement was immediate and startling.

She walked directly to Charlene and took the girl's hand. "Come over to the couch with me, Charlene." The words were spoken as half-command, half-request.

Charlene as if in a trance allowed herself to be led. Miss Stern began to undress her slowly, kissing her breasts as her blouse was removed, then caressing her thighs as her skirt dropped to the floor. Finally, Charlene stood in her bikini panties.

Charlene felt as if she would faint. She found herself trembling with both excitement and horror. Miss Stern's touch was delicate, sensitive, knowing. She carefully gave Charlene's body little thrills feeling her in just the right spots and with just the right touch as she undressed her. It was as if Miss Stern was a fine pianist, and the secret points of response on Charlene's body were the keys of the instrument.

"Look at her, Dave," Miss Stern said. "Isn't she lovely?"

"She certainly is," he agreed. Behind the desk, he had unzipped his fly and begun fondling his penis. "May I sit down?" Charlene heard her own voice croak her knees felt so weak she thought she might collapse.

"You may lie down, my sweet," Miss Stern replied, helping her onto the sofa.

Charlene was a trembling mass by now. She was spread out on the sofa with Miss Stern sitting on the edge of it next to her. She leaned over and kissed her full on the mouth. Her tongue demanded response. Her hands caressed Charlene's hard-nippled breasts, then one hand moved down into her wetness. Oh, yes, she was wet in spite of herself. She was a mixture of love and hate love of sex, hatred of herself for being wanton. As wanton, in fact, as the girl she was portraying in the film. Now she realized why she was, indeed, a "natural" for the part.

A shock ran through her entire being as she felt Miss Stern's tonguelike a butterfly on her clitoris. That was just a teaser, for then she withdrew and licked Charlene's inner thighs high, near the pubic hair with feathery brushstrokes. She worked her way to the pubic hairs, which she licked apart. Charlene was a mass of erotic expectation by the time she felt the loving tongue lap in exploration around the pink folds of her lower lips. At this point, Charlene thought she would die if she did not soon feel the marvelous tongue directly on her small pink bud of flesh. Just as she felt she could stand no more, she felt the first licks. It was like rich velvet against the excited bit of flesh. As she was moaning with pleasure, she felt the speed of the fluttering tongue increase. It was the tongue of an artist. Against her will not really against, for her will was completely overpowered by the other woman she went into uncontrollable spasms of continuous orgasms. She reached a pitch of excitement and gratification that left her almost numb.

From somewhere in outer space, she heard Rotheimer say, "That was beautiful, Rona. Beautiful." He sounded as if he had come, too.

She lay there spent, yet unrelaxed she was too humiliated to open her eyes. Then, suddenly, without warning, she felt a plunge into her vagina by a powerful, insistent, very authoritative cock. Her eyes flew open to the sight of Miss Stern, an enormous flesh-colored dildo strapped to her hips, fucking the life out of her. And, even as Charlene was recoiling from surprise, she discovered that she was beyond herself, beyond all control, all reasoning. Soon she was meeting Miss Stern's plunges with eager delight.

The two of them were in a frenzy now, meeting each other joyfully, moaning, screaming with pleasure. As Charlene's back stiffened and she went into yet another orgasm, Miss Stern Rona joined her.

On the other side of the room, Rotheimer's simultaneous handmade orgasm was no less glorious.

Later, at home, Charlene poured out the story to Sonja. The troubled girl had hoped for understanding, perhaps even sympathy. Instead, she evoked keen interest even periodic applause.

"Mother, you don't know how awful it made me feel. Imagine! Having a woman making love to me!"

"From what you told me, you had a hell of a good time."

"I just had a hell of a lot of orgasms, Mother."

"That's what I call a good time."

"Mother, it was only sex. Fantastic, 'way-out sex, but still, just sex. Not love. I don't feel emotionally satisfied."

"Oh, poor baby," Sonja had cooed, obviously unsympathetic to Charlene's reasoning. "Look," she added, as she picked up the morning newspaper from the coffee table. "Look what I saw in the paper today." She opened to a page of mink-coat ads long minks, short minks, all kinds of minks. "This is what you should have... a floor-length mink to wear with long dresses and it even zips off so you can wear it with short dresses. Isn't it exquisite?" she rattled on enthusiastically. "Terribly expensive, but you'll need the best for your premieres this fall."

"Mother! I'm talking about something important. Not mink coats!"

"Darling, what can be more important than a mink coat? Don't forget, we women always feel better when we buy something new. That'll be your little treat to yourself. You've worked so hard. You deserve it."

"Little treat! A five-thousand-dollar mink coat?"

"So what! You've got to put up a good front."

"Hershey sent me a fur-trimmed coat before he got mad at me, and it's stunning. It's all I need."

"It's nice for lesser evenings, but it's not fur, dear. It's fake fur."

"All the better, Mother. It's the rage. You don't have to kill animals that way. Some day there won't be any more fur coats because we'll have killed all the animals."

"Well, then, that settles it. You better hurry up and buy the mink coat before the price goes up."

"Oh, Mother!" Charlene had become exasperated. How had Sonja twisted this into a conversation about furs, anyway? She had wanted to have a heart-to-heart talk with her mother. And look how it had ended. Good God!

Somehow, for reasons now forgotten, Charlene did get the mink. The best. Seven thousand dollars worth, in fact.

Charlene shrugged off the memories as she drove on to the studio lot. The policeman in the booth knew her well by now and simply waved her on with a smile and a salute. In fact, all the studio workers were friendly which seemed to make the whole work experience pleasant. She felt so accepted, so casual, that it gave her a jolt to be addressed as "Miss" instead of by her first name.

And then there were the people who acted as if she were royalty. The caste system was prevalent in the motion picture industry, no doubt about that.

As she neared her parking spot not far from the sound stage, an excitement surged through her. My first day of shooting on a real picture! Life was wonderful.

She parked her car and walked on to the stage with new zest.