Chapter 19
The next script called for Peggy to play a Jewish girl in a home raided by six Nazi storm troopers who stripped her and flung her across a bed where each in turned raped her, leaving her exhausted and broken, near death.
Both she and Ken felt that the multiple rape was effective but just a shade monotonous-not that Peggy felt the rapings were monotonous. They had been a series of deep penetrations that were exciting and very, very satisfying.
However, she could agree with Ken that for the next picture her activity could be a trifle more varied and each time Peggy posed for a seduction or, as she was now doing, acted one out, each should be in a different form.
Together they scanned Jim's sample book for ideas and then went to Ken's home to look over his extensive collection of photos.
For the third script, the picture launched only a week after the first and three days after the second, called for Peggy to be a young girl left with a baby-sitter who comes on her in the bathroom wearing only a sheer shortie nightgown-and perform his seduction seated on the John, using The Rocking Chair technique.
The girl, so brutally used, goes weeping to her bedroom, holding her tattered shortie around her. To find a burglar, who takes care of her standing up, backing her against the bureau- from which she had the prints of two knobs on her fanny for hours afterwards. (The cameraman insisted on a close-up of these, and they became a minor classic in the porno league).
Disconsolate, wandering, haunted by two rapes (Peggy did not do too good an acting job being disconsolate. The rapes had been eminently satisfactory) she staggers into the kitchen, dragging around her only a remnant of the shortie nightgown. To meet the milkman- who seduces her as she sits helpless on the kitchen table. Helpless but cooperating.
The grocery boy catches her dragging herself away on all fours and seduces her dog fashion. Not as well as. Jim had done it, but it was-enjoyable.
A missionary man-one with a special and rather official-looking hat, comes to the door. Peggy drags her weary body to the door and opens it, showing herself nude. Seeing the ecclesiastical collar and the official hat, she throws herself into his arms, asking for help. He comforts her with an ecclesiastical smirk, and leads her back to her bedroom. Going down the hall we see his comforting hand sliding well down on Peggy's rump.
Shot through the door: The official hat skims across the room, the ecclesiastical collar flops across a chair... Into the bedroom and a view of Peggy, in bed with the missionary and opening her legs to his prick.
It was a good script and played well-and Peggy enjoyed every moment of it. It had variety in styles of fornication and a certain humor that no one would have suspected of Ken, wry, a little twisted, perhaps, but definitely humor.
The humor probably would not go well at the art theaters, they preferred their raunch a little stark, but it made an interesting film that Peggy sat through several times, re-enjoying those moments.
It was after the production of their fourth film that Peggy came on Jim, slumped at his desk, breathing heavily, an odor of whiskey pervading the room. Peggy stood there, naked-her usual costume around the studio-frowning at him.
"What is it, Jim? You're not going Grandma's way, are you?" She came over to stand at his side, reaching for the whiskey bottle. "At least, it's not gin."
"No..." Jim had difficulty enunciating. "No, that's not gin. That's my conscience. Found him at last. After thought killed him. Found'm in a whiskey bottle. Funny place for conscience, ain't it? Peggy, where will you find yours?"
Peggy sighed, not understanding. "What's bothering your conscience, Jim? Not these movies? You've been making those kind of pictures for a long time... What..."
"You, Peggy. You're on my conscience. Been on my conscience ever since I opened the door and saw you sitting there, so beautifully naked... Oh, I know you weren't naked... not quite, but that's how I saw you. So I'm a child molester. Yes I am. Contributing to delin... delinquency of minor... carnal knowledge of minor... Screwed you, din't I?"
Peggy stamped her foot, not a very effective gesture in bare feet, on a soft carpet. "No. You didn't screw me. That was just posing. You said so yourself."
"Yes. I did din' I. Able to fool myself. Like you. Able to fool y'self. Screwing's not screwin' if it's posing."
"But it is posing. Please, Jim... please... Let me get you some coffee. Ken should be here in a few minutes and we'll want to talk over the next script. You'll be in it. A sort of rakish pirate-and I'm captured. Ken says we can get some real way-out methods into that..."
"Look," Jim had a moment of sobriety, of absolute clarity of speech. "Peggy, you are naked. You are beautiful. Gorgeous. Come closer. Closer. Let me put my arm around you. Make love to you. Tell you how beautiful you are- and then we'll fuck. Just plain ole fucking-type fuck. Because we both love it. Then maybe my conscience will crawl back in the bottle and stay there."
"Oh, Jim. Just-fuck. You know I couldn't. Honestly... Please. Let go of me, Jim. Why, you know I wouldn't fuck! I never have. Jim... Jim..."
Jim's head had drooped forward, and he slid down, sprawling across the desk, knocking the whiskey-bottle over. Peggy caught it, from long practice at catching knocked-over gin bottles, and set it upright, looking thoughtfully down at Jim's slumped, dishevelled figure. She sighed and turned to go to hunt for Ken, who was somewhere around.
She found him, as she had expected, in his office, a room he had usurped from Jim and refurnished in ultramodern. He looked up at her and smiled. "Darling, must you go around naked? You're so beautiful, so-distracting. I can't think when you stand there like Aphrodite-the new-risen nymph."
"I like being naked." Just why she liked it was obscure even to her. Except that in that way her body was always on display-as if she were always posing. As if posing had become a way of life. As if posing had become life itself.
She looked down at Ken lounging back in his chair. "You know, Ken. I think we'll have to get rid of Jim. He's drinking far too much."
"But... Jim?" Ken swept a hand around.
"This is his. The whole place. He... Why, we can't get rid of Jim. It would be like .' ." Ken gave up on his simile and lay back in his chair, staring at Peggy. "We can't. I can't."
Peggy drew a deep breath, holding it so her bubbies stood up. "I can. I think I know the way..."
She did. It wouldn't be pretty, and Jim would hate her. It seemed a shame that he should ever hate her, when they had had so many wonderful poses together. So many, many wonderful times. And he had been the first to show her this remarkable way of posing-of having all the wonderful effects of screwing without ever getting screwed. Just because you were posing.
But Jim was weak. He was drinking. Letting drink become a prop-as it had become a prop for Grandma. And there was a way of doing it, of letting him think she would-sign a complaint: child molestation. Peggy smiled to herself. What a fitting end for Jim! He'd go. And he hadn't molested her at all. Peggy danced softly down the hall. It was the other way around.
She paused, calculating. With Jim gone, there'd be lots more money. Money she could use or squirrel away.
There was still Ken, of course. He was smart. Clever. He figured things out. He made money. He made money for everybody. But Peggy was catching on. And she knew the distributor, a coarse, heavy man who was always looking at her with his eyes half squinted, speculating. Once she was in solid with the distributor... Well, Ken had made his money back.
He wouldn't miss this little corner in his investments. Except for the opportunity it gave him to play with her once in a while. And that was getting tiresome; he was always hinting that maybe she'd go home with him. When he knew she never fucked.
All she ever did was pose.