Chapter 18
"Why don't you give Hollywood a whirl? You'd go great out there." Myra heard the young man dimly, reaching for her third Scotch on the rocks She had tried drinking, but it wasn't helping the dull ache of loss. She set the glass down, swinging on the bar stool to face him. He was a very dapper young man, a little pretentious, but pleasant and smiling.
"Why?" Myra could be blunt, direct. "There must be thousands like me, itching to get into movies or television."
The young man drew back, offended. "I was only making a suggestion. That sauce isn't going to kill any pain, if you've got a pain. Looking through the bottom of a glass just magnifies things."
Myra nodded and thrust the glass away.
"I'm finding that out."
"A couple of friends and I are driving to the coast. Nice car, and there's room for you, if you want to come."
Myra shut her eyes, swaying on the stool.
"Why not?" She drew a deep breath. "What's to lose when you've already lost it."
So she sold the big, king-sized bed and the "Escape Hatch" furniture in a lot, preferring not to see the apartment as she had known it with Johnny being dismantled, items going piece by piece.
She functioned automatically through her personal affairs and soon found herself seated in the back of an luxurious convertible with a dapper little man scarcely an inch and a half taller than her own scant five feet. In front were two young men who bickered amiably about the best route.
The dapper little man introduced himself. "I'm Barney. Barney Stewart. They'd never think of introducing us." And he twinkled gravely at her.
"I'm Myra -" For a heart-stopping moment she forgot Johnny's name. "Myra Cole. Mrs. Johnny Cole."
"You don't look old enough to be 'Mrs.' anybody. Refreshingly young. And tragically sad."
"I'm a widow." There! It was said! Her first real acknowledgement of the fact that Johnny was gone, forever gone.
"I'm sorry. Accept my sympathy." And Barney sounded as if he meant it.
The first night they stopped at a wayside motel, and the young men came back with three keys, passing one to Barney and one to Myra. She was a little surprised. She had expected at least a suggestion she sleep with one of them, and she was happy to be relieved of an argument.
Lying nude in the big bed, Myra felt the growing need of Johnny, the return of intense desire. It built within her, stirred by memories of Johnny, of his great pecker ramming far up her, exploding into delirious excitement. She clamped her legs together, fighting the want of him, fighting against the horrid thought of accepting a substitute, until she could stand the crying needs of her body no longer.
She discarded the idea of the peignoirs. That had been for Johnny. And went naked to the connecting door, hesitating a long moment in frenzied debate before throwing it open.
Then she knew why she had a separate room. The two over-elegant young men had no need of her. They were wrapped in each other's arms, oblivious even of the fact that she stood in the doorway, her slim body nude, aching with desire.
She shut the door quickly, leaning against it, laughing hysterically. Two pansies! Absurd! She was traveling with two pansies who would have no interest in or need for her body. She went back to bed, shuddering with the relief of it, curiously calmed of her own needs. And slept. To dream of Johnny.
Barney must be one, too, she felt, though be kept eyeing her breasts and studying her slim legs, twinkling gravely at her when she caught him noticing.
"I'm an agent, my dear. Theatrical agent. Flesh peddler. And you have delightful flesh. You're quite beautiful. Diminutive. Petite. Hollywood likes them like that. But don't be disappointed if you don't make the grade. Thousands don't. Never see the inside of a studio. And they are equally beautiful. Your voice is charming but completely untrained. It could take months, years perhaps, to clear that sweet Southern softness from your voice, to give it depth and a sense of drama so essential in films."
Barney was brutally frank with her. "Because you are lovely, my dear, Breathtakingly lovely. And I adore beautiful women."
But he made no passes, letting her live in uneasy peace with memories, the needs and desires of her body sometimes almost overwhelming her. Twice on that trip she almost asked him to her room and put it off. If he were a pansy he might laugh at her, and right now Myra couldn't have stood having her great bodily needs laughed at. So she slept alone, aching with desire, desires Johnny had aroused and now could never satisfy.
Somewhere on the trip she told him about the ten thousand dollar insurance money, and his eyes glittered with interest. "There are ways that could buy you in and make you a fortune. Not nice ways, but very lucrative. Very."
As they approached Hollywood he told her.
"Art films. Adult art films. Which are neither adult nor art. But they make money. Fabulous money. For the amount invested. For ten thousand dollars you could make your own. I could get the releases. And the returns! Incredible. A hundred thousand. A quarter of a million."
Myra stared at him. "You mean fucking? In front of a camera?" It didn't horrify her. She had fucked for clubs, letting eight and ten men look hungrily on. And back in the cemetery days there had often been an interested audience. Now, with Johnny gone, it didn't seem important what happened to her body. Even the "Escape Hatch" was a dim memory. She took a deep breath. "I wouldn't mind."
So she came to the studio, a dingy, lofty side street affair, shivering a little, a little excited, more than a little nervous, her body already beginning to react to the very idea of getting fucked, of having a shaft rammed up her.
The story was simple: "Honeymoon for Three," two men who took a girl on a screwing holiday at a beach cottage. The fucking scenes were to be shot on the studio set, the rest, showing her windblown dress molded against her delicious young body, were to be shot on the beach, at the cottage of one of Barney's friends.
The script called for her to enter with the two men, laughing. She couldn't quite bring on the laughter but her soft, provocative smile was more than even Barney, who wrote the script, could want.
The two men weren't bad. One fair, the other dark; perhaps just a shade too handsome. She didn't know it but that was why they hadn't made the grade in regular films that and a very small talent.
As she came swirling into the room, smiling, one of the men caught her, kissing her passionately or a reasonable facsimile. And began pawing at her dress. She slid away from him, undoing the dress herself, stepping out of it. The cameraman wanted another shot of that, from another angle. And she went through it again until finally she stood naked in the middle of the room, her body shivering with anticipation. The second young man, the fair one, came out of the kitchen, caught her from behind and bent her backward, kissing her thoroughly, caressing her breasts and running his hands down her body.
Her body, always treacherously responsive, went limp. The two young men carried her to the bed, laying her across it, letting her legs dangle, her head resting on the other side. The two men were talking to her, laughing. Not that the picture had sound but it would give the illusion of a gay, animated weekend and allow time for the men to undress and, most important for the film, give the camera time to scan Myra's slim, perfect body. For that scene alone men would pay and pay well.
Myra lay there, turning inward again, toward Mommie, explaining to her silently. "Ten thousand isn't really 'Escape Hatch' but fifty or a hundred thousand is." She didn't even ask Johnny's forgiveness. He had loved her and had wanted her body, knowing so well its tremendous potential. He would expect that to be used. Just once she whispered his name as her body ached with anticipation, her legs weak, her little cunt pulsing, her nipples erect and quivering.
The dark young man came at her slowly, between her legs, his pecker stiff, red, the purplish bulb quivering already with a drop of his juices. He was smiling as his hands reached for her breasts and he slid to his knees, rubbing one cheek along the inner side of her thigh. Familiar fires welled up in her and she humped her pelvis upward toward him. He buried his face between her legs, pressing his mouth against her cunt, his tongue seeking its intimacies. And Myra moaned, writhing, as heat built beneath her breast, within her stomach and waves of excitement swept up from her cunt and went down, quivering her legs.
His hands cupped her breasts, fingers teasing her nipples, grasping them between two fingers that chewed at them. One hand wandered over her stomach, down the creases between leg and stomach, teasing at her slit while his tongue moved inside, tickling her clitoris.
Then he straightened, still kneeling and aimed his pecker at her hole ready now more than ready with creamy juices flowing. Hot and ready. He moved his pelvis forward, pushing against the lips. Her body felt, them opening, yielding to him, and then he was in, sliding his bulb inside and holding it there, barely quivering, just a slight motion that stirred hotter fires. His hands still played with her breasts but he slid them away now, dropping them to hold her slim waist as he moved in, ramming his prick far up her excited little emit.
Other hands grasped her breasts from above, and she looked up to see the fair one kneeling at her head, his pecker wavering before her face. "Take it, baby. Take it. Take all of it."
She shuddered and then slowly reached for the quivering shaft, guiding it to her mouth, and put it in, remembering Smathers and the oddly wonderful taste of him.
Her mouth filled with bulb and her throat suddenly ached for it to ram down her, stretching her throat, filling it and for the feel of his shaft sliding in and out. She stretched toward him and he thrust back, forcing his pecker well down her throat, moving it slightly, in and out, exciting her body to new frenzy, while the dark one pumped slowly at her cunt, setting raging fires within her.
Her body was answering wildly to two different sets of excitation, writhing, twisting, thrusting with her pelvis, working her mouth. Her body built to crescendo. Her breasts ached as the fair one played with her nipples, her throat closing spasmodically on his shaft.
She wasn't even aware of the camera looming over her, scanning her body, taking in the exciting movements, the ramming pricks of two men pumping into her. She had to draw back from the pecker in her mouth to gasp for air and then take it immediately back, her throat hungry for the salty, creamy juices.
Her throat knew, from the pulsing of his shaft, that the fair one would shoot off in her. And her pelvis pumped against the shaft of the dark one, wildly trying for a double come. And it was happening.
The fair one groaned, thrusting hard, ramming his pecker far down her throat, holding it as creamy juices spurted, flooding her throat. The dark one slammed his prick deep up her and she thrust with her pelvis to gain one last fraction just as he exploded.
Silent explosions rocked her body, lights flared behind her eyes as hot, creamy juices ran through her cunt. And in her throat the salty, ammoniac taste of male filled her. She licked at the fair one's retreating, deflated prick and felt the prick of the dark one sliding from her cunt. She breathed deep, shuddering, and sagged, her whole body going limp, her head rolling from side to side, whimpering softly.
The fair one folded forward beside her, one arm flung across her breasts. The dark one sat on the floor, resting his head against her pelvis, his body still quivering.
It was over, though shudders of excitement still ran through her body. She felt the dark one move but didn't raise her head to see why. The camera and lights moved in, tight on her still wet and open cunt, getting a picture to titillate thousands of men in private, darkened theatres across the country.
Without her knowing it, the camera moved away. She was barely conscious of movement, of lights going out.
From behind the camera a voice called out. "We need another take."
The dark one groaned. "Another take? You're nuts. This babe screws it out of you. There ain't nothing left."
The voice laughed coarsely. "Okay, so you can't take what a pint-sized dame can dish out. Wrap it up, boys. We shoot the next scene when pantywaist here gets his strength back. Tomorrow, Barney?"
"At ten." And then Barney was beside her, his diminutive figure bent with sympathy over her. "Are you all right, Myra?" He held out a hand, helping her up, his twinkling eyes surveying her body. "God, Myra, you're beautiful. I knew you were beautiful, but I had no idea how beautiful until I saw you naked."
She sat up dazedly, smiling at him. "I'm all right, Barney. Just get me a wet towel. And take me home." Home was the beach cottage at Malibu that Barney had borrowed.
In the car going out, Barney stared straight ahead, letting Myra lay with her head back in the seat. "Myra, you don't have to go through with this. I'll pick up the tab and we'll forget it."
Myra sighed wearily. "No, I'm committed. I don't like it but I'll carry through."
"You know what the next scene is?"
Myra nodded. "Yes. Each of them screws me twice. First one, then the other. I won't mind, Barney. I've had men before. Many men." She laughed, tight and hard. "Many loves have I had and only one love." She sighed. "Oh, so brief a love."
The scene of the four fuckings didn't bother her, though her body responded wildly answering first one and then the other of the young men. The scenes at the beach cottage were simple. Just outdoor shots, mostly of Myra, the wind molding her dress against that perfect little., body. Then the picture was completed.
A few days later Barney came in, jubilant. "Right out of the can! Baby, we sold it! One screening and we sold it. Not a hundred thousand, but seventy-five. You're rich, baby. And will be richer. Now the next one and this crew will give a hundred grand for it. Maybe I can hold 'em for more. The next one is a gang fucking. This motorcycle gang grab this girl, see . . . "
It went well. Myra endured the gang fucking by withdrawing into her prayer to Mommie, into her dream of an "Escape Hatch" that now seemed attainable. And her body performed superbly, responding to man after man with excitement; so much so that the cameraman claimed she took the curl out of his hair and put it back three times. Which was an achievement, since he was bald.
They made three more, each selling at what, to Myra, were fabulous prices. Barney came out she had rented a small apartment by then, still unable to believe in large sums of money such as Barney talked in. He came out with the books and showed her. The "Escape Hatch" hoard was almost half a million.
Barney took a deep breath. "And I don't mind telling you, I've made as much. And I already had some, so I'm fixed. Well fixed. If you want to quit . . . "
"Oh, Barney ! " She flung herself on him, giving him a big kiss and a hug that almost engulfed the little man. "A place in the country! Quiet. Peaceful. And no men."
Barney extricated himself, twinkling gravely at her. "I told you about what I had, Myra, for a reason. I don't want to have you think I'm asking you because of your money. But will you marry me ? "
"Marry you? Darling Barney, you haven't even made a pass at me. And after what you've seen in those awful pictures, you can't want me." She shook her head perplexedly. "I just never thought of it, Barney. You've never made a pass."
"Haven't you guessed why, Myra?" As she shook her head, he turned away, speaking over his shoulder, not quite daring to face her. "I'm impotent, Myra. I can't ever have a woman."
Myra laughed softly, and he turned a hurt, bewildered face toward her.
"I didn't think you'd laugh, Myra. I know I'm an absurd little man . . . "
"Barney, you're adorable. You're wonderful. And I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing at me . . . I've been seeking an 'Escape Hatch' all my life . . . and you offer it to me with a companion, a wonderful, gay companion. Of course, I'll marry you. And we'll share the 'Escape Hatch.' Just you and I."
"Myra! Myra! Please! Do you mean it? Truly? I'd give the world just to be always, with you, to be able just to see that exquisite perfection . . . "
"Barney ! " She sat him in a chair and paced the floor. "I mean it. But we've got to be practical."
Barney's sweet, lighted face crumpled. "Of course, my dear."
She took another turn around the room and smiled down at him. "Just where are we going to build this 'Escape Hatch'? "
Barney's face crumpled and he sagged in the chair. "Oh, God. I didn't dare believe it. I didn't dare believe it."
She came and laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Dear Barney. Believe it. And get on that phone to a good real estate dealer. We're headed for our 'Escape Hatch."
Barney stood up, eyes twinkling as much with tears as with laughter "Darling, I can at least kiss you. I'm man enough for that."