Chapter 1
THE CASTING COUCH
"Got a cigarette?"
Andrea glanced at her brother. He was nervous. His hands were trembling and beads of sweat had dampened his face.
Andrea smiled. She opened her purse and fished out a handkerchief. "You need this a lot more than a cigarette, Billy. "You're absolutely soaking wet!"
He shook his head.
"Take the handkerchief," Andrea persisted. "This is one of the top model agencies in town. I've had to spend a fortune in phone calls to set up an appointment for you."
"Nobody asked you to," Billy mumbled. "You're always doing what you want to be doing, Andrea, and then you wind up telling us it's all for our own good."
"Wipe your face."
"No!"
"Be quiet!" Andrea hissed, nervously glancing around the room. "If anyone heard you, Billy, I swear I'll. . . "
"What?" he demanded. "Kill me?"
"Billy,. . . "
"Fuck you," he whispered. "I won't make a scene, don't worry. I won't spoil the effect for you. But I've had it, Andrea. I've really had it! I'm through being dragged around from agency to agency. I'm sick of those precious people telling me that I'm really just as pretty as a girl. If I wanted to be a girl, I'd wear a goddamned dress. But I'm not a girl, Andrea, and I'm not going to sit around any longer while you push me into a career!" Billy stood up.
His voice remained low, but it was seething with fury. "A career? What kind of a career? As a model for toothpaste? Just another pretty picture in a magazine?"
"Billy, "No!" He responded fiercely. "I want to be an actor, Andrea, not some faggot dummy shining his shoes in a television commercial!"
"Lots of actors get their start in television," Andrea pointed out. "I've heard you say that yourself-lots of times."
"Other actors-not me. I don't like sitting around these goddamn agencies waiting for some bastard of a casting director to start licking his lips the minute he looks at me!"
"Don't you dare leave!"
"No?" Billy laughed.
Turning on his heels, he strode briskly from the room, slamming the door behind him.
The girl at the reception desk glanced up with a startled expression. "Was that Billy Hunt?" she inquired. "Mr. Finch is ready to see him now."
"I'll see Mr. Finch!"
"But...."
"Billy's my brother. I'm sure it will be all right."
Gripping the leather portfolio of pictures Billy had left behind, Andrea barges past the receptionist and opened the door to the inner sanctum. CASTING was lettered in gilt on the door.
Mr. Finch?"
His back was turned to the door. He sat with his feet propped up on a typewriter table. He gestured vividly with his arm in the air as he spoke brusquely on the phone. "No, no. That's not my concern, Freemont, you can shove your censors up your ass. Television is too decent the way it is now. The same to you-with shit on a stick!"
He hung up and turned around. Instantly his face went pale.
"I'm sorry, Miss, I didn't realize you were here. I was expecting..."
"Billy Hunt," Andrea interrupted. "My name is Andrea. I'm Billy's sister. About the phone call, Mr. Finch-skip it. I understand. Really, I do. Don't bother to apologize."
He smiled. "What can I do for you?"
"My brother ... well, uh, he was suddenly indisposed. I know this sounds foolish. But it was a case of nerves. He'll probably get over it in a little while. But I didn't want to let this opportunity go by."
"Have you ever considered modeling yourself?" Finch inquired. "You don't mind if I call you Andrea, do you?"
"No," she smiled, "not at all."
"That portfolio-Billy's pictures?"
Andrea nodded.
"May I see them?"
He opened the portfolio and spread the pictures on his desk. He saw before him a series of glossy, professional photographs depicting Billy in a variety of moods and poses.
Finch was evidently impressed. He whistled his approval, holding up one shot for a better view. "He certainly looks good in a bathing suit!"
Andrea smiled. "I took that one myself."
"Did you?"
"Ummm-hmmm. Last summer in Hawaii. We were there for two weeks. My brother, my sister and me. Someone just gave me a camera and I started fooling around. I was really surprised when it came out as well as it did."
"You seem to be a double threat, Andrea," Finch said, putting down the photographs. "You're pretty as a picture and you know how to take them, too. That's a double threat in my book."
"I'm mostly just interested in helping my brother get started on his career. As far as I'm concerned, that's all that's important for me."
"You must be a close family."
Andrea nodded. "There are only the three of us. Our parents died a few years ago. So, it's been up to me to raise the two kids and see to it that they both get a good start."
"I can understand that," Finch said, sympathetically. "How old are you, Andrea?"
"Twenty-three," she replied. "Billy's two years younger. And little Mimosa is the baby in the family. She's thirteen."
"Mimosa?" Finch exclaimed. "I thought that was the name of a flower or something! I never heard that as a name before."
"My mother was French," Andrea explained. "That's where the name comes from."
"Too bad I'm not shooting a family commercial. The three of you would probably come across like winners." Then he shrugged. "But, for the moment, the commercial we happen to be casting for needs a young boy about Billy's age. And certainly with his looks. Has Billy had any film experience?"
Andrea shook her head.
"Something I could show to the sponsor. He'd be much more impressed if he could see Billy on film. Pictures like these are fine as far as we're concerned. We're certainly able to visualize what an actor would look like on film. But we're the professionals. That's our business. But the sponsor is something else again. And his word is important. After all, the actor we choose will represent his product on television in millions of homes. That's what the casting business is all about."
"All we have are the magazine jobs that Billy has done so far," Andrea murmured. "That's why this appointment was so important to us. We knew you were looking for Billy's type. One commercial is what we need to break the ice. Then I'm sure Billy can get lots of jobs."
"I think so, too. But..." Again Finch shrugged. "I don't see what I can do. I'm certainly sorry that Billy couldn't be here. If nothing else, just to see that I'm not the faggot most young actors seem to think I am."
Andrea laughed.
"That's true," Finch insisted. "Once upon a time all the talk was about actresses. Every girl was supposed to put out on a couch if she expected to get anywhere. The casting couch. Surely you must have heard about that?"
"Yes. I used to wonder if it was true."
"So did I," admitted Finch. "Maybe that's how I wound up in this business. But I quickly found it was a myth. Not because the girls weren't willing or anything like that. No! The problem was time. During a business day, there was just no time to fool around-not if you were at all interested in earning a living. Sex during office hours is just a luxury no one I know can afford."
"Really?"
Finch smiled. "Usually. Of course, there are exceptions. But anyway, what I started to say was about this change. Once upon a time, everyone expected the girls to lie down on the couch. Now the rumors are that the boys are supposed to do it. Isn't that the truth? Isn't that one of the things that upset Billy today?"
Andrea nodded. "That's true."
Finch sighed. "What a life! Here I am-thirty years old, good income, great job, not bad-looking, every girl's ideal of what a debonair young bachelor in New York should be-and what happens? They all thing I'm a faggot!"
"Maybe I can help correct that impression?" Andrea suggested, surprising herself as she said it. The innuendo in her voice was explicit, as if she were offering herself to Finch for a fuck.
"You're blushing," he said softly. "How come?"
"I guess I sort of shocked myself. I came in here all eager to do anything I could to help Billy. But then, the more we got talking, well-I guess I began to be interested in you for myself."
"That's nice," Finch said. "I feel the same way."
"But where does that leave Billy?" Andrea asked. "It sort of makes anything we do seem as if..." And her voice drifted off. She hesitated, then fell into silence.
"As if?" Finch encouraged her. "Honest, Andrea, the more we can talk about these things, the better everything else will turn out."
"Really?"
He nodded. "Trust me."
"Well," Andrea blurted out, "as if I'm a whore. You know what I mean? Just a girl willing to sell herself to get some kind of advantage.
Offering my pussy if you'll give Billy a job."
"Would you."
"What?"
"Offer me your cunt if I get Billy this job for the commercial?"
"Are you serious?"
"Well," he said slowly, "Let's pretend that I am."
Andrea shook her head. "No, I could never enjoy it that way. And if I went to bed with you, I'd be going to have a good time. If it so happened that you did help Billy-well, that would be fine, better than fine, because it would be something else to draw us closer together. And the closer we are to each other, the more we'd enjoy ourselves in bed, wouldn't we?"
Finch nodded. "Busy tonight, Andrea?"
"No."
"I'll pick you up about eight," Finch said. "Oh, by the way, leave these pictures with me. Maybe I'll be able to do something for Billy after all. . . "