Chapter 1
"What the hell do you mean I'm washed up?" Jill ranted at her agent. "I'm only twenty-three. I have a lot of good years left in me."
"Jill-baby," Carter Watson, her agent said. "It has nothing to do with your age. You made two flops in a row. Two flops. Translation: you go from top star to a slot on The Hollywood Squares and hope for a break sometime in the near future."
"That's a load of crap," Jill snapped. "There's plenty of movie studios that'd be overjoyed to have me working for them."
"Not for two million a flick, Jill-baby."
"So come down to a million," Jill Allen shrugged.
"Honey, right now they won't even offer a hundred thou, unless.. . . "
"Unless what?" the slender, sloe-eyed brunette asked, whipping her head around and looking at the portly man behind the desk in the richly carpeted office.
She was a stunning woman, tall, slender, with small, firm breasts that thrust her tight-fitting black sweater out, making her appear more busty than she really was. Her waist was tapered like that of a wasp, and she had slender, boyish hips that led to long, perfectly shaped legs-legs which, at the present, were encased in form-fitting black jeans. The jeans had cost the manufacturer a dollar and a half to make, the retailer sold them for thirty-five dollars a pair.
She wrinkled her short, straight nose at her agent while pulling down the large, round glasses, letting him see her cocoa-brown eyes. At the same time, her thin lips made a small moue, letting him know she was unhappy with what he was telling her.
"You have one chance to get back on top in a hurry, while you're young," he told her.
"I'm wide-open to suggestions," she nodded, sitting her pert little behind on the edge of the man's expensive desk.
"Did you see 'DRESSED TO KILL?' " he asked. "Sure," she nodded. "The picture made a mint."
"Exactly. Well, the picture was toned down and released here with an R rating. But in Europe, they showed it with even more explicit scenes. X-rated. Now if you were to make a picture like that.. . . "
"I've never done porn," she insisted.
"It's not porn if it's done by a top director, for a top studio, with a multi-million dollar budget using big name stars. I'm telling you, Jill-baby, it's the only way. The men and boys'll all come running to get a look at the bod of the fabulous Jill Allen. It'll send your rating right back up again, and you'll get your two mil a picture."
"What about now?" she demanded.
"Now, you'll settle for two-hundred-thou, and only because the producer is hot to be the first one to get your naked tits on camera."
"Don't be graphically disgusting, Carter," she snapped.
"You get the picture without my having to paint it more clearly," he told her.
"Just who is the producer?" she asked.
"Erik Gordon," he said, sitting back with a smug look on his face.
"He uses that crazy foreigner, Absalom Kirsch to direct his movies."
"Right," Carter nodded, sweat sheening his half-bald head. "And every picture he makes is a winner."
"All right," Jill nodded. "Two-hundred-thou, but only this once. If the picture goes over big, I go back up to two mil."
"Right," Carter nodded. "Hey, honey, I'm all for it. Remember, I get my cut from whatever you earn. But there's one minor catch."
"Just what is the catch?"
"Gordon has this fetish about bedding down with his leading ladies," Carter replied.
"Oh Jesus! I haven't had to screw for a part in three years. This is really sinking low."
This should be the last time," Carter told her. "Bur with Gordon you'll have to move into his house."
"Six weeks with Erik Gordon?"
"If you're lucky," he told her. "The man Kirsch is a perfectionist, and sometimes he isn't happy until he's shot a scene forty-seven times. One of his movies took four months. But hell baby, you have natural acting talent. You'll be so good, they'll probably finish the flick in five weeks, maybe less."
"Let's hope so," Jill shrugged, putting her glasses back on.