Chapter 8
Summer was quickly coming to an end. Sally Ann yearned to be back in Ohio, as one season slowly melted into another, and the autumn leaves left one marveling at nature's bounty. Deep in her heart, however, she was angry that she'd not accomplished in New York City what she'd left Ohio to do-be a dancer. Josette and Deke didn't seem at all surprised when she announced she'd decided to stay in the city for one more season.
"It helps us with the rent, and you're easy on the eyes," Deke told her.
"Yes, darling," Josette agreed, "you are very easy on the eyes. We'll work out a payment plan-and not all of it has to do with money." Josette gave Sally Ann a meaningful wink.
At the end of August, Jean-Claude asked if he could talk to her privately in his office.
"Since you've decided not to return to Ohio after Labor Day, Sally Ann, I am assuming you will need to keep this job."
She nodded her head in agreement, afraid her employer was going to have to let her go.
Jean-Claude put his palms flat on his desk, a gesture that underscored he had something important to tell her. "Sally Ann, when you told me three months ago that you were only looking to work over the summer, I arranged to bring in an experienced hostess after you had to go back to Ohio and leave us. In fact, you know her. She's been working here for a while as a waitress-Angelique."
"Angelique?" Sally Ann was astonished. Although she was politely friendly with the staff at Chez Pierre, she'd never developed anything more than a passing acquaintance with them. New Yorkers were so different from Midwesterners, she thought. Guarded. Even downright unfriendly. But Josette and Miss Farrell both told her something that she now observed as true: Many city dwellers felt misunderstood and alone in the small towns they came from. New York City offered an opportunity for them to pursue career ambitions and love affairs with few restrictions.
But, Angelique? She was from France, and that was probably one of the reasons Jean-Claude had hired her. Yet, she was not personable in the least; in fact, every time Sally Ann had tried to converse with her, Angelique seemed downright brusque. Sally Ann came to the conclusion that Angelique didn't like her, and stopped pursuing trying to be cordial.
"Why are you so surprised?" Jean-Claude inquired. "After all, she's proved herself highly competent as a waitress, she's very attractive, no? And I've asked her to start observing you with the intention that when you returned to Dayton, she could step into your shoes as hostess."
Fighting a swelling feeling of betrayal-which she knew was irrational-Sally Ann nodded in agreement.
"To be honest, Jean-Claude, I just never thought of her as being the friendly type. After all, a hostess should be at least cordial, don't you think?"
Jean-Claude looked Sally Ann straight in her liquid blue eyes. "Not necessarily. The French people, who remain our primary clientele, are not like Americans. As a Francophile, I can say first hand that there is a formality in our temperaments that is not to be confused with indifference. It's the same cultural thing we discussed when I hired you."
As much as she hated to admit it, Sally Ann knew Jean-Claude was right. New York City was, indeed, a melting pot, attracting people of nearly every ethnicity. Angelique, with her tight blonde bun, green cat eyes, and winsome shape would fit the role of the aloof hostess perfectly.
"Well," she said, rising, "I guess there's nothing left to say except thank you very much for the summer job. And I enjoyed our occasional romantic interludes."
"You're a great fuck, Sally Ann," Jean-Claude said, smiling. "And I say that with all due respect. Please sit down. I have some good news that may perk you up before you throw up your hands in despair."
Jean-Claude explained that Lilac and he were planning to marry.
"Congratulations," Sally Ann said, realizing there was little enthusiasm in her voice.
"I'm not finished. The two of us have started up an independent film production company. We've already raised the financing for our first project, kind of an update-not a remake-of the classic movie All About Eve with Bette Davis. There will be a lot of musical numbers in the movie. In fact, the director is auditioning dancers next week. If you're interested, Sally Ann, I could arrange to set up an audition with him-privately, not the standard 'cattle call'. "
For a moment, Sally Ann's heart was in her throat. This is what she'd been longing for, a break into showbiz. "Of course I'm interested," she said. "You know I'd do anything-anything-to get into the movies."
"Anything?"
"Anything," she replied evenly. "I assume his casting couch is waiting."
Jean-Claude laughed. "I have to say, I've never met anyone quite like you, Sally Ann. On the outside, you've got this quiet, wholesome demeanor, that freshly scrubbed girl-next-door look. Yet, your sexual appetite is unquenchable. Lars will like that.. .a lot!"
"Lars?"
"Lars Lissaker, the director. I believe you may even know him from this restaurant. He comes here occasionally: a blond, balding German, fortyish, with a pony tail."
Sally Ann thought hard to remember him. So many Europeans came into Chez Pierre-often bizarrely dressed and groomed-that it was difficult to separate one from the other.
"He's the one who 'discovered' my Lilac," Jean-
Claude told her. "Maybe he can do the same for you. All it will take is a phone call from me to set up the audition. But it has to be this week. As I said, the week after are cattle calls, and you'll be just another pretty face in the crowd."
"Yes, yes, yes! Call now, please, Jean-Claude. I'll make it my number one priority."
Jean-Claude picked up the receiver on his phone. "He'll expect nothing less."
When Sally Ann arrived at Lars's studio the next day, she remembered him immediately. Hostesses do not usually get tips from customers; rather, as was Chez Pierre's policy, the hostess got a percentage of the day's tips. But this imposing man (she estimated him to be at least six feet, four inches tall, with a brawny physique) had slipped her a one hundred dollar bill before he left the restaurant.
"It's just a little 'thank you' for letting me look at you during my dinner," she recalled he'd said in thickly accented German. And, living frugally as was required to meet her Manhattan expenses, she accepted the money readily. Obviously, finances were not a concern for Lars Lissaker. Yes, how could she forget him?
"I'm so glad you could come, Sally Ann," Lars said. "Jean-Claude has told me such good things about you, especially about your performing potential."
Momentarily, Sally Ann was confused. Jean-Claude had never seen her dance. How could he possibly know about her performing potential? But she played along.
"When he told me about this film, especially the part about the musical numbers, I got so excited. And I know Lilac Veracruz from the restaurant. And, of course, it's common knowledge she's seeing Jean-Claude."
Realizing she was rambling a bit, Sally Ann slowed her pace.
"You're nervous," Lars observed. "Is this your first audition?"
"Oh, no," she lied.
"Well, did you bring a resume, a videotape, or something that gives me an idea of what you can do?"
Sally Ann felt her cheeks flush. This is what I get for lying, she thought. She managed to stammer out that Jean-Claude had only told her this was a performance audition. "I'm sorry, I don't have anything like that with me."
Lars smiled, scratching his au courant beard stubble. "Look, I know all about you. From the first time I saw you at Chez Pierre, I knew you were not just a hostess; your carriage is that of a dancer, although you have larger breasts than most of them." Sally Ann gasped in spite of herself. "Does it offend you that I tell you this, Sally Ann?"
Obviously, the casting couch is my first stop, and if I "prove" myself, then, maybe I'll get the audition, she thought. But Sally Ann wasn't dismayed. Lars was not an unattractive man, and though she knew little about him or his work, it would not be difficult to make love with this Viking-like man.
"We don't have much time, I'm afraid," he told her. "Can I kiss you?"
Before she had a chance to answer, his thick lips were on hers. The kiss was so abrupt, Sally Ann immediately tensed up. Then, she slowly allowed pleasure to overtake her. His tongue wormed its way into her mouth. Then, he broke away as her knees began to buckle.
"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?"
"Not at all, Mr. Lissaker. In fact, it was quite pleasurable." She observed a thick tube-like penis running down his left trouser leg.
"Would you like to see it, Sally Ann? Would you like to see my cock?"
"I'd like to suck that thing," she said, surprised at her audacity.
Lars unzipped his trousers, unbuckled his pants and pulled his Ralph Lauren sweater over his head, tossing it in Sally Ann's direction. "Let's get comfortable."
Since time was of the essence, Sally Ann realized her usual tactic of slowly stripping, gradually revealing her lush physique, would not work with Lars. She'd come prepared with her attire, wearing a black one-piece leotard over which she'd slipped on an easy-to-remove skirt. The dance studio, like all dance studios, had floor-to-ceiling mirrors everywhere. When she was nude, she glanced up to see their bodies reflected on all four walls.
Lars was drawn to her breasts like an infant to its mother's. "These are so beautiful, Sally Ann. Perfect-and so tasty." Those were the last words spoken before Lars began to make love to her earnestly, right there on the floor.
Sinking to their knees, the couple entwined in a passionate embrace. For what seemed like a long time for a man in a hurry, Lars played with Sally Ann's tits, flicking at them with his tongue, pinching them gently with his fingers and groaning in ecstasy as he watched the nipples swell and stick straight out.
"Mmmmmm," Sally Ann cried out. "Don't stop. Eat me, Lars. Eat me like you're famished."
He was famished. His kissed and sucked on her neck so hard, she was sure she'd have a telltale hickey. Lars's tongue moved down between her boob globes, which he continued to squeeze.
"My gosh, go for it, Lars," she urged. "Go lower, go deeper. My cunt is all yours!"
He moaned again in his deep, heavily accented German voice. Voices, Sally Ann has noticed, could really enhance sex, especially when one or both partners talked dirty.
Lars lifted her legs straight up and towards her face. Sally Ann wondered if he was also checking her flexibility as a dancer, then put all thoughts of ulterior motives out of her head as she felt that long, thick tongue of his enter her pussy. He licked her labia until it shone invitingly. Her bush was so small, so blonde, and trimmed so neatly, he had no trouble eating her out. His lips covered her cunt as his tongue searched inside to find her clit.
"Ahhhhhhh! Oh, Lars, that's right. Suck my clitty. Suck it as long as you can. I'm cumming. Cumming! Can you taste it?"
But Lars was obviously not a talker during sex; rather, he was fucking her purposefully, and meant business. Sally Ann felt his long, fat schlong sink deep into her gash effortlessly. She was so wet down there, like a faucet that could not be turned off. His cock jackhammered into her, rubbing her clit with every stroke. Now, he'd spread her legs so far apart that they were almost perpendicular to her torso. Yes, she thought, he is testing me, seeing how flexible I can be. Determined not to disappoint him and fail the test, she forgot the momentary discomfort of her legs being stretched farther than they'd been in any dance class. Sally Ann acquiesced to his urgent infatuation with her cunt, and urged him on.
"Fuck me! Fuck me! Pound that pussy, darling. Pound it as hard as you want!"
He pulled his cock almost all the way out, then began to fuck her with only its head. His cockhead was like a fat, juicy plum, wider than his cock shaft. She'd seen plenty of penises since coming to Manhattan, but Sally Ann marveled at how different each one was. Lars's was certainly at the top of the list.
"Uh, uh uh!" Lars slammed into her and muttered something in German she didn't understand. But there was no communication barrier when it came to their mutual lust for one another. She looked up at his face, contorted, dripping sweat onto her belly. Sally Ann knew Lars was close to cumming.
"Let it loose," she urged. "C'mon, Lars, shoot that scum into my cunt."
He had wanted to fuck her in the ass, too. Despite a gallant effort to push his peckerhead into her butt hole, Lars shot his cum all over her pussy. He rolled off of her. Both lay staring at the ceiling, trying to come back down to earth.
Now was the moment when Sally Ann would find out the truth about the audition. Exhausted as she was from the quick fuck he'd given her, Sally Ann still wasn't certain if he'd give her a private audition.
"Do you think you're up to showing me what you can do as a dancer?" Lars asked. "Or are you too tired now?"
"Please, sir," Sally Ann pleaded, her feelings shifting from sex passion to her passion to dance. "Please let me show you what I can do as a performer. I've been studying all my life." She laughed lightly. "And you've definitely stretched me out as a warm-up."
"Let's get to it, then."
Lars was back to business as usual. Sally Ann was grateful he was going to follow through with the audition, that she wasn't just another fuck to him.
"Don't put your leotard back on," he instructed her, as he began to dress. "Dance naked for me."
"But I'll need my toe shoes," she reminded him.
"This isn't a ballet, Sally Ann. I'm going to put on a selection from the score, which is more techno-pop than classical. I think you'll like it. Improvise for me. Show me that you're as good a dancer as you are a lover."
The music started slowly and built into a frenzy, a cacophony of drums, bongos, electric and acoustic guitars, synthesizers as well as Third World instruments-zithers and mandolins, for example. Music moved her like nothing else, with the possible exception of sex, and Sally Ann threw herself into the audition. She put away all thoughts of "proving" herself to Lars. As she danced around the studio, her perky, tight tits hardly bouncing, the exhilaration of dancing for the sake of dance (as opposed to dancing for a job) filled her entire being. Her blonde hair, usually kept in a bun when she took a class, was loose, and followed her every move. In short, it was one of the best unprepared dances Lars Lissaker had ever seen. Then, abruptly, he turned the music off.
The expression on his face was unreadable. Sally Ann fretted she'd failed, and looked at the floor, not knowing what to say or do.
"Shooting begins next month here in the city. In the next few weeks, you'll work with the other dancers hired and, of course, the choreographer. What did you think of the snippet of the score I played?"
"I loved it."
"It showed, Ms. Sally Ann Gardner. I've rarely seen a dancer so consumed by the spirit of music. It's a visceral thing. And you danced without the benefit of knowing anything about the choreography. In short, I'd like to use you in the project."
"I'd love to be used," she said, beaming, smiling at the double-entendre.
Lars laughed in his deep, booming German voice. Then, he shifted temperaments again, and was all business. "I assume you don't have an agent or a manager. I'll take care of that. And I assume you don't have a SAG card either. I'll take care of that, too. Right now, however, I've got to meet with Lilac. She's fuming over some script changes." He sighed wearily. "You're going from the frying pan into the fire. Do you know what that means, Sally Ann."
"Not really."
"Well, I don't have time to explain. He looked at his Cartier watch. "Oh, my God, it's almost one. Lilac and I are going to discuss the script changes at Chez Pierre; I'm going to be late and she's going to chew me out."
Sally Ann quickly put on her leotard and skirt. "Thank you so much Lars-I mean, Mr. Lissakerfor the audition."
"And thank you, Sally Ann, especially for the first one. I trust we will keep this confidential. When I see you at Chez Pierre, please don't do or say anything you'll regret."
"My lips are sealed."
"Oh, no they're not," Lars said, looking at her crotch. "In fact, I'd say your lips down there are quite open. Just remember, I'm not talking about those lips.
She was surprised when he gave her a bear hug and a gentle kiss on the cheek.
"This-having sex-will probably not happen again, at least not until we complete our nine-week shooting schedule. Once filming begins, you may be working ten and twelve-hour days. Tomorrow, I want you to turn in your notice to Jean-Claude that you'll be leaving the restaurant at the end of the week." He paused and looked at her with his steely blue eyes. "There are no guarantees. From what I've seen today, you're a fantastic dancer. But I must tell you there is always the chance your musical numbers will wind up on the cutting room floor. Don't expect to become an overnight sensation, Sally Ann. For every Lilac Veracruz there and a hundred other hopefuls who spend their entire lives auditioning and paying their bills by working in menial jobs."
He opened the door for her. "You'll hear from the casting director tomorrow. Give me your phone number."
She reached into her dance bag and quickly jotted it down.
"All I want is a chance to prove myself," she told him. "Just getting this far makes me believe I can make it."
Lars closed the door behind her. Yes, maybe she will. Maybe Sally Ann Gardner has the "It Girl" quality.
Maybe.