Fresh Off the Bus

"That's terrible," Burton muttered. Burton was one of the few friends Parker had with some semblance of morals. He knew Burton would not necessarily approve of what he'd just said. "Someday I hope a girl breaks your heart."

Parker grinned. "I'm sure it will happen and it's nothing less than what I deserve," he admitted, "and maybe it will change the way I am, but until then . . ."

". . . you might as well enjoy yourself," Burton finished. "Yes, we've heard that before."

Charles asked, "You seeing her tonight?"

"Fuck no," Parker stated emphatically. "She gets off at one and she'll be dead tired. She needs to be eager and rested the first time we go out. I'll call her in the morning and take her out tomorrow night."

Burton sighed. "Where to?" he asked, changing the subject and referring not to where Parker would take his next innocent young conquest, but rather to where the three men themselves would go next on this particular night.

"Luna," Parker decided, always the one to take the reins.

Luna was a bar that catered to the young and hip entertainment and celebrity crowd. On any given night there were likely to be several aspiring models, wannabe actresses, hopeful singer-songwriter babes, and a smattering of actual famous people.

Parker was not looking to get laid, but he was looking to down a few quality cocktails and Luna had one of the best selections around. He would fend off the trim that was sure to recognize him and maybe get one of them to slop off onto Charles or Burton.

Maybe not, he thought with a grin.

* * *

It was nearing two in the morning when Amberly trudged up the steps to the door of her apartment after an evening of work. She did not mind her job (it paid the bills) but sometimes she liked it more than others and at the moment, with her back aching and her feet killing her, she liked it not so much.

She opened the door and flipped on the lights, and a loud shriek echoed across the hardwood floor as two bodies hurled themselves up and off the couch and scrambled around in search of their clothes.

"Oh my gosh!" Amberly gasped as she covered her eyes, a deep red blush spreading across her cheeks as an embarrassed giggle slipped past her lips.

Unfortunately, there were three images that would remain etched in her brain for some time: first, the sight of her roommate, Betty, on her hands and knees on the couch, naked with her boyfriend behind her, her face going from absolute pleasure to absolute shock as she realized she was caught having sex; second, the sight of Betty's boyfriend, Brian, jumping off that same couch and the way his hard cock, glistening with the juices of the girl, wobbled in the open air; and third, the sight of Betty's breasts as they jiggled and bounced before she covered herself up.

"Amberly!" Betty cried after a moment when both she and Brian had their intimates covered. "What are you doing home so early?"

Amberly giggled again, but did not dare look up at them for fear of breaking out laughing completely. "Uh, Betty, honey," she said, "it's almost two o'clock in the morning."

"Whoa," said Brian, who was admittedly not the brightest of bulbs, "we've been fucking for, like, three hours? Awesome!"

This particular bit of news came as little surprise to Amberly, who after two months was well-versed on the nocturnal habits and appetites of her roommate. Still, three hours was quite a long time, particularly to someone (like Amberly) who at just barely nineteen years of age had not had that much experience with great sex. She was not a virgin by any stretch of the imagination, but what she'd gleaned from eighteen year-old boys in barn lofts and back seats in Tennessee was not quite like how she imagined a knowledgeable California man would perform in comfortable, bedroom-set, parent-free surroundings.

It was one of the things she was looking forward to learning about (once she found the right guy) now that she was out on her own in the big city. Her mind fluttered back to the boy she'd met at the restaurant that very night, who was super cute and seemed decent enough, but after a string of failed dates, Amberly knew that in Los Angeles, things were not always what they seemed at first. She would proceed slowly and cautiously, but at least she was intrigued at the start, which was more than most men got.

Betty giggled. "Three hours," she repeated dreamily, "and I'm still horny. Come on, big boy, let's finish this round in the bedroom. Sorry about the surprise, Amberly."

Amberly lowered her hand and looked up . . . just in time to witness the tight little bottom of her roommate wiggle as the girl scurried down the hall behind her similarly naked boyfriend, both of them headed eagerly for the bedroom and the continuation of their rendezvous.

When the door was closed and the living room was quiet, Amberly sighed and made her way back to her own bedroom. She needed a hot shower, she decided, and so she stripped off her clothes as she bee-lined right for the bathroom and stepped under the spray as soon as it was warm enough.

Her thoughts drifted.

It had not been a particularly smooth four months. In fact, the only things that had gone even halfway right had been meeting and moving in with Betty in August and getting her job at the Apple Dish three weeks earlier. Other than that, not much success.

Fresh off the bus from Tennessee, Amberly had dreams big as lights and eyes wide with potential and possibility: she was going to be an actress! She had brought along all of her savings, which she knew would help her last for awhile without needing to find other employment. She found a dinky little month-to-month studio apartment (just big enough for the bed, the bathroom, her clothes and herself) in Hollywood and started culling the trades and newspapers for casting calls and audition notices. Her excitement and enthusiasm knew no bounds.

She swiftly learned, however, that having an agent was essential; she came across the name of an older gentleman by the name of Henry Talent, owner of the Talent Talent Agency, the name of which intrigued her, and so she set up a meeting and went in to see him.

Henry was not what you might call a kindly old man. His white hair was frazzled and he talked a mile a minute, rarely allowing room for words in edgewise. He seemed aggressive and confident, and although Amberly did not really like him that much as a person, he seemed qualified to do a good job as her agent.

"Where you from, kid?" was the first thing he asked when she sat down in the chair in his office. His office was cramped and crowded and cluttered with thousands of loose papers, unlabeled files and assorted bits of movie memorabilia.

"Tennessee," Amberly had replied.

He studied her for a moment, which was really the only moment he was not either talking or waiting for her response. Then he said, "You're gorgeous. Kind of a sexed-up girl-next-door thing going on. Good! Wanna be an actress, eh?"

Amberly beamed. "Yes!"

The man grinned and ruffled some papers. "Enthusiasm," he noted. "Good! Might need it for certain auditions. Experience?"

Amberly handed him her resume, which included several school plays and a couple of local commercials and modeling jobs back home. She was limited in that department, she knew, but everyone had to start somewhere.

Henry glanced at it and thrust it into a file. "Not gonna matter much with a face like yours. Available during the day? Job? Husband? Kids?"

"No."

"Commercials? Movies? Television?"

She replied with a shy smile, "Movies, if possible, although I'll take anything I can get at first."

The eyes of the man narrowed and he looked at her again. "Measurements?"

"Measurements?" she repeated.

"Chest. Waist. Hips. Height. Cup. Dress. Yada blah etcetera."

"Oh," she stammered, a little embarrassed. She was not sure why such information was necessary, but he was the one who knew what he was doing. "Well, uh, 34 chest, 24 waist, 34 hips. I'm 5'9. I'm actually, uh, a D-cup, but on the smaller side. My dress size is four."

"Good," the man stated. "Very good! Pictures?"

She sheepishly handed him her photos. "Not very professional," she admitted.

He took the pictures and shoved them into the file, then scribbled on a piece of paper on his and handed it to her. "Call Fritz," he told her. "Get better photos. My secretary will show you the contract. Read it! Work out. Eat right. Don't get fat. Don't do blow. That's all."

And that was the extent of her first meeting with Henry Talent.

And so at the request of her agent (and how amazing it had been to think of it like that: she had an agent!) she called up Fritz the photographer and set up an appointment for the following day. Things were moving so fast, she thought to herself at the time, and everything was exciting.

The studio of Fritz was basically the guy's apartment, a loft-style pad in Hollywood with a black back-drop set up in one corner. Fritz himself was a middle-aged German man who could not keep the whole of himself still: at any given moment either his foot was tapping or his hands were shaking or his body was swaying, something was moving. If she had not been so excited about the whole thing, she might have thought him comical.

"'Enry sent you," he said when he opened the door. His accent was heavily German. "Ze man is so good to me, you know. He sends me anozzer beautiful flower. Come!"

There were several rounds of him taking her picture. She had worn a tight pink tee-shirt and jeans, very natural and comfortable clothes, and he seemed to really like them. There were some close-up head-shots and some mid-length ones and some full-length shots, and the atmosphere was easy and breezy and fun, which she appreciated.

And then he said, "Ok . . . now off."

Amberly frowned. She was standing in the middle of the backdrop with two lights trained on her and Fritz facing her with his camera, looking at her expectantly. Was he asking her to leave? She did not know.

"Your clothes," he said with a roll of his eyes. "Off with ze clothes."

Amberly was stunned and clutched her arms to her chest. "You want me to undress? Naked?"

Fritz threw his hand up exasperatedly. "No, no, no, silly girl," he chided. "Bra and panties, keep. No jeans. No shirt. You bring no bikini, yes? Must show skin."

Amberly was still somewhat in shock, but his explanation did make some sense. She had not known she was supposed to bring a bikini. After a few moments of hesitation and more to curb the increasing annoyance of Fritz than out of real comfort with what she was doing, she decided to do it and shimmied out of her jeans and shirt. Thankfully, she had worn a tasteful blue bra and her panties were not too skimpy.

Fritz sighed as he looked upon her. "Beautiful," he said, almost to himself as he raised the camera to his eye. "Lower arms . . . good . . . beautiful . . . beautiful . . . breasts very nice . . . lovely legs . . . yes, good . . . beautiful . . ."

And so it had gone for another twenty minutes or so as Fritz took her through some additional poses. There were a couple poses that she refused (he asked her to get on her hands and knees and crawl away from the camera) and he acquiesced with a sly grin and without complaint.

Looking back now as the hot water of the shower coursed over her skin, she wondered just how much of the session was necessary. Her portfolio consisted of only ten of the hundreds of pictures taken: three head-shots, five clothed pictures of varying scope and two of the unclothed pictures, one tasteful and one a little more risqué (her arms beneath her breasts, pushing them up and together). In any case, there was nothing she could do about it now.

Henry had liked the photos. "Much better, kid," he said to her over the phone two days later. "Hot photos mean more auditions. I sent them out and we'll see what sticks."

Her first audition came a week later, which was exactly twenty-six days after she arrived in Los Angeles. Looking back, it was quite a bit of time, but she was so caught up in everything she did not even really notice how fast it was flying. During the days she traveled around the city, seeing the sights, exploring, completely amazed at its size and scope, or lounging on the beach as she basked in the perfect summer weather of southern California.

The morning of her first audition, however, she was a nervous wreck. She woke up super early and took a long time getting herself ready, making herself look perfect, every hair in its place, every stitch of make-up pristine. By the time she was walking out the door of her apartment, though, she had calmed down dramatically and was energized and excited to go out and capture her dreams. She was ready to razzle and dazzle the casting people.

She arrived fifteen minutes ahead of the time she was supposed to arrive and navigated her way through a series of stairs and hallways to an unmarked blue door on the third floor. She assumed it was the correct place because the directions had stated specifically that it would be a blue door without a label, which was odd, but then again she was not familiar with the whole process so maybe it was not that odd after all.

She opened the door. There was a waiting room area with several chairs of varying comfort, as well as two longer couches. Six beautiful young women were scattered in seats around the room, each holding a little portfolio book and each looking very well put together. All six looked up as she entered, but only the gazes of two gave her more than a passing glance.

Amberly walked in tentatively and made her way over to the glass window on the far side of the room. There was another attractive female sitting behind it, although she was somewhat older, dark-haired and not really that made-up. She also did not seem that nice.

"Name?" the woman asked without much enthusiasm.

"Amberly Faye, ma'am," she replied in her most pleasant voice.

"Have a seat," the woman intoned. "We'll call you when we're ready."

And so Amberly situated herself in one of the chairs and waited . . . and waited . . . and waited. They were not moving very quickly, it seemed, as they called the first girl in twenty minutes after Amberly arrived. No girl exited, however, which meant there was some other door letting the girls out. The second girl followed thirty minutes after that, during which time another beautiful blonde girl arrived and took a seat in one of the chairs. The next two girls, thankfully, were much faster, lasting only five to ten minutes per, which meant there was only one girl left before Amberly took her turn.

The last girl, however, was the longest. She was in there for nearly an hour. There were four others in the waiting room (all blonde, all beautiful) when Amberly finally got her chance.

"Amberly Faye?" the girl behind the glass called.

Amberly rose and smoothed out her skirt. She was wearing a white ruffled skirt that went down to mid-thigh and a fitted blue shirt cut a little low in the front, but still tasteful. She could feel her heart start to pound in her chest.

She walked up to the door, opened it and walked through, and she wondered with a big and sweetly innocent grin if this was the start of her dreams coming true. There was another hallway, at the end of which was a man with a clipboard waving her towards him.

When she reached him, he pointed to an open door and said, "In here, please."

She entered and found a small room decorated as follows: a desk with a middle-aged man seated behind it; a couch against the far wall; a video camera mounted on a tripod, aimed at the couch; three shelves lined with books and files and papers and assorted other items; and several movie posters of varying size plastered across the walls.

The man smiled at her as she entered and motioned for her to sit on the couch. "Your name is Amberly, is that right?" he asked. He had salt-and-pepper hair and a bit of flab to him, and facial hair that was trimmed short and gave him a very furtive kind of look. His voice was deep and gravelly and not at all what she expected him to sound like.

"Yes, sir," she replied simply.

"Hi Amberly, I'm Eddie." He glanced down at a file. "From Henry, eh?" he said to himself, then looked up at her again. "This is your very first audition? Like, ever?"

She smiled shyly. "Yes, sir."

"How old are you, Amberly?" he asked.

"I just turned nineteen," she revealed.

The man considered. "Well, you're beautiful, which is a requirement of the part, and you're young enough. We're casting the role of Sorority Girl #2 in our latest horror movie. The role has eleven lines of dialogue and a death scene. The movie shoots in three weeks." He ruffled some pages, rose to his feet and walked around the desk to give her a single sheet, then he went to the camera, flipped its switch and turned to face her. "Please say the following lines of dialogue when you are ready."

Amberly looked down at the page, read through the lines once, mustered her courage and barreled forward. It was not what she had been hoping for (horror movies were not good movies, in her opinion) and it was most certainly not Shakespeare, but it was something, at least, she decided. Everyone has to start somewhere, she reminded herself.

"He's so hot," she said in her most girlish voice. "You should totally go for him. I've heard he's very good, too. I don't know what Shelly was thinking."

"Good," the man said. "Now the next one, please."

Amberly smiled, then nodded. Her confidence was building. She affected her girlish voice again as she said, "I'm all hot and sweaty from working out. I'm gonna take a shower. Anyone want to join me?" The line called for a giggle at the end, which she gave as sweetly as she could.

"Very good," Eddie said with an admiring nod. "You're doing great. Now the last scene, which is the death scene, so you should play it like your terrified."

Amberly nodded, took a breath and continued. "Is someone there?" she called out, her voice wavering. "Shelly? Shelly, that's not funny. Hello?"

"Good," the man stated again. "Now, give me your best scream."

She smiled shyly, loaded her lungs and belted out her best wail possible.

"Wow!" Eddie exclaimed. "Great pipes. I'd definitely say you've got potential. You're exactly what we're looking for with this role. Now, if you could stand up, face the camera and take your clothes off, we'll finish up the audition."

Amberly's joyful response to his words came crashing down around her. "My clothes?" she asked hesitantly.

Eddie nodded. "Your clothes," he repeated. "Take them off and face the camera."

Amberly sat still on the couch, not knowing what to do.

Eddie sighed. "Look, the role requires nudity. It's a death scene in the shower, for chrissakes. You've got to show me your tits so I can see what I'm getting."

"The role requires . . . nudity?" Her voice was low and disbelieving.

He sighed again and went over to sit next to her on the couch. "You're new to the business so let me tell you how it works," he said in a soothing voice. "You've got an incredible body and a gorgeous face, and you're young. The easiest way for you to break into the business is to take a couple nude roles, get noticed."

"I don't know that I'm comfortable with . . . that," Amberly said.

She had never really even considered it, actually, and the thought of it now terrified her. What would her father think? Eddie put his arm over her shoulder and Amberly was so distraught she hardly even noticed what he was doing.

"Look, Amberly," he said in a different kind of voice, "it's a tough business. I've already seen ten girls today, all of them beautiful. Granted, you've got them beat, but to get the role I have to see the goods. Unless . . . you want another role in the film . . . an important role . . . non-nude . . . we might be able to work something out . . . if you're willing . . ."