Baywatch Secrets Ch. 07: Casa Carmen

Kisses turned into desperate making out, and grinding turned into straight up fucking as I pushed my cock ever deeper into her. Amy's eyes fluttered as she clenched her vagina on my cock, and she leaned down to kiss me as she started riding me.

"Holy shit I can't believe I'm doing this!" Amy exclaimed, lifting herself up and staring down at her pussy sliding slowly down my cock. I glanced at the band on her left hand, and kissed her forehead. "How does it feel?"

"Guh... Good!!" Amy lost all self control, and shoved her pussy all the way down to my balls, impaling herself on me. I thrust up hard in return, and she shrieked at the sheer pleasure.

Somehow I had gotten these two gorgeous actresses naked and very well-fucked. Either today was an extremely lucky day, or I had learned a thing or two from my time in St. Barts. While Amy rode me, I glanced over at an extremely horny Carmen Electra, two fingers inside her vagina, stretched out on the bed watching us fuck. As Amy wound herself up to a quick orgasm on my cock, Carmen's other hand paused from playing with her breasts, and she crooked a finger at me.

I kissed Amy and reluctantly maneuvered her off my cock, crawling over to take up position between Carmen's legs. The flexible former exotic dancer spread her pussy lips as I guided myself in. As I gained entry, she lifted a toned leg and placed it on my shoulder. "That looked pretty good, pretty boy. Think you can do me better?"

I held Carmen's ankle with a hand and regarded her tanned, naked body. My dick hardened imperceptibly inside her, and from the looks of it, she felt it. "If I make you come harder than you've ever come in your life, do I have you on my show?"

"We'll see abou-ooof!!" I had given her a little taste. "Cheeky!"

"I want a yes or no."

"Well its a no if you keep toying with me like thaaaaahh! ah! ah! Fuck! Fuck! Okay! Wooh! Yes! Yes! Yes!" I plunged my cock deep into her pussy, using everything I knew about the way she liked being fucked, with firm thrusts right on her G-spot. "Holy shiiiit!!!! Okay I'll do whatever you want if you keep fucking me like that!"

I bent over her, pushing her knee up against her breasts, and kissed her roughly. "I want you as my personal sex slave." I twisted my hips a little and started thrusting in a sideways circular motion. "I want you on your knees with my cock in your fucking mouth whenever I click my fingers." Carmen's gorgeous eyes rolled back. "Ohhh fuckkkk I'm cumming I'm cumming I'm cumming!"

The bell rang just as the first wave of Carmen's orgasm crested, and I muffled her screams with a free hand as she bucked against me and thrust her body up against mine. I shot a glance over at Amy. "Shit, the buyer's here!"

We got dressed hurriedly, and I kissed Amy goodbye as she made a hasty exit out by the pool gate at the back of the house. I left Carmen to try as best she could to put the bed and couch back in presentable order.

I got to the door just as the bell rang again. I recognized the minor celebrity from all the recent media coverage. "Mr. Bryant?"

"You must be Mike! Good to finally meet you, but please just call me Duncan."

"Nice car!" I commented, noting the upholstered white Cadillac parked alongside my trusty Toyota.

"Thanks man, but just between us, it's a rental... Got a pretty big date tonight, you know how it is."

"Something tells me you don't need fancy cars to get the ladies! Still you might want to reconsider your car priorities once I show you the awesome garage... In fact let's start with that! This way..."

I gave Duncan the grand tour, starting with the spacious garage, through to the restaurant-sized kitchen where Carmen's staff had prepared plenty of epic parties back in the day, past the living room with its surprisingly straightened couch, and up the curving staircase to the bedrooms with their luxurious bathrooms and walk-in closets. I wondered why a handsome, yet humble bachelor like Duncan wanted such a big house, but he seemed more interested in asking me about my career and new "side job".

When we got to the room where I had just fucked Carmen's brains out minutes ago, I had to stifle the obligatory "and this is where the magic happens" joke. I was half expecting the owner to still be inside, but Carmen was nowhere to be found. We finally found her lounging on a deck chair when we walked out to the back of the house, where the pool and hot tub were.

"Carmen!" I called as she casually peered over her sunglasses. "I'd like you to meet Duncan Bryant."

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Ms. Electra. I'm a huge fan!" said Duncan, as they exchanged cheek pecks.

"Likewise! I can't believe someone finally had the balls to stand up to Stamp and put him away for good!"

"I don't know about for good... Somehow I have the feeling we haven't seen the last of him yet..."

"So, how do you like the place?"

"I fucken love it! I just have one question though... Why are you selling? Is there anything I should know?"

Carmen shot a glance at me, before turning back to Duncan. "This house, Mr Bryant... It's wonderful, but it just... it reminds me too much of the past. Its just me now, so I'm selling it all and I'm going to a little place down by the beach. I'm hoping you'll find a better use for it than I ever did?"

Knowing the full story, I could only look at my former costar and friend with deep sympathy, as she put on a brave smile.

Despite her Playboy looks and anything-goes disposition, the fates and this town had not been kind to Carmen Electra. Prince had discovered and turned a little girl next door named Tara Patrick into the confident bombshell we knew and loved. Like so many of us, she had seen Baywatch as a career launchpad, only to turn out as a career aphelion. Her sole claim to fame in the acting world was a campy "Best Kiss" MTV Movie award for making out with Amy Smart and Owen Wilson, before descending to an unending series of interchangeable parody movies. She eloped for a trashy Vegas wedding with Dennis Rodman, and then there had been the reality shitshow of a divorce with Dave Navarro. Then a series of shitty relationships and shittier men who saw her as no more than disposable arm candy. As much as I loved her as a friend, it tore me apart that she had never found someone who would stick with her through thick and thin.

"Well, I hope so, Ms Electra. I really do. Still, this place will always be your home, and I want you to know that you will always be welcome here." He turned to me. "So are we we good to shake on this now?"

"Sure, Duncan." I said quickly, stepping in and pumping his hand firmly. Smiling, I whipped out the simple pro forma agreement for their signature. Although it wasn't cheap, the house was a steal at this price, and Duncan was canny enough to know no negotiation was needed.

I just hoped it would help Carmen find whatever it was she was looking for. For Duncan, this was just a new house befitting his up and coming celebrity status. But for Carmen, this was a new lease on life.

We bade farewell to Carmen, and I walked Duncan to his car. I figured the timing was good as any.

"Duncan, before you go... I've been meaning to ask you something."

"What's up?"

"My show that I was telling you about. What I really need is a writer, a serious writer to really kill the first script. I've followed your work for some time and I really think... why are you shaking your head?"

Duncan chuckled. "HBO fired me once already, I don't really feel like going through that again. Besides, I feel like I'm all out of writing juice these days."

"You're kidding me... you're not writing anymore?" My heart fell. Even though I had heard the rumors, I had banked on Duncan being a sure thing.

"I mean, I'm still going to keep at it, but right now I'm so tied up with setting up my agency..." Duncan's voice trailed off as a light came on in his eyes. "Hey, do any of your people have an agent? Do you?"

I had been so used to doing everything myself, the thought hadn't even crossed my mind. "Well... no... But I'm only just coming out of retirement and we don't even know if the show is going to be a thing yet..."

"What about the Angels? What's their deal?"

Again, I had no answer. "It hasn't exactly come up..." For the second time that day, I realized how much I didn't know about showrunning in the presence of seasoned veterans.

"Listen, I know you've got a lot on your plate right now, but you're gonna need someone experienced in your corner. I'll represent you free of charge, and you let me know which of your actors need representation. Deal?"

We shook hands. Duncan got in his car, and gunned the ignition. "Oh, and if you need any extras for background shots, give me a call, will ya?"

"Why, you have an army of Swedish babes at your beck and call?" I said, sarcastically.

Duncan grinned, and winked cryptically at me. "Russian, actually. Gotta go - Just call me." With that parting gift, Duncan drove off into the distance.

Speaking of which - I had a date too. I checked my phone. Time to go.

*******************

"Wait... you're telling me Mark Ruffalo actually does real life magic tricks??"

"I'm telling you, the guy is one committed method motherfucker! I half expected him to turn green and smash everything when he didn't win Best Actor!"

Jason Knight, my new casting director, had picked out the Locanda Veneta for our dinner. Like most of his selections, it was an excellent choice. We bonded quickly over some of the best squid-ink lobster ravioli and crab risotto I had ever tasted, washed down by sweet and aromatic Florentine wine, perfectly paired.

"Still though, working on something like Spotlight... some of that Oscar glow has to be rubbing off on you, no?"

Jason shrugged. "All I did was put Rachel, Mark, Michael, and Brian in a room with Liev and let them do their thing, man. Hard to go wrong with that team in your corner!"

I regarded the boyish, clean-shaven Canadian. We were about the same age, but he had stayed in the industry far longer than I had. His CV stretched from Jumper to Pixels to Kick-Ass 2 and pretty much everything else in between. His projects were typically mass market and not aimed at pleasing critics, though Spotlight seemed an exception to the rule. The rest were movies producers knew would only carry in the box office based on the evident strength of the cast. No wonder this was the guy HBO called on when they were worried about the casting for their new baby.

"So is that your game plan going forward? Doing less mass market stuff and more story driven projects?"

Jason cocked his head to the side. I was impressed at how intelligent and well-thought-through his answers had been all evening. "Well, I don't really see those as mutually exclusive. I mean, Spotlight's getting pretty mass market now. That certainly speaks directly to over a billion people. The film I'm working on right now is this thriller called Backstabbing for Beginners. People love thrillers, right? But this one's about this nasty Iraqi oil conspiracy. Great stories, great actors, that's what it's all about, man. If anything, it's become easier than it's ever been to do both, especially in a post Thrones world."

The conversation continued in this vein until we'd finished our (very) expensive food, and headed off what Jason promised was a "really awesome speakeasy, just trust me". The man clearly knew every nook and cranny of high-end Tinseltown.

"So have you had any thoughts on casting for the show yet?" I asked as we strolled through the cheerful streets of the Grove.

"I mean, I'll have a better idea once we get a script and season outline, but the one guy that immediately springs to mind is Michael Jordan."

"The basketball player?"

"Hah, that gets people every time. Michael B. Jordan? You know? The guy from Creed?"

"Oh that guy? That was a fucking awesome movie! But... ah... how do I put this... are you sure he's the right guy to cast as a male lead?"

"Why? 'Cause he's black?" Jason shot back, almost snarling. I reflexively leaned back from the almost physical force of his reaction.

"Dude, I'm not racist or anything," I exclaimed, aware of the futility of the statement, "I went to a lot of trouble, A LOT, to get Jasmine Tookes signed up and I think she is absolutely gorgeous..."

"So what's your problem? You need a young, handsome, built guy who can play a male lifeguard and has a decent following. The other side has Zac freaking Efron. Have you seen the under 30 lists lately?" I shook my head. "It's hopeless! They have sticks like Robert Pattinson and Daniel Radcliffe on there! There just aren't a whole lot of guys with meat on them these days. Face it, you're trying to bring back a Hollywood that's gone out of style and that's going to be hard to cast."

"I get it. Look, I love the idea. I was just caught off guard because we never had a black male lifeguard in the old show, at least as far as I can remember."

"You guys even have a Latino guy? or Asian?"

"We... ah... yeah... He was the one evil bad guy."

"Seriously? And all the good guys where white?"

I shrugged. "It was the 90's, man. But look, I'm not trying to push some sort of social agenda with this show. I'm not saying no to Jordan – you're the expert here, but I'm going to need to see some numbers. Because unless we book Shonda Rhimes, everything that I'm seeing says minority leads don't sell big shows – not even to freakin' minorities."

"No you don't need numbers, Mike, you just need to trust me. You've got a boatload of Victoria's Secrets models running around in swimsuits and you think people aren't going to tune in because of a fucking black lifeguard?"

Jason stopped to consult his phone, and I looked around. We were in a fairly deserted part of La Brea, a quaint no-man's land between the glitz of Melrose Place and glamor of Miracle Mile. We stood in front of a solitary, dilapidated building, its windows boarded up and doors rusty from disuse. The symptoms of its demise were evident - across the front of the building, as well as the window awnings, were two words: Samy's Camera.

"Real classy joint you've found here, man." I said sarcastically. I wondered at the misjudgment of this Samy character for building out four floors' worth of camera store in this age of smartphones and e-commerce.

"What did I say? Just trust me, will you?" Jason led me around to the parking lot on the side of the sorry-looking building.

"You planning on looting the place for film or something?" I offered as we approached what was presumably the building's delivery entrance.

"You ever shut the fuck up?" Jason said smiling. He then turned and knocked on the heavily weathered door. "Jason Knight. 5935. One new guest." He nodded at a discreet camera overhead.

The door swung open silently. I followed him through - and backward in time through a hundred years as we stepped into an opulent hidden bar. Every detail had been painstakingly restored to evoke a romanticized feeling of Prohibition-era indulgence, from the tessellating motifs on the wallpapers to the classic leather stools and booths lining every vertical surface. Guests clinked glasses and chattered away in hushed tones, almost as if they were still trying not to get caught drinking.

"Dude, this is just..." I started to say, but ran out of words.

"Tell me about it" said Jason, as we walked into another room (just how big was this place?), this time more of a whisky lounge. There was something going on with the clientele as well - they were all strangely good looking, both male and female - and vaguely familiar. What was this place?

At the end of the whisky lounge, we entered an elevator. Jason hit the fourth floor button. I whistled. "An elevator in a speakeasy? What is this place, man?"

"You don't know, Mike? I thought you said you knew Hollywood?"

"I do! Just this afternoon I was hanging out with Carmen Electra and Amy Smart! Carmen's going to join the show!"

"What? Mike... I appreciate the nostalgia and all, but you're from a different time. Carmen's - what? 50? That's like 100 in Hollywood years. That's your show bombing. And I can certainly show you those fucking numbers. People want to watch hot 20 year olds, they did in your day, they do now."

"Dude, Carmen was part of the original crew. Next to Pam Anderson, she IS the iconic Baywatch Babe. You think you can do better?"

The elevator dinged, and Jason extended his arm. "I know I can."

The doors slid open to reveal a busy club. Trendy dance music blasted from large speakers onto a crowded dance floor, while, on the stage, a few girls danced next to the DJ in a sleek, black booth. Emblazoned across the front was a stylized logo that spelled out SIREN. The entire room was packed with impossibly beautiful young people.

Jason slapped my back as we stepped out of the elevator. "Take your pick, Mike. Bon fucking appetit."

Looking around, my attention was drawn to two blonde girls dancing intimately together on the stage next to the DJ. They were both wearing scandalously short black dresses and were dancing virtually nose-to-nose as their impossibly long, smooth legs entwined together.

I stopped dead in my tracks. "Dude... either that's a Taylor Swift impersonator dancing with a clone of Karlie Kloss, or..."

"Or.....it's actually the real Taylor Swift and Karlie Kloss making out on the dance-floor. Yeah. It is."

"Fuck, man. That's insane."

"Or just Friday night at Siren, buddy. And the other two onstage are Haims. This is where the squad comes to hang loose. That's Calvin Harris in the booth."

"Holy shit!" I took a second look around the room, and suddenly faces started to come into focus. I spotted Kaley Cuoco in a tight white dress, her arms wrapped around a man's neck as they grooved to the beat. To the left, a little circle had formed in the dance floor, where the criminally voluptuous Emily Ratajkowski was grinding her ass against the tight jeans of Liam Hemsworth. In prime position just in front of the dance floor, Drake relaxed at the VIP table with his posse, his arms casually draped around Ashley Benson and Vanessa Hudgens. "What... what is this place?"

"Samy's is where the rich and famous come to hang out! It's an abbreviation actually, every floor is different. Siren is the S in Samy, then there's Ayurveda, Magnifico, and you saw Yourn. S-A-M-Y, see? Jen Aniston and a couple other celebs bought this dying store out years ago and only renovated the inside."

"But why another club? Aren't there real clubs that people go to?"

"Basically, this is where you go if you don't want to be bothered by paparazzi or have to keep up with your public relationships and image. Come on, I want you to meet someone."

I followed Jason to a table at the back of the club, still somewhat starstruck by all the young, beautiful people in the club. I couldn't even name half the people in the room, and felt a little of my age. If this is what modern Hollywood was like, I was hopelessly outmatched. I was a B-list has-been trying to make it in an A-lister's world. Probably closer to a B minus. Thank god I was at least suited up.

I sensed someone staring at me in my peripheral vision, and looked over. Was that Zac Efron? I blinked and squinted, but the face was gone.

"Bar! So good to see you again! And you must be Orna! I've heard so much about you!" I glanced back at Jason hugging two gorgeous women, who had been sitting by themselves at the table. "Ladies, this is Mike Bergin."

"So glad to meet you," said Bar Rafaeli in a surprisingly unaccented voice. I guess I had seen plenty of her Sports Illustrated shoots and always imagined her with an exotic Israeli accent, whatever that sounded like. "I heard you're going to be making the biggest TV show in history!"