Go With The Flow Ch. 01

I think about my favorite parts from that book. The ending I've always ignored. It always seemed trite, easy, too fictional, but the rest of the book was real. 'Sometimes people carry to such perfection the mask they have assumed that in due course they actually become the person they seem.' 'The rain fell alike upon the just and upon the unjust, and for nothing was there a why and a wherefore.' And of course, 'Man seek but one thing in life - their pleasure.' But those are all just lines, quotes, that by themselves try to be prophetic and grand. It's the whole that I've enjoyed, the whole concept tied into that book, and then to carry that idea, that reality, into this reality, worlds colliding and nobody the wiser. Until now.

"I didn't know you were a reader."

I'm not. Who has time, right?

"I try to read when I get a chance, but a lot of it goes over my head." He scratches his head to emphasize his dullness. I smile anyway. "But it's something to do. And seems better than sitting around watching t.v. or doing nothing. Makes you feel like you accomplished something when you finish a book." He looks at me bashfully. I pull a pair of stockings up my legs, sitting on the chair, watching him, noticing that he barely even looks at me.

"Well, I'll let you finish getting dressed." He turns away and starts to the door. "Um," he starts and turns back to me as he's about to walk out. "Have a good, uh, scene today. Okay?" He closes the door softly behind him.

8

"Thanks for having dinner with me Rachel."

Scott stares at me, his eyes probing my face.

"I couldn't believe you said yes. I mean...well, you're Rachel Wood and I'm just a tech..."

He takes a sip from his drink, a margarita, and licks some of the salt from the glass.

"It's been great working with you the past couple of years. I mean, you're incredible. You're really something else. And you've always been really nice to me. Which is different in the business."

I look at my fingers, grasping the stem of the wineglass.

"You're, well, uh...I'm sorry. I don't mean to go on like that. I just talk when I'm nervous."

He laughs uneasily and then pulls at the neck of his shirt. He takes another drink. He clears his throat and sets his hands on the table, straightening his back. I smile at him. It would almost be cute, if it wasn't so pitiful.

The salads arrive, his drenched in Ranch dressing and mine plain.

"Listen, Rachel." He chews through his mouthful of salad. "I've been wanting to ask you something." He swallows. "I hope you don't take it the wrong way." He's looking down at the table. "I was just wondering why you'd want to do these movies. I mean...I know I don't know you that well, but...I don't know...You're just not like the other girls. You're nice. You're..." He glances up at me sheepishly and then looks back down at the table. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business." He stabs another leaf of lettuce and shoves it into his mouth.

Why. It's a hideous word. Why? The answers are endless and none make more sense than another. I could say anything to why and still not really know why. Why do anything? Why do these movies? Why eat this salad? Why go on a date with this man? Why wake up in the morning? Why. So many whys and few answers.

So the answers to why do these movies. There are so many answers. How about my mother and father died when I was two? How about I was raised in a house with an uncle who treated me like an object for his perverse amusement? How about I'm a nymphomaniac? How about because I think that's what I'm good at? How about that's all I know? How about because I can go with the flow?

He drops his fork into the bowl as he takes his last bite. "It's just...you seem too good to be in the business. I mean you're...and please don't take this as a come on or a line...but, you're smart, you're pretty, you're talented. I mean you could be doing legit movies. You know?" He lifts his napkin from his lap, pats his mouth, fidgeting in his seat.

Why did you ask me out? Why can you look me in the eyes? Why are you just a tech?

"Look, I'm sorry. You're probably wondering why I'm asking this stuff. I'm probably just trying to get in your pants, right? But, seeing you again, working with you, has made me think some." He's looking at me now, his eyes almost confident. "I've been thinking about why you would do what you do and that makes me think about why I do what I do. If that makes any sense. Why does anybody do what they do? And the truth is..."

"Who had the prime rib?"

"Oh, that's me."

"And for you ma'am." The waitress sets down my chicken primavera. "Will there be anything else?"

"Rachel? No. We're good. Thanks."

He looks at his plate and then back up at me, searching for a response, looking for confirmation to continue. So I do it. He smiles. "The truth is...everybody is looking for something, right? Looking for something that makes them happy. No, something that does more than that. Something great. Something worth dying for. Something that makes it wonderful to live." His eyes are boring through my head, looking for a spark of recognition. "And few people find it. They stumble around, not realizing that that's what they're looking for and they never find it." He looks away from me again, lifts his fork, and lightly touches his food. "And I know I'm not gonna find it where I am. I just want to know." He looks up at me, his eyes solid, wide, childish. "Have you?"

9

"And the winner of this year's Adult Film Award for Best Actress is..." A chuckle. "Wow. I know I'd like to work with this lady. Last year's and this year's winner...Rachel Wood!" Applause.

Have I?

10

Staring at the ceiling, wishing the room was dark, but the lights on the street pierce through the blinds and curtains and I don't want to get up to close them. The body beside me stirs and lies still again. I look over at it, agitated, wishing it were gone, wanting to push it onto the floor, but I don't. I let it lie there, keeping me awake, irritating me. At least it's something.

I stare at the ceiling, listening to voices in the house, a few slurred conversations, the hardcore partiers who refuse to sleep until dawn, pushing their bodies to keep moving, keep partying, trying to feel alive. They seem foolish. I wish I could sleep, without the use of drugs. I'd do anything for a good night's sleep, no nightmares, no terrors, just a sound sleep, waking up to see the sun shining brightly, feeling refreshed, yawning, stretching, wanting to lie there longer, enjoying the cool sheets, but having to get moving, having to get things done.

I reach over to the nightstand and grab the roach lying in the ashtray. The lighter flame stings my eyes and lips as I suck on the roach pinched between my fingers. The smoke is harsh, hot, stinging my throat and lungs, but it feels good. I smoke it down until it burns my fingers and then smoke a bit more. I drop the tiny bit of paper left onto the floor.

Lying back on the pillow, letting the drug work into my mind, I force the thoughts out of my head, just drifting. I close my eyes and let the drug spread through my limbs, feeling my muscles relax. I imagine I'm lying on a raft in a calm ocean, the waves rocking my body softly, the breeze blowing across my naked body, getting pulled where the current wants to take me, deeper into the ocean, to land, wherever, as long as I can relax. And I feel my body soften into the bed, wanting to stay like this forever, never move again, just lie here, drifting.

I hear the squeak of the door opening, trying to disturb me from my rest, but I block it out, wanting to be still, to be alone. The steps across the creaking wood floor slip through my ears, strange noises with no source. But, I can feel a person standing beside the bed and I don't care. I wash it from my mind, pretending it's not there, imagining the ocean still swaying beneath me, shutting the world out. I just want to be alone.

My body shifts slightly as a weight pushes into the bed at my legs, only the waves tilting the raft on the side, only that. Hands grasping my thighs, pushing them apart. The weight moves between my legs, the bed squeaking once, and I just flow along, wishing I could drift to sleep, into my dream, just leave it behind. Fumbling between my legs, fingers digging into me, the weight shifts, and then pressure on my hips as it pushes into me. And I don't want to feel it there so I don't. I imagine the sky so blue above me, white clouds drifting by and I float up to the clouds, feeling the air blowing across my body, enveloping me entirely, and it's pushed into me forcefully and I almost fall back down, but I will myself up higher and the jabbing inside of me resides to a dull throb and I float higher and higher, the sun baking my skin, but it feels good, warm and inviting, and the grunting, my body being pushed into the mattress, the tired springs squealing are nothing, and then I'm there, entangled in the clouds, the cool moist air tingling my skin, cooling me from the hot sun, and goose bumps break out across my skin as it moves in and out of me faster, and I wrap my body into the clouds, letting them hold me, protect me from the harsh wind, and a deep stab into me and I collapse as the liquid spurts into me, jerking furiously, and I know there are no clouds, no sky, no raft. There is only this.

11

Standing, waiting, looking around the set. I don't see Scott. People are milling around, getting the scene ready. Somebody else came to tell me they were ready. Where is he? I fold my arms across my chest. Male eyes keep glancing towards me. I should be use to it, but today it bothers me. The short plaid skirt barely covers my ass and reveals a long line of naked thigh down to the white stockings. The white button down shirt is tight and my breasts, clad in a black bra, are pushing out of it. I adjust the fake glasses on my face and pat down my hair, feeling the two long ponytails. I shuffle my feet, the high heels clacking on the cement floor. Eyes watching me, hungry. I feel stupid. Where is Scott?

"Hey, Rachel, we're just about ready. You want to go over your lines real quick?"

Lines? When do I ever need that? I turn to look at the director. Where is Scott?

"Scott? Oh, yeah, the, uh, tech guy. He took off. Called in this weekend and quit. He's gone. We got that guy over there." He points to an older man who's been spending more time looking at me than working. "I can't remember his name. What the hell, huh? They're all the same. Anyway, you look great. You'll be working with Carl today. He's over there if you want to go over your lines with him real quick." He leans in closer to me. "And I'd appreciate it if you would. He's not too bright. You know what I mean. Thanks, doll." He pats me on the butt and walks off.

I look around me, at the dumb muscle-bound oaf who can't remember his lines, but will have his cock in me shortly, at the director running around, getting nods from everyone, but spurring no one to action, at the new tech, who looks at me and smiles, a big toothy grin that makes me cringe, and I don't see Scott. I'm stunned to realize that I'm even looking for him, that I probably always looked for him, expecting he'd be there, but had hardly ever talked to him, hardly ever noticed him.

"Okay, everybody, let's shoot this. Action!"

12

"Hi Rachel. Thanks for coming by." Mr. Lynch leans in and kisses me on one cheek and then the other.

He leads me further into his mansion, my high heels clicking on the polished wood floors, and into a living room with red carpet, wood paneled walls, and a piano. A fat man in an expensive suit is sitting on the large couch, sipping from a glass of wine. He turns to look at me, his piggish eyes set back in his head.

"Ted, this is Rachel Wood. Rachel, this is Ted Orwell."

He stands up from the couch with an obvious effort and offers his hand to me. The skin on his hand is pulled tight like the lining of a sausage and a large gold ring with a green emerald appears to be permanently stuck on his ring finger. I take his hand and he pumps it once.

"Nice to meet you, Rachel."

His eyes peer at me, sharp, seeming to pierce through the thin fabric of my dress. I resist the urge to shudder.

"Have a seat."

He sits back down on the couch and pats the cushion beside him. Not thinking, I sit beside him. I cross my legs away from him and cross my arms, wanting to shrink away from him. Mr. Lynch sits on a chair opposite the coffee table.

"Ted here is a fan of yours. Isn't that right, Ted?"

"Yeah." He turns to look at me. "I've seen all of your films. Shit. Who am I bullshitting? I've jerked off to all of your films." He starts laughing and Mr. Lynch joins in. I giggle, trying to join in on the joke and shut out the images of this morbidly obese man sitting naked in front of a television, playing with his dick while I screw some guy on the screen.

A man in a tuxedo, the butler, appears and places a glass of wine on the table. I lift it and take a sip. It feels warm and bitter, thick and deep red like blood.

"Anyway, Ted and I have been discussing some business recently and he told me about his fondness for your movies."

"That's one of the reasons I approached you in the first place, Dale."

Dale? I had never heard his first name before.

Mr. Lynch looks at him with his eyebrows furled. "Well, for whatever the reason he came to me. We were discussing some important business and he said he wanted to meet you."

Ted starts laughing. "I don't think I exactly said 'meet', Dale."

I glance beside me at Ted and see that he's looking at me, his eyes moving up and down my body over the long slit in the dress that leaves my entire leg up to my butt exposed and to the large opening at my chest. I suddenly wish I had worn something more concealing but I don't own anything more concealing.

"Whatever was said. We decided that we'd bring you in before we went any further with our business proposals."

I feel his hand on my knee and he moves his bulk closer to me. I force myself to sit still, to relax, to go with the flow.

"You see, Rachel." Mr. Lynch leans forward, his forearms on his knees, his hands clasped. "Ted and I have ideas, but we need each other to make those ideas into reality."

"I think we know who needs who here, Dale," Ted mumbles. I'm sure Mr. Lynch could hear him, but he ignores it.

"You may have never heard of him, but Ted is a big player in the world of multimedia entertainment."

The hand slides over to my inner thigh, cold and clammy, and my body automatically tenses up. I can feel his breath, hot and pungent, across my neck and face. His body heat presses against me and I feel like I'm sweltering in my dress.

"We think we can take our two businesses and merge them into...into...well, into a multimedia adult entertainment colossus."

The other hand slides behind my neck and the beefy arm wraps around my shoulders. His breathing has become fast and harsh, whistling in and of his nose and mouth.

"We'll use my stars..."

"Mainly you."

"Mainly you and present your talents in whole new ways."

His hand pries between my crossed legs. I resist, not wanting to let that hand between my thighs.

"We're talking about interactive DVDs, shot from first person perspectives, where the user gets to direct the action like they're interacting with the star."

"Fucking her."

"Yeah, like I said, and devices molded to the anatomy of the star that the user puts on to actually feel like they are with the star."

The hand pushes between my legs and I feel the fingers probing my crotch. I try to relax. I try to let go.

"And games. I mean all of these kids playing games are growing up and want to get laid. So we make games, action games, first person shooters, where the user works his way through a tight action plot, interacting with our movie stars in hardcore sex scenes along the way."

The fingers are digging around my underwear, trying to pull them to the side. I try to go with the flow.

"And internet sites where the user can pay to direct the action and not just direct it, but feel it, be a part of it, from the comfort of their own home."

The fingers touch my pussy and I shiver.

"And we want you to be the star in all of this. We want you to be our...adult multimedia queen." He sits back in his chair, a smile stretched across his face, content.

The arm across my shoulders pulls me closer, pressing me against the soft fat, the fingers digging into me, searching, his breath rattling in his throat.

"I just need a little persuading from you."

Mr. Lynch looks away quickly and then back at me. "You understand. Right, Rachel? It's just business."

The fingers are close, pushing down, almost into me. I feel closed in, too close, everything pushing down, around, onto me, and I want to scream. I want to run. I can. I can go. I...

"No!"

The fingers go still. Mr. Lynch looks at me, shocked.

I grab the hand and pull it from between my legs. I push against the massive, flabby chest and stand up.

"Um, Rachel," Mr. Lynch starts to mumble.

"No!" I yell at him.

"Hey, now, Dale, you better make this little whore understand," Ted says, looking up at me, his tiny eyes slit with anger.

"Rachel," Mr. Lynch says and stands up. "We need to discuss this. This is a business matter and I don't want you to take this personally." He's walking towards me, his arms out like he's going to hug me.

I step away from him. "No, Mr. Lynch ...Dale."

"Rachel," he yells, his voice getting loud, echoing inside the paneled room. "Calm down. There will be a cut in this for you too, of course. This is your big chance. You'll be rich."

"Fuck you," I say and turn to walk to the front door.

"Dale, you stop her or our deal is through. I'll go to Edwards," Ted yells from his seat on the couch, his face bright red.

I stomp out of the room, my heels clacking loudly on the floor, striding towards the door. I feel a hand on my shoulder and I brush it off, still walking away.

"Damn it, Rachel," Mr. Lynch yells directly behind me. "You're fucking this all up. Get the fuck back here." He grabs me again. I turn and yank away from him.

I run towards the door. I grab the knob, twist it, and throw the door open. Then, I'm pulled back and I stumble as a hand grabs the back of my dress.

"Get back here!"

I pull away from him and hear the dress tear. He falls to the ground, pulling a long rip down the back of the dress. I run to the door and grab the dress straps to stop it from falling off of me.

"You're through, Rachel! Don't even bother coming to work again!"

I stop on the porch, holding my dress up, breathing heavy, feeling the warm breeze blow through the large rip.

"Good! Now get back in here so we can talk about it."

I hear him getting to his feet and now walking towards me. I turn around to look at him, his face twisted with anger, not the charming, handsome face I'm use to.

"Come on." He stands by the door, holding it open, waiting.

I stare at him, the night quiet and still, and there is only this, this here and now. There is nothing else. I look inside the house, brightly lit, almost comforting, but not really. I know what waits that way. I look behind me into the night, dark, lonely - the unknown.

I turn away from him and start walking away.

"Rachel! Where the fuck are you going? Get back here!"

I walk down the steps to the driveway.

"Rachel! Goddammit! Get your ass back here!"

I walk down the driveway, around the limousine that brought me here, out towards the street.

"Where are you going? You little whore!"

I shut him out as I start walking down the sidewalk, looking for a cab, and as I continue walking his shouts die out and I guess he gave up. I expect his limousine to drive up beside me, but it never does.