Portmanteau: Gone Hollywood

"And the studio will send me to hunt you down and disarm you, willing or unwilling," she replied. "I'm hoping you try to resist so I can strip-search you."

"Now, why can you say that to me? But if I say it to you, I get canceled?" he replied.

"I don't know, why don't you try it? I won't file a complaint," she said with a wink.

Jackson couldn't help but watch the attractive young woman head off with his prop guns. Her flirtation skills were off the charts.

His agent Hailee Markus caught up as he walked toward his trailer. In her mid-forties, she was a rock-solid knockout who tended to scare everyone. She was always sure to open one or two of her blouse buttons when meeting with Jackson. He was one of Hollywood's hottest commodities, and she wanted to ensure he never got tired of looking at her Beverly Hills.

"Josh Donnett has asked to meet before lunch. I think he's looking to offer you something big," she said.

"Donnett's a tool," Jackson replied, "total scumbag. If he's not coming to us with Superman, I don't want to talk to him."

"Treat the scumbag like a person, and close big," she said with a slightly reprimanding tone. "That's in an hour. Maybe take a shower or something. Put on a clean shirt.

____________________________________________

An hour later, Josh stepped out of his trailer, cleaned up, and wearing a t-shirt and jeans.

Parked directly in his path was a cherry-red McLaren sports car. Standing next to the audacious road beast was Josh Donnett, a handsome movie studio executive who exuded both charm and slime at the same time.

Josh and Hailee were in deep discussion. Jackson walked over to Josh's associate, a striking, attractive young African American woman with an eye-catching head of kinky and curly hair that reminded Jackson of an afro. This was Cecelina Lyon, a junior executive for the movie studio but more recently known as the Major League Distraction, for a recent situation where a Dodgers pitcher had asked for her to be removed from the seats behind home plate because he found her beauty distracting.

"So, you like working with Donnett?" Jackson asked.

"He's not so bad," Cecelina replied.

"Yeah, he is, and you know it. Here's the deal. Do you want to be known as something more than a meme? You get me the Superman franchise. We make box office history together, and you'll be running the studio in the next five years.

"I have no power," she said in surrender.

"Take the power," Jackson replied.

"How?"

"You'll know in the moment. Take it when it happens. Anything I can ever do to help, you ask." Jackson whispered.

"Hey, no back alley deals," Josh said in jest as he approached Jackson and Cecelina.

"Just trying to convince her I would make a better boyfriend than a baseball player, but she's not having it," Jackson replied.

"Jackie, I've got to get right to the point," Josh interrupted, "we want you to star in the Doom Legend project. Big franchise, the studio is ready to commit a huge budget."

"We want Superman," Hailee shot back.

"We've got our Superman. It's not on the table," Josh replied.

"Paramount is offering him a franchise film," Hailee countered.

"So are we," Josh said.

"But not Superman," she shot back.

"We've got to get the Anna Kendrick set. Look, let's backburner Superman for a few days. Let's see the tracking numbers for your new movie, and we can reconvene in a week. Good?"

The conversations wrapped as Jackson headed into his trailer and Cecelina left with Josh in his McLaren.

Gretchen, Jackson's assistant, was young with next-door girl cuteness. She was a bundle of energy and hopelessly in love with her boss.

"Hey, Jack, I ordered those new skis you wanted. The guy from the Jeep shop said he'd get the CJ ready for next week. I made the plane reservation for your mom. First class. Window"

"Thanks, Gretch. How did I ever live without you?"

"Your car is here. Eight AM call time tomorrow. The car will be there at 7:15.

Jackson gave Gretchen his trademark smile and then jumped into the town car.

____________________________________________

The town car wound through the Canyons between the San Fernando Valley and Hollywood. Jackson stared outside, passing two billboards for his next movie - Escape From Reality.

The limo then entered Laurel Canyon, winding through the hills until it came to the Canyon Country store. An old deli-bodega with a clientele of old-timer hippies who remember the days of Jim Morrison and Frank Zappa buying rolling papers at the counter.

Jackson got out, thanked the driver, and drove off. This was his daily routine. A stop at the market, get a power smoothie and some fresh fruit, then walk the last mile home up the trails in the hills to enjoy his panoramic view of Los Angeles.

He treasured each evening because the people in the market didn't care who he was, and the lack of cell phone reception in the woods made his walk home quiet and peaceful.

The juice bar barista was Margie, an attractive twenty-something aspiring actress who knew not to ogle over the celebrities that shopped there.

"Almost ready, Jackson. You want some extra protein powder?"

"Nope, some blueberries if they are fresh. Hey, how was the audition?"

"Horrible. I could tell they hated me when I walked in the door. I heard the guy say my eyes were too far apart. I wanted to cry," she said.

"And yet, you'll go back again and again because that's how it's done. Your eyes are perfect. They're like little pools of azure," he said with a smile.

Margie smiled as she handed Jackson his drink. Here he was one of the most famous people in Hollywood, and he always remembered to ask about her trials and tribulations and never left without a small but personal compliment.

Heading to the register, Jackson picked up a few pieces of fruit and stopped at the check stand to see a new checker.

"You're new," Jackson replied. "Where's Bethany?"

"Left for Chicago," the checker replied with zero passion for the missing girl.

"She gave up," Jackson said with a lilt of sadness. "She had a great personality," he added.

"From what I heard, she was a lousy actress," the checker replied.

"I'm Jackson, and you are?"

The checker looked at Jackson, wondering why exchanging names was necessary.

"Ms. Henderson," she replied coldly. Jackson got the hint and handed her his credit card. She examined it for a beat.

"You got any ID?" she asked.

"Really? I need ID? Look, I don't like saying this, but do you know who I am?" he said, slightly amazed and amused.

"If I knew who you were, I would not have to ask for your ID."

A woman standing behind Jackson leaned in. "He's famous. He's Jackson Tibbets."

Ms. Henderson looked at the woman unamused. "I don't know you either, so why would I take your word for it?"

The woman picked up a copy of US Weekly with a picture of Jackson and Natalie Portman on the cover and pointed to it.

Jackson reached into his pocket, pulled out his driver's license, and handed it to Ms. Henderson.

"It's expired," she replied.

"Getting to the DMV is a little hard for me. But expired or not, it proves I'm me," he said.

She offered a weak smile and continued ringing up Jackson's order.

"You should report her to the manager," the woman behind him said.

"My job is to ask for ID if I don't know the customer, so I did. Why on Earth, Karen, do you feel the need to get me fired for doing my job?" Ms. Henderson said, making dagger eyes at the busybody.

Jackson smiled, took his smoothie, and left. The complaining Karen put her basket down and walked out rather than deal with her.

Ms. Henderson noticed Jackson had left his bag of fruit and took it outside. He was across the parking lot and heading for a trail to take him up the hills to his home high above the canyon.

"You forgot your fruit," she shouted.

Jackson walked back and got a better look at the woman. She was a little older than him, probably in her late 30s, maybe even her early 40s. She had a beautiful face, dark-tanned skin, and brown hair with blond streaks that betrayed her time outdoors. She wore a frumpy Canyon Market polo shirt over her tight Patagonia top. A typical guy would glance down at her snug yoga pants to notice her rock-hard body. Jackson was world-famous but still a typical guy. He glanced.

"You really don't know who I am?" he asked as he took the bag.

"You're Jackson Tibbetts. You're about as famous as they get. Of course, I know who you are. Do you think I live under a rock? Are you worried someone might not know who you are?

"More worried they might not care who I am. When people stop caring, my career is done," Jackson replied.

"Well, if we must be honest, I'm more of a Brad Pitt fan," she said, heading back to the store.

"I did a movie with Brad," Jackson shot back.

"I know. I diddle myself to the scene of him in the shower from that film," she replied.

"I was pretty much naked in the swimming pool in that movie."

"Yeah, but it's after the Brad Pitt shower scene, so by then, I've had my big O and fallen asleep."

Jackson smiled at her chutzpah. This woman was going to add a challenge to his end-of-day routine.

____________________________________________

Jackson's Hollywood Hills home was the quintessential mid-century modern LA masterpiece with clean lines and geometric shapes. The home featured a large window wall that led to a massive flat deck that overlooked the entire city. Inside, the open floor plan created a sense of flow and spaciousness.

With an early call in the morning, he decided to turn in. Taking off all his clothes, he walked into his large bedroom, looking at his reflection in the mirrored wall. He was lean muscle thanks to a two-hour-a-day fitness regime. Muscular like a swimmer, he knew his good looks were crucial to his fame.

Sleep did not come easy for Jackson, and he wasn't sure why. Tomorrow's shoot was simple, with no lines to memorize.

In a fog, he realized he was finally asleep and now in a dream state. He was nude and on his bed. The moon lit the room, and he could see a woman at the end of the bed. She slowly crept toward him in a cat crawl. As she did, his member became tumescent in anticipation. When her head was over his crotch, she leaned down and dragged her tongue along his cock, and continued toward his torso.

Jackson struggled to see her face, even brushing her hair away as she prowled toward him. No matter how hard he tried, he could not see her features. Soon the ethereal vixen was above his cock. Lifting herself, she spread her plump red pussy lips open and slid down his shaft in a wet rush. She was now riding him cowgirl, and still, he could not see her face.

"I love your dick," she said in a whispery voice. Her statement triggered something within, and Jackson's cock erupted with a nocturnal emission.

Jackson was woken by a euphoric rush of pleasure only to look down at his erection as it ejaculated ivory-white streams on his chest. Looking around, he remained confused and then realized he was alone. The girl was a figment of his imagination, but the orgasm was real. He fell back panting and tired and didn't awaken until morning.

____________________________________________

Jackson exited his trailer wearing a Navy officer's uniform. Gretchen joined him as he walked to the set.

Still another two hours until they need you. Want me to go pitch a fit for you?" she offered.

"No, that's not needed," he replied.

In mid-sentence, Jackson's dream came back to him in full detail. The mysterious woman, her muscular contractions taking him to a massive orgasm.

Jackson stopped and looked at Gretchen. She was adorable, with an energetic body. Her hair was shorter than the dream girl, but could it be her?

"What? What's the matter? Do I have food on my face?" she asked off the awkward pause. "What?"

"I was remembering something," he said.

"Something?"

"A dream I had," he said, lost in thought.

"About me?" she replied with a hopeful smile.

"I don't think so. I thought maybe, but no."

"Any details you want to share?"

"Let's just say there was a girl, and it was intense."

"But you don't remember who she was."

"I couldn't see her face."

"So, it could have been me?"

"Her boobs were bigger."

"Hurtful, but ok," Gretchen replied.

"I'm sorry. It was so real, and I need to figure out who she was."

"Well, try not to ogle and stare as much at the next girl. It's creepy, even from you."

Ainsley, the set weapons armorer, stopped them.

We are using the MK18 today, so I'll need you for about ten minutes of training later to familiarize you-"

She noticed Jackson staring at her.

"What?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing. I was looking at-"

"Were you looking at my ass?"

"I was not, well, looking at you," Jackson stammered.

"Relax, I'm kidding, but seriously, you should be looking at my ass more often. It's bangin'. No better ass around this town.

With a wink, she left.

Jackson walked on but kept looking back at Ainsley, mentally undressing her to see if she was the woman from his dream.

Are you going to try the glass slipper on every woman you see? Because we've got a full schedule.

Ahead he noticed Cecelina Lyon sitting on a bench alone.

"She looks upset, Jackson. Don't go hitting on her," Gretchen said. "We need her on your side."

I'm just going to sit with her for a moment. I'll catch up to you, Jackson said.

Gretchen walked to the make-up trailer nearby and took a seat to roll some calls. She watched Jackson and Cecelina speak. She couldn't hear the conversation, but the usually bubbly woman was stone cold serious, and borderline on tears.

Jackson got up to leave, then sat again. His look was angry. Gretchen tried to think what Cecelina could possibly say to upset him.

Finally, he left and approached Gretchen as they walked on.

"It's going to be another three-hour wait, she informed him.

"I'll go back to my trailer and read lines. Call Jeske and tell him to meet me this afternoon," Jackson said.

"You don't talk to studio executives without me around," a voice bellowed. It was Jackson's agent Hailee.

"She's having a difficult day. I was being friendly," he replied. "You're my agent, not my mother."

"Please, if your mom had my rock-hard ass, this set of premium tits, and the ability to rip the balls of anyone who tries to fuck over my client, you can have her negotiate your next deal."

Upon hearing Hailee mention her tits, Jackson paused and looked her up and down.

"Really? You're going to check me out right now?"

"Just seeing if your tits are bigger than mom's," Jackson replied.

"Just so we're clear, these tits are for closing deals and vulnerable young starlets. You and me, we don't fuck."

Jackson lagged as Hailee marched ahead, wondering if she might be the woman in his dream and hoping she was not.

Gretchen leaned into him conspiratorially. "Please tell me you were not dreaming about her. She's a psycho."

"I heard that flunky girl," Hailee shouted back. "Don't think I won't have you one of these days."

"I told you I'm not a lesbian," Gretchen replied.

"And I told you every woman is one nipple-lick away from being a scissor sister, you tasty little minx," the aggressive agent said.

"Let's keep my assistant off limits," Jackson replied as the trio approached his trailer.

____________________________________________

Darkness again. Jackson opened his eyes on his couch and realized he must have dozed off. The sound of his shower running got his attention, and he walked tentatively toward the bathroom. The intelligent thing to do would be to get out of the trailer since it could easily be any of his four stalkers, but curiosity led him forward.

Opening the door, he entered the steam-filled room to see a nude woman showering. Looking down, Jackson noticed he was also naked, and his penis was erect. The shower door opened, and he entered as the woman turned away, presenting her ass toward him. Leaning in, his cock pressed against the split of her butt cheeks. She moaned from the touch, then pushed back slightly, allowing his cock to slide up and down her flank.

Jackson pulled at her shoulders to turn her around, but when she did, she dropped to her knees and engulfed his hard-on with her mouth. Using her free hand, she fingered his balls while her mouth pumped him vigorously. He felt the sensation of cumming but desperately needed to see her face.

Trying to pull out, he was held fast as her rhythm increased until he flooded her mouth with cum. She pulled his cock out and began to lick it clean.

"I love your dick," she said without looking up.

Jackson woke up on his couch and noticed his Navy uniform pants were soiled from yet another nocturnal emission.

The worst part, he was still unable to see her face. The only thing he recalled was her once again saying, I love your dick.

____________________________________________

It never rains in Southern California. Well, that's not true at all. In the rainy season, it tends to pour. With filming done for the day, Jackson got in his town car for the ride home.

He was trying to remember what the dream girl looked like as he climbed into the town car, only to be surprised by Curt Jeske waiting inside.

"A friend of ours has a problem with Josh Donnett," Jackson said in hushed tones. As the car left the studio, Jackson filled Jeske in on Cecelina's issue, then dropped him off before winding through the Laurel Canyon.

Water was rushing down Laurel Canyon from the storm. As Jackson's car dropped him at the Canyon market, his driver asked if he wanted him to wait for a ride home. Having skipped a workout, Jackson waved him off, intent on hiking up the steep trail to his house in the rain.

Jackson pushed on the market doors only to find the lights out and the building locked. A handwritten sign indicated a power failure, so the market closed early.

As he turned to walk to the path, the skies opened, dropping a deluge of rain.

Soaked within seconds, he took a few steps along the path only to find it thick with mud caking his boots and making the climb treacherous.

A car horn caught his attention, and he turned to see Ms. Henderson inside a Prius waving at him. She drove to the corner of the lot and rolled down the window.

"I don't think you can climb that trail tonight. You want a ride?"

Running to the passenger side, he got in.

"Do you often offer rides to strangers?" he asked.

"Well, if they have proper identification. Did you get that license updated?"

Jackson guided Ms. Henderson up the twisting roads to his hilltop home. As they approached, the rain let up, and the clouds parted.

"Wow, the view is amazing up here," she explained.

"You should see it from my deck, 180 degrees, downtown on the left, Santa Monica on the right, and nothing but the city's lights before me. You can even see Catalina."

"Are you inviting me in to look at the view from your deck or just telling me how great it is to be you?"

"It's an invitation if you like. You need to chill," Jackson replied.

"Fine. Yes, I would like to see how the rich and powerful live. Plus, I'm a sucker for mid-century design," she replied.

Jackson opened the door to the darkened home. He dropped his bag and guided her into his '60s modern masterpiece.

"It's like architectural digest in here," she exclaimed.

"It was built in the '60s for Sean Connery."

"Sean Connery lived here? Well, now I am excited to see the view from Sean Connery's deck."

"You mean Jackson Tibbetts's deck."

"Well, no offense, but you've never played James Bond. I'm a Bond fan girl, so to fulfill my fantasy, it's Connery's deck," she said.