2
By mid-April, the grasses on the hills of California
begin to turn from green to yellow and brown (or golden, as the states
publicity agents call it), the rains stop falling, and in Los Angeles the
temperatures become more summerlike than springlike. And while the areas
countless swimming pools, public and private, are never completely abandoned,
at this time they become crowded with swimmers and sunbathers.
Gina George was one
of the people who swam and weather permitting sunbathed throughout the
year, whether in the courtyard of the West Hollywood condo where she lived or,
as she was now, in the backyard of the house of her producer, Barry Bergman.
Just after a
ten-lap swim on a warm morning, she flung herself down on a lounging chair,
removed her bikini top, put on her sunglasses and picked up the drink she had
poured herself earlier. In the chair beside hers, Barry was reading Daily
Variety.
Hey, look, said
Barry, interrupting his reading only for a glance at Ginas breasts, its just
as well you didnt audition. The Back
Roads deal fell through.
Huh, said Gina.
Was it because he didnt get the Oscar?
Maybe. It doesnt
say.
Does it say who
they had cast?
Uhh... Barry
quickly scanned the rest of the article for words with initial capitals. No.
Fuckin liars.
It says he gets to
keep a six-figure advance, and hes staying on in Hollywood for quote other
projects unquote.
I want to work
with him.
Fine, sweetheart.
Count me out.
Its been nice
knowing you, Barry, said Gina, sitting up to reach for a T-shirt that she now
put on over her bare, still moist, breasts.
I dont really
need you, you know, said Barry, trying to look at her eyes through the smoky
lenses of her sunglasses.
Sure, Barry, she
said as she wrapped her skirt around herself without standing up.
Youre my star,
but Im the one who is buddies with the distributors and the theater owners. I
can make a new star in no time.
Bye, she said as
she finally stood up, getting her feet into her high-heeled sandals.
What about Fleshpots? Barry maintained his
reclining posture.
Well finish
that, said Gina, with a tinge of distaste in her voice. A contract is a
contract. She began to walk away. Tomorrow at the studio, she added. And,
by the way, thanks for breakfast. She smiled at him, and he returned her
smile. As she began to walk toward the house, he looked down and noticed her
bikini top lying on the deck.
You forgot your
bra, he said, picking it up.
Keep it as a
souvenir, she said without looking back.
Ill accept it as
my birthday present, he said.
Gina stopped in her
tracks, but only for a second. Happy birthday, she said, and went on, through
the house to the carport and into her car.
That afternoon, Albert
Bosch, after taking a taxi from the Beverly Hilton Hotel and telling the driver
to take him to Hollywood and Vine, took a leisurely stroll on Hollywood
Boulevard. The failure of the Back Roads
deal had left him with more relief than disappointment. He had more money than
ever before, and while it was not enough for another film of his own, it
allowed him to live comfortably for a while and take his time to think about
other projects. Even the breakup with Margaret was not as painful as he had
thought it would be. Not that either of them had actually announced the
intention of leaving the other; at some point they had simply stopped calling
each other. It may have been due to their disparate working schedules coupled
with the time difference; both of them were intense workers who did not allow
any extraneous thought, even one of calling the lover, to break their
concentration. With both of them in Europe, either one, while not working,
could call the other. But in this situation it so happened that each ones free
time coincided with the others sleep, and they both valued their sleep.
Now that he was no
longer working, he could call her in the morning while she would be making her
dinner, listening to Mozart. But he knew that he would not call her. He
realized that the time conflict would not have mattered if the relationship had
not simply run its course. It was just that they had not known it yet, and it
took his going away far away to make them both acknowledge it.
Still, he thought
as he was paying the driver, he would keep her picture on his desk.
Oh, by the way,
he asked the driver, which way is Graumans Chinese Theatre?
That way, said
the driver, pointing backwards, that is, westward. Its just past Highland,
about a mile from here. Want me to take you there?
No, thank you, I
wish to walk, said Albert Bosch with a wave of his hand. The driver said
nothing and drove away, turning south on Vine.
Albert Bosch had
been told that Hollywood Boulevard had become quite run-down, though there were
plans under way, or at least talked about, to restore it to its former glory.
It would take a long time, he was told, because it would have to be done one
building at a time a movie theater here, a hotel there by whoever owned it.
This was not like Europe, someone had said, where a government could organize a
massive renovation.
But Albert Bosch
found the seediness that had taken hold of the famous street the pawn shops
in what had been banks, the once elegant cinemas showing peep shows and X-rated
films, even the drunk or drugged-out beggars who lined the sidewalks rather
charming in a cinematic sort of way. A film about Hollywood Boulevard! He would
have to think about that...
He realized that he
felt quite warm in the blazer he was wearing. He had bought it in a department
store near his hotel because he had needed it for the many lunch meetings he
had to attend, in the course of the past six weeks, in restaurants that were
air-conditioned to excess. As he left the hotel this time, he had put it on,
out of habit, without thinking. He decided to stay on the southern, shadier
side of the boulevard.
In the distance,
about a hundred meters away, he saw two marquees on opposite sides of the
street. One read ALBERT BOSCHS THE SINS OF THE WORLD, the other GINA GEORGE IN
YOUNG WIVES TALES. The name Gina George rang a bell in his mind. Where had
he heard of her? Oh, yes she was the erotic star who, according to his
senior producer manqué, had been interested in the female lead of Back Roads. The part had certainly
called for what he would think of as eroticism, but he doubted that that was
what the producer had meant.
He glanced at the
poster for his film the BEST FOREIGN PICTURE NOMINEE sticker was still on it
and crossed the street. Young Wives
Tales had begun half an hour before, but he did not think that it mattered.
He bought a ticket and entered the theater.
On screen, the
character played by Gina George, whose picture dominated the poster outside the
theater, was cuddling in bed, under a blue sheet, with a man who was stroking
her right breast with his left hand, prominently displaying a wedding ring,
while her left hand stroking his head was just as prominently displaying
jeweled rings on her middle and little fingers only. Suddenly the bedroom door
opened and a brunette in a low-cut dress walked in, stopped, and, in a rising
voice, said John! elongating the vowel to the utmost.
Honey, I can
explain it, said the man, sitting up in bed so as to screen the woman played
by Gina George from the intruders gaze. His bare, heavily muscled torso came
into view.
Sure you can,
said the woman, walking around the bed to get a look at her rival. Oh, its
her! Get out of here, you goddam slut! she yelled. She reached for the other womans
long blond hair with her left hand, on which a wedding band could be seen. Gina
Georges character raised her two hands both bejeweled to protect herself.
The wronged wife now grabbed both hands, and the two began to tussle.
Please calm down,
honey, said the man, and, on noticing that his bedmate was becoming agitated
as well, added, both of you please! He swung around, making the sheet drop
to just above his pubis, and took hold of his wifes wrists with one of his
his hands were huge and of his lovers with the other. He pulled the wife
onto the bed, and her body fell on top of the other womans. He began kissing
the wifes neck, working his way down to her bosom, while the other woman
squirmed out from under and quickly unzipped the wifes dress and unhooked her
brassiere.
The camera zoomed
in on the mans growing erection, clearly visible under the sheet. The wife
could be heard moaning, and when the camera zoomed out again her dress was down
around her calves. The other woman lifted it off her with a flourish, leaving
the wife naked except for her high-heeled shoes. The man pulled the sheet off
him, revealing a huge phallus, and pulled his wife on top of him. Her moaning
intensified, and within less than a minute she acted out a screaming orgasm.
After she rolled over to the mans left away from the other woman the mans
ejaculation took over the whole screen.
In the next
sequence the three were shown lying placidly on their backs side by side, the
man in the middle, all fully naked; even the wifes feet were now bare. Zooming
in on the mans face showed his eyes shut. The two women then sat up partially
so as to look at each other, and the wifes face gradually took on a smiling
countenance. After a while Gina Georges character climbed over the sleeping
husband and lay on top of the wifes body, kissing her. The wife embraced her,
and both began to moan.
Albert Bosch had been growing increasingly
uncomfortable since the moment he had sat down. It was only at this point that
he realized that he needed to urinate.
When he returned
from the toilet, Gina George or her character was dressed in a tight white
high-necked top and talking to the camera. Her voice was husky.
And thats when I
decided, she was saying, to make it my mission to bring happiness to other
young wives. I think I succeeded with John and Myra. Dont you think so? The
camera panned to a window, through which George and Myra could be seen walking
away hand in hand, smiling at each other, and back to Gina Georges character.
Now, she went on after a pause, for the next young wifes tale...
As the scene
dissolved to a bar, Albert Bosch decided that he had seen enough. As he walked
out of the theater, the sunlight that struck his eyes was so bright that he
quickly reached into the inside pocket of his blazer to get his sunglasses. It
was also too warm, on the sunny side of the street, to continue wearing the
blazer; he took it off, folded it and draped it over his left arm.
He continued
walking, thinking about the film he had just seen. Gina George really did have,
beyond her obvious endowments, and an extraordinary smile, a subtly erotic
quality that he would not have expected in a pornographic actress, a quality
that came out particularly in the scene in which she climbed over the sleeping
man, gradually letting her naked body come into view from beneath the sheet,
her nipples coming ever so close to the mans chest without touching it, her
pubis doing the same with his, all the while keeping her smiling gaze on the
woman whom she would now possess. Given the films production values, Albert
Bosch was convinced that these subtleties were Gina Georges own doing and not
the directors. He doubted that the director, whoever he was, was even aware of
them. He tried to remember the names he had seen on the poster. Besides Gina
Georges, he recalled only Barry Bergman in BARRY BERGMAN PRESENTS, at the
top of the poster obviously the producer. The directors name must have been
buried somewhere at the posters bottom.
He reached Highland
Avenue. He looked past the traffic and saw, about fifty meters away, the famous
façade of Graumans Chinese. Across the street he saw the Egyptian Theatre and
the Roosevelt Hotel, both now-faded landmarks that he had heard of. Hollywood
is not so bad, he thought. After all, even the President of the United States
comes from here.
Gina George took a final
sip of coffee and walked out of her apartment into the courtyard, on her way to
the garage. It was morning, but the pool was already crowded. Some of the male
sunbathers gave her a glance that was more than cursory. She flashed a vague
smile in their direction.
Its time to buy a
house, she thought. A nice big house in the hills with a nice big pool. She
could afford it now. Easily. She was a star. The hell with Barry. He didnt
respect her. He was always so condescending, or patronizing, or whatever the
right word was...
Not that he hadnt
been good to her. He had guided her career. He had seen that she got her fair
share of her movies receipts, including the ones from video sales that, he had
said, might become huge in the future. He had given her good advice on
investing her money, and then set her up with a money manager of her own,
independent of him; she could call Russ any time and find out how much she had
and how much was coming in.
And he was a good
lover too, was Barry, despite his macho airs: he was warm and gentle, and a
good kisser. After having to deal with the narcissistic pricks at the studio,
especially that new guy Frank Bond that she was working with in Fleshpots of the West, it was nice to go
to bed with Barry. The other girls except Lili Long thought so too, but it
was understood that Gina George, the star, had first dibs.
But he was a porn
maven, even if he was the best in the business; thats all he knew how to do,
and she was not going to stay in that business forever. She was still young,
but she wouldnt be young forever, and nothing was more ridiculous than an
aging porn actress; she had known too many of those. Guys could get away with
it, as long as they could get it up, but women forget it.
She was an actress,
she said to herself as she got into her Mercedes. She, unlike most of the other
girls in the industry even Melissa Milton, who had been a stage actress
gave more to her roles than her tits and pussy: she gave them thought. Like the
European actresses, for example, like the ones in Pale Horizon and The Sins of
the World. They were not like those prisses here in Hollywood who refuse to
show their tits and need body doubles for simulated sex scenes.
Good old Lili Long,
she thought as she drove out of the garage and started to head for the studio.
She liked her private sex even kinkier than what she did on screen, and she was
the kinky-sex specialist! Barry just wasnt kinky enough for her too
straight, she had told Gina. And did poor Barry ever have the hots for Lili!
What will Albert
Bosch be doing here in Hollywood? she suddenly wondered. Maybe she too ought to
start reading Variety.
She would need an
agent, she thought. Or maybe not not if she worked with someone like Albert
Bosch. That wouldnt be about money, anyway. And, thanks to good old Barry, she
wouldnt have to worry about money for a while.
The jacaranda trees
in bright blue blossom lined her route. She turned right on Sunset Boulevard
and, barely a minute later, left on Laurel Canyon.
As she entered the
canyon, she looked around her at the semi-secluded houses scattered about the
hills. Maybe one of these would soon be hers. Just as long as it had a pool...
Crossing Mulholland
was slow that morning. As she inched her way toward the traffic light, she saw,
out of the corner of her left eye, the southbound drivers staring at her, in
passing, through her open window. She herself kept her gaze straight ahead. But
once she got the green light, she smiled to herself. Yes, she liked being
stared at. Her Greek mother, herself a beauty, had told her when she was
twelve: Youre the kind thats going to be stared at, so you might as well enjoy
it.
As she started
downhill, it suddenly struck her how blasé she had become about this place.
Only five years earlier, seeing the white-on-blue MULHOLLAND DR. sign would
have brought her a twinge of excitement on remembering how, as a precocious
thirteen- or fourteen-year-old, she would be driven up here, according to the
timeless LA tradition, by the boy she was dating, three or four years older, in
order to be kissed and to have her boobs and thighs felt, and eventually to do
it in the backseat. Now she only wondered if kids still did that sort of thing.
In another ten
minutes she found herself in front of a tall, heavy metal gate, painted white,
next to a sprawling, nondescript low building, also white. A small sign on the
gate read BB PRODUCTIONS and, below it, KEEP OUT. She clicked her remote
control, the gate opened and she drove in.
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