4

Gina George, Albert Bosch was to discover the next morning, liked to sleep even later than he did. He got up, put on shorts and sandals, and went to the kitchen to make coffee. He poured two cups and put them on a tray, along with a pitcher of half-and-half, a sugar bowl and two spoons. As he padded back into the bedroom, balancing the tray on one hand, he saw Gina, covered by a sheet, turning toward him without sitting up.

“I was just waking up,” she said. “How did you know?”

“I have been thinking about you,” he said.

“Wow, that’s powerful,” she said with a smile. “Your thoughts about me must’ve woke me up.”

He smiled back. “I have been thinking about your idea,” he said. “I think it’s wonderful.” She sat up, and her perfectly spherical breasts came into full view. He could not help staring at them, and almost lost the balance of the tray; he had to steady it with his other hand. She took one of the cups and began to sip from it without adding any cream or sugar.

“I like it black and bitter,” she said.

“I like it creamy and sweet,” he responded, his gaze still on her bosom. They both laughed. He balanced the tray again on his left hand, and with the right hand he creamed and sweetened his coffee. He took the cup and put the tray on the nightstand.

“But,” she said after a few more sips – the coffee was hotter than she was used to – “I don’t know if we could get it financed here.”

“We will think of something,” he said as he sat down on the bed. He put his cup on the tray, gently but firmly took hers from her hand and likewise put it away, and put his hands on her breasts. He was surprised at how firm they felt.

Back in the gym, riding the stationary bicycle, Barry Bergman looked across at the fly, now idle, where he had spotted Leslie Lyman the previous day. She did seem rather immature for a twenty-two-year-old, but if she were cast as the ingénue – an oversexed ingénue – she would be just right. She would have to be blonder, of course. And maybe slightly bigger boobs, or maybe a lot bigger – we’ll see what Doc Kruger thinks – but otherwise just right. Now her roommate Jennifer, if she were interested, could be the smart girl; the two of them together would be a gold mine, maybe with someone like Frank Bond doing both of them...

In the afternoon, Gina George and Albert Bosch were once again walking on the beach, the tips of the waves lapping at their bare feet. The bright sun was in their faces, but the ocean breeze cooled them, and the combined effect was delicious; he had never felt anything like it before. He savored the silence that was broken only by the sea, the wind, and the gulls. On this June weekday the beach was almost unpopulated. Then the thought that he had promised her came to him in all of its obviousness.

“Why don’t we do it in Europe?” he asked rhetorically.

“Do you think we’ll get backing there?” she asked questioningly.

“I have some experience. We just need to find a government of a small country, or of a region, that wants to promote its products, and tourism, and whatever, and as long as we show the characters drinking the local wine...”

“And saying how good it is...” she filled in.

“And its effects... And the scenery, and so on... I’m sure we’ll be able to get the minister or the commissioner of culture, or something, to help finance it.”

“What about casting?” she asked.

“We will use local actors. They will be thrilled.”

“And the language?”

“We will have a little dialogue in the local language or dialect, just for color, but of course the main language will be English. They want it like that. And of course you will be your American self.”

“And how, pray tell,” Gina asked after some reflection, “do we find such a magic kingdom?”

“Well,” Albert replied, “there is a Spanish actress who once worked for me, named Sofia Marés, who told me that her regional government – it’s like a state government here in America – would love to back me on a project like that. I’m quite sure that I still have her telephone number, and tonight, when it’s morning there, I will call her.”

“Uh, Jennifer?” he said, almost timidly.

“Yes?”

“This is Barry Bergman. I’m...”

“I know who you are, Mr. Bergman.”

“Call me Barry.”

“Okay, Barry.”

“I’m calling because your roommate Leslie told me that you might be interested in working with me.”

“That’s right,” she said slowly, “I might be.”

“Let’s get together and talk. Would you like to meet me at the...”

“Why don’t I just come over to your place, since we’re going to end up there anyway.”

Quite a girl, he thought.

“Well, sure... let me give you the address...”

“It’s okay, Leslie already showed me where you live – on the map, that is.”

Wow, thought Barry Bergman. “Wow,” he said. “You seem to know everything.”

“I can be there in twenty minutes,” she said, and concluded with “See ya!” before hanging up.

She arrived as announced, wearing an orange tube top and tight-fitting black jeans over two-inch-heeled wedge sandals, with a plain black leather purse – logo-less like her jeans – clinging to her left hip and hanging from a strap that was slung around her right shoulder. When he let her in she simply said “Hi” with a smile and walked past him into the living room.

Her golden-tinged brown hair – sort of auburn, or maybe titian, he thought – that she wore in a simple ponytail could be left as is. And her boobs made up in shapeliness – accentuated by the purse strap that passed between them – for what they lacked in size, by the standards of the industry. Augmentation was an option, as always – Leslie would need it for sure, just as Gina had – but in this girl’s case, maybe not. We’ll see what the screen tests show.

She sat down on the sofa unbidden, crossed her legs and said,

“I’m ready for the interview.” She swung her purse over her head and put it on the coffee table. “May I?” she asked.

She was nervous, he thought, and trying to hide it.

“Sure,” he said. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Sure,” she said, “whatever you’ve got.”

“Oh, I’ve got lots...”

“Well, I’ll have whatever you’re going to have. I don’t know much about drinks. I tried out for cocktail waitress when I first got here, and I was a total flop.”

“So what are you doing?”

“Office work.” Leslie had already told him that – she had referred to Jennifer as a secretary – but he wanted to hear it directly.

“And you’d like to work for me instead?” he asked as he poured the gin into the glasses.

“I think so.”

“I do have an office, you know,” he said while pouring the tonic, “but I take it that’s not what you’re interested in.”

“I don’t think so,” she said very slowly.

He approached the sofa with the drinks, handed one to her, and sat down beside her. He deliberately sat down quite close to her, expecting her to move away in order to keep the proper distance, but she did not. Their hips were almost touching.

“Cheers,” he said, raising his glass. She did the same, they clinked and each of them took a sizable sip.

“I need to make sure that you understand the nature of the work in our movies,” he said.

“I think I do,” she said. “No simulation, right?”

“That’s right,” he said. “There’s more, but that’s basically it.”

“I’d like to give it a try.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-four.”

A good age, he thought. “And what’s your actual name?”

“Jennifer Garabedian.” She took another sip of her gin and tonic.

“Hmm... What if we call you Jenni Jarman – Jenni with an i, just like Lesli without an e. Jenni Jarman and Lesli Lyman. Doesn’t that sound good?”

“Yes, especially when they’re underneath Barry Bergman.” He laughed. “You like alliterative names,” she went on, “don’t you?”

Alliterative, he thought. What a classy girl.

“Yes, I do. I’ll tell you a secret. My first name wasn’t originally Barry.”

“What was it?”

“It was Henry.”

“Can I call you Henry in private?”

“I’m afraid you’d remind me of my mother...”

“Scolding you?” she asked while taking another sip.

“That’s right,” he laughed again. “You know psychology, don’t you?”

“I minored in it, at Cal State Fresno.”

“What did you major in?”

“Theatre arts. I came here with the idea of getting a master’s, at Cal State LA or Northridge.”

“When... uh... if you work for me you get to take acting classes privately. I encourage all my actors to do it, though I must say they don’t all take advantage of the opportunity. I’ve got a special deal with one of the best drama schools in town.”

“Which one?”

“It’s confidential – you know, they’re worried about their reputation.” She nodded with a smile. “I can’t tell you until you’ve signed the contract, which has a confidentiality clause...”

“Where do I sign?” she asked cheerfully, suddenly getting up and putting her almost-empty glass on the coffee table.

She’d be perfect as the horny college girl, he thought. Wearing glasses, talking intellectual talk that she could probably write herself, and then... boom!

“We’ll meet with my lawyer, maybe tomorrow or the day after, and he will explain all the clauses to you. Might as well do Leslie’s contract at the same time – they should be pretty much identical.”

Jennifer sat down again, even closer to him than before. Their hips made full contact.

“I would like you to know that,” he added, turning his head toward her, “whatever you may have heard about this business, all the sleazy aspects, we don’t work like that. I value my performers, and I make sure they’re well compensated.”

“Wow,” said Jennifer, “Sounds fantastic. Are there any other interesting clauses I should know about, like maybe a sanity clause?” she asked with a laugh.

“Well,” said Barry, “if you take ‘sanity’ back to its Latin root, it means ‘health,’ and yes, there is such a clause: medical checkups every month, including HIV.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Jennifer.

“Do you ever wear glasses?” he asked her, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Yes,” she answered, “for reading. I’m farsighted. I’ll have them on when we do the contract.”

“Do you have them with you?”

“Yes, of course. Would you like me to put them on?” she asked, still in interview mode.

“Please.”

She reached for her purse and fished out a pair of glasses. As she put them on, she said, “Now I’m going to see all of your blemishes.”

The glasses were wire-rimmed, and she looked lovely in them. For the movie they would have to be replaced by something more conspicuous, more intimidating – big black rims that would dominate her face, until she would take them off with a flourish.

“Just keep them confidential, huh?” he said. “We’ll put that in another clause in the contract.”

She looked at his face intently. “There aren’t as many as I’d thought, at least physical ones,” she said, and gently dabbed his face with her right index finger. “Here is a mole, and here’s a red spot...”

“How about other blemishes, like, say, moral ones?”

“I’ll tell you about them when I find them,” she said huskily, “and then I’ll call you Henry.” She removed her glasses, placed them on the coffee table, and turned to face him. “But now, Barry Bergman,” she continued as she put her arms around him, “I’m very attracted to you.” She kissed him lightly on the mouth. “I felt it right away, last night, when you came by to pick up Leslie, before I knew very much about you. It must be the Armenian-Jewish connection.”

“But I’m not Jewish,” he said, backing away from her in mock indignation. “I’m Svedish, you know, like Ingrid and Ingmar.”

She got the joke immediately, and burst out laughing. “And I’m not Armenian, I’m Norvegian. A Norvegian Garabedian,” she said, making the words rhyme.

He suddenly felt inflamed with desire as he had not been since the first times with Gina, years before. An image of Gina flashed in his mind, first of her face and zooming out to her naked body, but it dissipated when he noticed that, in the embrace, Jennifer’s tube top had slipped down an inch or two. He took her by the waist and began to kiss the exposed tops of her breasts. She grabbed the sides of her top and pulled it down onto her abdomen, baring her chest. She began to recline her body backward as his mouth moved downward, and suddenly sat up, making his head fall into her lap. He sniffed at her crotch.

“Why don’t we continue this interview someplace more comfortable,” she said, loosening her ponytail and letting her hair fall over her shoulders.

On the way to the bedroom he wondered if Jennifer wanted to work for him only because she wanted him. He might have to let her know that he was not a one-woman man. In fact, he was a many-woman man; how else could he be, in his business? Or wasn’t that obvious to a smart girl like her? After all, he had slept with her roommate, so to speak (it was Leslie who had done most of the sleeping, probably from too much to drink), only the night before. Besides, she was about to get into the business herself.

He dismissed the thoughts once they reached the bedroom, hand in hand, with her tube top still around her waist. Why spoil a nice evening?

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