Chapter 7: Catherine Zeta-Jones

The least fun part about being an agent out here in Hollywood is having to do damage control when some sort of bad press happens to one of your clients. They say that any news is good news, but I have to disagree. Sometimes a celebrity can do something so stupid that it damages their career for the rest of their life. That is of course, if you let it happen.

I was faced with one of those situations now and my mind was racing as I tried to grasp what to do. Sitting in front of me in tears was the beautiful Welsh actress, Catherine Zeta-Jones, who recently became Zeta-Jones Douglas after she married Michael Douglas. Catherine's makeup was running off of her cheeks onto her hands as she sobbed into them, and her dark black hair was in a total mess. Catherine wasn't even a client of the firm. She was represented by a competing agent here in town, Bill Garrett. What had brought her to me had to do with her husband, who WAS a client of my firm.

Staring at the television set on the corner of my desk, I hit rewind and play again. What I was watching was definetely bad news. Recorded from inside of the couples home, the survillance camera (installed to keep out paparazzi and theives) clearly showed Micheal Douglas having sex with a girl who was obviously not his wife. She appeared to be a hooker; someone Micheal had picked up off the streets here in Hollywood and taken back to the house while Catherine was away doing an interview in New York City, Catherine later said. What was so disconcerting about the tape came right at the part I kept rewinding over and over. Micheal and the prostitute were talking and the camera managed to pick up most of their conversation. In the course of the talk, you can clearly hear the hooker say that she is 14. Though the tape only shows the back of his head, you can tell Micheal looks a little shocked at first, but then he lunged at the girl again and they begin having sex again. That's where the tape stops. Statutory rape. With a girl who is 14. And a hooker. And the John is a world famous actor and celebrity. This was not going to be a good day.

Between sobs, Catherine began to speak to me for the first time since she walked in the office and explained the tape.

"Is there anything we can do?" she said, wiping her left eye.

Reclining in my chair and pondering the problem, I think.

"How many people have a copy of this tape? Who else has seen it?"

"Well, the tapes get put into storage by the cleaning staff every night. They normally watch to see if there is anything suscpicious happening on the tapes and then they just rewind and recycle them for some other night," Catherine said. "The staff were the ones who first showed it to me. They promised me they didn't make any copies of the tape, but just to be on the safe side I paid them each $10,000 to stay quiet. So as far as I know, that's the only tape,"

"Well, then the problem is simple to solve," I said. Reaching into the VCR, I pull out the tape. Breaking off the plastic in the back, I begin yanking out the tape and destroying it. Within a few minutes the entire tape is out of the case and I run it through the paper shredder underneath my desk. Catherine sat motionless through all this, a look of contentment at the cause of so much grief being absolved.

"There we go. And thank God too. With the Oscars coming up, Micheal wouldn't need this sort of thing happening. You did the right thing Catherine," I said, smiling at her "Now you oughta go home and take care of your baby."

Fidgeting in the chair, Catherine looked a little uneasy and more than a little distant, lost in her own thoughts.

"Catherine?" I said, trying to wake her from the daze she was in.

"I think you need to come over tonight. There is a little bit more to this than what you just saw," she said, with a dreamy like look on her face.

"Alright. Give directions to my secretary Julie and I will be over there around 8 or so," I said.

Catherine left my office and I spent the rest of the afternoon pondering what she meant by "a little more".

Arriving at the Douglas mansion at 8 sharp, I was led in by a small hispanic woman that I assumed was the maid. Making my way to their study, I walked in and realized that the room I was in was the same as the one on the tape. Catherine was seated on a huge leather sofa, dressed in a burgundy dress with a light white floral print on the side. She was drinking from a glass of scotch and I saw that she had the bottle right next to her on the end table. Whatever it was she wanted to talk about, it must have taken a lot of nerve to discuss.

Finishing off her drink, Catherine motioned for me to sit. I took a seat in a big armchair that was as overstuffed as the couch she was sitting on was. The room was filled with books from the floor to the ceiling, all neatly arranged. The lighting was semi dark, save for a couple of floor lamps off in the corners. A very nice (and expensive) home to be sure. Even my own mansion, inherited from my deceased father, wasn't this nice. But I guess if you have a lengthy career like Micheal Douglas had had, you can afford the very best.

"Thanks for coming Dean. I want to show you something," Catherine said, getting up from the sofa. Bending down to pick up a remote control from the table in front of the sofa, I couldn't help but stare at her great ass. She was thin in a muscular way, and I knew that she had to have worked extra hard to keep her figure following her pregnancy just a few months ago.

Clicking a button on the remote, I was surpised to see one of the book shelves on the far wall begin to move and spin around, revealing a huge television mounted in the center of the shelf. All around the TV was equipment and at least 5 shelves of video tapes. Hitting another button on the remote, the TV came to life and I saw that the picture was a live view of the room we were in, covered from all angles.

"You see, Micheal and I have a dirty little pleasure. Both of us get off on seeing ourselves having sex on camera, broadcasted in the same room while we are doing it," Catherine said. Some unseen speakers reverberated what she was saying as it echoed along the shelves of this massive library.

"But right around the time we got engaged, Micheal began to look around for other women," Catherine continued. Pushing another button, a black and white picture came on screen. It showed two people having sex on the same couch Catherine had been seated on just a moment before. Again it was Micheal Douglas and again it wasn't Catherine Zeta-Jones he was fucking. Catherine pushed another button and the picture changed again. Micheal again, but this time a different girl. This girl was black and it appeared that Micheal was fucking her in the ass. Lost in the moment of the sex on screen, I felt my erection in my pants start to blossom.

Catherine pushed yet another button and the picture cut off. Turning to face me, she spoke again.

"All of the girls you just saw were hookers. Micheal has some sort of weird fetish towards them. He gets off on knowing that he is rich and famous and they are just prostitutes," she said, the crispness of her Welsh accent causing each word she said to have a distinct tone to it.

"I've known about this for a while. And he knows I know. It's just some sort of weird complex he has towards me. I believe it's called the Madonna/Whore complex. He loves me too much to do the stuff that he does with the hookers with me. Normally this sort of behavior would upset me," Catherine continued, walking over to refill her drink. "But since he is such a loving man, and a great father, I can't fault him too much. It's just the nature of things out here in Hollywood I guess. A far cry from back in Europe, but I knew all of this sort of stuff happened when I came over here," she said.

"So what is the problem then?" I said, still trying to figure out where she was going with this.

"Well, it's an age thing. After he has one of these fuck sessions with his hookers, he never has any energy left for me, so I often go unsatisfied. He may be in his late 50's and that is all he has, but I'm still young and I get horny just as much as the next girl," she said, sipping from her scotch.