Chapter 6

Not unexpected, an abrupt change in my life happened when I graduated high school. Some of the greatest months of my life, sexually and otherwise, ended abruptly.

Mel left practically as soon as she removed her graduation gown. Went West. To Hollywood. For auditions. Was she photogenic enough? Could she act for the camera?

She’d been sent scripts. Apparently the scouts had provoked interest in her on two fronts: Hollywood and Broadway. Only a couple plays, but several screenplays or teleplays. I knew because we’d work with the scripts. Did dialogues from them. Or she’d read a monologue. Our Fridays weren’t always just about sex.

I also brought her some of my work. Fragments. But I finally wrote her a monologue that I thought suited her and showed her range. She liked it enough to make it an audition piece. And I became like her director, although not a very strong one. Gentle critiques.

I should have guessed she’d choose to head to Hollywood, but hoped she wouldn’t. Just the number of scripts, of choices, made it more likely. It would have been nice if she’d told me. We were friends after all. But, like I said, she headed out there immediately after graduation. She was there at the ceremony, and then she wasn’t. Not a word to me about it.

It was the Monday after the post-graduation weekend when Mel called. A weekend in which I said goodbye to my other two lovers. Saturday with Peggy and Sunday with Sarah. Both would also be going off to live other places. Peggy staying in a cabin near where her horse was stabled. To be with her boyfriend full time while they both worked at the stable. And Sarah was off to Europe. Having adventures before knuckling down to studies at MIT.

I’d been late with Sarah, as usual using the generosity of Joanne to have a comfortable bed to express our goodbyes. One last relentless fuck ending well into the night before we showered and dressed and she drove me home. One last soft kiss before I exited her car. Both of us sad, but neither of us cried.

My mother knocked on my bedroom door too early Monday morning. “Melinda’s on the phone,” she said when I finally replied, having woken up. “She said it’s important,” my mother added, to explain waking me.

“Okay,” I said, and put on my old light cotton robe, securing it with the belt somehow still attached. By the time I opened the door, my mother had already headed upstairs. I went to my father’s office, the closest extension, and settled into his fancy black office chair before picking up the phone.

“Hello?”

I heard a click. My mother hanging up.

“Can you come here, Joe?” Mel asked.

“Here?”

“LA.”

“You didn’t...”

“Can you, Joe?” she interrupted.

“Why?”

“You know that audition piece you wrote for me? Well, when I flew here, I was met by this woman. The assistant to the agent, who brought me to this apartment kind of near UCLA. I guess they keep it for people like me. The next morning she picks me up and we head over to the agent’s house, where she lays out my agenda for the next couple weeks, with my agent chiming in occasionally, mostly when I asked questions. Then the assistant drives me to Rodeo Drive and we find a party outfit. She seems to be steering me to as sexy as possible, but I insist on not flaunting my assets. She reluctantly agrees on a beautiful though modest dress.

“Anyway, the party’s at this huge, ostentatious home amongst huge, ostentatious homes. The head of a studio, celebrating ... whatever. Whatever excuse works to put on a Hollywood party. Lots of famous and beautiful people. The famous not necessarily beautiful, nor the beautiful not necessarily famous, if you get my meaning.”

“Mistresses,” I filled in.

“And gigolos,” she giggled. “So my agent is showing me off to the people who mattered. Producers. Directors. Most of whom tended to take inventory of my body. A couple of whom asked if we might get to know each other. To which I replied, ‘If you hire me, I suppose we will.’ Hopefully they got the message. I’m not fucking some asshole as old as my dad to get a fucking part. You know I like them older, but only by a couple years. Although more than a few could have upped that age difference. Yum.

“So there’s like this large parlor there where there’s a grand piano. Someone’s playing it and someone’s singing. A very charming older woman. When that ends, my agent drags me up to the piano. Tells the pianist I can sing. I realize the opportunity. Better to present my best side to all these important people to my career. So I sit beside the pianist and ask if he could improvise or play a quieter sonata or something. He starts playing and I smile. Perfect.

“I do your monologue. The pianist plays like its background music to some movie. Not always in sync but pretty close. I just ... I know I should have been nervous. I’d had a couple drinks, so maybe that helped. Or maybe I channeled my nerves to give me energy. I don’t know. It just felt right. Or wrong but in a good way. The way giving myself over to my emotions and sense memories can feel. Walking that scary precipice or razor thin ledge. Abandoning myself to the moment with no safety nets in sight. It was my moment, Joe. And yours as it turns out.

“Afterwards I was hit on even more. I debated whether to just grab one of the hotter guests and bring him home, but decided not to present myself as available like that, even if it wasn’t a casting couch situation. And I kind of wished you were there instead of anyone else. So I pretty much had the assistant bring me home.

“The next day, she comes by the apartment, excited. It seems I’d generated even more interest. As intended. She decided, or the agent decided more likely, to change up my agenda. Before they had planned for me to work with an acting coach to prepare me for acting in front of a camera. Most of the week, with Thursday being the first day of auditioning. They decided instead to have me meet with the coach this afternoon for a few hours, then start visiting producers and directors and casting directors starting tomorrow. Not so much auditioning, since only a couple auditions had been added. More to get to see if we could work together. Or, more likely, if they could maybe get to know me better.

“At the end of our meeting I asked her to ask her boss if anyone showed interest in the monologue, in the writing. And if they did, to have them contact me. Again I had to insist. The naïve girl versus the veteran, like with the dress. Though I proved myself to be more than capable of schmoozing, and even going above and beyond with the monologue. Perhaps that’s why I got a call this morning from Gary.”

“Gary?” I asked.

“Gary Hawes.”

“Gary Hawes the director?”

“Director. Producer. Writer. Actor. It’s perfect Joe. You know he tends to shoot in New York, and...”

“But doesn’t he have a small stable of actors he works with?”

“I think he wants to develop something different. Younger maybe? I told him about your fragments, and he thought that was perfect. It’s something he does as well, starting with a scene and expanding out. I told him you were my favorite scene partner, and that Saul said we had chemistry. He knows Saul by the way.”

“I guess that’s not surprising.”

“When can you get here?”

“Uhm ... I really don’t have a lot of money.”

“Borrow from your parents. I’ll pay them back.”

“They did get me an American Express card. For emergencies.”

“Perfect.”

“I’ll talk to Mom. I know they have a travel agent they use.”

“As soon as possible Joe.”

“I’ll let you know.”

“Okay.”

After we hung up, I talked to my mom, who, unlike my dad, was supportive of my creative side. My dad thought it all a pipe dream.

“Wow,” she said. “Gary Hawes?”

“Apparently,” I shrugged.

She called her travel agent. I had them use my card, since that would make it easier to know the expenses, which Mel would pay back. Four hours later, I was flying to LA.

Mel greeted me with a hug when I entered the LAX terminal. She watched my shoulder bag while I pissed, then accompanied me to the bag carousels. “I’m going to get you a bag with wheels,” she said when I pulled the large, heavy, soft black suitcase off the circling belt. We entered the oppressive LA heat and crossed over the road to the taxis. An older, swarthy, short heavyset man opened the trunk for me. Mexican mostly likely, at least originally. I deposited my bags in the trunk and scooted into the back seat beside Mel.

“Do I know you?” the driver asked Mel, looking at her via his rearview mirror. His accent was barely discernable. As if English was, if not his first language, a close second.

Mel laughed. “Unlikely unless you look at catalogs for teenage girl’s clothing. Or saw me in a couple ads in fashion magazines.”

“You look like someone I should know,” he said.

“Thanks I guess,” she chuckled.

“I have picked up famous people.”

“I can imagine.”

“I don’t care all that much, but my daughter likes to hear,” he chuckled.

“How old is she?” I asked.

“Maria? Fifteen. My youngest. My oldest is married. The middle one in college,” he said proudly.

“Only daughters?” I asked.

“My sons... , “ he shook his head.

“Sorry,” I said.

“No. My oldest thinks he’s one tough hombre. Impressed my younger one too much. He is no longer with us. Paul, or Pablo he insists being called, never accepted his responsibility for that. Therefore I never speak with him. Though I believe my wife remains in contact. She can be too forgiving, but I understand.”

“How can you bear the traffic?” Mel shifted things.

The man laughed. “It has its benefits,” and nodded at the meter.

“I suppose it does,” Mel laughed too. “You can print me a receipt?”

“Of course. Where are you two from?”

“Minnesota,” I said. “Mel’s from all over.”

“Army brat,” Mel explained. “My dad decided to retire before my senior year in high school, so I switched schools one last time. Though we did spend some time in DC. For us, it was semi-permanent.”

“Pentagon?” the man asked.

“Yep. Army Intelligence. He was always involved in covert things. He was a green beret.”

“Impressive.”

“I suppose he is.”

“So what brings you here?”

“What every hopeful pretty girl comes here for.”

“You’re an actress?”

“Yep. Joe’s an actor too, as well as a writer.”

The driver laughed. “Even I tried writing a screenplay.”

I decided not to tell the man I might have an inside track to becoming one of the few, probably rarer than the hopeful actor, to have a screenplay produced. Maybe because I hadn’t actually written one. Just as Mel refrained from telling the man that she might be one of the few ingénues to make it there.

When the cab finally stopped at her apartment building, it turned out the cabdriver couldn’t add on the tip to his printed receipt, but Mel tipped him generously anyway.

“Good luck,” the cabbie grinned appreciatively. “I hope to see your names and faces on the silver screen.”

“You will,” Mel grinned back.

Once inside the very nice one bedroom apartment that looked towards the Hollywood Hills, Mel pulled me into an embrace and kiss. Her hands went impatiently to my shirt, and mine went to her blouse. Both torsos naked, she nudged me to the couch, made me sit. Her hands divested me of the rest of my clothing. Her mouth took in my cock.

Minutes later, I warned her of my imminent orgasm, and she fisted me the rest of the way over, grabbing my underwear to catch it.

“Come on,” she insisted once the last of the semen had been caught. I followed her to the smallish bedroom filled by a queen-size bed. Lying on my back, I watched her strip off her pants and panties. She crawled over me, straddling my face and lowered her pussy to my mouth. Lips, tongue and, eventually, fingers worked in and around her pussy, teasing her clit to full hardness, bringing it out of its hood, but mostly avoiding it or circling it. I built her pleasure like a story, adding new caresses as if they were plot points leading inexorably to the climax. Laps across the top of her cunt closing in on her clit. Fingers, first one than two, stroking inside her and finding her g-spot. The other hand reaching down to caress then twist then pull on her nipples. A thumb pressing down just where her clit remained hooded. Finally the attack of the mouth directly on her most sensitive flesh. Enclosing it and sucking. Batting at it with the tip of my tongue.

She lifted off my rigid cock, her hand continuing to fist it, proclaiming my success with the strained keen of my name.

Then onto her back, her legs wide, knees bent, message clear. I moved between them and rubbed my glans up and down her slit, collecting lubrication abundantly there before steadying at her opening and pushing deep. A long slow embedding.

“Yes!” she moaned when I was fully inside her and continued pressing. Her legs wrapped around me to keep me there. Somehow loosening their pressure to let me withdraw to near exit before plunging back deep and pressing.

I kept it slow, both of us appreciating the friction as if it was an exquisite meal meant to be enjoyed slowly, to be savored. Until her hips began moving, creating greater speed. An urgency which had me thrusting harder and faster into her. My head, which had been mostly hovering over hers, eyes enjoying watching her pleasure, moved down, my back curving and my hands lifting her ass, enabling my lips to reach her nipples. First gentle sucks and licks, then more aggressive, until my teeth came out to nibble. Her fingers rubbing her clit, which began when she demanded speeding things up, became rapid and aggressive. Until they froze, pressing only, and she arched against my thrusts.

“Oh! Fuck! Joe!” she practically shouted.

My thrusts continued, even more rapid and close in, until I joined her in climax, stilling and growling and pressing deeper than ever. A powerful orgasm made even better by the fluttering I felt surround my cock. Directional. Milking me. As if her womb demanded all of my sperm.

I remained atop her even after the last spurt. Her arms and legs held me there. Her eyes beckoned a kiss, and I obliged her. Long and soft. Loving even.

“Get off me, you big oaf,” she said after.

I laughed and pulled her close and began to turn us over. Her arms and legs, which had relaxed, held me again to aid in it.

“What was so funny?” she asked once she rested atop me.

“Just another reminder of how bossy you are,” I explained.

“Are you complaining?”

“Nope,” I said.

“Oh,” she murmured, feeling my penis slip out. It signaled her to shift against my side.

“Tired?” she asked me.

“Yeah.”

“Then sleep.”

“Yes ma’am,” I murmured, and as usual, did as commanded.

I awoke to a bed sans Mel. I heard murmurs outside the bedroom door. Glancing at the clock, I realized I’d slept at least ten hours. I guess I was tired. It was early though, not quite 8.

“Shit,” I muttered, realizing my clothes and my luggage remained outside the room. I cracked the door open and pushed my head through. “Mel?” I said.

“Oh, you’re up,” she smiled. She sat on the couch where she’d given me a blow job the night before. Beside her was a familiar face, a famous man. Gary Hawes.

“Uhm, clothes?” I asked shyly.

“I wasn’t about to haul that heavy bag into the bedroom,” she smirked. “Look in my closet.”

After closing the door, I opened another one. A walk in closet maybe a third the size of the bedroom. I found a long white terrycloth robe and put it on. I could have thought that she had it there for me, but she was tall as well.

When I exited the bedroom, Gary stood. He was shorter than I thought he would be. Maybe five feet eight inches. A ruggedly handsome, expressive face. Short dark hair, receding and graying. Slim. Mid-fifties.

“Excuse me. Sorry,” I said, and rushed to the bathroom, hearing Mel’s titters behind me. After relieving the pressure of my bladder, I decided on a quick shower. Washing off the dried remains of sex and sweat.

When I returned to them, Mel suggested, “There’s nice fresh bagels in the kitchen. You’ll probably need to brew some more coffee.”

“Thanks. I’ll figure it out.”

Gary nodded at me, his eyes covered by black rimmed reading glasses. My satchel rested on the coffee table, open. A trail of paper like it was a flat black cornucopia. He held a few pages in his hand, reading them.

It was mostly quiet while I fixed breakfast. The hum of the air conditioner often the only sound I heard. When I brought the small plate containing a poppy seed bagel smeared with cream cheese, and a mug of coffee, I headed to the armchair near the corner of the coffee table. “You should sit beside Melinda, Joe,” Gary suggested. Mel scooted closer to him to make room.

“I’d like to hear some scenes,” Gary said. “But you should have your bagel, so I guess I’ll talk.”

“Whatever you want, Mr Hawes,” I said.

“Gary, please,” Gary winced.

“Gary,” I nodded. I paused until I realized he was waiting for me to eat, so I bit into the bagel and cream cheese sandwich.

“Right,” he began. “Mel tells me you showed these scenes to Saul Loman. And he might be interested in putting together a show called Fragments.”

I nodded.

“Like a series of blackouts,” he continued. “Like a variety show or a burlesque, except without music. To tell you the truth, I can’t imagine it working. If they were comedy skits, yes. An audience is accustomed to that. But something dramatic? With the same actors in different roles? I think at the best it would be confusing, and at the worst pretentious. I know that sounds discouraging, but hear me out.

“What makes these interesting, aside from the writing, which I find quite impressive, Joe, is the completeness of them. They’re like mini one-acts. Unfortunately too short to be one-acts. And I get that they’re as long as they need to be, which is kind of the point. I’m not sure how it would work or how popular it might be, but I was thinking how useful they would be if you published them. Like exercises for acting classes. Or even audition pieces. Because they’re fully formed arcs with clear contexts despite the shortness, they’d be perfect for scene studies within the confines of necessary brevity in acting classes. I’d endorse them, and it sounds like Saul would too. And I know a fair number of acting teachers of some renown who might find them useful, so not just endorsed, but actually used. What do you think?”

What did I think? One of the most respected film actors and directors, respected for both things, was telling me, a seventeen year old high school graduate, that my writing could be of value to his colleagues, without a doubt as respected as he was. “Uhm,” I started, “You think my writing good enough?”

“There’s a concision and a naturalism. Nothing in the least bit flowery. These are real people. And they’re subtly different. Not as much rich and poor, although there’s that, but more of education I think. Maybe that they’re more in their head or in their body. If you wanted to be critical there is a certain sameness. They all seem to be white Midwesterners. A certain generic American accent. But a southern drawl or east coast toughness wouldn’t be natural to you, would it? It would interfere with the naturalism.

“Beyond that is the flow of dialogue. That to me is the most remarkable, because of how carefully it serves the intention. The arc is concise, and yet it flows. It’s obvious you worked hard at these scenes, to present the characters and their intentions, but in a way that has a psychological truth to it. The way one deceives the other and at the same time deceives oneself. That we tend to mire ourselves in bullshit before getting to the truth. All done in this carefully honed constraint, and these carefully crafted dialogues that somehow communicate the situation almost despite themselves. And yet, despite the careful crafting, like I said, it flows beautifully. The craftsmanship only apparent in how perfectly they work. You worked hard on these?”

“Uhm, yes, I suppose I did,” I answered. “Unlike my stories and my poetry, I guess I saw them as challenges. Trying to express within themselves what they were about without having to spell it out. And I’m not even sure why I did them except as some things I could work with with Mel. I started out wanting to write her an audition piece, a monologue, and eventually I got back to that. But early on, I wasn’t happy with the ones I tried, because they didn’t really work standing alone. So I guess I tried creating contexts and hoped the monologue would emerge from that. Instead I got dialogues. Eventually they seemed to open me up to write a couple monologues for her which I was happy with. But the dialogues took my interest, enough to try to make them better. It was really the first time I seriously edited my work. I wanted to polish them. Make them as perfect as I could.”

“Could you read one for me? You and Melinda?”

“Sure.”

“Okay,” Mel smiled.

He handed Mel one he must have read earlier. “Do you need to look through it?” he asked.

“I’m good,” Mel said.

“We’ve worked on these before,” I blushed. Thinking about working each other up, or more Mel working herself up, for sex, using the inherent dynamics. It was almost a kink for her.

We did the reading, Mel hardly glancing at the page. She had a remarkable memory which I envied.

“Holy shit!” Gary exclaimed afterwards, shifting a little uncomfortably, crossing his leg. Hiding his excitement. Mel winked at me, realizing it as well. Honestly I was surprised I’d suppressed my own proof of excitement, which would have been difficult to conceal since I only had the robe covering me. Perhaps having him there kept my hardness from emerging.

He took a couple breaths, calming himself. “I need to do some tests,” he finally said. “I can see the chemistry, but I need to find out if the camera sees it. When would you be free?”

“I’m meeting with an acting coach today,” said Mel. “Originally it was to be hour or so sessions over the week, getting me ready for auditions later in the week, but Joe’s little monologue seems to have generated more interest. So I guess I’ll be with the guy all afternoon, and I think I’ll be starting auditions tomorrow. But, to tell you the truth, I’d really like to work with you, Gary. Partly because I think it would be cool. But ... you still prefer to shoot in New York?”

“Location shooting to be sure. I’m one of the last hold outs that doesn’t think Montreal matches up with Manhattan. But the cast and crew I favor have been getting a lot more work lately here. Me too, for that matter. So it’s likely I’ll be filming the studio stuff here. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m really between projects right now. I’ve always got something I’m working on. There’s a piece that will feature my wife that I’ve been mulling over for instance. But nothing’s ready for production. It’s just that your monologue sparked something in me. And then meeting you, Joe and reading your scenes. It’s got me interested in working with you. With both of you maybe. Something about disaffected kids from crazy parents with no parental skills. The parents my stock actors and maybe me. The kids growing up together because the parents are friends, and rebelling in some way or other. Maybe becoming accidental lovers or something. But your scenes, Joe, I could see working one or two of them as inclusions in the film, maybe even generating the movie around them.”

“Are you talking about collaborating with Joe?” Mel asked.

“I don’t collaborate, except with my actors via improvisation. But maybe. Like a generational thing. Me with the old farts and you having your perspective. Maybe a dual thing that we can somehow mesh together.”

“It’s just that Joe has that workshop with Saul at Hunter this summer,” Mel explained. “And I was hoping that if I get a part that’s filmed there...”

“Ah,” said Gary.

“It seemed you’d be the best choice,” Mel added.

“Unfortunately not. And that’s extremely limiting if it’s what you want.”

“As in non-existent?”

“Like I said, everyone would rather shoot in Montreal or some other Canadian city than to actually shoot in New York. And even though it sounds like you’ve managed to get several auditions, you’re just starting out, so your choices can’t be all that varied. And even though it sounds like you’re in a position to be selective, you certainly can’t be thought of us difficult at this point. Best to avoid that reputation, even if your career develops.”

“I guess I’m just being hopeful,” Mel sighed. “Joe’s actually a bit disappointed in me. We talked about both heading out to New York, for me to try to get some work on Broadway or some regional theater, or if nothing else, continue my modelling. But Hollywood’s a lot more lucrative, and there were a lot more choices than the couple of scripts my New York agent sent me, which were not all that great. If I want to begin a career as an actor, this was my only real choice. Just ... keep us in mind.”

“I’m not saying no, Melinda. I’m saying not right now. I still want to see what you two look like on film. I’d still like to keep in touch with you, Joe, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” I chuckled.

Gary pulled out a business card and wrote a phone number on the back. “This is my assistant’s number. She’ll let me know you called.”

“I’ll be staying at Saul’s house when I’m in New York,” I told him.

“Good.”

“So when do you want to do the test?” Mel asked.

“Let me arrange something. Maybe later in the afternoon? We could go have dinner after?”

“That should work,” Mel smiled.

“How about early, since you seem to be an early-bird,” I suggested.

“It’s more I don’t sleep much,” Gary smirked. “Especially when I’m excited about something. Believe me, no one else wants to be up that early. Not unless it’s for work, shooting. Do you think I could keep these?” he asked about my writing.

“I have a copy,” Mel said before I told him I didn’t.

“Good. I should go. I’ll set something up sometime this week.”

“Thanks,” I said, shaking his hand, both of us standing.

“No. Thank you,” he grinned and rushed out the door.

As soon as she locked the door behind him, Mel turned and gave me a smoldering smile. A trail of clothes to the bedroom, she was naked on the bed, legs spread wide.

I had no more qualms about getting hard, and brought my suddenly rigid cock to where she wanted it. She too was ready, and probably had been for a while. Her hand made certain I was at the right spot. I pushed in and kept pushing.

“Fuck me, Joe. I don’t have a lot of time,” Mel insisted.

So, as usual, I did as ordered. No problems obeying.

It ended up being fairly relentless. For some reason I managed to resist cumming for a lot longer than I imagined. And while fucking her, I did everything I could to add to the friction of my cock, its long hard fast strokes. Fingers on one nipple while my mouth occupied the other. Fingers between us, strumming her clit.

Two of her orgasms later, she pulled away. “You’re still hard!” she exclaimed, and turned over, her perfect ass high. My cock returned home. She knocked away my fingers, replacing them with hers, so I held her hips and plunged harder and faster than before. By the time I finally caught my orgasm, her last one arrived as well.

“Fuck, Joe!” she exclaimed within a deep moan. “Cum!”

“I am!” I told her, pushing deeper than ever and pulsing out semen, thoroughly enjoying the ecstatic moment, even more with the counterpoint throbs that surrounded my cock.

Before the last of my pulsations, she moved off me. “I have to get ready, fucker,” she said, but instead of rushing off, she knelt in front of me and hugged me. “I’m glad you came,” she said.

“In more ways than one,” I smirked.

“Fuck you Joe,” she laughed, and finally rushed away.

When I heard the shower running, I decided to get up and get dressed, not even cleaning off my damp and sticky penis, and waited for her, sitting on the armchair. It took longer than I thought. I heard a hairdryer, but she didn’t emerge after that sound ended. When she did, she had on make-up, as skillful as ever. She remained naked. “Almost done,” she said, and slipped into the bedroom, emerging minutes later in pants and a silky blouse, opened enough to get a slight glimpse of a white bra.

“Going to seduce your coach?” I asked her.

“Nope. Just want to look my best.”

The outer door to the apartment building buzzed. Mel went to a panel by the apartment door. “Be down in a second,” she said.

She turned to me. “Glad you got dressed. Come on.”

I followed her out the door, which she locked from outside it. “Just one key,” she explained. “I guess they’re careful who gets it.”

“What am I supposed to do?” I asked, keeping the whine out the best I could.

She handed me the keys, one square and the other diamond shaped. “For the apartment building door,” she explained, pointing to the square one. “The assistant will be with us. After I get dropped off, maybe you can convince her to have a copy made. If not, maybe you can get a hotel room and I’ll pay you back.”