Chapter 2

“Morning,” Harry heard and saw Peg, disappointed in her clothing, jeans and a blouse. “I need to deal with the register and then I’ll drive you to your sister’s.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Of course I do. I love the drawing.”

“Thanks.”

“Go shower.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

She chuckled and scampered off, him watching the delicious shifting of her full ass. Even clothed it was delicious.

Once the apartment door closed, he got up and showered, putting on his only other clothes. He looked around the apartment imagining himself a thief whom she shouldn’t have trusted and saw little of value that would have been small enough to haul out. He wouldn’t have, but felt somehow better that she wasn’t all that vulnerable with her trust.

She returned with a zipped, locked bag under her arm. “I just need to drop this at the bank,” she told him.

“Mind if we stop at a shoe store?” he asked. “These shoes I bought are a pain, literally.”

“You got money?”

“Prison work I accrued.” He showed her the roll of bills, having cashed them at the local bank. The prison had let him get a state ID, not a driver’s license, but enough to prove him to be who he was. He’d had his sister’s address put on it.

“Put that away,” she chuckled.

She led him behind the building where she unlocked a wide metal door that rolled into the ceiling, revealing a storage area as well as the garage for her black Charger. “Muscle car,” he chuckled.

“I like power under the hood,” she smirked, pressing a button on her key fob, causing the front and back lights to flash. “Door’s open,” she said.

“Fancy,” he commented, getting into the passenger seat and finding the mechanism to pull it back.

“You have been in for a while. Everything’s automatic these days. Hold this.” She handed him the money bag.

“You trust me?” he asked, hearing the power, albeit a quiet one, of the engine she brought to life.

“I saw your wad,” she smirked.

He laughed.

She fiddled with a panel on the dash, her finger busy on the graphics appearing on it until he heard a voice introducing an old rock and roll song.

“It’s called Sirius,” she told him.

“Satellite radio,” he nodded. “I read about it.”

“I thought you’d like this channel.”

“Sounds good so far.”

“Unless you want country.”

“I like some country, mostly the old shit like George Jones, the Bakersfield Sound and Hank Williams of course. Don’t like the new stuff so much.”

“Me either. I like the old shit too,” she patted his crotch.

“Hey I’m not that old,” he complained.

“Just old enough,” she winked.

Backing the car out of the garage into the alley, she got out to secure the garage door before strapping back in. “You talking a shoe store or somewhere you can buy shoes.”

“Some decent walking shoes,” he shrugged.

She nodded and headed onto the road leading north out of town, stopping at a bank first and dropping off the money at a window teller before continuing north and then west on a wider highway, then south on an interstate for a couple miles before turning off and entering an area with several large free standing buildings and parking in front of a shoe store. The place didn’t seem all that busy. “Supposedly cheaper,” she shrugged.

Thankfully they had his size, something he’d had to deal with when younger, and though the choices were less he didn’t care. For sixty dollars he had some decent and, most importantly, comfortable walking shoes and even got the black color he preferred. He bought a set of white sox as well which he changed into in the car. “Thanks,” he said.

“Breakfast?” she asked.

“Sounds good.”

They stopped at a Perkins diner a little farther down the interstate, and while she had eggs and bacon and hash browns and toast, he feasted on a spinach and swiss cheese and bacon omelet along with a small stack of pancakes.

“Missed things?” she chuckled.

“Fuck yeah,” he returned, his mouth full. Once swallowed, he asked, “You going to tell me about the men in your life?”

“Eat,” she insisted.

“Yes Ma’am.”

Over coffee, she finally said, “I’d rather it be pillow talk, I mean how I got to see men the way I do.”

“Pillow talk sounds good,” he grinned. “That mean you’re staying with me tonight?”

“In some fancy house on the river? Fuck yeah. Speaking of which, you have her address?”

He pulled out a slim wallet and a folded piece of paper from it and handed it to her.

“I’ll program it in,” she told him.

“GPS?”

“Yep.”

“Cool.”

She laughed.

On the way, between the female voice giving directions, Harry asked, “You own the bar?”

“Part of the men,” Peg pouted. “Okay,” she sighed, “It’s been in my family since back in the whole emigrant Scandinavian days. We’ve always been providers of shall we say unchristian things. Booze. Whores. I’m just the last in line of providers. The Vaudeville Bar actually comes from Swedish vad du vill meaning whatever you want.”

“Like Dew Drop Inn.”

“Only more literal rather than a pun.”

“But Vaudevillle...”

“Used to be just the Swedish.”

“Kind of in your face.”

“It might have been more of a word of mouth thing.”

“Last in line?”

“One brother left who’s got kids but he’s definitely not interested. He’s more like the offended Swedes and I don’t blame him. My older brother’s one of the men.”

“Did he...?”

“No, none of that. For one he’d probably have been too drunk to get it up.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t drink.”

“Because of the men?”

“Yep. More later when I can be distracted by happier things,” she pawed his groin.

“Okay,” Harry agreed.

“What about you?”

“My father’s a prim cunt who never spoke to me again once I got captured.”

“A prim cunt into guns?”

“You know those British aristocrats into shooting parties?”

“Like clay pigeons but actual pigeons.”

“Yeah, like that. He and his good ole boys are into hunting, so guns are a thing.”

“You go hunting with him?”

“To make sure I wasn’t gay? Yeah. Killing things for sport. Not my thing but I ended up good at it. Killed Bambi and Thumper. I begged off after, but proved myself I guess until it was a human that was killed and shamed him.”

“Even if you didn’t kill her?”

“I might as well have, but it was the whole incarcerated kid that done him wrong. Like some kid who covers his eyes thinking no one can see him, I guess pretending I didn’t exist made it so I didn’t.”

“Your mother?”

“Got sick and died. Frances thinks it was her liver.”

“Like the men in my life.”

“Like that. I don’t blame her having to live with my father.”

“He’s that bad?”

“Worse.”

“Because he never saw you?”

“Because he’s a major asshole. Like cancer of the colon would be a perfect death for him.”

“So you were his shame.”

“My family’s shame. Frances keeps me secret as well.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Stricken from the records? I know she’s private but also smart, so maybe putting out what biography she needed, no need to mention siblings.”

“No one else?”

“A baby sister so that could be a distraction. She was a model before marrying another rich asshole.”

“You saying Tom Whalen’s an asshole.”

“Men are all assholes aren’t we?”

“True.”

“But yeah, he is. Can’t seem to keep it in his pants, at least that’s what Frances suspects.”

“She’s probably right. He’s a handsome guy.”

“Yeah. Ugly’s a curse only if you can’t find a mate. Once you do then it’s a blessing.”

“For the mate.”

“As long as she can see through it to the beauty. When the beauty’s obvious, its fair game for cheating.”

“Both ways.”

“Probably.”

“Then your sister?”

“I don’t know. She’s claimed she’s faithful. But of course there’s beauty everywhere in Hollywood.”

“You tend to get close with your costar.”

“Method acting,” Harry chuckled, Peg joining him.

They found the long driveway with a postbox with the address on it and drove through a stand of high evergreens hiding the widespread two story house made of wood and stone that did well blending in with its environment, Peg parking on the far side of a garage at least three cars wide, not far from a simple footbridge over a creek that led to a small wooden stable with a corral in front, two light brown horses gazing at them.

Neither pressing the doorbell, Harry hearing chimes inside, nor knocking resulted in anyone opening the door. “Shit,” Harry muttered.

“What are you going to do?” Peg asked.

“Follow me.” He walked to the edge of the house and around.

“You going to break in?” Peg asked.

“I’m not that kind of ex-con,” Harry chuckled.

Once behind the house he headed to a gazebo, Peg following him into the old-fashioned structure and watched him slide open an armrest of a wooden loveseat and pull out a key. “You’re kidding,” Peg chuckled.

“Frances told me just in case. Better than under a pot.”

“True. If there’s an alarm?”

“Frances told me that too,” Harry tapped his temple.

When they returned to the front, a petite blonde woman, young and beautiful, stood at the door, dressed in tight jeans and a very loose flannel shirt looking as if just thrown on.

“I’m Harry,” he told her. “Frances’s brother? I’m expected?”

“Sorry.”

“You the maid?”

“Chrissy.”

“Hi Chrissy, this is Peg. Can we come in?”

“Sorry.”

As soon as they entered, Chrissy dashed up the stairs. They entered through the mudroom to what looked like the social room of the house, the furniture mostly chrome and black leather, a black grand piano on one side and on the far back corner of the other a large hearth. Horse paintings and drawings decorated the walls.

Passing through it, they entered a hallway decorated with posters of Tom Whalen’s shows, a couple doors on each side, and past that a dining room and then the kitchen where a half dressed Tom, sweat pants and no shirt, sat at the table. Slim still, but age had softened his musculature and expanded his gut a little causing a roll.

“Well this is embarrassing,” Tom grinned tightly, his Texas accent obvious. “You must be Harrison.”

“Harry, asshole, I’m sure my sister told you I hate that name.”

“Whatever.” Tom drank from his Leinie bottle.

“Frances hired Chrissy?”

“Chrissy’s a great cook, learning to be a chef and works her cute little ass off.”

“More than maid duty. You look for spycams? I heard they’ve gotten small.”

Harry saw the flash of worry on the lean laconic face which quickly disappeared into a belly laugh. “You guys want a beer? I’m Tom by the way, pretty lady.”

“Peg and I don’t drink.”

“It’s a bit early,” said Harry.

“The breakfast of champions,” Tom quipped the cliché and drank another gulp.

“Any advice on a guest room?” Harry asked.

Tom had to think about it. “I’d say top of the stairs, last door on the right is free.”

“Must be a bunch of rooms,” Peg pointed out.

“Most are occupied,” Tom shrugged.

“So you’re like a kid where mom and dad are away you have a party,” said Harry.

“I resemble that remark,” Tom laughed at his cliché. “You two bunking together I hope. And by the way, quick work stud just out of jail.”

“Asshole,” Peg muttered while they headed back where they’d come.

“Told you,” said Harry.

“The guy’s a great writer?” Peg whispered while they climbed the stairs.

“Supposedly. I’ve read some of his plays. They’re actually a lot more interesting and inventive than he is.”

“They’d have to be.”

Both laughed.

Their room once Harry opened it carefully just in case was actually really nice looking over the river on one side with windows, being on the corner, facing south as well, the sun too bright in it. Peg lowered and closed the blinds on that side because of that. The room had a soft yellow cast to it, the sun room Harry figured, or at least this houses sort of version. The queen sized bed filled most of it with a pleasant oval rug covering the wooden floor where it didn’t, and a couple chest of drawers and a small desk set at the back window, and past the bed a door leading to a small shallow closet.

“We really should go shopping for clothing for you,” Peg suggested, settling on the bed. “Leave the asshole and the maid to it.”

“Honestly I don’t blame him,” Harry admitted. “She’s a soft young petite temptation.”

“I agree.”

“You into girls?”

“Sometimes.”

The topic of conversation stood in the doorway, blushed red, looking showered and changed wearing a cute pink blouse and the same or another pair of tight jeans. “Sorry,” she said.

“You are a sorry young lady,” Peg chuckled. “Come in. We don’t bite. Spank yes, but not biting.”

“I ... uh ... just wanted to know if you’re okay with the room.”

“It’s nice,” Harry told her. “And clean.”

Even Chrissy chuckled at that.

“Any dietary concerns?” she asked.

“I’m omnivorous like any human,” Harry smirked.

“I think she means like peanuts or gluten.”

“I heard about the gluten bullshit. I’ll eat anything put in front of me, the more the better. I’m a bit sick of bread and water.” Both he and Peg laughed.

“Harry just got out of prison,” Peg explained.

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry. He’s tame enough. And no, I’m fine with anything.”

“Okay.”

Just as she turned to go, Harry asked her, “Are you in on the joke?”

“Excuse me?” she turned back.

“Why did my sister hire you? You must realize how desirable you are.”

“My résumé and the interview was the best?” Chrissy muttered.

“You’re pretty young for an extensive résumé,” Peg pointed out.

“I’m the oldest of three and since my mother died, I took care of the house and my dad too. He had a hard time of it for a while. And I’ve always had a knack for cooking and went to culinary school. Frances had me cook up some dishes for my interview.”

“Sorry about your mom,” Peg said.

“Thanks.”

“Any boyfriend?” Harry asked.

“Too busy and none interested me.”

“You into girls?” Harry couldn’t help asking.

“Or older women?” Peg added.

“Or older men?” Harry finished.

“I...” Chrissy squirmed.

“I’m really trying to figure out why Frances hired you,” Harry explained. “I get your qualifications, but you do realize Frances suspects Tom of being a cad. If she’s worried, some fat old lady would have been a lot safer.”

“Or a gay man,” Peg added.

“I...”

“It’s nothing on you, Chrissy. We’re nobodies,” Harry told her. “She’s my sister and really the only real friend I had on the outside. I just want to understand her thinking.”

“What do you think of Harry?” Peg asked.

“Or Peg?” Harry continued the thread. “Or is it a star thing?”

Chrissy sighed and sat on the office chair. “I really am qualified and I impressed Frances.”

“But?”

“Can you check if Tom’s spying and close the door?”

“On it,” said Harry. “Coast is clear,” he reported, closing the door.

Chrissy pulled out her smartphone from her tight jeans, tapped at the front and side, the latter to lower the volume and handed the phone to Harry who sat on the bed beside Peg. They watched a naked Chrissy, her pale petite body just as luscious as promised, ride Tom, believably exclaiming her pleasure.

“Spycam?” Harry asked.

“Transmitted to my phone. I sent it to Frances.”

“You don’t mind us watching?” Peg asked.

“It’s not my first rodeo.”

“Like a pornstar?” Harry asked.

“Private shit,” Chrissy shook her head. “I do like older guys. Younger guys are just lame, especially those who try to hit on me. One of the first I seduced, or it was mutual...”

“Of course,” said Peg.

“Yeah, so he wanted us taped for later use I guess and I thought it was hot.”

“You’re an exhibitionist,” Harry asked the obvious.

“Yep. So after that it was part of my thing.”

“You told Frances about this?”

“After we fucked, but she knew about it,” which surprised Harry, not suspecting his sister leaned that way, but not in any way negatively.

The surprise gave way to realization. “You fucked a friend of hers.”

“The guy in charge of the culinary school. I actually thought he was gay, but I guess young spinners work for him.”

“Spinners is an escort thing,” Peg noticed.

“I looked into it, but preferred being more selective and word of mouth.”

“I’m the same,” Peg chuckled.

“No shit?”

“No shit. Harry’s a freebee because he’s hot.”

“I agree.”

Harry instantly got hard.

“You are too,” Chrissy added.

“I imagine you’re a lot more expensive than I’d ever be,” Peg figured.

“The advantage of fucking old rich guys.”

“So I guess we’re out,” said Harry.

“Frances is paying me a fuck of a lot to work in this house.”

“Fuck,” Harry moaned.

The ladies laughed. Peg patted Harry’s lump.

“The problem is there’s some potential johns here,” Chrissy said. “Except they’re all arrogant cunts in the film business who probably get it for free or in trade.”

“What about trade?” Peg asked. “That was quite the performance.”

“That was real. The advantage of older guys is a lot of them have skills and can last longer, especially with Viagra. I don’t see myself as a casting couch actress. I don’t see success in it.”

“What do you see?” Peg asked.

“Fucking my way to being top chef,” Chrissy smirked. “Frances talked about setting me up at a place in Stillwater.”

“My neck of the woods,” Peg grinned.

“But who knows what she’ll think of me fucking her husband, even if that was the plan,” Chrissy shrugged. “I’m still thinking about applying to a couple of the fancy places there.”

“Don’t let me stop you,” Peg smiled.

“Whatever happens, you don’t mind me sharing the bed sometime tonight?”

“You have to ask?” Harry murmured.

The ladies laughed.

“Is shyness an act?” Peg asked.

“I am shy until I get to know somebody,” Chrissy told them seriously.

“You’re getting to know us?” Peg asked.

“Looking forward to know more,” Chrissy winked. “See you guys. Have fun,” she giggled and walked out the door, closing it behind her.

Clothes went fast, Peg starting her removal immediately cluing Harry in. She spread out naked on the bed. Harry headed straight for her pussy with his mouth.

“Just fuck me Harry!”

“Nope.”

He managed to tease out an intense orgasm before climbing on top. Peg wetting his cock with her effluence before placing it at the gap which the cock quickly filled, pushing deep with one stroke, and after briefly enjoying the embrace of her hot depths around it, began a fuck that started slowly only briefly before her hands on his ass and her ass moving against him had him fucking her fast and hard. His mouth and fingers worked her nipples while her fingers moved to her clit. It was inevitably a quickie, but somehow both managed near simultaneous climaxes, Harry needing only a few quick thrust when he got there first before she joined him.

They relaxed after with him on top, gentle kisses from hot lips before she nudged him off of her, his weight becoming a bit too much. Once on his back, she climbed on top and they kissed some more. She had some weight too, but Harry didn’t mind in the slightest. But he didn’t get hard again.

“I wonder where the bathroom is?” he asked.

“That would have been good to know,” Peg realized.

“I know where one is,” he smirked.

They got up, dressed commando and headed out down the hall to the other end, the door there opened to a large and multi-windowed master bedroom, a California king at its center. Harry found the door to the bedroom’s bathroom. Both had to figure out the multiple sprays in the shower enclosure and soon had water hitting them from all directions. They laughed and cleaned each other. Harry managed to get half hard before they shut things off and dried themselves.

“Don’t get dressed,” Peg suggested. “Tom’s about your size.”

“Shorter by a few inches.”

“Then shorts, but I bet his shirts fit.”

“Short sleeves. And Frances is about your size.”

“Let’s steal some shit.”

“Let’s!”

Harry found some boxers, deciding on a deep red pair, and a t shirt from one of Tom’s shows. “The ego on him,” Harry shook his head. “If I was in a band I wouldn’t be wearing my own band’s t-shirt.”

“What do you think?” Peg asked, wearing a sleek flesh colored chemise.

“Looks hot,” Harry responded.

“Feels sexy.”

She tried on a cute blouse but was obviously too busty.

“How about this?” Harry asked, pulling out a blouse suited for a wench.

“Let me try it!”

Harry found some shorts that nearly reached his knees. The belt he found just fit on the last hole.

“What do you think?” Peg asked, twirling in a long skirt that worked perfectly with the blouse.

“Gorgeous, and the clothes too.”

“You!” she grinned and kissed him.

They went downstairs in their outfits.

The dining room was filled with middle aged men, one middle aged woman and a couple younger women not a lot older than Chrissy. All looked worse for wear, hangovers Harry figured, which Tom was currently fixing with a large pitcher of bloody marys, his pants the same as before, the stink of sex still on him. At least half the men and the older woman both Harry and Peg recognized from movies they had seen, Harry mostly having seen their younger version.

“Cut up some celery, Chrissy,” Tom ordered.

“Sorry, I’m kind of busy,” Chrissy told him, working on some sort of frittata.

“I’ll take care of it,” Peg offered.

Chrissy turned her head and smiled. “Thanks Peg.”

A squat fat man neither Harry nor Peg recognized got up from the table and rudely pressed against Chrissy. “Need any help hot stuff?”

“Only if you do,” she whispered, leaning her head back and whispering something even quieter.

“Fuck that,” he responded moving off her but not before she squeezed his balls.

“Then fuck off, shorty,” she muttered.

Tom laughed, than noticed Harry’s outfit. “Still a thief,” he chuckled.

“Fuck you,” Harry replied. “Glasses?” he asked Chrissy.

“There,” Chrissy pointed at a cabinet. “Trays at the bottom end cabinet.”

He grabbed the silver tray first and arranged high ball glasses on it. Peg placed the rectangular bowl with the cut up celery and added a large bottle of Tabasco and a large wooden pepper grinder. “I’ll take it,” she offered.

“You’re the pro,” Harry gestured.

“Fuck you,” she laughed.

“I didn’t mean ... never mind.”

He sat beside the middle aged actress who seemed ageless. He’d seen her when she was a child star when he was younger than her since her early stuff had been in kids movies, so he knew she was at least fifty, and age really hadn’t changed her face all that much.

“Pat,” she said.

He knew her as Patty. “Harry.”

“Do you mind if I ask who you are?”

“I could ask the same amongst these silly old men.”

She laughed. “Scouting for my film.”

“You’re directing now?”

“I have been for a while.”

“Sorry. I don’t get out much.” Peg heard that and chuckled. “Where are you scouting?”

“Stillwater mostly.”

“The river?”

“The prison.”

“Really?”

“Tom wrote a script. It’s more character study of the prisoners than anything.”

“Really.”

“Even had some amazing sketches.”

“Really.”

“Really,” she chuckled.

“So everyone’s here for that?”

“Not everyone. Tom’s had some friends pop by.”

“Maybe they’re here for you too.”

She looked around. “If he did than he’d be wrong.”

“Why?”

“I’m looking for unknowns. Interesting faces. You act?”

“Not since I was a kid and then it was more acting up if you know what I mean.”