Chapter 2

A worried man with a worried mind
No one in front of me and nothing behind
There's a woman on my lap and she's drinking champagne
Got white skin, got assassin's eyes
I'm looking up into the sapphire tinted skies

- Bob Dylan

Petty's Story:

Eliza pulled to an abrupt halt outside mine and Alex's apartment, stopping so hard my head almost flung forward and hit the dashboard. Shutting off her car, she turned to me.

"Well, this was fun babe. But I believe this is your place," she said.

"Yes, it is. And yes, it was," I said to her. My head still felt a little woozy from the cocaine and the alcohol we had taken in during and after the party that was held in honor of Alex's screenplay going into production at Antamount.

"I'm sure I will be seeing you again if I get the part in your boyfriend's movie," Eliza said. "But if not, don't be a stranger. Ask Hapsboro, he knows where to find me,"

"I will, don't worry. Tonight was incredible, thanks for the... you know, sex and drugs and stuff," I said meekly.

Eliza laughed. "Don't mention it. All we needed was some rock and roll and we would have had a complete Hollywood party," she said as I opened the passenger door and stepped out, my legs a little wobbly. I felt Eliza slap my ass playfully with the back of my hand and I couldn't help but giggle as I climbed out and shut the door behind me.

Walking through the bright beams of her headlights, I passed by her window, turning to look at her as she rolled it down.

"Oh yeah, one more thing. Probably best if you don't tell your boyfriend what we did tonight. No need to freak him out," Eliza said, her face suddenly stern for some reason.

I reassured her. "Not a problem. Even if I did, chances are he would be more turned on than anything else. You know how men are,"

"I suppose you're right," she said. "Goodnight cutie,"

And with that, Eliza rolled up her window and sped off down the street, disappearing out of site. I watched her go and then took a moment to straighten myself up before heading up the stairs to our apartment.

Turning the key in the door, I opened it to find Alex sprawled out on the couch, watching the local news. The talking heads were babbling about a police beating or something, but as I walked in and the light of the apartment hit my eyes, I suddenly felt very tired and dizzy and blocked out the noise from the television. Thankfully though, when Alex saw me walk in he flipped it off and walked over to me.

"Hey, your home. Where were you? You said that Eliza was bringing you home," Alex said, a look of concern on his face.

"I know. She had to stop and get some smokes. I just sat in the car," I lied, averting my eyes from his gaze.

"How did your dress get torn like that? The straps I mean," Alex said, obviously not content to let the matter rest immediately.

"They got hooked on Eliza's door when I was getting into the car," I said, walking past him towards the bedroom as a way of signifying the end of the conversation. He followed me a few steps behind, although his questions stopped.

I took off my earrings and slid off my dress, hanging it on a nearby coat hanger. Glancing down, I realized that my panties had dirt on them and were still damp from my love making session with Eliza in the car. I slid them off quickly and tossed them onto a pile of dirty clothes, throwing my bra on top of them to cover it.

Alex walked up behind me, his hands on my shoulders. I felt his fingers massage into my skin, the tips pressing down hard on the tight knots that had accumulated in my shoulders throughout the evening. I could simply feel the tension melting away as his wonderful hands worked on me, a slight sigh of pleasure passing through my lips.

"Thank you for coming tonight. I hope it wasn't too boring for you," Alex whispered into my ear.

"No, I had fun. I don't think I'll remember everyone's name tomorrow though," I said, referring to the film people who were at the table with us.

"Mmm... that's ok. You'll meet them again I'm sure," he said, kissing the hairs on the back of my neck. "What say we have a private party of our own tonight, hmm?"

I felt one of his hands move away from my shoulder and slide down the smooth skin of my chest and stomach, his fingers just a few inches away from my still wet cunt. A wave of panic washed over me as I remembered how wet I was down there, and my hand moved down suddenly to stop his.

"Not tonight baby, I'm tired and just want to take a shower," I said, holding his fingers with my own. He retracted his hand slowly from my stomach and stepped back, turning away towards the bed.

"Alright," he muttered. "I have a busy day tomorrow anyways,"

I parted my hair with a brush on the dresser top for a moment, undoing all the tangles that had accumulated throughout the evening. Setting the brush down, I walked towards the shower.

"I'm going to take a shower, be out in a few," I said to him, shutting the bathroom door.

In the shower, the effects of the drugs had finally started to wear off, the cresting high shifting into a quickly growing miserable low of a headache as the warm water washed over me. Shampooing my hair, I washed myself as I thought about all that had happened tonight. My mind flashed back to Eliza's fingers roaming over me, to her tongue lapping away at my pussy. I felt myself growing excited at the remembrance, but stopped myself as I felt my hand move stealthily down to my snatch to rub my aroused clit. Maybe Alex would still be interested in that private celebration of his...

Turning off the water, I dried off quickly and opened the door, the steam from the shower billowing out around me like the set of one of those bad 50s science fiction films. Toweling off my hair, I climbed into bed, sliding my body next to Alex's.

"Hey baby, how about some of that special loving of yours?" I cooed at him. However, I quickly became disappointed when I noticed Alex's shallow breathing and complete lack of response to my advances: he had fallen asleep.

Sighing to myself, I reached over and turned off a bedside light, laying my head down on the pillow. The day continued to race through my head, especially the incredibly wonderful feeling of the drugs, and I fell asleep dreaming of Eliza and her flawless body.

Eliza's Story:

"Fucking asshole! Where the fuck did you learn how to drive?" I yelled at the car in front of me, slapping the wheel with my palm. What a fucking night - first that lame ass party, now these idiot drivers out at midnight. Well, at least I got laid, I thought to myself.

I switched lanes quickly, cutting off two cars behind me, their horns blaring almost in unison. I stuck my arm out of the window and flipped them off, smiling to myself as I slid up the interstate.

The highway traffic was much more calm, which was good since I was already late for meeting the girls at a club outside of town. That Petty girl had been a good lay, but I had spent way too much time on her, trying to get her off. I have to work on not being so considerate, especially with nobodies like her.

My cell phone rang and I reached down to pick it up, narrowly avoiding slamming into some jackass who was doing 50 on the fucking freeway. Hello! It's midnight - no cops around means go faster!

"Hello?" I said, the wind from outside howling through my window.

"Where are you?" the voice, a female voice that I recognized right away, said.

"I'm on the PCH, heading for a club. What's up?"

"How did things go tonight with that man and the studio people?" the voice asked, cold and what sounded like only slightly interested.

"It was boring as hell. Seriously, I've been to funerals that are more exciting. I didn't find out what you wanted to know unfortunately. His girlfriend kept making googly eyes at me all night so I was slightly distracted,"

"Oh Eliza, tell me you didn't,"

"Hey, she was hot. Trust me, if I ever get the chance I will make sure to bring her by so that you can see for yourself. If she can ditch that loser boyfriend of hers, she might actually hold potential for us. She's one of those hippy, earthy girls. And get this: she had never been with a woman before," I said, laughing at the naivety of Petty or whatever her name was.

"That's surprising. They are usually the first one's to take part in a bit of rug cleaning, if you know what I mean,"

"I do. Listen, you're breaking up. Is there anything else you wanted?"

"No, that was it. But do come home fairly soon, I feel the need to punish you for your little transgression down to the level of the common people,"

"Ooo, I can't hardly wait! Will there be dildos involved?" I asked spicily, rubbing my legs together through my skirt to keep from soaking my panties.

"Only if you are good. Ta," she said, hanging up.

I clicked the phone off and set it down on it's charger.

"Bitch, you KNOW I'm good," I muttered to myself, turning on my turn signal and easing into the blackness of the exit ramp.

Alex's Story:

My head throbbed slightly from having one too many drinks as I sat in a ragged chair in front of Jose's desk. I was here to give my resignation, effective immediately. Dressed in a white starched shirt and tie and a pair of navy blue slacks, I felt decidedly out of place in a room that had a have eaten burrito laying on the desk and a large spider web in the top right corner of the ceiling.

I clasped my hands open and closed together nervously as I waited; I didn't know how Jose would react to the news, especially since he had praised me so much before, but I couldn't very well work on my movie (boy, that felt weird to say) and deliver packages all day.

Jose barged in a few minutes later, his hair just as wild and frazzled as ever. He had a coffee mug in his hand and from the slight stain on the front of his shirt, I could tell that not all of it had remained in the cup. He looked at me suspiciously as he walked past over to his desk, his bulk settling into the groaning chair behind his desk.

"What are you doing here? Why aren't you out delivering?" he asked, one eyebrow arched.

"Well, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. See, I sort of have another job now," I said, looking at the floor.

"Another job? Where? With who? If it's that ratfuck Miguel across town I swear I will," he started to say, his voice raised, before I cut him off.

"No, calm down Jose. It's nothing like that. My movie script that I have been working on for years was bought by Antamount Studios yesterday and I'm on board to watch and oversee the production in case they have any scripting issues," I said to him, holding my breath that he wouldn't explode in anger.

I was relieved to see his scowl turn into a smile as he leaned back in his chair, patting his ample belly with his fingers.

"Ah, so Alex has succeeded in his dream, si?" Jose said, smiling at me as he took a sip from his coffee.

"That's what it looks like right now. So wait... you aren't mad that I'm leaving?" I asked, now a little wary of the way he was treating the situation.

"No, of course not. I have always known you had bigger plans, more talent. More sue-os than most of these punyetas that come walking through my door, and I can respect that," Jose said. "That doesn't mean I won't miss you being here but I'm sure that the business will get by. I take it by the way you are dressed that you won't be giving two weeks notice then, si?,"

"Unfortunately not. They need me at the studio today and I'm already running a bit late," I said sheepishly.

"Well then, best of luck compadre. And if you ever need anything when you are rich and famous please don't forget about your friend Jose," he said, rising from his desk to shake my hand.

"I won't Jose, don't worry. Good luck with things," I said, shaking his hand vigorously.

"It is not me who needs the luck my friend. It may be you," he said. I nodded my head at this, although I felt slightly puzzled by what he had said. Turning towards the door, I left the office.

I was in a very happy mood as I drove downtown, past the studio. The casting for the leads was not actually taking place at Antamount headquarters but on their actual filming lot, just outside of town. The drive wasn't too long as traffic was surprisingly light for mid-morning and as I pulled into the lot (flashing my recently gained Antamount security pass to the guard as I pulled in) and parked next to a row of very expensive sports cars.

It was like every childhood dream I had ever had when I climbed out of my car. Production assistants buzzed by on golf carts, workmen carried props to and from very large warehouses that dotted the massive asphalt lot and at least half a dozen very important looking people walked by, chatting on their cell phones.

Casting and pre-production for "An Amerikan Family", the title of my screenplay (with a slight twist of Russian added to the name as a touch of flair I had always been proud of) was taking place in office A8, a small building behind a row of two very large warehouses that I knew housed studio sets.

Walking inside A8, I told the secretary at the front desk who I was and what I was supposed to do.

"They are ready for you on the casting floor, but if you want to see your office first then go down this hall," she said, pointing left. "And to your right,"

"Thanks. Oh, and if a blond girl, skinny, comes in looking for me, have her go to my office please, ok?" I said kindly to the secretary.

"Yes sir," she said, returning to her work.

I followed her directions and walked down the padded hallway. On the right hand side, in a small plastic nameplate, was my name: ALEXANDER HILT. Trying the door, it opened widely into a dark room. I flipped on a light switch and saw a small couch, a television set and a desk. All typical office furniture, as it looked like none of these items had been used. I walked in and scoped out the room before putting a few files I had been carrying down and walking out.

I returned to the secretary and asked her for directions to where the casting room exactly was in this massive building. She pointed me back all the way down the hall behind her, the room so vast that it had two sets of doors as I approached it - one on the side of the space and one in the front. I walked in through the side and onto the floor.

It was a very large room with high hung ceilings and a pair of wheel-able cameras sitting next to a long table with three or four leather chairs, two of which were occupied by Jack Furrow, the producer, and Brandon Shuman, the man who had tweaked my script to the studios approval. In front of the cameras was a large blue screen draped over a wood panel that rose from the ground, and tape marks all over the floor for positioning of actors and actresses.

Furrow turned to look at me as I approached, smiling.

"Well, better late than never I suppose," he said, not bothering to stand up. Shuman craned his head back around to watch me as I came over to take a seat.

"We were just about to start auditions without you," Shuman said dryly, sipping a cup of coffee. It was obvious that he had done these sorts of things many times before.

"Sorry, I had to quit my other job before I could come work here," I said meekly as I sat down. "What do I need to do? I mean, for the auditions and all,"

"Nothing really. The studio wants you here to make sure that they stick to the script, but Brandon has done casting calls before so he will probably take the lead on checking lines and what not. You can just sit and watch," Furrow said, leafing through a stack of paper on the table in front of him that I immediately recognized as my script.

"Ok, fine by me," I said. "What roles are we auditioning?"

"We are going to start out with the young son, the one that has the crippling sickness or whatever it is," Furrow said, his eyes scanning the script.

"Tuberculosis," I said, correcting him.

"Yeah, right. Then, we have the mistress role to do and the father and then hopefully the mother," Furrow said. "But these things never go quickly so if we can get past the young son today, we should consider the day a success,"

"Wow, I had no idea that this sort of thing took a long time," I replied.

"You'd be amazed Hilt. Wait till we actually start shooting. That's when the real hell of it all starts. I've seen productions go on for years at a time, simply because of bad casting or bad weather or pissed off local governments or whatever," Shuman said, speaking for the first time.

"Damn, I mean I knew movies took some time to get made but it's still just incredible that all these people will devote a year of their life to making a simple movie," I said.

"Yep, but hey, they will all be paid pretty well for this. Except the PA's of course. Those people get dick," Furrow said, snickering.

We all laughed at this, although I didn't especially find it funny.

"So are we ready gentlemen?" Furrow asked, folding his hands on the desk.

"Yeah," Shuman said. His hand moved to a black phone on the corner of the table. He picked it up and pushed a button on the face. "Send in the try-outs for the son role please Beth,"

I heard a noise behind me buzz, like one of those emergency exits being opened, and in single file walked a row of boys of all ages and sizes. Some looked barely old enough to be in school, others looked like they were about to graduate FROM school. All held tightly a few sheets of paper that I knew had their lines on them. The boys jostled one another as they came in, shoving and laughing with one another. They were dressed in all manners too - some wore nice, neat clothes, others wore what looked like homemade costumes for the role (a boy at the start of the Russian revolution, so about the early 1920s) and some just wore everyday clothes. It was certainly a site to behold.

"Next," yelled Furrow through cupped hands. The boy at the front of the line, a kid of about 10 or 12, walked forward and stood in front of the blue screen, his eyes running over the three of us as we sat there.

"Begin on page 3, paragraph 6 please," Furrow said, looking down at the script in front of him. Shuman too looked at his script as the boy began to speak, reciting a line that I already knew by heart about the fear he held over his whole world being torn apart. I didn't have a script but I didn't really need it - if the auditions went like this, there would be no need.

The boy finished his lines and glanced up at us. I thought he did a pretty good job at the reading but Furrow quickly dismissed him.

"Next!" he yelled again, this time not bothering to cup his hands.

I leaned behind Furrow's back and tapped Shuman on the shoulder.

"I thought that kid was pretty good, did we get his name?" I asked.

Shuman just smiled at me, an exasperated and cynical look on his face.

"Hilt, all of these actors are 'pretty good'. But only one of them will get the part. Just watch a few more and you'll quickly be able to tell the difference between who is good and who is not," he said.

I leaned back in my chair and watched as the second kid came on, reciting the exact same lines as the boy before him.

Shuman was right - after sitting through almost two dozen applicants, the level of their skill was quite varied. All of the child actors could have done far better than me when it came to lines, but after getting through all of them we had narrowed it down to a few that looked like the part that we were going for. I was a little disappointed that we hadn't picked a winner for the role outright, but I did feel a bit better in knowing that the five or so names we did have all probably would do better with a second callback.

Furrow stretched in his chair, his lanky arms over his head as he yawned. "I swear if I see another cute kid reciting that same damn line over again, I promise you guys I'm going to throttle him,"

Shuman laughed. "I hear ya. What say we make the day at least a bit more interesting and try to knock out some of the mistress auditions before lunch? They at least will be better eye candy for us," he said.

"Fine by me. Any objections Alex or do you want to take a break?" Furrow asked, turning to me.

"No, go right ahead. I'm not starving anyways," I replied.

Shuman nodded at this and called the secretary again. "Send in the mistress girls," he said to her, hanging up the phone.

I was surprised when the women auditioning for these roles walked in. They were notable faces, women I had seen on television and in movies quite recently, although I had never seen such a beautiful collection of them in the same place. All were quite beautiful and I knew from viewing some of their previous works that they had at least some semblance of talent, but I wondered why we had all of them lined up like cattle over this role - didn't they just schedule appointments for auditions?

I again turned to Shuman and asked him that very question.

"No, not for these women. The studio wants some famous faces for this role, so we put out a private call to the type of woman we are looking for's agents - exotic, maybe Mediterranean or Eastern European - and the ones that are here agreed to come to a semi-open casting for this," he said.

That made sense and also explained why the women looked fairly similar. All had brown or black hair, all were quite voluptuous (these women were dressed for the part, most wearing long negligees) and they did share that foreign look about them.

The first one up was Famke Janssen, whom I immediately recognized from movies like "X-Men" and "Golden Eye". She walked to a spot in front of the casting screen and I was startled to see a young looking guy emerge from behind the screen, script in hand, standing in front of him.

"Whose that?" I asked Furrow and Shuman.

"A PA. He's just here to give Famke someone to talk to when she is reading the lines," Furrow replied.

"Oh," I said as the two in front of me began reading.

The talent level was now much much higher since we had known actresses reading for the role. Famke seemed to nail every single one of her lines in the same way that I had always envisioned them on screen when I wrote them, and I felt myself becoming incredibly excited watching this sexy woman pour her heart out to the bored production assistant in front of her.

The scene went short and Famke looked at us for approval or comments. Furrow and Shuman said nothing but I gave her an enthusiastic thumbs up. Famke smiled at me as I held my hand out and then walked off the set to the exit off to the side.

Furrow suddenly shoved my hand hard onto the table.

"Jesus Alex, don't do that. This is supposed to be objective, you can't just give your seal of approval to any woman that gets you hard. Try to act stoic like Brandon and I, don't let on what you think about the reading," he said angrily. I yanked my hand away from him, nursing it slightly.

"Sorry, my bad," I said, a little hurt at the way he snapped at me. I brushed it off quickly though as the next girl - Penelope Cruz - walked on stage.

Penelope read her lines just like Famke had, her cute little accent giving them a unique twist that I hadn't imagined. It was tough to say which one had been better - I could see now why this job was so damn hard - but even in the hands of these skilled women, something seemed to be wrong with the scene. It just wasn't clicking.

I thought about this for a moment and then it suddenly hit me. I leaned forward on the table to talk to the other two men quietly.

"Guys, I don't think the PA is doing a very good job. He isn't reading the lines with any sort of emotion or anything," I said. For the first time all morning, they both seemed to agree with me.

"You know, I think you're right Alex," Shuman said. "That's probably why I'm just not feeling this scene. I thought it was the dialog but now that you mention it, yeah, I think Jimmy isn't doing a very good job,"

Furrow cupped his hands and yelled. "Jimmy, come to the casting table,"

Jimmy - a blond haired surfer looking dude, who probably spent more time surfing and laying on the beach getting high than anything else - sauntered over to us. I could tell he was fairly muscular beneath the white t-shirt and shorts that he wore, but that seemed to be the only muscle he possessed: upstairs, his vacant looking eyes gave an impression of no one being home.

"Sup?" he said, standing in front of us.

"Jimmy, you're doing a piss poor job with the lines. Why don't you go take a break and let Alex here do the reading for you, hmm?" Furrow said sternly. A look of apathy washed over Jimmy's face, the chance to be close to a line full of beautiful women obviously not that appealing to him.

"Whatever," he said, tossing the script on the table and walking off. I took it from where it landed and pulled it over to me, scanning the lines that he had been reading.

"You up to this Alex?" Furrow asked, his voice now more normal.

"Yeah, I think so. I mean, I did write the damn thing after all," I said to them.

"Good. Ok, well just in case it wasn't Jimmy, let's try another scene. Page 72, where the husband confronts the mistress about their future with the riots taking place outside," Shuman said, moving through the pile of pages to the part.

"Sounds good. Where do I stand?" I asked, glancing over at the blue screen.

"Oh, yeah, right. You've never done one of these before. Umm... well, look for a small X on the floor and position yourself towards the female lead based on the script," Furrow said.

"Gotcha," I said, walking over to the blue screen. Even though it was just a few feet away from the table, where Jack and Brandon sat looked vaguely ominous, the light of the room barely falling on them, which create all sorts of weird shadows around their face and features.

"NEXT!" I heard Furrow yell, spinning now on my heels to see who the first actress with me would be. My heart skipped a beat I think as I saw her slink over to me, a medium height woman with an absolutely stunning face - brown eyes that seemed to reach down into her soul; high cheekbones that gave her face a softened, angular look; lips as maroon as the finest glass of red wine. Her skin became slightly darker to me as she approached, moving with the soft gracefulness of a cat, her ample breasts straining against the low cut dress she wore, the material clinging to her hips. She looked so incredibly familiar and yet... I couldn't place a name.

"What's your name sweetheart?" Furrow called to her as the woman finished walking over to me. I could smell her perfume on her, her long, curly brown hair hanging over her shoulders delicately.

"Monica Bellucci," she replied politely, a heavy accent in her voice. Her name clicked right away - she was a very famous Italian actress, known for taking gutsy roles.

"Alright Monica, well listen. This is Alex, he wrote the script. This is also the first time he's ever done lines with an actress. So show him the ropes, eh?" Furrow said.

I felt myself blush slightly at being pointed out to be an amateur in front of a woman like Monica.

"No problem," Monica replied softly, her eyes locking onto mine. "If he wrote it, I'm sure he will be a natural,"

"Ok Alex, go ahead whenever you are ready," Furrow called to me. I swallowed hard, a bit nervous at being put on the spot like this.

Clearing my throat, I held the script out a few feet from me, hoping my shaking hands of nervousness didn't look too obvious.

'Oh Darling, do not worry. Once this revolution is over, and the new boss becomes the old boss once again, our love will be able to continue forever, ' I said, reading the line with a dead weighted voice, unfortunately conveying no emotion at all in what I knew was a highly emotional scene. Luckily though, Monica picked up the slack.

She moved suddenly towards me, pressing her supple body against mine, the heat radiating from her beneath the thin material of her dress. I instinctively wrapped my arm around her waist.

'That is not what I'm afraid of my love! I fear that we shall not make it through this awful rioting alive! For we are the bourgeoisie, ' Monica said, her voice trembling as she spoke, the accent giving her words a hint of desperation and tension. This seemed to help my own reading as I felt myself imagining what the characters were doing at this particular moment in the movie that I had already played out a million times in my head.

I looked down at Monica, the soft rise of her cheekbones looking pale and white under the intense lights overhead.

'We shall be fine. And even if they come to tear us apart, you mustn't fear Alice, because I will be there to protect you' I said, my eyes losing themselves in Monica's deep stare. Tears welled up in her eyes and for a moment I felt disoriented, wondering why she was crying. But I quickly remembered what we were doing and felt myself feeling sympathetic for this beautiful girl in my arms, her breasts pressing against my chest as my character tried to protect her from the evils of the world.