Chapter 3

Alex's Story:

I slugged down my fourth shot in about 10 minutes, the bourbon going down hard and fiery down my throat. The stale smell of cigarette smoke and spilled beer wafting into my nostrils, I rubbed my hand through my hair. What a day it had been. Setting my glass down, I motioned for the bartender to fill it up again. He walked hesitantly over to me, the question of if I had had enough hanging on his lips and yet no words coming as he was about to say it. I watched him refill the glass and then picked it up in my hand, examining its brownish qualities, the liquor sloshing around slightly in the smudged glass. It looked small and frail in my hand, and I could crush it if I wanted to I suppose, but that would just bring on startled glances and questions from the other patrons of this dank bar, and questions were the one thing I was very much looking to avoid today if at all possible.

After my experience in the Starry Dreams strip club the night before, wherein I witnessed three of Hollywood's most beautiful women essentially becomes whores and sex slaves for a room full of powerful men, the most plaguing thought on my mind was not about what had happened but why. Things were not making sense, no matter how much I replayed them in my mind. Why were these women being so used like this and perhaps more importantly, why did they allow themselves to be? There had to be a reasonable explanation; there always was, at least if movies had taught me anything at all. And here I was smack dab in the middle of the place of dreams, getting my OWN movie made. Strangely though, life felt more bizarre than any piece of fiction I had ever seen on screen.

It didn't help matters that I was on the outs with Petty, my girlfriend. She had caught a great break for her singing career while waiting for me at my office, and how did I show her my joy for her? By going off about the evilness I was starting to understand of the record label/movie studio both of us suddenly found ourselves in the good graces of. It wasn't that I wasn't happy for her, it was simply that I thought that Antamount, the studio who bought my script and wanted to sign her to a record deal, had suddenly become inherently polluted in my mind, the luster losing it's sheen, following the events of last night.

So fuck it, I deserved these drinks, bartender be damned. Things were going to get worse before they got better, that much my gut already told me. What happened this morning certainly didn't help matters at all.

I had went into the studio the same as I had the day before, only this time armed with more knowledge than I probably wanted. Whereas before, everything seemed magical and like a dream, now it was as if everything was cast in a darker light. Secretaries seemed more snotty, set crews seemed more surly and the executives and people involved in Antamount's production of my movie, "Amerikan Family", seemed to be in on some kind of joke that I was the punch line of.

After spending a mostly sleepless night on the couch, I was groggy and yet still decidedly firm in the decision I had come to last night, lying there awake, staring at the ceiling. I had to know what was going on, or at least find out as much more as I could, without seeming too nosy or obvious. The likely source for this had at first seemed to be Gordon Hapsboro, studio owner Wilton Willis' head assistant, but chances are he probably knew too much and would get suspicious if I started questioning. So I crossed off names mentally down the Antamount food chain and had landed on Jack Furrow and Brandon Shuman, the two guys who were overseeing the script and producing my film for Antamount. They might not know everything that was going on behind the scenes at the studio, but they could at least help in putting a lot of my fears to rest and convince me that I was just imagining things.

I walked into the casting lot, opening the door quietly to avoid making too much noise if there were script readings still going on. To my surprise however, the place was empty except for Furrow and Shuman, both of which were standing over the table they were at yesterday, looking down into a speaker phone. Jack had his hands splayed out across the table as he leaned against it, his head down as he listened intently to the other end, while Brandon stood idly by the table, his arms crossed, looking bored. As I drew closer to them, I could begin to hear the conversation in full.

"So then first it's Virginia for the end scene, followed by the lot here for the rioting and climax and the rest will be shot in France. Is that what your notes say too Mr. Willis?" Furrow said into the speaker phone. I stood still, barely even breathing as I listened. Just the mention of Willis' name now sent chills down my back.

"Yes Jack, that's the shooting schedule. And casting is complete, at least with the principal players?" I heard Willis' voice say. It sounded tinny and far away, or at the very least to be coming from a cell phone.

"Yes sir. Two weeks more of final script prep and then we will be ready to start shooting," Furrow said.

"I assume Brandon has everything in order then?" Willis asked.

Brandon unfolded his arms and leaned in over the speaker. "Yes Mr. Willis, the revisions are going to be slight. Hilt gave us something decent to work with so that's a good thing. Although I still think changing the name might be in order," Brandon said.

"Nonsense. What with all this flag waving and patriotic mumbo jumbo going on, anything with the word 'America' in it will sell tickets like crazy. Even if it is misspelled. Now, I must be going gentlemen, is there anything else?" Willis said.

"No sir. Have a safe flight," Jack said. There was an audible click on the other end, followed by a soft beep as Jack hung up the phone. He stepped back from the table and stretched, his arms rising high above his head. I took this as a cue to continue on into the room.

Brandon saw me first. "Hey Alex, what's up?"

"Just back on the job," I replied.

"Glad to hear it. You feeling better?"

"Yes, thank you. First day jitters I guess," I said, obviously not letting in on the fact that I had left early yesterday more out of confusion and worry than any sort of actual sickness.

"Well, we finished up casting without you. Here's a list," Brandon said, handing me a sheet of paper from the table. I took it and glanced down, scanning. It was written in a neat but slightly erratic hand, almost as if it was done in haste. A lot of the names I had never heard of, but a few stood out.

In the role of the mistress, they had cast Monica Bellucci. This was no surprise, given how well she had played the role yesterday during an audition. There were a few actual surprises though. For the teenage daughter, they had cast Eliza Dushku and for the youngest daughter, Mila Kunis (there were three kids, two girls and a younger boy). I raised my eyebrows at the casting of Kunis, as she had never struck me as much of a dramatic actress. Furrow must have picked up on my puzzlement, because he was quick to jump in.

"The studio wanted her for the daughter role to draw in the teen crowd. You know, the under 17 set," Furrow said.

I glanced up at him, still a bit puzzled. "But the movie is incredibly violent and is more than likely going to end up with an 'R' rating. What good does it do to cast a teen favorite into an 'R' rated movie?"

"Hey, we don't make the rules. We just hear from the studio 'cast this girl' every now and then and we are very much obliged to do it," Brandon said.

Looking over the rest of the list, none of the other names caught my eye, but I figured that the list was likely to change in the future, especially since they were wanting to apparently wait two weeks before filming began. I handed the paper back to Brandon.

"It looks ok, I guess. No huge stars but hey, this is my first movie right?" I said, forcing a smile.

"How true. Don't worry though. If the movie goes over well, you'll gain some creed and your next film could have an all star cast," Jack said, standing over the desk with his head down again, putting some papers into a folder. He picked it up and looked at me.

"We were just taking a conference call with Mr. Willis, but since that's done, there isn't much left to do today. I'm afraid you got here a little too late Alex," Jack said.

"If you had told me that there was going to be a conference call, I would have been here sooner," I replied, a little irked at what he was insinuating.

"Hey, easy there big guy. We didn't know about it either. In fact, we had just sat down when the secretary buzzed us and told us that he was on the phone. You'll learn that pretty quick here: Willis likes to make surprise calls to see what is going on. He's neurotic like that," Brandon said.

I sighed in frustration, but the anger passed quickly. I had more important things to worry about.

The three of us began to walk out of the room, Jack moving surprisingly spry for someone his age (probably mid to late 40s), with Brandon slouching behind him as I brought up the rear. I quickly scanned the two of them, trying to figure out who might be the most approachable. I decided on Brandon, as his Generation X slacker attitude simply vibed that not very much could irritate or get to him, even a line of questioning out of left field. I caught up to him and grabbed his arm, pulling him slightly back towards me.

Brandon spun on his heels, his eyes still locked on watching Jack leave the room. Furrow didn't notice either of us, lost in his own world as his long legs took big strides out of the room, the folder of documents under his arm.

"What?" Brandon said, a little startled by the feel of my hand on his arm.

"I wanted to talk to you about something," I replied, my voice a little soft in my throat. Brandon looked at me for a moment, but I watched over his head as Jack disappeared out the door, the heavy metal of it closing behind him with a slam.

"Alex, I'm late for a..."

"It will only take a moment,"

"Fine. What is it?"

I had to think carefully over every word as it came out of my mouth, although this wasn't too big of a problem. I had rehearsed the lines in my head the entire way over. I took a deep breath and started, my eyes watching Brandon's own.

"When you first started working here, did you notice anything weird?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, like little perks or something around the office, that sort of thing,"

Brandon thought for only a split second. "No. Why?"

I was a bit puzzled - I hadn't expected this response.

"You know, invitations to parties, special treatment, that sort of thing?"

"Alex, what the hell are you talking about? I mean yeah, I go to parties and all but..."

"No, I mean parties thrown by Mr. Willis,"

It was very brief and just for a split second, but I saw it wash over him like a wave cresting across rocks. His body stiffened for a second, but his mind was too quick for even this subtle body language.

"Nope. I have only talked to the guy once in person, and when I did it was just a handshake and hello. Are you getting cut in on something I'm not? Because if so, I better speak to my agent,"

"No no, nothing like that. It's just... I heard things from some people, that's all. I was just curious I guess,"

Brandon shuffled on his feet, obviously anxious to leave.

"Yeah, well whatever Alex. I really gotta go. Have fun at your parties," he said, turning to leave. I grabbed onto his arm tighter now, though I could never remember exactly why. Maybe it was that he served as a life vest in this growing sea of turbulence I was in; maybe it was for no reason in particular.

"I'm thinking of taking some time off," I said, the words surprisingly hoarse in my throat. This caught Brandon by surprise.

"What? The movie just got going!"

"I know, but I'm still having to adjust to this lifestyle I guess," I lied. "Besides, do you really need me around here?"

"No, not really. But shit man, if I had a movie being made, I certainly would want to be here to watch it,"

"I know, and I might do that. But only when I'm needed. Even though I'm excited about the movie, I feel like a fifth wheel around here,"

"Well, it's up to you. Hapsboro and Furrow would be pissed off, but I guess that's cool. Maybe it will help you become a better writer or something. You know, take a sabbatical of some sort. I hate to see you leave though, just as we were getting to know one another. Maybe you'll change your mind?"

I smiled at this seemingly genuine show of friendship, of affection.

"I might. I just need time to think, to get my life back in order. That's all,"

Brandon moved his arm from my hand, which I allowed with no resistance.

"Yeah, all right. Well, gotta go Alex. See ya when I see ya,"

I stood there in the middle of the floor, watching him go. He hustled out the same way Furrow did and I couldn't help but think that in some alternate universe, they could have been father and son.

The door slammed behind Brandon as it had behind Jack and only when it settled in it's frame did I move again, walking towards it and out, passing the same secretary again and going to my office. This new information had thrown a kink into the ideas I was forming, but there must be something there that I can work with.

Settling down into my office, the quiet sound of an air conditioning unit outside the only noise in an otherwise quiet, I ran my hands through my hair and stared at the empty blotter on my desk. Looking into it, I saw scenes play out before me in my mind: the first meeting with Hapsboro and the subsequent party that night; the encounter with Katherine at the club; Petty signing a record deal, possibly in this very office. What did it all mean? Why had Brandon flinched like that when I questioned him about it?

The way things played out in my mind, I had two choices. I could leave this behind, take the money I had gotten for my script and not look back, simply smiling to myself when the film finally opened that I had written it and that I was the one who had brought it to life. Or I could try and stick around longer and see where things led, see if there was a way to operate in this system without selling myself short, especially that screaming, nagging voice in the back of my mind that I knew was my conscience. Both choices had pros and cons to them, but I had to reach some sort of conclusion about this, and soon. Otherwise, the problems were likely to consume me almost completely.

Laying my head down on my desk, the soft leather of the blotter pleasingly cool against my cheek, I closed my eyes and ran through all the scenarios, from innocent to extreme. I was now in the middle of all this, but did I want to really see how deep the rabbit hole went, or did I want to claw my way back out while I still had the person I knew as me still intact, while I still quite possibly controlled my soul?

I must have dozed off at some point, because when I was startled awake by a knock on the door, the air of the afternoon had seemed to have changed, indicating the slow dawning of another night in Los Angeles. I lifted my head from the desk, wiping my cheek of a light sheen of sweat that had collected against the side of my face as I cleared my throat.

"Come in," I said groggily.

The door opened slowly and Monica Bellucci appeared before me, almost like an angel in a dream. She wore a pair of low cut jeans and a purple top, the dark skin of her stomach barely visible beneath the material. Her long black hair hung over her shoulder loosely as she opened the door wider and walked into the office, glancing around herself as she stepped through the door. She smiled at me as she drew closer, the light scene of her perfume wafting in like an aura around her. She held a small dish in her right hand and clutched a pair of knives and forks tightly against the dish with her fingers.

"Hello Alex. I hope you don't mind me coming by," she said softly.

"No, it's fine," I said, leaning back in my chair as I stretched my legs out underneath the desk. Monica took a seat across from me in one of the office chairs, her eyes glimmering in the white light of the fluorescent bulb above.

"I came by to thank you," she said, setting the dish and silverware close to her on the desk.

"What for?" I asked.

"For getting me the part in your film," she said, smiling softly. Even though Monica seemed to ooze sexuality with every movement of her body, she could still be incredibly shy and graceful as she conducted herself in such banalities of everyday life as setting down a dish and carrying on a conversation.

"I didn't do anything Monica, I have to be honest with you," I replied.

"Yes," she said, pondering this for a moment. "But I think you actually did. You see, I believe it was my reading with you of the script that helped convince them to give me the part, to give me my big American break,"

I blushed slightly at this, remembering our normal screen kiss that had quickly evolved into something more, something passionate. It had been incredibly hot, without a doubt, but whether or not it was what got her the part, I didn't really know. She played the character very well, and I had read my lines the same way I had always envisioned them to be read when I wrote the script. Still though, there had been, undeniably, some sort of spark or kinetic energy between us from the scene.

"I just read the script Monica," I said, looking away from her eyes, eyes that a man could lose himself forever in. "You did all the convincing,"

Monica shook her head lightly from side to side. "I don't believe that and I don't think you do either. WE sold them the scene, WE sold them the part. It was your script and perhaps my acting that won me the role, but we couldn't have done it without the other," she said. I could feel her eyes scanning over me, reading my reaction.

I sighed, accepting her compliment as gracefully as I could. "I'm just happy you got it. I can't think of a better person to have won the role, quite honestly,"

Monica smiled at me, scooting herself closer towards me at the desk. Her breasts jostled slightly in her shirt, which was tighter than I had first noticed. She smiled at me over the desk, her chin held in her palm as she pushed the dish towards me.

"I brought you something," she said with a grin.

I pulled the dish towards me. It was a ceramic thing with a light flower stencil around the outside and a plastic top holding it's contents inside. Beneath the top I could see a myriad of colors - greens and browns and reds and yellows and oranges. Lifting off the top, the air around me was immediately filled with the scent of Italian food - garlic, fresh pasta, rich cheese. It smelled wonderful.

"What's this?" I asked, glancing down at the pile of noodles and beef that fit snugly inside the dish.

"When I was a little girl," Monica said. "My mother taught me that the best way to repay someone, especially a man, is to prepare them a rich and enjoyable meal. One that will leave them fat and happy after they eat, a small piece of bliss in edible form so to speak,"

I took a fork from the desk and prodded the contents. Until the smell had hit my nose, I had no idea I was as hungry as I really was. Monica saw me poking it and checking it out.

"It's a lasagna," she said. "I love to cook for my husband and family and I had some left from last night's meal so I thought I would give it to you as a sign of appreciation,"

"You didn't have to do this Monica,"

"Nonsense. This isn't even doing enough! If your film is as good as I think it is, and I have a pretty good sense of these things, my life will become infinitely better in the next few years. A dish of leftovers is the least I can do,"

I dug the fork in deeper and lifted out a bite. Normally I wouldn't eat pasta like this cold, but the scent was overpowering. I had to try it now.

Putting it into my mouth, the cheese practically melted on my tongue, my taste buds overwhelmed with the strength of the food. An edible piece of bliss had been exactly right, I thought to myself as I chewed the pasta and swallowed it. Monica watched me, a slight sense of desired approval in her eyes.

"Monica, it's delicious," I said, setting the fork down to look at her again. The flavors still tingled in my mouth, making a few of my taste buds water in anticipation of more to come.

She picked up a fork and took a bite out for herself. Closing her eyes, she savored the pasta as it touched her tongue. Swallowing gracefully, her long neck moving ever so slightly as it went down, Monica opened her eyes again and watched me.

"I hear you are leaving the film," she said, a slight look of disappointment in her eyes. How could she know so quick? Did word really travel that fast?

"I'm thinking about it, yes. They don't need me around anyways, getting myself into trouble," I replied, now eating the lasagna eagerly.

"But I need you," she said softly, her eyes now locked on me.

I swallowed hard. "You do? What could you possibly need a writer like me for?"

Monica laughed. "To keep me saying the right lines silly! If I know you are on set then I can feel comfortable that the master, the author, is right there with me when I say his beautiful dialog,"

I blushed slightly at such a strong compliment. Praise such as that doesn't come very often from a beautiful woman like Monica Bellucci.

"Like I said, I'm still thinking about it," I replied, setting my fork down. Monica however, plunged hers back in and scooped out a sizeable bite. Holding it out in front of her face, she leaned it across the desk towards me, the fork extended directly in front of her. I could smell her perfume and freshly washed hair, even over the spices of the lasagna, as I dutifully opened my mouth for her as she slid the fork in. The feeling of the steel of the fork and the bursting flavor from the pasta, coming from Monica's hand, was strangely arousing. I had never been one of those people who saw the erotic qualities of food, but as I chewed the pasta I began to reconsider my stance on the subject.

Monica pulled the fork away from my mouth but kept the same leaning position across the desk, her breasts pressing into the surface of the desk through her shirt.

"If there is anything I could maybe do to make you stay," Monica said, trailing off, her sexy voice now fading from her lips in a sultry whisper.

"Monica, I... I mean, I want to stay and help out with the movie," I said, my eyes locked on hers as she leaned further across the desk, her lips now just an agonizing few inches from my own. I didn't get to finish the last phrase of my sentence however, as she quickly leaned in across from me and pressed her soft lips against my own.

If our first screen kiss had been just that, something for the cameras, something devoid of much real passion, this second kiss was the exact opposite. I felt a spark of energy course through my body, as if Monica had transferred her sexuality somehow from her lips onto my own body, the river of arousal racing through every nerve in my body.

Our lips stayed locked together for another moment before I pulled away, part of my mind wondering if the current of passion would create a spark of some sort when our lips parted. It didn't materialize of course, but that didn't keep the moment from still feeling incredibly intense and heated, Monica licking her lips together seductively as we hovered inches away from each other yet again.

Monica smiled at me and pushed the food away from her, a slight jingle of the silverware sliding across the desk as the only noise to be heard. She lifted herself onto all fours on top of the desk, throwing her hair back over her shoulder as she leaned down to kiss me again. I stood up from my chair but Monica rose as well, lifting her body as our lips stayed together, her tongue now moving into my mouth as it explored across my lips and teeth. I responded equally, tasting the sweetness of her mouth - a delicious mix of the spices from the pasta and something else, something sweeter such as fruit. Our breathing now filled the room as I wrapped my arm around Monica's waist, pulling her closer to me. My hand caressed down her back to her ass, squeezing first one cheek and then the other as my fingers felt the soft roughness of the denim beneath it's tips. My thumb grazed across a patch of exposed skin between her hips and the bottom of her shirt, the warmth and heat radiating off her body incredible beneath my touch.

The back of my mind screamed loudly at me to consider why she was doing this, what was going on and whether or not she was being sincere or had just been sent here to do her job. But as loudly as it yelled, my instincts had taken over. There would be time later to analyze things, but giving into the weakness of her flesh at this very moment was something that I was willing to do, no matter what the costs later down the road.

I could feel Monica's breath heavy on my cheek as she exhaled, getting more excited by my roaming hands as they caressed her body, a finger sliding into her jeans as I touched the thin fabric of what had to be a pair of thong underwear separating her body from her jeans. Monica's hands were wrapped tightly around my back, her nails running across my shoulders and arms, giving me a tingling sensation each time she touched a new area. The bulge in my pants was impossible to hide now, but Monica didn't seem to notice (or mind) as she leaned forward into me, her pelvis pressing tightly against my body.

She moved her mouth from my lips and began to kiss down my neck towards my chest. Reaching her arms down away from my back, she pulled at the ends of my shirt, lifting it up and out from my belt and, in one quick motion, over my head and onto the floor. The cold air of the room rushed over me, adding to the tingling excitement I already was feeling, my heart thudding loudly in my chest. Monica lowered her head down my chest once again, this time kissing and licking my nipples as her tongue slid smoothly down my abs. She unbuckled my belt and pushed my pants to the floor, where they landed with a soft thud. I stood there in just my boxers now, admiring this gorgeous creature in front of me. A lock of her hair had fallen over one of her eyes, adding to the sultry look on her face. Still on her knees, Monica scooted forward towards me and dipped her upper body down below the level of the desk, so that her head was just a few inches away from my crotch.

I gasped in excitement as I felt her hand slide into my boxers and pull out my rock hard cock, her hand delicate and soft against my throbbing manhood. Monica pulled my aching prick out of my boxers and held it firmly in her hand, wasting no time as she lowered her luscious lips down onto it, her tongue and a drop of hot saliva falling out as she engulfed the head. Her lips sliding down the length of my shaft, Monica was clearly an expert in the "oral arts". Her ass swayed on the desk as she bobbed her head up and down on me, sucking gently along each vein and ridge of my dick, a slight smear of her lipstick staining my flesh. I moved my hand back onto her ass as I bent over her, slipping one hand beneath her waist to grasp the fly of her jeans. I unbuttoned the loose clasp and then hooked the edges with my thumbs as I pulled them down off her ass, her round and firm buttocks exposed to me, causing even greater arousal on my part.

Monica moved a hand down to my shaft as she sucked on me, oblivious to the undressing I was doing to her. Her cheeks billowed in and out as she devoured my cock, the warm fluids of her mouth making the blowjob incredibly intense, the feel of her hot mouth like a sauna of sexual pleasure. I groped and squeezed her ass cheeks now, my fingers dancing lightly over the navy blue, transparent thong she wore, the thin fabric cutting deeply into her ass between her cheeks. I slid a finger down further on her ass, stretching my reach to the fullest, as I found her pussy, already slightly wet with arousal. I pushed the thong aside with a finger and then began to work the tip of my middle finger into her, feeling the softness of her womanhood beneath my touch. This just encouraged Monica as she groaned beneath me, sucking harder on my prick.

I lifted my hand from her snatch, my fingers wet with her juices and began to remove her shirt as best as possible (the position was admittedly a little awkward). Sliding the top over her smooth back and shoulders, it hung around her neck between her breasts, Monica not wanting to lift her mouth away long enough to remove the garment. Her bra was a black, lacy thing, straining against the size of her ample breasts, her tits swaying gently as she bobbed up and down, working her shoulders and neck completely. I felt my balls start to tingle as my orgasm grew near, but I didn't want to shoot my load into Monica's mouth - if I came, this might be the only time I ever got with Monica Bellucci and I wasn't going to be satisfied until I had sampled her undoubtedly wonderful pussy.