Hooray for Hollywood
Linda lay on the floor, silenced by the intense pain from the bullet wound in her shoulder. Looking up she saw the hotel room and, more disturbing, she saw herself screaming hysterically.
No this isn’t the hotel, this is a movie set and that’s the actress playing her. Linda forced herself to hold onto reality. She tried to focus on what she heard. It was mostly the commotion on the set: “Get the set doctor!” “Security’s got the shooter!” “Who is she?” “What the fuck is going on?” “Is Linda dead?”
Okay, maybe trying to make sense of the commotion wasn’t the best idea.
Linda had recognized the shooter but at that point it was too late. The woman had already drawn the gun and began to fire. It was her old boss’s widow. She’d snuck onto the set as part of the lunch catering crew. How fucking fitting. This all began during lunch, why shouldn’t it end the same way?
No, no, no. Linda wouldn’t let herself think that way. The set doctor was already holding taking care of her. He’d patch up the wound, she’d go to the hospital and be back to normal in no time.
Linda thought about the string of events leading to this painfully unfortunate moment. She thought about the days following what happened in the hotel room. She told the cops and the media that it had been self defense. This was true. She just left out the part about the rendezvous being set up by her part-time prostitution gig and the plan she’d concocted to blackmail her boss. Instead, she made up a story about her boss trying to rape her. The press ate that shit up. They ran stories about it for weeks. And Linda milked it. She moved on from sleep with johns to sleeping with publishers and producers.
The book Linda wrote about her story became a best seller (well, the book the ghost writer wrote in her name). That lead to the movie deal and the really big bucks. She came to the set every day. Not that she had anything to offer; she didn’t know shit about movies. But she did know how to bang the director for producing credit on his next project. And the check that came with being a producer, of course. Hollywood seemed tailor made Linda’s particular skill set.
“…the ambulance is here. The bleeding has stopped. You’re going to be all right. Linda realized the set doctor had been talking to her.
Linda forced a smile. She was already thinking about what a great sequel this was going to make.
The End.
Part 1: Like a Woman Who is Only a Prostitute During Her Lunch Hour
Part 2: Afternoon Delight
