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

Tags: Afternoon Delight, Amber, Hooray for Hollywood, Like a Woman Who is Only a Prostitute During Her Lunch Hour, Mayday

Afternoon Delight

Her boss sat on the posh seat facing the bed. His face had gone paler than Michael Jackson’s as he tried drinking from the glass of scotch in his trembling hand.

Linda lay comfortably on the bed wearing nothing but underwear and her stiletto heels. She slowly sipped her red wine and licked her lips, seductively. Usually she flaunted her sex for tips, not intimidation; turns out she liked how both made her feel.

“This is the first time I’ve ever done this,” he said, his voice cracking as he spoke. “I am faithful to my wife and my morals.”

Linda laughed, deeply. “Spare me.”

“What do you want to do?” he asked, fear crossing his already downtrodden face.

Linda took a moment, pretending to think. She already knew what she was going to ask for. The pause was purely to increase the tension in the room. After a few years of prostituting, she knew how to keep men emotionally unbalance (it’s not that hard).

“I’m not too greedy. You keep paying me my full salary with full benefits, only I never actually have to go to work.”

“How am I supposed to that?” he asked incredulously. “We have all sorts of audits, lawyers and government paperwork to deal with?”

“I’m sure you can figure something out. Or you can figure out what to tell your wife and the gossip columnist when they hear you take delight in afternoon rendezvous with hookers.” Linda broke her controlled demeanor for just a moment as she dropped that last zinger, flashing a self-satisfied, shit-eating grin.

What happened next, Linda only remembered as a blur. Her madam always warned her that this line of work could get violent. Linda assumed that was an exaggeration. After all, high-end clientele like hers had too much at stake to get into violent altercations with hookers, right?

Not really.

Linda found herself unable to breath, as her boss pinned her to the bed and wrapped his hands around her throat. She pounded her fists again his chest, to no avail. In desperation or a moment of quick thinking — take your pick — she managed to dig her heels deep into his crotch. He howled in pain and momentarily released his grip. Linda used all her strength to heave him off of her.

As he flew off of Linda and crash to the floor, his neck slammed into the corner of the nightstand with the full force of his momentum.

Linda rolled off the bed and prepared herself for another attack. Only then did she realize there wasn’t going to be one. As she leaned over to look at his still body, the horribly twisted angle of his head killed any illusions she had of him being merely unconscious.

“Well, shit,” she thought to herself.

To be concluded.
Read Part 1: Like a Woman Who is Only a Prostitute During Her Lunch Hour
Part 3: Hooray for Hollywood

Tags: Afternoon Delight, Amber, Hooray for Hollywood, Like a Woman Who is Only a Prostitute During Her Lunch Hour, Mayday

Like a Woman Who is Only a Prostitute During Her Lunch Hour

Dedicated to Mayday & Amber, who came up with the title/concept in the first place.

Linda spent most of her lunch hours having sex for money. She liked to have sex and she liked extra income, so it was a win-win scenario. Even better: she was beautiful, really good in bed and already had a nice paying corporate job, so she was in a position to pick and choose her clients.

Certainly, she understood it was insulting that she happily did something other women would only do out of desperation. But whatever.

That particular morning her phone buzzed with a message from her “madam” (pimp). A new client (trick) was looking for a quicky in a local hotel – one of the good ones, too, with the kind of high thread count sheets Linda loved wrapping her naked body in. Linda checked her calendar and emailed her pimp back, saying she was available but, as usual, wanted to see a picture of the potential trick first.

The picture came through shortly thereafter. She recognized the trick. It was her boss. That is to say the very rich, very married corporate executive who made a name for himself in social circles by supporting extremely conservative candidates via very large donations.

“Holy shit, I just hit the jackpot,” Linda realized. Barely containing her excitement, she wrote back to her pimp, accepting the trick. Once you’ve gone down the road of prostituting for fun and profit during your lunch hour, blackmailing your boss doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.

To be continued.
Part 2: Afternoon Delight
Part 3: Hooray for Hollywood

Tags: Afternoon Delight, Amber, Hooray for Hollywood, Like a Woman Who is Only a Prostitute During Her Lunch Hour, Mayday