As the all-American farmer, Matt wore a flannel checkered shirt, hob-nailed boots, and a determined expression. The ewe was inscrutable. Alec was being persuasive, and failing.
“I don't screw no sheep,” Matt insisted. “I'll show her my dick, but that's as far as I go.”
“No one's asking you to screw her. Just uh, penetrate for one quick close-up.”
“Penetrate means go inta the slot, don't it? I don't hump no animal. Not for you or anybody.”
“Of course; not for me.” Alec's tone remained unctuous despite; provocation. “Not for me. For your art. For moviegoers everywhere.”
That clinched it. Matt shook his head stubbornly. “I don't fuck sheep, not while; my mother's got her eyesight. Knock on wood. She goes to the movies every Saturelay, regular.”
“Drop the perversiems. Drop the subject. Drop your p-I mean, put your pants on, Matt. We have company.”
Saved from a fate that probably isn't considered too bad in sheepish society, the ewe was led away by our producer. Only the-n I saw the little boy lurking nearby in the shadow of the hedges. He was the son of a neighboring farmer, no doubt the owner of the woolly, four-legged Thespian. A young gentleman with excellent manners.
“Excuse me, sir,” he tugged at Alec's sleeve. “Did you want Matt to fuck Gertrude?”
Beset by a multitude of problems, Alec snapped, “I thought you said heir name was Jeannie.”
Undaunted, the little shaver staled, “Her name is Gertrude. My sheep, that is. Gertie never objects if you thump her.”
Alec's brow cleared.
He bent down to assure; the farmboy, “We're all friends here, you can speak frankly. Tell me the truth now, did you ever put your prick into Gertrude?”
The little boy grinned at the silly question. So Alec came up with another. “Tell me, sonny, do you get an allowance?”
Before the young rustic could answer and make a goddamned fool out of the laws of nature, I hustled Matt off to the cabin.
“Jeannie's only a kid, Matt. We can't push her in front of a camera and expect her to rut. Spend a little time with her, prepare her. Go easy. If you get her to cooperate, we'll all be in that penthouse.”
“Yeah? What about her stepfather, the Chief?”
“Didn't you hear? He dropped dead yesterday. Right in the police station.” I lied fluently, inventing details and symptoms. “Don't mention it to Jeannie, the poor girl's heartsick. Maybe; you can cheer her up.”
“Okay, Doug. Where're you goin'?”
“See you later. I just wanna meditate.”
Meditate. Commune with forces greater than mankind. Gather sunbeams. Wander through the sun-dappled meadows. Watch that kid hump the sheep.
Too late. When I returned to the filming site, Gertrude was emitting a “Ba-aa” of inexpressible weariness. The little boy also seemed somewhat exhausted. He raised his drawers with a listless gesture. I was shocked by this evidence of deterioration. The lad lacked stamina. Why, when I was eleven…
“How many times did you come?” I asked.
“Only once.” The boy hung his head. “Gertrude really doesn't send me.”
Alec counted out two dollars in quarters. “Who or what does send you, sonny?”
“Bright Eyes.”
“What's that, a racehorse; or a nanny goat?”
“Bright Eyes is a ram,” the boy murmured, with dignity. “I can do it to Bright Eyes four lime's without stopping.”
“Fuckin' queer!” Alec handed over the quarters. “These are for you and your girl friend. And you forget what you did her today, or this movie'll play in your school auditorium the next time you have; assembly. Beat it!”
The mismated pair vanished down the hill. Alice gave me; the camera to hold while he rubbed his hands together, exultant. “We're doing all right, son. For two dollars I have a real classy curtain-raiser. Now for the main bout.”
We walked toward the shack. A little doubtfully, Alec asked, “This Jeannie — you're sure she knows what she's doing?”
“She knows what she's doing.”
“Well, if she's all you say she is, maybe I'll give her a private audition.”
“A far-out audition?”
“Not too far-out,” Alec said, in a tone meaning “Very!” What was I letting the kid in for?
“I thought you didn't bother your actresses, Alec.”
“It's no bother. No, honest, usually I don't screw around with the personnel. But for fresh fourteen-year-old I might break the rule. Nothing nasty. I'll just strip her naked, let her lick my asshole, bang her a few times.”
The roaring I heard in my ears was my conscience. I ignored it. Matt reacted differently.
My buddy and Jeannie were seated at the kitchen table. Debauching each other like crazy. Drinking milk. I presented her formally to the producer. Alec hid his enthusiasm under a bushel of phrases beginning with “So you're the young lady Mr. Trent was telling me about.” And ending with “If the gents will kindly clear out, I want to have a little talk with you.”
Matt and I waited outside.
“Well, did you prepare her?”
“We didn't talk much. We just-”
“Matt! Don't tell me you fucked her already!”
Matt wasn't amused. He stared at me grimly. “Don't talk like that about Jeannie. She's the sweetest girl I ever-Aw, you wouldn't understand. Anyway, I was starting to say, we just drank our milk. She's so fresh an' pretty. Sorta plain but pretty. Like Fran-only Jeannie's the real stuff. I wanna protect her an' love her an' love her up. I can't explain.”
Matt abandoned the attempt. Growling impatiently, lie demanded, “What the fuck is Fatso doin' with her in there?”
“Nothing far-out. He's stripping her naked. Letting her lick his-”
Matt didn't stay to hear the rest of the catalogue and never did find out if Alec preferred fore or aft oral attention. With a groan that sounded like Gertrude at her most berserk, he stormed into the cabin. Jeannie emerged immediately, obviously intacta. Matt followed, the strong and silent protector. Then Alec stumbled out, intacto, but shaking like a leaf.
The fat man whispered, “Look, Doug, I'll work the camera. You'd better attend to the directing. It's your scenario.” Translation: Matt had him properly buffaloed.
“Okay,” I gave my initial direction, “well start shooting in front of those bushes.” Jeannie and I led the way. “How do you like Matt?” I asked her.
“Very much. He seems kinda gruff. But I think, underneath, he's shy and very sweet.”
Shy and very sweet? Matt? What did he spike that milk with?
Cast and cameraman took their places in front of the bushes. Now what? Directing is easy-until you're in front of the bushes, directing. I cleared my throat and stood tongue-tied. Alec took over, competent, and careful not to look at his male star.
“Jeannie, you're a farm girl, out picking blackberries-”
Blackberries! That's how it all started. With a farm girl out picking blackberries. “Can't it be something else, like uh-lingonberries?”
Alec looked hurt. “I don't care if she's picking grapefruits, as long as we got her placed at the bushes. All right, Jeannie, you're picking them. Along comes the hobo. That's you, Doug.”
Hot under the collar, I nodded.
“Good. The hobo tries to molest you, so you run away and bump into the farmer. Mr. Matt. He protects you. Got it?”
For Backyard Balling, it didn't sound like much, but we got it. Alec started filming. Jeannie plucked imaginary berries from a bush, dropping them into a bucket Alec had picked up on his way across the field.
“Hobo!” I snapped to attention. “Creep up toward her. You don't see her clearly, that branch shields her. But you sense someone is there and you're beginning to get excited. Take it out, start watering the grass.”