Barry muttered under his breath, wondering what the director’s last servant died of, but helped Pete to stand Arnold upright.
The director was now satisfied.
“That’s better.”
Arnold echoed his sentiments, pleased to have something different to look at.
Much better.
The makeshift studio was bustling with activity (if it’s possible for seven people to bustle). Pete and Barry doubled as stagehands and prop-men, although they would both have done the jobs for nothing – they’d seen all Chantelle’s movies and watching her perform live was reward in itself. She was a hot property in the field of adult movies, willing to do almost anything to please her loyal fans.
Monsieur Pierre gave the set one last look and nodded his approval.
“Ok. Let’s get this scene in the can.”
He nodded at the cameraman.
“Lights. Sound. Stop.”
He composed himself.
“Lights. Sound. Stop.”
His film crew was used to his quirks but Chantelle wasn’t. She threw an anxious look at Pete and shrugged her shoulders.
Pete silently mouthed three letters at her.
“O. C. D.”
She mouthed a response.
“Obsessive-compulsive?”
Pete nodded.
Two more attempts were made to get the camera rolling. Monsieur Pierre took a deep breath and whispered to himself.
“One two three, One two three, One two three, Let’s go…”
This time he felt he was ready.
“Lights. Sound –”
The director didn’t get a chance to falter again as Barry saved the day, shouting the final word.
“Action.”
The camera started rolling, and the boom mike swayed above Chantelle’s head. She looked directly into the camera lens.
“Oh, woe is me. I’m a forgotten woman down here in the mortuary.”
Arnold didn’t hold out much hope for the film’s success if that was the quality of scriptwriting. But, then again, nobody watched porn movies for their gripping dialogue and intriguing storylines. It probably wouldn’t matter.
Chantelle continued to over-act, milking every last drop of drama from a scene that contained none.
“Every day. Here, all alone. On my own.”
She walked over and stood in front of Arnold, looking at him wistfully.
“All I have for company are my guests. And they never stay very long.”
Arnold wished he could turn his head. Not because Chantelle wasn’t attractive but because he wondered where the other actor was. There had to be someone else in this scene, surely.
Chantelle ploughed on regardless with her cheesy soliloquy. She took a step closer to Arnold, who was starting to get worried.
What are you doing? Surely your co-star will arrive in a minute?
The actress took another step towards Arnold.
Now, that’s close enough. We don’t want anyone thinking the wrong thing now, do we?
Chantelle pouted at Arnold.
“Will you keep me company, Chuck?”
Chuck? Who’s Chuck?
Arnold felt he should put a stop to this, now.
Look, Chantelle or whatever your name is. The fact is, I’m a happily married man. A very happily married man. I’m sure you’re a charming young woman, but I’m taken. And my name’s Arnold. Not Chuck.
Chantelle let her lab coat fall to the floor, revealing a black lace bra and panties set. She hurled her spectacles across the set.
“You know you want me, Chuck.”
Arnold tried unsuccessfully to shake his head. Unable to do anything else, he looked at the woman in front of him, as her bra fought to contain her more than ample breasts.
Look, miss. You – oh my word!
Chantelle’s hands had reached behind her and unclasped her bra, allowing her breasts to tumble free.
Arnold tried to look away.
But he couldn’t.
He tried to close his eyes.
But he couldn’t.
Chantelle continued to walk towards him until she was within touching distance. She pressed her naked breasts against his chest and Arnold was grateful for the hospital gown he was still wearing.
That’s close enough now. You can stop now.
He wished that Gillian could have been there to take him away from this abomination, this assault on his dignity.
Chantelle swayed in a fashion that she thought was very sexy and alluring, before lifting Arnold’s hospital gown up past his thighs.
No, no, NO! That’s not how a young lady should behave.
Chantelle’s right hand reached forward and grasped his genitalia.
Arnold wasn’t sure whose scream was louder, Chantelle’s or his.
The film crew knew. They couldn’t hear Arnold’s scream but Chantelle’s was almost loud enough to shatter glass.
She spun around on her six-inch heels and glared at Monsieur Pierre.
“You bastard! You let me think Chuck was a prop. But his junk certainly didn’t feel like it was made out of synthetic rubber. What kind of sick bastard are you?”
She’d been tricked. Arnold watched as she drew her right arm back. That didn’t look good for the director. He was correct. It was very bad for the director. One moment Monsieur Pierre was looking into the face of a very irate actress, and the next he was lying on the floor, unconscious. He’d certainly think twice about hiring a female ex-boxer again. Chantelle’s punch had landed square on his jaw and given him no chance to take evasive action.
The actress picked up her lab coat and glasses from where they lay, put them on, and stormed out of the building, stopping only to give the director a swift kick in the groin as she passed him.
A few seconds later, Monsieur Pierre came to. He looked around, trying to focus his eyes. Feeling his jaw he looked at his cameraman.
“Cut.”
4
The transit van was parked in a woodland clearing. Sitting in the passenger seat, Barry was nervous.
“We’re not burying him here, are we?”
Pete unbuckled his safety belt and shook his head.
“You know, sometimes I worry about you. No. Of course we’re not burying him here. It’s too much out in the open. We’ll bury him deeper into the woods.”
Arnold, having been thrown around in the back of the van again, strained his ears to hear what they were saying. It didn’t sound promising.
Pete was obviously in charge, barking orders at Barry.
“Right, fetch the shovel and the large plastic sheet from out of the back. Find a nice spot to dig a grave and then come back here.”
“Why come back here?”
“Why do you think? ‘Cos if you don’t, I won’t know where we’re gonna dig the bloody hole, will I?”
“So why don’t you come with me?”
Pete was exasperated.
“Someone’s got to look after Chuck here.”
Barry seemed satisfied with that answer.
Five minutes later, he arrived back at the van.
“I’ve found somewhere, Pete.”
“Good. Now give me a hand to carry Chuck to his final resting place.”
Barry’s choice of burial ground was surprisingly good. It was inside a tangle of trees that, to the casual observer, looked impenetrable. However, Barry had found a way inside and there was easily sufficient space to dig a grave away from prying eyes.
A couple of thorns scratched Arnold’s face as he was passed into the burial area, but they didn’t do much damage.
Pete looked at his partner.
“Well?”
Barry looked back at Pete.
“Well, what?”
“The hole won’t dig itself, will it?”
Barry should have expected this. It had been like this since he and Pete had lived next door to each other as children. Pete had always been bigger than Barry and had taken full advantage of the fact. Barry had done Pete’s homework. Barry had done Pete’s paper round. And now Barry was going to dig a hole for Pete.