Connie smiled, blushing gracefully. Roger poured her a fresh glass of beer and continued. "Now – what I'd like to know is, where do we go from here? How do you feel about the films? Christ, I had two inquiries this morning, people wanting to know if you're available. One offer was for fifteen hundred, four days shooting, star billing. And when this one gets into release, the offers are bound to multiply. Maybe even some from Hollywood. But it's up to you, Connie."
"Oh, I know," she said, "and yet I don't know. Why do we have to worry about tomorrow all the time? Why can't you and I go home and make love, as if tonight were all that exists?"
"Tomorrow comes all the same," he pointed out, "and we have to make some kind of plans. What am I supposed, to tell the guy who called me this morning? Do you want to be in his film?" He smiled. "Fifteen hundred dollars is a lot of money for four days work."
Connie giggled.
"What I really wanted to talk about," he went on, "is this. A friend of mine turned up this kicky sex novel, about a middle-aged spinster back in the Thirties who gets tangled up with a couple of young hick bank robbers. They rape her and she starts liking it. I can get the rights cheaply – my friend knows the author – and it would be a dynamite role for you. The character is just made to order for you, Con, and we could turn it into a far-out film. If you're interested."
"Oh, I don't know," she said. "Sometimes I get the feeling that I'm turning into a disembodied cunt. I'd rather do it with you, in private."
"I know that, and I feel the same way. But you're magic when the camera is running. It's knockout subject matter and we could make enough cash to buy ourselves a place in the Berkshires, far from this scungy city…"
"Really?" she asked, her eyes brightening.
"Really," he said with a nod. "Settle down, maybe even start a new family."
"Oh," she said. "I've done a great job with the other one. Do you think I ought to try again?"
"Don't keep nagging at yourself. You're batting five hundred. Stacy loves you, no matter how that fuck-off son of yours feels. Have you heard anything more from him?"
She shook her head.
"Well, don't waste time thinking about him, Con. Because as soon as we finish this pizza we're going up to my place. You can look over that novel I was telling you about, and I hope it makes you good and hot because I intend to fuck your ass off this evening."
When they got to Roger's third-floor walk-up the door was unlocked.
"Maybe we should call the police," Connie suggested.
He shook his head and pushed the door open.
"Oh, hi," said the person sitting on the sofa, drink in hand. "I still had that key you gave me, so I just let myself in. That was okay, wasn't it, hon?" Wearing a sweater that looked as if it had been painted over her stiff-nippled tits, and a skirt so short that more of her was covered by her red panties, sat Denise Gayle, the actress whose hangover had catapulted Connie into the world of X-rated acting.
Roger squeezed Connie's hand and led her into the room. "How have you been?" he said reservedly. He and Denise had lived together at one time, Connie knew, and she wasn't jealous. Not really. But the idea of finding the lovely blonde actress here, this evening, when they had come home to fuck one another silly – she felt as if someone had intruded upon her life and she didn't like it at all.
"Oh, just fine," Denise smiled. "Been on the dinner theater circuit, you know. Long Island, Connecticut. It's a living, of sorts. Say, why I'm here this evening – I got back into town the other night, and someone told me you were getting ready to do a new movie. So I thought maybe you'd be interested in giving me another chance. I've really got my shit together this time. None of those bad scenes like I pulled last time. God, I'm so sorry about that!"
She was pure hustle, Connie could tell at a glance, but she was also beautiful. Denise looked much better than the last time Connie had seen her.
"You're just a little late," Roger said noncommittally. He gave the impression that he couldn't care less about Denise and her ambitions. "We wrapped it today. I couldn't have given you more than a walk-on anyway. It was Connie's film. She's come a long way since I talked her into subbing for you that day. More offers than she knows what to do with."
Denise was absolutely green as she eyed Connie, and it was crystal clear what she was thinking.
"You know, though," Roger said thoughtfully, "that book we were talking about, Con – the last half of it is a kidnap story. The outlaws grab a spoiled blonde rich-bitch type, hold her for ransom, screw her buns off, all that stuff. Can you see Denise as a spoiled blonde rich bitch?"
"Oh sure!" Denise chirped. "I could do that number. It's one of my specialties. You saw me on Police Station, didn't you? God, this could be perfect! Is it a big part?"
"Sort of," he conceded. "Third or fourth billing. Maybe thirty minutes of screen time. If you're good, you'll look good, and if you're bad you may never work again. But it might be rougher than you think. In the book the girl gets dildoed with a broom handle, fucks two guys at once, and there's a lot of lesbian action. Maybe…"
Denise grimaced involuntarily but her voice retained hope. "Oh, I think I can handle it. A broom handle?" She frowned.
"What do you think, Con? You'll have final approval anyway. Denise? Or is there someone you'd prefer?" He smiled. "Ellen Pascoe? She seems a natural for the part."
"Ellen Pascoe?" Denise shrilled. "She isn't even blonde! She'd have to wear a wig, and it wouldn't match when she took her panties off. I'm natural blonde, remember? And Ellen couldn't act her way out of a publics toilet if somebody gave her a dime." She looked at Connie, bright-eyed. "What do you think, Cathy – I mean, Connie." Denise blushed, but retrieved her composure with a beaming smile.
Denise didn't wait for an answer. She stood up, hauled her sweater over her head, and took a deep breath. Her large, well-separated breasts lifted excitingly, the nipples standing at proud attention. She turned, showing off her figure in profile, and it was a figure worth showing off. Connie's mouth was wetter than it should have been. She felt as if she were about to strangle on her own saliva. Getting better acquainted with Stacy had made her throbbingly appreciative of bodies like Denise's, and she wondered if Roger would mind awfully.
While she wrestled with her emotions she saw Denise fiddling with the button of her skirt. It dropped to the floor, and the girl stood there wearing only her bright red panties. But not for long. Denise pulled them to her knees and parted the narrow strip of fur Connie already remembered too well. "See," she said proudly.
"Natural blonde. You couldn't go wrong with me."
"I don't think I could," Connie said softly, taking two giant steps toward Denise.
Roger pointed to the bedroom door. "The casting couch is in there, Connie."
For all her boldness in displaying herself, Denise seemed stiff and withdrawn when Connie pulled her onto the bed and began to kiss her on the face. "I'm sorry," the blonde said. "I mean, I don't have any moral objections or anything, but I've just never done this before. With a girl, I mean." She held her breath tensely. "But I'm a quick study. I can do anything the script calls for. Really! And this means a lot to me." Impulsively she closed her eyes and puckered her lips.
Denise was nude, Connie fully dressed, but that wouldn't be the case for long. As they maintained the searing kiss Connie could feel Denise's hands going into action. Fingers stroked her back and shoulders, slid down her sides, past the hipbones, onto the smooth curved legs. Connie leaned closer, and reached low to cup the bare, hot cheeks of Denise's bottom. The girl moaned into Connie's mouth as the older woman's fingers slipped into the anal cleavage. Denise brought up one leg, folding it around Connie's waist, and she moved her bare cuntal area into contact with Connie's hard, muscular thigh.