Secret Exhibitionist

Becca and Peter had barely become acquainted with their new apartment and three nights later they found themselves being served mimosas in leather recliner seats on an early flight to LA.

They had made no show of a toast or self-congratulations, opting to quietly down several glasses for courage. Life still felt unreal.

Trey escorted the two to a limo he’d arranged to wait for them outside the luggage pickup. Becca smiled politely at Trey’s tour guide antics as they passed the landmarks of westside hollywood. She knew Trey did it to fill the silence and take her mind off of the nerves of what she was about to do, but nothing could save her from the sick feeling in her stomach or distract her from her self questioning thoughts completely. Peter just stared out the window, bemused at all the obnoxious pedestrians and street performers.

Studio 6ixty-Nine had no gate or guard that Trey might be expected to wave an ID card at, and when Becca made a face, Trey explained that only mainstream movie studios had to worry about break-ins from desperate fans and wannabe actors. Becca had doubts that a studio holding attractive, nude porn stars would be posed no risk from creeps, but new comprehension dawned when Trey led the way through the dressing room and backstage crew offices of 6ixty-Nine.

The reality behind the slick productions that lonely people got off to was less than titillating. A bleary-eyed blond in a thong, patting thick concealer onto questionably large bruises on her butt, two flaccid dicked men, naked as the day they were born, smoking beside a pile of cameras, and a frustrated, short woman dragging a load of sheets soaked with some mysterious condensation that dribbled onto the floor after her.

Peter and Becca made side-eye at each other, telepathically thinking to run for the hills, millions be damned, but Trey’s hands came around their shoulders and a star-iconed door reading Goot Perner faced them.

“Goot is the producer I want you to meet and make nice with,” Trey said before knocking in a rhythmic way on the door. “He is the one who makes the magic happen.”

“I thought you said we were the magic behind the project’s success,” Becca accused, channeling her nerves into sass.

Trey didn’t get a chance to answer when a fatter, balder, older doppelganger of Brian de Palma flew out to greet them.

“Trey, baby, where the hell have you been? I can’t get a schlock into a rubber around here without you supervising these starlet types into shape for me.” His hooded eyes sized up and down over Becca and Peter. “Are these the ingenues you were telling me about?”

Trey chuckled hollowly and pushed Becca and Peter forward. “These two are the lightning in a bottle I was gushing about, yes. I’d like you to meet Becca and Peter. Becca and Peter, this is Groot Perner, the man, the myth, the legend.”

Peter extended a hand and Becca got out “Nice to meet y-” but Goot interrupted without so much as a smile. “You two look like you could be in the scouts. Let me see your tits and pecker!”

Peter got between Becca and Goot, head forward and face taut with intimidating anger. “Go fuck yourself. We’re here as talent, not dancing monkeys.”

Goot’s worm lips puckered like he was on the cusp of throwing up or going into a coughing fit, but instead he broke into peals of laughter and clapping. “You got spunk, kid, I’ll give you that! Come on in you two and let’s discuss the terms of your contract.”

**