Dynamic Hollywood Newcomer

"God, you remember that much. You were listening!"

"I have been told by professional colleagues I have a fine memory."

"Okay, here's a test. What is the heroine's name?"

"Um, Ginny Bond, a former street kid and washed-up ex-junior national surfing champion with breast cancer heading to LA to try to find an eccentric female surgeon who's had encouraging success with radioactive implant surgery on women with a similar type of invasive cancer that threatens Ginny's life. The trouble is the middle-aged surgeon is nowhere to be found and has a habit of going on solo surfing jaunts for weeks on end."

"Oh darling that's truly amazing."

"Well, reading a précis of your draft on your desk the other day left me with a vivid impression what your book was about."

Sandra stared very hard at Nick. "I shall be very kind to you and now shut my mouth except to say bad boy Nick."

Nick protested, "Where's your humor Sandra? You were completely sucked in and should be celebrating my achievement of crafty deception of the highest order."

"Christ!" shouted Nick as Sandra poured the jug of iced water over him and stomped off to the women's restroom.

They drove for almost three miles before Sandra's body began to shake and she burst out laughing.

"You are a poor loser Sandra and your failure to appreciate my little deception has left me rather disappointed in you."

Sandra laughed even louder and Nick floored the gas pedal for almost a mile before a wailing siren brought him to his senses.

"Christ, look what you've made me do," he said.

The cop came to the window, looked at Nick sternly and looked over at Sandra and blinked.

"Why hello ma'am, darling of the Hollywood Police Department. It's an honor to meet you. Has this guy being trying to frighten you? I clocked him at 138mph."

"No but he's a naughty boy isn't he officer? Is it a hanging offence?"

"No unfortunately."

"Were there other motorists in sight?"

"No fortunately. Look, I am aware where this is leading to but I'm afraid..."

Sandra smiled sweetly. "I hate to pull rank officer but during drinks with some police officers in Hollywood they declared me to be an honorary captain. I know they had no authority to do that and no documentation was produced and..."

"Just drunken talk ma'am?"

"Police even when off duty do not get drunk officer."

"Of course, I stand corrected."

"May I suggest some unofficial discipline is exercised here in recognition of my contribution to police PR?"

Five minutes later the couple were on there way again. Nick had not been cited but nor was he behind the wheel. He complained, "It is all very well you promising to drive us home in an exemplary fashion but to promise you will hold me to a six-weeks' driving ban is excessive and stupid. I need to drive, making several trips a day."

"Darling, under my terms stated and accepted by that officer you promised you'll not drive anywhere in California within the next six weeks. Well in thirty-six hours you leave for Europe for six weeks where you'll be chauffer driven. So what's the problem?"

"God I'm thick and blame the stress you had me under. Brilliant strategy thought-out in a flash darling. As I said earlier this morning, you never are boring. Devious yes, but never boring."

* * *

The first time Nick called her was in Bonn, Germany. Sandra couldn't believe she could have missed a person so much and she'd burst into tears when she heard Nick voice.

"I didn't realize I had missed you so deeply until I heard your voice," she sobbed.

Nick sighed and said, "Sandra, this is the third time in less than three minutes you have told me that. I get the point. May we move on?"

Sandra burst into tears and Nick became alarmed. "Oh God, have you been told you have cancer?"

The tears stopped and Sandra became indignant. "No of course not. Please don't think such a thing. Oh that's really shaken me. What a shit of a thing to say to me."

Nick scratched his crotch. He was in the hotel dining room and the waitress he'd slept with last night was walking across to the window to him carrying coffee, her hips swinging seductively and people in his party at the big table had turned around and were grinning at them. So much for secrecy in the liaison. Now his personnel would know what Nick had been talking about staying another day. Placing a hand over the phone he yelled to their minibus driver Karl, "The tour's back on schedule."

"Um, Sandra," he said as Olga the beauty from Odessa pushed herself against him after placing his coffee on the window seat and then brushing his fringe back possessively, "God, this tour is hard-going with people bumping into you and other people staring at you as if you were a double-headed ax-murderer, "now where was I?"

"You had just made an idiotic statement about cancer."

"Ah yes. I know, bad news from the book publisher."

"My book has been accepted to full assessment."

"It's your mom's health."

"They called yesterday and both are well. Nick, what is wrong? You sound exhausted and stressed. I suggest you find yourself a woman and fuck that stress away."

Feeling a huge weight lifting, Nick said, "Just a minute, I need to instruct our tour-organizer driver who's just entered the room. "Karl -- we are delaying leaving the hotel for four hours."

Olga, who spoke impeccable English, went running towards Nick pulling off her cap and apron, smiling hugely.

"Now where were we?" Nick asked.

"Attending to your need to relieve stress," Sandra said, sounding a whole lot better.

Nick felt the stress lifting already. "Listen darling, why don't you take your publisher's assessor out to lunch, talking to him about publishing generally and then steer the conversation towards talking about your tits and pussy. It never fails to work."

"It is a big publishing house and there are a team of eleven assessors, all women," Sandra sniffed coldly.

"Oh. Has it been raining -- I thought our gardens looked due for natural rain?

Sandra sighed as she put down the phone. As expected the hard-ass had not talked about her ultimatum over their possibility of marriage. A girl knew what to expect from a man, didn't she. God she was missing the skunk. This was unbelievable. Sandra loved her parents and brother and sister and Aunt Mae and Aunt Josh but she'd never felt like this. There was a huge gap in her life and her heart felt as if it were black, heavy and neglected. Thank Christ she'd lied about the assessors. The commissioning editor had actually introduced Sandra to the assessor who'd make the recommendation. Sandra made the call.

"Tony it's Sandra Clemow."

"Oh hi Sandra. I'm underway with your manuscript. It's looking good."

"Oh, that does wondrous for this neglected body of mine Tony. Look, I know this will be highly irregular but I wonder if I could take you to a long lunch in a private room in a sweet little hotel I've been told about. I have nothing in mind, as I rarely do when thinking about sex."

Tony didn't reply but Sandra could hear his heavy breathing. She knew he'd found it near impossible to take her eye off her tits when she'd met him the other day.

"I trust tomorrow at 1:00 would suit you? When leaving the office just say to your manager you are feeling a little unwell. Good managers are tolerant of anyone arriving back hugely late from lunch whom they know had complained of feeling unwell."

"W-with a devious mind like that you ought to be a writer," Tony joked. "Call back with the details and I'll be early."

Sandra thought about clipping her vulva, her heart was pumping and everything was splendid as she could see looking out the window it was raining. She even had a cheerful thought about the lonely righteous women of the civilized world who had to manage on the scraps of sex their husbands dished out because they dutifully did what their mothers had told them and refrained from having sex with other men. In contrast she'd always found a place in her adult life for the occasionally lusty man.

Lindy walked in howling and Sandra smiled. Poor girl, fearful she was pregnant. Well Sandra would stand by her.

"Oh darling."

"It's okay, I'm deliriously happy. I've been recruited as a fulltime rewrite editor for one of the companies contracted to the studio. I suspect my manager is gay but that's okay."

"Just make the decision that's right for you darling," Sandra counseled. "Sometimes a girl has to put her body on the line to advance her chosen career. I predict you have a successful career and a great sex life ahead of you."

They hugged and Sandra went off to call a travel agent. With Nick fucking his way around Europe and not interested in negotiating a marriage pact and now Lindy in permanent or at least employment as a script enhancement writer or whatever they were called, she was free to chose a new direction for her life. A visit home was her first priority.

CHAPTER 5

It was raining in New Zealand and rains somewhere in the small country every day, often over the entire country for two or three days in a row. Nick was not with her. Who was Nick? She emitted a dry sob and snarled, "Fuck Nick" knowing someone probably was. By now he'd have her replacement installed and she would have been given the tale about how no other female in Nick's total history of wanton seductions had been given assess to the Princess room let alone even viewed it.

Great story Sandra giggled. Yes even at her age she could easily manage a giggle. She'd incorporated the Princess room deception into her second novel. Sales of her first book were going well, especially at outlets at airports, bus and train stations. Mostly women bought books but the title of this paperback appeal to men apparently. Sandra's draft title 'Cancerous Ginny' had been brilliantly re-titled 'Ginny Gets Load Off Her Chest' and the lurid cover painting had done its job. Negotiations to film the story were continuing, but not going great, as her publisher put it. Sandra was paid a good advance to 'whack out a better and raunchier' sequel. She should keep in mind more than half the leading book reviewers were male and if the sequel took off the film of her first novel would almost certainly go ahead.

So after reuniting with her parents over four days, Sandra shifted into the wreck of a house right on the harbor's edge that was home for Aunt Mae and Aunt Josh (Jocelyn) who were, er, more than just her mom's spinster sisters. Sandra didn't mind and never had; they were delightful characters -- really weird. But the Clemow sisters loved her as the wacky child of the five Clemow families of their family line. They had taught Sandra how to be a real woman and not to accept the crap males handed out to women.

Sandra's room was in the loft above the boatshed that was surrounded by seawater on three sides at full tide on the Waitemata. A newspaper story arising from an interview on her arrival at the airport had revived the tale of Sandra dealing with two thugs on Rodeo Drive and she looked absolutely gorgeous in the huge photograph alongside the interview published in the 'New Zealand Herald' on a day real news lacked impact. Then Sandra just disappeared -- other media could find her and her parents telling journalists they weren't aware Sandra was back in the country added ice to the cold trail.

But old friends -- real friends -- knew where to find Sandra so she enjoyed a warm social life and occasionally an old male buddy, all married and some remarried now, would be invited to stay the night and some of their combined exploits found their way into Sandra's new novel with the working title, 'Raunchy Ali'. It was the story about a lively Englishwoman who started a hitchhiking journey across America timid about sex but ended up enjoying a life of debauchery in a mansion in Hollywood and being whipped nightly by her loveless benefactor who had many warm and loving pals who took a great likening to Ali.

The manuscript had gone off to the publisher and was accepted instantly. Initial feedback was great and then tapered right off. Sandra assumed is was too hot to publish and was being rewritten in breach of contract as she was required to be consulted and to do any and all rewriting herself. It was early summer in New Zealand so she caught a flight to Christchurch in the South Island and teamed up with an old mate and poet Chris, whose long-suffering wife was used to him disappearing on High Country rambles.

Sandra was away so long that when she returned to Christchurch her vulva hair was an inch and a half long. She was in a restaurant with some other friends unaware she was under surveillance.

Sandra arrived back at Auckland Airport three days later not expecting to be greeted but there was Nick, smiling and holding out his arms. She screamed and dashed into them, crying and murmuring obscenities that had had people around them scuttling clear.

Nick said should they go to the restaurant and have a meal while waiting for the TV crew but Sandra, not hearing him correctly, said no -- they should take a hotel room for a few hours. Nick licked his lips and said yes and made a call to someone called Alice and that rather irritated Sandra who waited Nick to her.

"Don't worry darling. She's not joining us. Alice is a TV producer. You'll meet her and her team soon. I'm to take you to a private TV studio to do a news clip and then a full person-to-person interview. Alice wants you there at make-up an hour before filming. Do you call those clothes? Sandra get you hand away from there -- this is a public airport."

"Aren't all airports public darling?"

Nick had to laugh. "God, you're like no other woman."

"Why am I wanted by TV people?"

"Your new book's gone big darling. The jerks are demanding it be banned so sales are soaring."

"Fuck the book darling. I want you. I'll return with you to live in that stuffy mansion while you spend all day and half the night away from me, sending me around the bend in boredom. But I've decided that's better than having cancer."

"What?"

"Relax darling, I don't have cancer. But before we return I want you to meet my two aunts -- to have dinner with them -- and then to sleep in the boatshed loft with me, the sound of tidal water lapping under us."

"You mean an motorized waterbed."

"No Nick. I want to introduce you to a world you weren't aware exists."

"That's fine by me. I have the time."

"But you don't. You are wedded to the corporation and..."

"Sold out baby, completely. I didn't own the mansion so my ex has repossessed it. But I want to remain in Hollywood."

Sandra began to weep. "So do I darling -- I feel I'm really alive when living in Hollywood because it is rotten, corrupt and men are crooks. Just the place for a novelist to acquire backgrounder material."

"So you'll marry me."

"Yes."

"Thanks."

"Don't make a big deal out of it Nick otherwise I'll feel compelled to go all girlie on you."

"Right. Let's get to a hotel room and fuck."

While in New Zealand Nick learned something about local culture. At parties the men liked to get a little loaded on alcohol and then think about nailing a woman, perhaps a couple, while the woman would be coming something of a purchover after being bored almost stupd talking to other women about fashion, babies, the weather and food recipes. Socially, the Kiwis seemed closely tied to parts of America where people were in tune with the basics of life.

* * *

Sandra stared at Alice in disbelief. "Two and a half million sales in thirty-nine days. That's impossible."

"With the right chemistry honey anything is possible. You have great boobs."

Sandra scolded, "Alice behave yourself and act professionally. Are we ready to film? I'm anxious to get back between the legs of my fiancé."

"Oh darling, you disappoint me. Come through with me and we'll get underway. I really must complain again. You look too elegant. I wanted you looking scruffy and lewd to fit the image people now have of you."

"Well, I read Joan Collins. I too wish to puzzle my readers and to have the brainier ones thinking I must have a split personality. I shall tell you on camera I come in dressed up from a soiree, strip off and with an XXX DV blasting away on the big screen write my little heart out."

"Oh God, I feel a national film award coming on."

Nick, looking extra handsome now his beard was growing, sat with Sandra fishing using hand lines from a 'tinnie' (8ft 6in aluminum rowboat) a few yards out off the boatshed.

"The fish are not biting. Shall we fuck?"

"Nick we are anchored in a main channel and sharks are under us. Do nothing to unduly rock the boat."

"God, I feel safer in America."

"You would. Our sharks tend to only eat you if you fall into their mouths."

Nick looked at Sandra who was smiling but without an underlying smirk so perhaps she was telling the truth.

He decided to change the subject. "Can we move into a hotel? The sexual conduct of your aunts disgusts me and I saw a rat in our loft this morning."

"My French perfume keeps rats away from me. Also they detest the smell of human sex so keep active on the job buddy and you'll be safe as houses. Oh incidentally, my aunts have had a quiet word with me. They want you to keep your screams down during sex as they find it disgusting and scary."

Nick looked for the underlying smirk but couldn't see it. He decided to change the subject.

"That doco screens on network tonight, and it's expected to make you a minor celebrity in America."

"Yeah, the guys will now really look at my tits, and the women, and brainless moralists will want my head."

"Does that bother you?"

"Nah, America is a dangerous place but also had good people. I can hire body guards if necessary."

"But you have me."

"Oh Nick, that's so manly of you. But I suspect if a hood even looks at you with menace you'll fall over in fright."

"Then I'll pay for a bodyguard."

Sandra hugged and kissed him and called Nick her hero. He appeared ready to burst in pride.

A few days later they went through LA airport only recognized by officials reading passports. Sandra was dressed like a female professor of entomology, in an ugly khaki suit, pith helmet and huge dark sunglasses. The paparazzi were immediately on to her, knowing it was a disguise, but they couldn't figure out who she was.

They stayed two nights in the mansion, as guest of Nick's ex who kept saying over and over again both of them were jerks so should marry. Her girlfriend kept repeating everything her lover said so when in the mansion Sandra and Nick spent most of their time in the Princess room or in the garden, which his ex believed was a place only fit to be inhabited by gardeners.

They went to dinner at The Beach on their first night and as the people shouted to Sandra and she waved he said proudly, "You are now really a star."

"Me?" Sandra scoffed. "It's more of the same as before?"

Nick got his mind around that one and said, "Listen to what your are being called."

Sandra listened and clasped her lover's arm harder for support. "Ohmigod." Almost everyone shouting was calling her 'Miss Sandra'."

"It's funny how sometimes you don't hear when you're listening," she whined.

Nick laughed.

They entered the same restaurant and the fat woman barked at Nick, "Get back buster and wait your turn." She then saw Sandra on his arm and said, "It's lovely having you back again Miss Sandra. Please follow me."

Sandra arrived for the book signing, her boobs and ass struggling to burst out of her white bikini. Clutching her huge white hat, she was turned back at the doors by two lines of security men and women.

"Get back to the end of the line you imposter," snarled beefy security guard stepping forward and raising his arm pugnaciously.

Sandra snarled. "Fuck off, I'm here by invitation." She stood her ground and took a glancing bow to the head that swept off her hat and sunglasses.