Lola Licett - Queen of Porn:

Shirley took a deep breath and tapped on the door of Gladys's office. She hoped no one was in, but an answering bellow told her otherwise. Shirley went in and quietly closed the door behind her.

In size and layout, this office was a mirror image of Devlin's, with one wall of windows looking out of the building. But instead of sexy posters were charts and graphs and, where Devlin had a huge couch, there were filing cabinets and blueprint storage cupboards. A large potted cactus stood in one corner, but apart from that the room was as sterile as a corridor. The only sign of life was the immense woman in a cut navy suit who sat behind the large flatscreen. She reminded Shirley of the witch Ursula in 'The Little Mermaid'—big and malevolent, but with the veneer of civilisation. She smiled at Shirley, inviting her to take a seat. Shirley sat down in the chair as though expecting it to be electrified.

'As you are no doubt aware, everyone who works at Shooting Star Studios must have regular medical checks,' said Gladys. Her voice was casual, but she watched the girl's face closely.

'Yes, I know,' said Shirley.

'You have to be free of any S.T.D.'

'S.T.D.?'

'Sexually Transmitted Disease.'

'Oh yes, of course.' Shirley shrugged. 'Well, I certainly am!'

'Can you prove that?'

'Of course! I had my check-up and I'm clean. You've got my medical file, right?'

Gladys shook her head slowly. Shirley stared at her, frowning.

'Where is it?' said Shirley.

'That's what I wanted to ask you,' said Gladys.

Shirley blinked. Then she looked at the carpet, her eyes moving to and fro as she pieced information together. Gladys felt relieved that at least some of this girl's brain was being used for actual thinking.

'That fucking bitch,' said Shirley suddenly.

'I beg your pardon?' said Gladys.

'Not you. Dolores.'

'Dolores?'

Shirley leaned forward.

'Listen, a few days ago I had to get a medical file from Dolores,' she said.

'What for?'

'Lola was refusing to do the film with Roger Ramrod until she'd seen his file.'

Gladys sat back in her chair. Whenever there was a problem, Lola Lickett always seemed to be in the middle of it.

'Go on,' said Gladys.

'Well, I went to get the file from Dolores, but she refused to give it to me. Luckily, Devlin came out of his office and made her give it to me.'

'By "Devlin" you mean Mr. Carter, the owner of this studio?'

'Yes, of course.'

'Okay, I get the picture. What happened next?'

'Well, Dolores brought the file and gave it to me.'

'Roger's file?'

'Yes, but she had a great big pile of them. I reckon she took my file out of there to get back at me.'

'Why would she do that?'

'Because she hates me!'

'Why?'

'Because I'm young and pretty and she's big and faaaa—'

Shirley's voice tailed off into silence. Face pale, she stared at the huge woman across the desk while images of being dragged to the bottom of the sea by giant tentacles ran amok in her brain. Gladys had hard black eyes in a pink, doughy face and her mouth crooked into a thin smile.

'Do go on,' she said.

Dolores was typing an email when the desk phone buzzed. The orange light from the reception desk was flashing. She picked up.

'What is it, Richie?' she said.

'Some people are here to see you.'

His voice sounded panicked and Dolores could hear arguing in the background—the voices of Phyllis and Lola. Lola was ranting, clearly in the mood to make a scene. Dolores glanced at the blue door to Devlin's office.

'I'll be right down,' she said and put the phone down.

There was quite a delegation waiting for her as she descended the staircase. Lola was there, waving her hands as she shouted in Phyllis's face. So was film director Cyrus Bender and his camera crew of five. Looking miserable was also Roger Ramrod, his hands deep in the pockets of his bathrobe looking as though he had been forced to come along. Richie watched from behind the high reception desk like a chicken trapped in a kitchen as he watched the cooks arguing over the menu. Lola saw Dolores coming down the stairs and pointed dramatically.

'You!' she cried.

Dolores decided to stonewall. She walked up to the group and addressed Phyllis.

'Is there a problem, Phyllis?' she said.

'Hey! You talk to me!' said Lola.

'In a moment.'

'Now!'

'If you don't get that temper under control, I shall be forced to call security.'

'Go ahead! See if I—'

'Lola!' interrupted Cyrus sharply. 'That's not why we're here!'

He had taken off his blue lens glasses and something about his look made Lola pause. She frowned, she pouted, but she held her tongue.

'Thank you, Mr. Bender,' said Dolores. 'Glad to see you have your women under control.'

Lola opened her mouth, but Cyrus got in first.

'Don't do that, Dolores,' he said. 'Don't try to be Gladys.'

Dolores glowered, eyes wide and angry. She wanted to throttle this ridiculous little man with his ridiculous goatee beard and beret. Lola folded her arms and grinned. Phyllis stepped forwards, putting a hand on Dolores's arm.

'What do you want?' said Phyllis.

'We want to know what Dolores said to Roger,' said Cyrus.

Phyllis frowned and looked at Dolores.

'Gladys mentioned that Roger may have seen the missing file,' said Dolores. 'I just went to ask him.'

'She also strongly implied that someone had the AIDS virus,' said Cyrus.

'I said no such thing.'

Cyrus turned to Roger.

'Uh-oh,' muttered Roger.

'Roger, what did Dolores say to you?' asked Cyrus.

'She told me I didn't have the AIDS virus,' he said.

'And what else?'

'That I didn't have a vulnerable disease.'

'And what else?'

'That venereal is not vulnerable?'

Dolores and Phyllis exchanged a glance. The camera crew were rubbing their faces and Lola was muttering, 'I kill him, I kill him,' under her breath. Cyrus had gone red in the face and had to force himself to stay calm.

'Yes, Roger,' he said. 'And what else?'

'Some witness,' said Phyllis.

'Yeah, very reliable,' said Dolores.

'All right, you tell us!' said Cyrus. 'You tell us what you said!'

'I asked him if he had seen Shirley Goober's missing medical file.'

'Shirley Goober?' said Cyrus. 'Our fluff girl?'

'Yes.'

'Shirley's got the AIDS virus?' asked the cameraman.

'It would be irresponsible to say that,' said Dolores. 'But seeing as the documents proving she's clean are not to be found, it is a concern, isn't it? However, by the time I got to the studio, it was a little late to warn you, wasn't it?'

All the men looked at one another. Cyrus seemed to need to sit down, but not finding a chair he leaned against the reception counter.

'Goodness, what's up with them?' said Phyllis.

'Miss Goober is a very generous girl,' said Dolores. 'The sort of girl who shares whatever she's got. Isn't that right, boys?'

The men were all pale. Cyrus had to lick his lips a couple of times before he could speak.

'Where is she?' he said in hoarse voice.

'Upstairs with Gladys,' said Dolores. 'Who is trying to establish the health status of Miss Goober. As soon as we know something, we'll let you know.'

It was a dismissal. Cyrus looked at the other men and saw the same thought in their expressions.

'We'd prefer to wait here,' said Cyrus.

'Have you finished today's filming?' said Phyllis.

'You are joking?'

'Not at all. Both your actors are healthy enough.'

'That's true actually,' said Roger.

'Shut up,' said Cyrus.

He frowned, as if nagged by some thought, and suddenly realised that there had been no shouting and arguing for nearly a minute. He looked at the two fat ladies, the skinny drink of water behind reception and then around the whole lobby.

'Where's Lola?' he said.

Lola Lickett was no one's idea of somebody who could slip away unnoticed. In fact, she had learned to make quick getaways long before mastering the art of attention seeking. There had been occasions when slipping off her shoes and quietly disappearing had been a necessary—and on one occasion life-saving—skill. But we won't go into that right now. At present, Lola was running along the corridor that led to the back staircase near the fire exit. She pushed open the heavy door to the stairwell and headed up, both shoes in one hand.

'Are you sure about this?' she said to herself in Spanish. She pulled a face. 'H'okay, okay, I trust you!'

She reached the fire door on the first floor, put her shoes back on and fluffed her hair. The strength of her perfume made it easy to sneak away because the scent hung in the air and people didn't register that she had gone, but trying to disguise her entrance was another matter. Better to be bold.

Shirley was cowering in the heat of Gladys's stare when the door banged open and Lola walked in, magnificent in her silk underwear and flowing dragon robe. She stood before the desk, legs apart, hands on hips, and looked down at the cumbersome woman in the navy suit.

'Dolores Burrito is a fucking liar,' declared Lola.

Gladys shifted in her seat, looking like a walrus caught in a Japanese rock pool. She was trying not to be impressed by Lola and it was proving to be difficult. She cultivated some outrage.

'How dare you, Lola!' said Gladys. 'Barging in here, making unfounded accusations!'

'It is Dolores making the unfounded accusations, saying this girl have AIDS virus.'

'What?' cried Shirley. She leapt to her feet, so angry she forgot to cower. 'Is that true?' she demanded of Gladys. 'Is that what she's saying?'

'Sit down!' said Gladys.

'No, you stand up!' said Shirley. 'If you can.'

'How dare you—' began Gladys, but Shirley had already turned to Lola, shaking her blond hair away from her face.

'Where is she?' said Shirley. 'Where is that poisonous heffalump?'

'Come with me,' said Lola and she turned to walk out.

'I haven't finished with you, Goober!' shouted Gladys as they left. 'You come back here!'

Shirley walked the corridor next to Lola. The shouts of Gladys rang in her ears, but Lola made defiance feel possible, survivable, almost fun. It felt good to walk next to this arrogant, gorgeous, impossible Woman, to feel the illusion of equality to her even if only for a moment. Shirley realised that all her hatred for Lola was actually admiration twisted inside-out. She wanted the corridor to last forever.

Then they came to the stairs and Shirley could hear Dolores's voice from below. Shirley's body wanted to wait at the top of the stairs until she'd figured out a plan, but Lola was already heading down and Shirley kept pace, her stomach churning, her legs threatening to give way, moving forward by sheer will power. Shirley saw the gathering near the reception desk. Dolores was turning to look up and Shirley asked herself: 'What would Lola do now?'

'Hey, Fatso!' cried Shirley. 'I want a word with you!'

Dolores's face went purple and her hands closed into fists. The almost identically fat Phyllis gasped and stared, her mouth dropping open like the tailgate of a pickup as the girl came down.

'You'll regret that, you little tramp,' hissed Dolores.

'Not as much as you'll regret spreading rumours about me,' said Shirley.

'I don't know what you're talking about.'

'That's not what Gladys said.'

Dolores blanched.

'Now that's a guilty reaction if ever I saw one,' said Shirley.

'You wish!' said Dolores, a little too quickly.

'No, don't buy it,' said Shirley. 'Try again.'

'You stupid little slut. Do you think you can intimidate me?'

'I think Gladys intimidates you plenty. And now that she's on my side—'

'Gladys is not on your side!' Dolores was purple with fury. 'She was the one who thought you had HIV!'

'Only because that's what you told her!'

'No!'

'Then how else?'

'Because your file was missing!'

'Stolen, you mean!'

'Stolen, lost—who gives a shit?'

'You should have put it back!'

'I did put it back, you stupid little...'

Dolores stopped, her voice trailing to nothing. There was silence. Dolores swallowed and looked around. Everyone was staring at her—even Phyllis, even that skinny runt, Richie—all wearing an expression of appalled realisation. Well, except for Roger. He wouldn't know a slip of the tongue if it went up his asshole.

'So you did take Shirley's file,' said Cyrus, his voice a croak.

'I didn't say that,' said Dolores. 'I said I'd put it back.'

'But to put it back, it has to be taken out in the first place. Right?'

Dolores opened her mouth to deny it. No words came out. There is a line beyond which no-one believes what a person says and she had crossed it. She knew it and they knew it.

'Dolores,' said a voice from the direction of the stairs. 'Can I have a word?'

It was Gladys. She was halfway down, her hand on a banister, waiting. How long had she been there? Too long, by the expression on her face—her eyes were like two granite stones in a mound of pink snow.

'In my office. Now.'

Dolores walked towards the stairs, her whole body sagging—and that was a lot of sag. Her shoes squeaked in the stillness of the lobby as she walked. Gladys turned and Dolores followed her up the stairs. Phyllis went after them, not wanting to be left alone amongst the pack. Shirley, Lola and the others watched them go. Cyrus went up to Shirley and moved to put a reassuring hand upon her shoulder, but at the last second she moved out of his reach without a glance in his direction. He hesitated, unsure if her move was deliberate or just bad timing. Still, he did not try it a second time.

Safe in his office, Devlin Carter sat before his flatscreen, headphones covering his ears. The concealed microphones in the lobby were still switched on, but no-one was saying anything. The view from the security cameras showed them standing there motionless as the Three Not-So-Merry Wenches went up the stairs and out of shot. Then, one by one, they all went away until only Richie was left sitting behind his desk.

Devlin sighed and took off his headphones. He looked at the file on his desk—the file that said 'Shirley Goober' on the front. A few days earlier, he had seen Dolores take a file to the studio, her body language signalling Up To No Good in a hundred different ways. Devlin could access all the security cameras on the property, so he followed her as she went to the café from the comfort of his deluxe leather swivel chair and watched her pretend to sneeze, dropping the file onto a chair. Shaking his head at the ineptitude of her acting, Devlin made a call to Tolstoy-loving Dave of security and told him to retrieve the file. He laughed when Dave told him what it was. Were there any depths a jealous woman would not stoop to? Still, Dave was indignant and it took Devlin some time to persuade him that they could teach the 'fat bitch' a lesson without having to deal with all the tiresome official stuff.

So that morning, when Gladys arrived for work, Dave told her at the gate that he had overheard a couple of actors talking about a fluff girl with HIV whose medical file had been seen lying on a chair in the café. And Devlin himself, who had a key to every door, took Shirley Goober's file from the archives and kept it in his office. Then he sat before his desk, put on his headphones, switched on the concealed microphones and sat back to enjoy the show.

It had been most entertaining, especially at the end. His main regret was that he wouldn't get to hear Gladys chew out Dolores; that would have been so much fun. But Devlin hadn't thought to bug Gladys's office. Instead he had microphones installed in the ladies toilet. A nightclub owner had once told him that the things women said to one another in the ladies room were an education and Devlin wanted to hear for himself. However, all he had learned that day was that Dolores should probably see a proctologist.

Devlin locked Shirley Goober's file in his desk drawer, switched off the microphones and slid his mouse over the computer icon marked 'Job Applications.' Within seconds, he was clicking through pictures of girls and more girls and more girls.

Epilogue:

It was a sunny morning.

Shirley walked across the lot towards the studio buildings. Turning her head, she saw the trailers in a row to the side. She stopped. Lola's silver trailer reflected the sunlight, blinding on one corner, and Felipe the gardener was watering the assortment of potted plants. Lola was almost certainly inside there. Shirley's foot tapped on the asphalt. She hadn't spoken to Lola since the business at the office and Shirley felt she ought to express some form of gratitude. Gladys would have eaten her for lunch had Lola not intervened. On the other hand, Lola was as changeable as a psychotic cat and Shirley didn't want to get scratched. She continued walking to the studio.

Then she stopped, swore and went over to the silver trailer.

'Morning, Felipe,' she said.

'I'm Juan,' said the gardener.

'Sorry. Are you twins?'

'No, but we get that a lot.'

'Oh.'

Shirley coughed. It seemed awfully quiet in the trailer.

'Um, is Lola in?' she asked.

'Yes. She is probably taking a nap.'

'Oh.'

Shirley stared at the trailer. Her foot tapped and her heart thumped and she found herself swallowing air. 'Fuck it,' she thought.

Shirley walked up to the door and gave it two sharp knocks. In her peripheral vision, she saw Juan edging towards the furthermost pot. There was no sound from within the trailer and then suddenly the metal door was ripped open. Shirley found herself staring into fierce brown eyes above rolling cleavage that disappeared into the top of a black basque.

'What do you want?' said Lola.

Blood pounding in her head, Shirley opened her mouth to say thank you and the words that came out were:

'I want to be your slave.'

Shirley felt her face burn and a part of her brain was running around screaming. Yet her body felt calm, poised and alert and she found it easy not to look away. She had spoken the truth. Lola's eyes were locked into hers, not even glancing down, and the brown her irises were flecked with orange and green. Lola's lips parted.

'I'll consider it,' she said and she slammed the door in Shirley's face.