I'm sure you'll be shocked to know that I've used an editor on this story (I can hear you gasp and grab your heart). Not only did I use an editor, I used two, the top two female writers on this site, Randi and GirlintheMoon. Thank you, ladies! Any mistakes you find are mine, probably added after the edit. Enjoy.
Yes, they browbeat me into it. Yes, I'm glad they did. Plus, I was getting a little tired of Randi sticking pins in my familiar, my shoulder wouldn't stop hurting. The relief feels great!
*****
Dark Handsome And The Princess Of Porn
You know, you'd think I would get used to it. Maybe soldiers do. I know most cops do. I don't. The sight of a dead person who has come to a violent end is never an easy thing to view. Never. Just looking at the pictures turned my stomach.
This must have been a very long very painful death, judging by the condition of the body. Very little of the face resembled the picture, and well, below the face there was little that looked human. My boss looked at me, thought about grinning, decided not to when he looked into my eyes. He'd been at this way too long, and had developed a ghoulish outlook on life. He'd often bragged to me after a drink or two that he'd seen it all, and it wasn't pretty. That might be why he'd been married five times. Then again, we were in Hollywood, after all.
Jack had actually made a living as an actor for about twenty-five years, small parts in movies, the odd series, even commercials. He had a likable lived in face, an everyman type of guy who you liked but forgot almost instantly. The fact that he was British, and even after all these years still had the accent, helped his career.
He landed a major part on a series that ran for eight years, the final episode airing sixteen years ago, and he still got residual checks. Terribly wasteful with his money, a fact that led to at least three of his divorces, for the first part of his career, his fourth wife changed him. He saved half his money and invested it, and when the series ended he quite the nest egg. He took a year off, taking a world cruise and traveling with his wife until she was stricken with cancer just after their tenth anniversary.
It was quite aggressive, and by the time they found it she had less than a year left. Unable to get the drugs she needed for the severe pain she lived with constantly, he moved to South America, to a small country with relaxed laws, especially if money was waved around. She managed her pain with distilled THC, the drug found in marijuana. It was enough without being too much, and she was quite rational up until the last month. Then Joe bribed a doctor to give her a morphine drip. She was more or less incoherent for three weeks, when in a fit of clarity she pulled the IV out. She suffered through the pain to be able to talk to Jack, apologizing for leaving him, making him swear to find someone else to spend his golden years with, someone, as she put it, to keep him warm until she saw him again. "If you love her, bring her with you. We'll just get a bigger bed."
She smiled, the last expression on her face, and stopped breathing.
Jack lost it, self-medicating for a year before something happened to pull him out of his slump. Carole's best friend showed up, took one look, dragged the hose into the house and sprayed him down. She did a systematic search of the house, throwing everything away, booze, drugs, even the Tylenol. If she didn't recognize it, out it went.
He immediately began returning to reality, and nine months later they moved back to LA, lived together for a year, and married, because as Jack put it, he wouldn't be able to look Carole in the face if he didn't do the right thing by her best friend. He was just shy of sixty now, still in good shape, and his brain was as quick as ever. He got into the private investigation business by helping out an old friend, a pretty big star. When he solved his friend's problem, a friend of a friend asked if he could do the same for him. He did his Travis McGee imitation for a year before deciding to go legit. Now he had five investigators, a forensic accountant, two secretaries/Girl Fridays who ran the office, and me.
How did I fit? I was the son, brother, nephew, grandson, and great grandson of policemen, and in the case of my mother and two sisters, policewomen. I thought for a long time we really did bleed blue when we were cut. I got my degree in Criminal Justice, all set to follow in my family's footsteps, when the acting bug hit me. I took an acting class in my junior year, figuring it was an easy elective.
I was in minor roles at first, but was the star in two productions at the end of my senior year. I stayed in school another two years studying all facets of entertainment. I acted during the summers, off-Broadway and touring productions, learning, always learning. I even did a couple of regional commercials, and did a four week stint on a cable soap opera. THAT was a learning experience; being on cable meant we could stretch boundaries, and I ended up doing two nude scenes, both from the back, although in one you got a brief sight of my junk. I wasn't porn level, but the producers, all women, as well as the gay director seemed impressed. My costar in the scene, a middle aged woman who played the local matron in the show, suggested we do some off camera run-throughs, to get the scene to look as realistic as possible. I gently refused, and offended, she had me written out of the show. You live and learn, but I wouldn't have done it even if I knew.
I moved to Hollywood after school, went to auditions, worked dead end jobs, and waited for an opportunity. Let's face it, Hollywood is a visual place, and chances were, if you weren't attractive, you ended up with the quirky sidekick roles. I was six four, black hair, blue eyes, good teeth, square jaw. My body was chiseled; I sported the proper muscles and six-pack, necessary to get the 'hunk' roles. I also practiced martial arts, because I got a lot of fight-scene roles. I hated the exercise, but liked the martial arts training, having been doing it since I was eight.
I got a decent agent and a good publicist, and started landing roles. First, I did commercials, and made a pretty decent living. I got a bit part in a major motion picture, getting more for four weeks work than I did for the last five commercials. That led to a bigger part in an indie film, which led to a supporting role in a blockbuster. I did a good job, got a really good payday, but it ended up stopping my career.
My agent and I got a call from a well-known production company, it seems they were impressed with my work, and wanted me to read for a bigger role, second co-star, in an even bigger picture. My agent was drooling. This was my big break, and the role had a payday in the mid six figures.
It went to hell when we were called to his private office. His receptionist asked us to wait, as he was finishing an interview for the second female lead, my love interest in the film. Like me, she was relatively new, and very happy to be considered for the role. I'd always had good hearing, and even though his office was almost soundproof, I heard the scream.
"Did you hear that?"
Buddy, my agent, was on his phone and heard nothing. The receptionist, a young man, smirked and told me it was nothing. There was no denying the second scream, and the cry for help. I stood, and the receptionist got between me and the door. "Be cool, here. Let it alone."
I walked right through him, tossing him to the side like he was a doll. Buddy finally looked up, wondering what was going on. Alarm flashed across his face. "Dirk, don't..."
It was too late. I had already kicked the locked door open. The woman, a girl, really, in her late teens, was bent over the desk, her clothes practically ripped from her body. The producer was already in her, plowing away, holding her in place by a firm grip on her hair. She was screaming and begging him to stop. He looked up just in time to see my fist as it landed in his left eye. He flew off her, out cold.
"Call 911," I told the receptionist, as the girl scrambled to gather her ruined dress around her. He stood still, in shock, I think. I turned to Buddy. "Do it, right now. Tell them we stopped a rape in progress. Dial, now!"
He looked torn. "I can't, Dirk. It would end my career, just like you ended yours. Think he'll forgive you? Fuck no, the man holds a grudge better than a nun. You're toast in this town, and I officially give you notice that I can no longer represent you. Good luck."