Arnold Janet and Bettie

ONE

Janet needed passport sized photos. She was nearly broke again; her housecleaning jobs were poor paying and infrequent, and the guru kept pressing--oh, so spiritually--for larger and larger contributions to the ashram. Now applying for a new job--any job--she was finding that all the agencies required voluminous resumés and documentation, including photographs. It was l980, and the California economy was in a slump.

She picked the nearest photo shop from the yellow pages--a small shop in the nearby half empty mall. Inside there were no customers in the neatly maintained but somehow forlorn store. The young man behind the counter brightened; he was gangly, with thinning blonde hair and a broad smile, eager as a puppy for any sort of customer.

"How can I help you? A camera? Film?"

"I just need some ID photos--six, I guess." Janet smiled. "passport size, the agency said. Black and white, I suppose--nothing too expensive."

"Sure thing; right away. But color is just as cheap; I'd recommend it. Just step back here, please." His blue eyed gaze was intense--too intense. A bit over the top for such a mundane transaction, Janet thought.

She was used to male approval, ranging from covert glances to frank leers; at 40 she was still proud of her figure, and dressed accordingly, even a bit blatantly when away from the ashram. Her perky patterned silk dress was short and a bit tight. But still--this guy was making her just a bit uneasy. * He led her to a curtained alcove at the back of the shop and positioned her on a stool facing a bank of cameras and lights. "There's a mirror. Would you like to--uh--freshen up, or maybe comb your hair? I think you'll take a terrific picture!" he said.

A mirror? What the hell, why not? Never hurts to look your best. Janet looked at her face, frowned prettily and searched her purse for her compact and comb. The clerk hovered, now frankly staring.

"If you don't mind--this will just take a second." Janet said.

"I'm sorry. It's just that you look like--never mind. Take your time--please!" With a nervous smile, he ducked behind the flimsy curtain.

Janet found herself a bit flustered as she checked her makeup, freshened her lipstick, and perched on the stool. The photographer talked her through the simple routine: turn your head a bit, lift your chin, smile-- click!--one more now--click! He paused, running his fingers through his hair, awkwardly. "Miss--uh, I don't know your name--I'm Arnold. Miss, have you ever, you know, done any modeling?"

Here it comes, Janet thought. The old come-on. Art poses, that's what they usually called them. Well, we'll cut this short right now. "My name is Janet. I did a little modeling once but that was--many years ago. And I'm really not interested in any...."

"No, no--don't misunderstand me. Look, let me take a few more shots--with my good cameras. Free--for nothing! You've got an exceptional presence and face! Please! Indulge me!"

Janet's vanity, her guru kept telling her, was one of her many stubborn attributes. Another large pothole on the karmic path. This young guy seemed harmless enough, though--just intense. "I've just a few minutes--oh, all right." she said with what she hoped was a prim smile.

Arnold busied himself with his lights: the filtered spots, the back light, and he was soon crouched behind his view camera, directing Janet. "Turn to your left! Now look at me. Now smile--that's it! Now arch your back a bit. Deep breath--turn right--now cross your legs. Yes!"

Janet sensed that they were way beyond passport photos. "OK, enough, that's it, Mr.--Allen, was it? No, Arnold. Just give me my passport photos, and l'll be out of here!" Janet slid off the stool.

"Right. They're Polaroids; I'll have them for you in a second. Six pictures. Five ninety nine, plus tax." He gulped, hesitated. They were standing rather close in the small booth, Arnold seemed to be blocking the door. He ran his fingers through his hair again, distracted. "Look. This is crazy, but--just bear with me. Have you ever heard of Bettie Page?"

"No, I'm afraid not. Let's just get those pictures, OK?" Janet brushed past him but he stopped with a gentle hand to her shoulder.

"Three minutes of your time, OK? You look so much like Bettie Page that it's creepy--or how she would have looked ten or fifteen years after she--disappeared."

He was so intense, so earnest, that Janet paused. Her radar was pretty good; this guy seemed to pose no sexual threat, and she was now more than a bit curious. Arnold continued:

"Back in the 50's and 60's, Bettie Page was the preeminent pin up model: girlie magazines, one reel films, still photos, some B and D--what she did, basically, was dance around in her black underwear and high heeled shoes..." He halted his fervid spiel, registering Janet's frown. "No. wait. It was mostly mild stuff, not even soft core by today's standards, but she was so lovely, so sexy, and had such a sweet innocent quality."

Janet cut him off, but gently. "Mr. -uh-Arnold. I don't want to intrude on your obsession, but what can an over the hill dancer have to do with me? Why are you telling me all this?"

Arnold blushed. "Guilty. I may be obsessed, but let me bring you up to date. Bettie Page has a cult following now. All the old, scratchy black and white films are a hot item. There's Bettie fan magazines. The heroine in the comic book Rocketeer is really her. She's a really hot property! Any Bettie Page trivia: outtakes, photos, old pirated film clips , whatever--they're huge! Now get this! She disappeared, dropped out of sight, about 20 years ago! No more films, no more pictures--poof! all gone!"

Janet interrupted his manic flow: "So you think I look like this--Bettie. I still don't see..."

"What if Bettie had made more films? Maybe ten, fifteen years later? What if someone came up with the 'lost Bettie Page episodes'? That person--or persons--would be rich overnight! I guarantee it!"

"Just a second--do you think that I..." Janet backed away and found herself sitting on the posing stool again; Arnold in his excitement was holding both her wrists.

"Yes! You! Exactly! I'm just winging it now, but if you and I were to make some films--videos, these days--and market them as the long lost Betties-- I'm brainstorming now, but--wow!" He faltered. "Of course, I'm not sure you could capture her --specialness. You've got a great body, but your hair is wrong--and you're older, of course. Ahh, it was probably a dumb idea. Sorry. Sorry. I apologize for wasting your time." He released her wrists.

Janet's mind was racing. What would the guru say? There was the low bank balance and piddling dead end jobs. Rich overnight, he'd said. And : 'great body', but also 'older, of course', 'couldn't capture her specialness' . Who says? She was strangely excited, and challenged, too.

"Arnold. This is all pretty weird. But just for the hell of it, before I go, can I see--do you have any pictures of this--magical lady?"

Arnold beamed. "Have I! Just everything she's ever done, that's all! Come on in back, this won't take long!"

It took over an hour. Far from being bored, Janet found herself increasingly excited as the story unfolded: the first short films, the silk stocking, high- heel fetish shots, the lingerie dance sequences, then the Irving Klaw bondage materiel; kinkier now, with Bettie mugging as a slightly delighted victim, exulting as the dominatrix, tying up the other models in their dowdy 50's underwear.

Stills, too: some sensuous nude shots, some blatantly sexy, the jungle stuff, the lovely beach shots by Bunny Yeager; Janet found herself responding, then enthralled by the sweet sexual energy of this woman--never mind the lousy production values and frumpy lingerie. And the few nude shots--somehow they drew her right in.

*

Arnold turned off the last film clip; Klaw's sister had just done a severe bondage number on Bettie, who remained--perky. There was heavy silence in the musty back projection room. Arnold turned up the lights and leaned forward . His intense gaze bored into Janet's eyes. "Well?"

"She's--she's --she was--very special, all right. But I--our faces are similar, aren't they? But my --chest is bigger, and my hips--no, I don't think

it would work." Janet was surprised to find her voice shaking.

"C'mon! ten, fifteen years later--you look just right! Hey! you feel it! I can tell!" He had gripped her wrists again, his gaze never leaving hers.

Janet was really flustered now. Somehow this fanatic, this--nerd--is reading me, she thought. I just came in for some crummy photos, and now--she tried to ignore the swirl of images racing through her brain: lacy bras, bikini panties, garter belts, not that old fashioned stuff--and the bondage! the ropes, the leather! Janet's own bondage fantasies, tucked away in past memories she was trying to repress, were strong, she knew. What kind of delicious situations could she...?

Arnold was decisive now, sensing her tacit agreement. "OK, I want you to get the wig, with the bangs, and the costumes; I'll pay for them, of course, and pay you too! And we'll need to see if you photograph as good as you look; if you're really Bettie--but I already know you are. And then we'll go for it! Both of us!"

"I--I really have to think this over. I can't really promise you anything. My spiritual advisor--" Even as she stammered , Janet felt a rising excitement. This crazy young man, this impossible--well, a long shot, but what if it worked--scheme--ah, hell, she really wanted to do it. Especially that bondage stuff!

Arnold was still talking, excited. "I'll give you the name of some specialty stores and one costume shop I use--five inch heels, sexy underwear, leather stuff, and the wig. For drag queens, mostly, exactly what we want. Here's my credit card--bill it to the store. Let's do our first shoot in --oh, two days. Sunday afternoon, OK? I'm closed then."

"You don't know anything about me--I could just walk out of here with your credit card--but I won't. Let me give you my address and phone. I--like I said, I need to think about this. Oh, I love her, though! Naughty Bettie!"

Arnold beamed. "Janet, this feels like the brass ring on the merry-go-round and we've just grabbed it! Too much!" His impulsive hug was

surprisingly strong. Janet kissed him on the cheek and returned the hug.

The bell in the front of the shop rang.

"Ah shit, a customer. Here's the card and the store addresses. Sunday noon, OK?"

Janet wandered out of the little store, slightly numb. She was halfway home when she realized that she had forgotten the passport photos, which now seemed supremely unimportant. Well, she could pick them up on Sunday...scenes of bondage and whipping and delicious predicaments spun through her head . Bettie Page!

TWO

Sunday noon. The shabby mall was half deserted, many of the struggling shoe stores and other shops closed. Nervous, and almost giddy with anticipation, Janet smoothed the flimsy silk skirt over her hips and knocked on the door of the camera shop. The sign in the window read 'Closed'.

Arnold opened the door, gaped, and stumbled back into a display case, scattering disposable cameras. "Bettie! I mean--Janet! Holy Christ-you're a knockout! Come in, come in! I was afraid you might not...whoa! you look great!"

Janet bobbed in a mocking curtsy and flashed her widest Bettie smile. "Why thank you sir. I guess I pass the test?"

She wore the long brunette wig with the bangs, of course. And makeup suggesting the 60's--bright lipstick, fake eyelashes and penciled brows. Her white cotton blouse had puffy sleeves and a deep scooped neckline. Her

flaring little white silk skirt topped gartered dark silk stockings above shiny high heeled patent leather pumps. She had cinched the soft wide black leather belt down to 25 inches or so to look more Bettie-like; she could hardly breathe. She twirled and postured with her hands on her hips. "Well, big boy--like what you see?"

Arnold was still trying to collect himself. "You--you--you're her!I'm too blown away to even be horny! Well. that's not quite true." he glanced down at the bulge in his jeans. "You are perfect! Bettie--forgive me, Bettie, Janet, wherever you are--and sexier than the original! Look. I've gotta get some film right now, before you turn into a frog, before I wake up or something. Just walk, move like you did when you came in--Oh yeah--yeah!" Arnold was already filming with his video camera.

Janet flounced and pranced a bit more, then turned, bent and flipped her skirt at the camera, revealing a flash of white thigh and garters above the dark seamed hose. Arnold groaned again and moved in for a low angle shot. Janet peered saucily over her shoulder and wiggled her bottom in response .

"These shoes are so tricky--I can hardly stand!" Janet continued her enticing prance. "But I loved that leather place you sent me to. The saleslady--I think she was a lady--was wonderful , especially with the lingerie." She flashed the wide half 'gee whiz' half sexy Bettie smile as she spoke. "Let me show you the lingerie. I mean you can't be sure if I'm right until you see all of me, can you?"

Arnold was sweating now, stammering, His voice broke. "L-lady, what are you doing? I feel like -Dustin Hoffman with Anne Bancroft, for Chrissakes! Back off a second! Whoosh!"

Janet smiled--her own smile this time. "OK, i was teasing you. sorry-- just a little bit. I can't help it! I just love this character! It's like reincarnation, or something. Like I'm channeling her. It's reallly powerful! The minute I put on the wig, these clothes, I knew. OOh, I could just hug you!"

Arnold did a nervous little skip backwards. Janet stopped her

undulating hips for a moment. And said; "Sorry , Arnold. That Bettie's a real tease, isn't she? I'm really going to have to watch that she doesn't--take over. Let's keep this on a business level--just Janet and Arnold--and Bettie."

This lady is definitely a space case, Arnold thought. but--god, she's gorgeous--and coming on to me? Go with the flow , he thought. "Business. Yeah, we can do business, soon as I figure out which messages you are sending me. You know what a turn-on you are, just cut me a little slack, So we can work. So, let's work now; I've got a set in the back room, and a kind of script idea. Let's do a pilot film, Okay?"

Back room? Watch out! Janet kicked herself mentally and flashed back to the last encounter with the off-duty policeman and his handcuffs--wasn't he just 23?--and how badly that had turned out. This Arnold is a sweet kid, she admonished herself, Let's not screw this up. But I want to give him a chance. Let's keep Bettie under control--but, oh! that will be hard! She smiled at Arnold. "Right. let's go to work. Fame and fortune await."

He had set up a tacky living room; a couch with a floral pattern, a tired armchair, a coffee table with a cheap portable radio, circa 1960. John F Kennedy's picture was on the wall, and there was a framed full length mirror.

"Looks period enough, right? I was going to shoot with old film so this would look like someone found it in his attic 20 years later, but no need; everything is transferred to video tape anyway, we'll just shoot it that way. Two lights, kind of an amateur look. OK, here's my script idea: You come in the door, like you're coming home from--a hard day's work. You relax, stretch, turn on the radio, dance around a little, fix your stockings--uh--undress, a little bit; it's up to you, look in the mirror, all those Bettie things. There's a knock at the door; it's like a delivery boy; he hands in this fancy box. You open it, its a gorgeous negligee. You register delight, hold it up, model it, dance some more. That's probably it. I think we'll shoot this first one silent, but for the music, I think it should be a slow, sultry tempo. just you and your new nightie." Arnold paused. "Sorry to be so gabby. Does that sound all right?"

Janet smiled. "I think i can get ol' Bettie to do that--I think she'll do just fine!"

They got set. Arnold had his handheld and tripod cameras ready, adjusted his lights. "OK, filming, Come on in, Bettie. Give 'em hell!"

Janet /Bettie came through the door. She put her purse on the coffee table and stretched luxuriously, catlike. She preened briefly in front of the mirror, twisting her torso and throwing out her chest, caressing her breasts lightly. She turned again,then undid her constricting belt. She frowned briefly at the image of her soft little belly in the mirror, then slowly unbuttoned and shrugged off her blouse. She wore a delicate black lace bra with just enough subtle underwiring to push her generous breasts up and together; her cleavage was deep, voluptuous; her big salmon-tan nipples, slightly erect now, nudged the lacy fabric of her sheer bra.

"Ah shit" Arnold moaned softly, now zooming gradually as Janet toyed with her breasts. Now she unzipped her tiny skirt and stepped out of it. Her garter belt was four wisps of fabric and elastic holding up her black silk stockings. Her panties were even tinier; lace again, with a diminutive black satin crotch panel. She turned and thrust her slowly undulating ass at the camera; her bikini panties were a mere thong in back. She caressed her plump cheeks, then, looking again in the mirror gave her bottom a little swat of disapproval.

*

Arnold realized he had missed his cue; His mouth was dry and his erection almost painful. He quickly stepped around the set and knocked on the door. Bettie answered the door, hands coyly shielding her breasts and crotch as she accepted the gift wrapped box. She opened it and registered delight; inside was a sheer smoky grey peignoir. She inspected it at arms length, the clutched it to her gleefully and danced around the room. in front of the mirror again, she slipped it on, modeling the sheer robe and caressing herself.

Arnold had plugged a cassette into his portable box; the music was Stan Getz and Joao Gilberto playing a slow bossa nova. Bettie was now moving to this tempo, twirling languorously before the mirror. Then, still dancing, undulating her hips and pelvis, she let the negligee slide down from

her shoulders. She reached behind her and unhooked her brassiere, dropping it on the floor. She shrugged back into the sheer robe and faced the camera, the filmy nylon cradling her breasts, emphasizing rather than hiding their loveliness. The Brazilian beat continued. Back to the camera again, she smiled dreamily over her shoulder and stepped out of her panties.

Arnold had gone past lust to shock and surprised delight and back to lust again; now he was trying to concentrate on his camera angles--low angle closeups, augmenting the big video camera on the tripod. Janet swayed to the bossa nova beat, nude under the diaphanous negligee. She danced wildly, sensuously, for minutes. Now she lay back on the couch. Glowing with perspiration, she sprawled in the armchair, her forehead and chest shiny with sweat, her nipples engorged. (one pink tipped breast had escaped from the flimsy robe). Her long legs were apart, her dark moist bush available to the moving camera. At rest, soft lips ajar, eyes half closed, she embodied sensual satiety. *

Arnold scarcely could breathe as he pulled back for a long lingering shot of her vulnerable nude beauty.

The record stopped. Janet blinked, wrapped the gauzy robe around her and sat up. "Was that OK? I mean, Bettie really took over, you know. I kind of zoned out; I do that sometimes. Do we need any retakes? I-I'm not quite sure what all I did. " She looked down at her gleaming body. "Oh! Look at me! I must have gotten my self naked! Did I?? I really don't quite remember every little thing I did--Oh dear,,,"

Arnold felt a little chill. Weirdness again. This was a very strange lady. He answered carefully: "Janet, that was great. I'm sure we don't need any retakes. You did indeed get naked, in a magnificent fashion. You were probably way over the line--more Bettie than Bettie ever was--just fantastic. But. But, if you don't remember quite what you did, if you were possessed by the spirit of Bettie or whatever, I can't take advantage of you. Why don't I edit the two tapes--it'll take half an hour--and show you the playback. If its too raw, or revealing, or whatever, that's it. No deals, no contracts, no distribution. But I've got to have a copy for myself, to play when I'm an old man and can't get it up."