Journal of an Agent

Feedback and suggestions always welcome. This story is a continuation of chapter 22, read the note below to get caught up.

Standard Disclaimer:

You must be 18 to read this story, be able to read erotica in your community, not be offended by the contents of it...blah blah, you know the rest.

This story may be distributed freely, for commercial or non-commercial use, but PLEASE leave my email/name on it! That's all I ask!

This is Part 23 of an ongoing series. Yes I know the celebs don't act like this in real life, but this is a fantasy after all.

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(To catch everyone up: The main character, Dean Simonds, upon leaving a hot tryst with Jennifer Lopez meets a girl in the parking lot who shatters his entire family history. She tells him that she is actually his sister, something that he didn't know until just now, having thought for his entire life that he was an only child, his only living relative a party loving half-brother.)

My head was spinning. I felt confused and a little angry that this stranger would approach me with such a claim. I tried to poke holes in her story.

"That's impossible. I'm an only child. I think I'd know if I had a sibling running around somewhere," I said preposterously, snorting at her claim.

"That's the same way I felt too. That is until my father passed away last year and I found this in his old photo album," she said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a photo. What I saw left no doubt in my mind.

The photo was an old one of my mother, clutching two babies on her lap. Both looked to be the same age, one a boy the other a girl. Flipping it over on the back, I read the caption: ALLISON AND DEAN - 2 MOS.

"We're twins. And that's not the only thing - you know your half brother Jacob?" she said, my mouth still hanging slack jawed from this new discovery.

"Yes. How did you know about him?" I asked, things just getting stranger and stranger.

"The way he acts around you isn't his real personality. I think that he may be planning something involving you in the near future, although I can't say what," the girl, who I'm assuming was Allison, said. "Look, I don't feel real safe standing around here. Want to go get some coffee and talk about it?"

I nodded and we both climbed into my car, peeling out of the now deserted parking lot. The concert traffic was pretty thick, bumper to bumper, but soon eased as we passed the freeway.

"How did you find me? And I mean, of all the nights and places to look," I asked, my hands fidgeting nervously on the steering wheel.

"Well, when I found that photo I did a little bit more investigating into my fathers things. Turns out of course that he wasn't my real father, only my adopted father. I found the adoption certificate to prove this in his safe deposit box. Apparently when we were both three months old, your mother, I mean OUR mother put me up for adoption. I don't know why or what for, but regardless I was put up for adoption and taken a few months later. I spent my entire life growing up in Chicago, living with my adopted father and his wife. She died a few years back but never mentioned the adoption to me," Allison said.

"Ok, but that still doesn't answer my question. How did you find ME?" I again asked, strange parallels in our lives starting to come together - growing up not knowing our fathers, our mothers (or in her case her adopted mother) dieing when she was younger. It was eerie.

"I'm getting to that. I went to the adoption agency and asked for my records on my biological parents. Things are different these days, agencies seem very open to helping adults find their real parents. It's not like in the movies where everything is some sort of epic," Allison said. "So I got our mothers name and looked her up last year, only to find she had passed away. Eventually I got your name from the obituary and when I went to visit you in New York the neighbors told me how you ended up here. It didn't take long to track down your company and then your personal assistant, a nice guy named Damon I think, told me you were at the show tonight," she finished breathlessly.

"Well, that's quite some homework you've done," I said. "But now that you've found me, and don't get me wrong, I am happy to see you. The bigger question on my mind though is what do you want?"

"No, I understand. I'd be a little freaked out if someone tracked me down across the country," Allison said. "Tell ya what, let's pull into this coffee shop and I'll explain."

I made a sharp cut across lanes and pulled into the diner's parking lot, a rusty old place that looked like it hadn't aged well since the 50s, when it probably opened. We walked silently from the car and stepped inside. The place was mostly deserted, except for a small gaggle of stoned teenagers off in the corner, laughing at God knows what. The inside of the coffee shop was just like you'd imagine it to be - pale lights hanging over the table, grizzled truckers sitting at the bar with a plate full of steaming fatty food and a cigarette in their hand, and the waitresses wearing faded pink uniforms that covered their bodies in the non-flexible material of starched linen. In a word, it was like walking into any movie you could ever imagine.

"Seat you two?" the hostess said, an older woman with frazzled gray hair, the bags under her eyes hanging like sad little pouches from beneath her blood shot eyes.

I nodded at the woman and she led us to a back far table. A waitress appeared shortly thereafter, taking our order. Neither of us were hungry, but both Allison and I ordered coffee - black.

"I guess we are paternal twins then," I said, stirring my coffee when the waitress returned. "Because other than the hair and maybe a few facial features, you and I look nothing alike,"

"That's what I figured too. That's why I was so hesitant to speak to you, thinking that it really wasn't you standing there since we DIDN'T look that much alike. But I took a risk and well, here we are," Allison said.

I sipped my coffee. It was bitter and lukewarm, but I wasn't going to send it back. The waitress looked too lonely to bear the burden of my picky tastes.

"Any ways, before I found you here I went and saw your younger brother Jacob in New York City," Allison said. "Not a nice guy at all, especially after finding out we were related. He seemed to snap at me over everything and didn't want to answer any of my questions. Has he always been like that?" she asked.

"No, actually. That's really surprising. He seems like a good kid. A little selfish and spoiled, but still pretty good at heart," I replied, a little taken aback at her description of Jacob. I had seen him up in New York only a few months ago when I went to talk to Jennifer Aniston. He didn't seem to have a problem then. Maybe it was just the stress of college and all that had happened in the city. Allison went on.

"The reason I even bother to bring him up is because of this thing that I saw on his coffee table when I was at his house," she said, reaching into her purse. "At first I thought that it would be helpful to me because it looked like the name of your talent agency out here. I asked him about it but he snatched the paper away before I could get a closer look and told me that it was 'personal business'," she said. I nodded, obliging her to continue.

"Before he took it away though, I took a picture of the paper when he was out of the room with my Polaroid, you know to help me out even if he wouldn't," she said, finally pulling out something from her purse. "See, I'm an amateur photographer, I love taking pictures. And I brought my camera along to get some good pictures of my new family," she smiled, sliding the photo across the table. I took it in my hand but didn't look until she finished speaking again.

"The picture came out pretty good, considering the lighting and all. But when I got out here to California to try and look the place up, hoping to find you, the telephone operator said that no such business existed. I gave her the address though and then she connected me to Damon who got me to you," Allison said finally, sipping her coffee. She leaned over the table a bit and pulled the photo down to the table to point at something on it.

"The weird thing is, the name of the company is different but the ADDRESS is the same as where you are now. Your company is Shooting Stars Talent Agency. That piece of paper said StarPower Representation Firm, Inc. Does your company have two names?" she asked, her hands clenched together tightly. The air of the coffee shop was quite cold.

Studying the picture myself, Allison had been right. Though it was a little blurry, the paper (which looked like a fax cover sheet) did say what she had noted. And she had been right about the address too. Why would Jacob make up a sheet with the same address as my company? Was he trying to send someone my way?

"Hmm...you're right. But this doesn't make any sense. When I took over the place from my...I mean OUR father, it had been in business under Shooting Stars for the past 50 years. I'll have to give Jacob a call tomorrow and see what is going on," I said, puzzled as I held the photo in my hand.

"No no no! You can't call him!" Allison blurted out, almost knocking her coffee cup over.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Because if you do then he will know I told you. Look, I know you have a good relationship with all the family you know about, but I'm having to dig myself out of a hole right now and pissing off relatives, half or not, is not what I want to do," Allison said, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Why would he be angry? It's an honest question, seen by someone who also had some honest curiosity," I said.

"I don't know. But the way he was acting, all nervous and jittery and hesitant to even talk to me, makes me feel like there is something else going on and he doesn't want anyone to know about it. Just do me a favor okay? If you do mention it to him, say you heard it from someone else in New York. I don't know, I'm sure you have contacts out there, make something up. Can you do that for me Dean?" Allison asked. Her eyes were pleading and I couldn't say no.

"Fine, whatever. I'm still not convinced that you spoke to the same person as the half-brother I've known for his whole life, but we can figure that out later. In the meantime, it's getting late. I hate to cut our reunion short but I have to be in the office tomorrow morning. We need to get together for lunch sometime," I said, pulling a few bucks from my wallet to pay the check.

"No, I understand. I'm exhausted from the trip anyways. Besides, now that we know each other it's not like the other will just disappear," she said with a grin.

"That's true, although you suddenly DID appear tonight out of the blue. But I guess there isn't any easy way to start a relationship like that is there?" I said.

"Nope, not that I know of. Well, I'm going to head back to my hotel now. I have your number so I'll call you sometime soon," she said, getting up to leave.

"Hey, at least let me drive you back. LA's streets aren't safe at night," I said, trying to be the chivalrous gentleman.

"I'm a big girl, I did grow up in Chicago you know," she said. "Besides, I'm only a block away and I'm sure I'll make it there fine,"

I walked her outside to the street. The din of traffic had ebbed substantially and the streets were deserted except for a stray cat I saw rifling through some garbage.

"It was nice to finally meet you Dean," Allison said with a warm hearted smile. "Take care,"

She walked off down the block and I watched her go until she turned a corner. Getting back into my car, I headed home. It was impossible to sleep, my mind racing over not only having a new person in my family but also trying to figure out what the hell Jacob was up to out there in New York.

The next morning was uneventful. Damon seemed ready to bubble over with excitement at having spoken with my "long lost sister". But I cut him off at the pass:

"She found me Damon. Last night, after the concert. But thank you for your concern," I said, heading into my office. I was surprised to see that my voice mail, the number that I left for all clients to reach me at directly in case of an emergency, was blinking with 7 unplayed messages.

Puzzled, I picked up the phone and hit play.

"Hi Dean this is Sarah Michelle Gellar. Freddie and I have a problem that I think you need to take care of. Give me a call when you get this message, you've got my number. Bye"

I hit NEXT on the phone.

"Dean, this is Sarah again. Just waiting on your call, this problem really needs to be taken care of. Call me as soon as you can,"

I pressed NEXT again.

"God damn it Dean, where the hell are you? Why am I paying you so much money to not be there when I need you? I've got a serious fucking problem and you aren't around to help. You better call me. This is Sarah"

Sighing to myself, I knew what the next message would be. I pressed it anyways.

"Sorry about that Dean, I lost my cool. Just call me okay? This is Sarah again,"

I didn't even need to bother playing the next messages, I simply held down the delete button and picked up the phone, dialing her number from my rolodex. It didn't even ring twice.

"What?" a female voice snapped on the other line.

"Nice to speak to you too Sarah. So what is this big emergency?" I said calmly, almost a little too sappily. This wasn't the first time this had happened - Sarah was a nice enough girl, easy to get along with when it came down to negotiating, but when something bad happened to her it was like the sky was falling.

"Dean thank God it's you! Freddie and I are in BIG trouble. Can you come out to the house and talk to us?" Sarah said. Her voice sounded unusually panicked even for her.

"Is it that big of a problem that it can't be taken care of over the phone?" I asked, my mind distracted by other things.

"Let me let you make the call - is a gay male prostitute tied up in our back bedroom suitable for handling over the phone?" Sarah spat back. I sat up at attention.

"What is a gay male prostitute doing in your house at all?" I asked, more than just a little surprise.

"That's what you need to come over here and figure out then isn't it?" Sarah said. "Shall I expect you in an hour?"

"Make it two for traffic. But I'm on my way," I said, hanging up the phone and hustling out of the office to my car.

Getting in and peeling out of the parking lot, I thought to myself - why oh why do I get stuck with stars who get into these kinds of messes?

I headed out along the coast to Sarah's house. It was beachfront property, located on a rocky cliff in Malibu that gave an absolutely stunning view of the ocean from almost any point in the house. Buffy certainly didn't like to live cheaply.

When I arrived, I was surprised to find Sarah meet me at the door. Her golden blond hair looked frazzled and mangy and her eyes were a little puffy, probably from lack of sleep over this incident. I knew right away, after spotting a few droplets of blood on the floor, that this was a far more serious situation than I thought. The crimson red spots seemed to mock me almost as I went, the sharp contrast of color against the off white plush carpeting very striking.

"Hi Dean," Sarah said softly. "Freddie and the guy are down here,"

I followed her down a flight of mahogany wooden stairs to a basement like area, located at the base of the house. It was slanted and rather narrow, the ceiling fading away to a point due to it's sharp cut into the hillside. It was dark and quiet, the pale light of a floor lamp casting the only light in the room, leaving corners of darkness to dance mysteriously at us, their contents unbeknownst to me without further inspection.

At the very back of the below ground level was a door and Sarah knocked softly before opening it and entering slowly.

The room was a glow with burning scented candles and the aroma of charred wax and manufactured fragrance was over powering. The room contained all sorts of bizarre things that I didn't even think about asking about - leather whips and bondage gear mounted on the wall, a set of handcuffs dangling from a coat hook, the shiny metal catching me in the eye for a second as my eyes adjusted to the room.

Freddie Prinze Jr. sat on the solitary piece of furniture in the room, a bed that had been stripped of sheets but was a little dirty from some drying maroon stains on the mattress cover. Freddie sat with his head in his hands, hunched over the bed in thought. The hooker that Sarah had mentioned sat huddled in a far corner of the room, his handcuffed hands holding his knees tightly against his chest. He was a decent looking guy, a little younger than me, with reddish brown curly hair and a fair amount of the same color chest hair on his upper body. The man was naked except for a very small loin cloth that barely covered his manhood and I could see that his mouth looked swollen a red, his lip split a little in the corner from what appeared to be a vicious punch to the mouth. His back, which I noticed when he exhaled and inhaled deeply, was slashed red with what I assumed were whip marks. In situations like this, it was my experience not to ask.

A closely guarded secret in Hollywood, very few people knew that Freddie Prinze Jr. was in fact a homosexual. Because of his public image as a heartthrob for millions of girls and women, the truth about this fact was kept as quiet as possible. By Hollywood standards, a gay man publicly dating (or in this case engaged to be married) to a straight woman was nothing new, and I could name a handful of gay men off the top of my head who were leading stars and box office draws no matter what they released. I had discussed the current situation between Sarah and Freddie with the two of them before. They had met on the set of "I Know What You Did Last Summer" and gotten to be good friends. It was only a few years later she confided in me, that he revealed to her that he was gay. After both of their film careers began to sag some, Sarah had approached me with the idea of getting married to Freddie not only to take off the pressure of any noisy Hollywood reporter but to get some good PR for the two of them. I told her that it was a good idea and a few weeks later they announced their engagement.

It was a little bizarre for someone outside of Hollywood to think about two people living together under the same roof as man and wife but never actually consummating the marriage, but since I had gotten into the Hollywood world hardly anything surprised me anymore. The current predicament however, did not fall into that category.

"Ok Freddie, tell me what happened so I can decide what we need to do," I said. My eyes watched the hooker in the corner, who appeared to be either in shock or at the very least sleeping from exhaustion.

"Well, I had him come over last night and we, well, you know. I had gotten his number from a friend of mine who said that he was willing to do just about anything you asked. I had been playing around with bondage and S&M and hadn't really known what I was doing. The next thing I knew, I had teased and hit him a little too hard and he freaked out, running upstairs and to the front door. If Sarah hadn't been there to hit him in the head with a book I think he might have gotten away and who knows what would have happened then," Freddie said, his voice wavering. He too seemed to be in shock, his words floating out like they came from someone else's mouth.

"Freddie, you know that I don't care what you do with your own sex life. That's your business. But as your friend as well as your agent, you can't go around beating up hookers," I said sternly.

"I wasn't beating him!" Freddie cried, standing up from the bed now. "Things just got going really fast and I think that we just got really carried away,"