Journal of an Agent

Well, this is it. This chapter is dedicated to all the readers who followed the series all the way through and kept me on my toes and offered great feedback. All of you made the series more special and fun to write. I'm not ending my writing career by any means but it was time to end JOA. Any closing feedback you might have is most appreciated. Ok, enough blabbering...enjoy the finale!

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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 the last part 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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"So tell me Damon, where do you see yourself in say, 10 years?" I said to my assistant as we both munched down some bagels during an impromptu breakfast in my office.

"Mmph!" he replied, finishing chewing, pausing to swallow before he continued. "Well, I'd like to stay here at Shooting Stars. Of course my dream is to direct a film, even a low budget indie one. I want to get higher up in the Hollywood hierarchy,"

"Then you want to move to behind the camera, rather than ushering stars in front of it?" I said with a smile.

"Pretty much. Why do you ask?" he replied.

"No reason, just popped into my mind. All the stuff that's happened to me in almost the last two years has really made me think about my life," I said.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know. I mean, running the firm is like a dream come true - I get to mingle with the most beautiful people in the world, help them out, and get paid very well to do it. Of course, there are the fringe benefits too," I replied.

"But of course," he said with a wicked smile.

"But I mean, things get a little stale after a while. I was star struck when I first took over for my father, but now hardly even the most strange things or situations bother me. I think I might need a change of scene, or at the very least a vacation. What do you think?" I asked, wiping my mouth as I finished the bagel and took a sip of coffee.

"Don't get me wrong, I love working here. Every day is like a new adventure in my life, something I'll be able to tell all my grandkids about - how I was on the edge of Hollywood, helping you call the shots. But I can understand where you are coming from. Since I've worked for you, I don't even know how many women have come and gone with you, and I know from personal experience that so many different women, who all have different problems, can be very tiring. Hell, any type of solid relationship would wear me out!" Damon said.

"So then you don't think that I'm off the mark when I say I may want to, I don't know, sell the whole thing and move on with my life?"

"Not at all. But I don't want to see you go, not only because I would probably be out of work but also because I consider you a pretty good friend and I hate parting with friends. But it's your life, your business, you should be able to do whatever you want and be happy with the choices you make," Damon said.

"I guess you're right. It's just something I've been kicking around for a while, but it feels like all of this is leading up to something, that I'm at a juncture in my life and I will have to make a decision real soon," I said with a sigh.

There was a tentative knock on the office door, followed by a slight creak as it opened slightly.

"Uhh, Dean?" a voice said. It was Ashley, the young girl I had hired last week to help Damon out and serve as a part-time temp for the firm.

"Yes Ashley, what is it?" I said to her.

"Catherine Bell just called. Or, well, actually, a rep from CBS called and they said that she wants to see you as soon as possible about something going on," Ashley said. She was a smart girl, a little shy but was learning pretty quickly how to work in an office.

"Did they say what it was?" I asked, standing up and brushing myself off from a few loose crumbs.

"No, they said that even SHE wouldn't say. They just told me to tell you to come down to the lot, lot 4G, and speak with the director," Ashley said.

I sighed again and looked at Damon. "Well, guess it's back to the grind. Thanks for hearing me out on that stuff Damon," I said.

"No problem Dean. Good luck figuring out what she wants," Damon said as he cleaned up the bagels and cream cheese from the corner of my desk.

"Thanks. I'll have my cell phone, so you or Ashley can call if you need me," I said, heading out the door.

Traffic was pretty light that morning for some reason, especially once you got off the freeway. Cruising downtown, I had to pay attention and make sure I didn't accidentally hit one of the people running across the road. That was the last thing I needed - a vehicular manslaughter charge to deal with. I had taken a new company car, a black BMW X5 and was still getting used to driving such a massive vehicle - a delivery man moving a big box into one of the smaller studios was almost an unfortunate victim of my learning experience. Pulling into the CBS lot, I got clearance with the guard and drove around looking for lot 4G.

The CBS lot was just like you might imagine a studio lot to be - big, filled with sets and big warehouses, crew and stars zipping around it's concrete lawn on golf carts, buzzers going off indicating filming was taking place. I finally located the lot, the filming studio for the non-travel spots of "JAG", the wildly successful military drama in which Catherine Bell, a long time client, was a co-star of. Parking the car, I walked in through a side door and collided with a PA, who looked to be just as startled as me.

"Can I help you?" he asked excitedly in that tone of voice that only those who live and breath Los Angeles for many years can carry.

"I'm Catherine Bell's agent, Dean Simonds, I was told that she needed to see me?" I asked to him, straightening out my charcoal gray suit as I shifted into business mode. A slight look of disgust washed over the PA's face - no matter how nice you were to people in the industry, agent's never got accepted as anything but weasels and scum. In most cases though, the distinction was not unwarranted.

"Right this way. Go down and take a left, then take another left and one right and you will be at her trailer," the PA said before hustling off. Following his directions, I headed out from inside the building to a large door leading to an open set, with a row of trailers off to the side. I walked along them, looking for her name, but Catherine spotted me first. She stuck her head out from the trailer and called my name.

I came over to her and she opened the door to let me in. The trailer was hot and musty, the television on and the space tight and cramped. I had told her many times that I could get her a nicer trailer, but she never took me up on the offer. I still couldn't see why. I was a little taken aback as I came in and my eyes adjusted from the brightness of the morning to the dark recesses of the trailer to see Catherine leaning up against a small mini-bar, sipping a drink in only a pair of khaki pants (part of her regular costume from JAG) and a bra. Nothing else. Her brown hair looked freshly cleaned and styled, but from the sweat glistening off her body and the cleft between her ample breasts, I took it that she hadn't been on set for at least a few hours.

"Fix you a drink Dean?" Catherine asked.

"No, thank you. And quite frankly, don't you think that you shouldn't be drinking when it's only 10:30 in the morning?" I said, walking over to her and taking the small glass from her hands and setting it on the counter. She snatched it back up and finished it off, setting it back down again as she poured herself another. I could smell the alcohol in this part of the trailer and wondered how many drinks she had actually had, even though she looked to be perfectly coherent.

"I'll do what I damn well please. And if you don't agree with me then you can leave like the rest of them," Catherine snapped as she turned away from me. Here we go, another long morning...

"Alright, I'm sorry. But could you tell me why I'm down here? Why are the studio heads calling me to come talk to you?" I asked, talking to her turned back.

"You wouldn't understand," she said. "No one here seems to understand,"

"Well, try me. That's what I'm here for," I said reassuringly. Catherine turned to face me with tears in her eyes.

"I'm upset. It's not about the show. Well, it is but it isn't. With all the stuff that's happening in the world, I just don't see the point in acting anymore. I mean, what good is it doing to make life better for people?" Catherine said, her voice fighting back tears.

"Catherine, I'm not following you. What in the world upset you?" I asked.

"It's all that stuff that's going on in the Middle East right now. Israel. Palestine. Iraq. Iran. It's just...well, you know I'm Iranian, right?" Catherine said.

I nodded.

"See, even though I don't live there, I have family and friends there and with all this trouble that it going on in that region, I can't sleep. I can't eat. And I most certainly can't act. It just seems to trivial to try and entertain an audience when people I know are out there in what could be grave danger," she said, sobbing now as she walked over to the couch in the middle of the room and sat down. I followed her.

"But Catherine, this has been going on for thousands of years! I won't argue with you that it's not upsetting, but I mean, do you think anything is really going to change any time soon?" I asked, trying to comfort her. It backfired.

"That's just what my husband said. So I guess you don't understand either," she said, turning away from me, bitterness in her voice.

"Catherine, listen. I'm here to do whatever you need me to, but I can't save the world. I can't make people stop hating each other, I can't stop people killing one another. I can only do my part, for you, to make your life better and happy so that you can live out your dreams. Remember when you told me a year back or so that you were happy in your life, that you had become the star you had dreamed about being back when you were a little girl? Remember how joyous your life was, just because you were going out there every day and bringing, if only for a few minutes at a time, enjoyment to people whose lives might be missing it?" I said. Catherine was silent for a moment, sipping from her drink.

"Yes. But don't you see how empty that really is? How this whole Hollywood industry is just about selling movies or television shows or magazines?" she said quietly.

"I do see that. But I also see a beautiful woman with immense talent, feeling sorry for things she can't change in the world. It's alright to be upset about the world, about injustices. But if you let it consume you, if you let it become all that you think about, then you are just adding to more misery in the world by not being an active part of it," I replied.

"So then what should I do?" Catherine said, facing me now. The tears that had run down her face left soft streaks down her beautifully darkened cheeks.

"You should do what your heart tells you to do. You should make the best of your life and keep following your dream. You should donate or speak out against what you believe strongly in, but you should make your life whole by using the talents and position you are in now to help that. Recognition doesn't always have to come from a television screen you know," I said, smiling.

Catherine was silent again, moving now to lay down on the couch. I stood up over her as she turned her face away to the inside of the couch. I waited a moment before saying anything.

"So will you go back out there and do what you know you should? Can I tell the producers that?" I asked.

Catherine nodded softly. "Yes. Tell them I'll come back to work in an hour or so, ok? But I want you to come and get me, not some pimply faced production assistant. Alright? Right now, I just need to be alone, to sleep maybe a bit,"

"Ok," I said, patting her lightly on her smooth and flawless shoulder.

I exited the trailer back out into the quickly increasing heat of the day. Heading back to the main building where production was done for the show, I glanced around for the producers. Spotting a man sitting in a chair behind the cameras, I walked over towards him. I was cut off however, by someone I really didn't want to deal with.

"Dean baby, what's shaking?" Rick Dugan said to me as he stepped in my way. Rick was a music agent, representing mostly musicians like Christina Aguilera out here. It was his client, Ms. Aguilera in fact, that had ruined my relationship with Alyssa Milano almost a year ago. I hadn't seen him since, but I was surprised and not thrilled to see him now, as he just oozed sleazeball.

"Hi Rick. What are you doing here?" I asked, trying to make a hopefully brief conversation.

"Didn't ya know? I've moved on to bigger things now. I still do music reps, but now I'm branching out into TV and movies. I've got a girl here right now who has a minor role in the episode they are shooting today and I wanted to come down and make sure everything went okay and maybe try to get her a bigger part on the show, ya dig?" Rick said with a shark's grin.

"Yeah. Well congrats," I said, trying to step around him. He cut me off again though.

"So, I know that things didn't work out with that bitch Aguilera, but you have any more clients who you might want to send my way? Word on the grapevine is that Dean Simonds has been through hell and back in Hollywood and might be leaving the game," he said. I was startled by his knowledge of this, but quickly reasoned that he had probably just assumed it after what had happened with the failed take over that my half-brother Jacob had planned. It was a not-too-secret secret amongst the industry folks.

"No, I'm not leaving. At least not today or anything. And no, you can't have any of my clients. I'd rather have my balls chopped off than send them to you," I said coldly, my anxiousness to speak to the director hopefully evident on my face.

"Hey, woah there baby, don't get all defensive. It was just a simple question. Oh wait, you're still pissed cuz I ruined things with you and that Milano chick, huh?" he asked.

"Yeah, something like that. Now if you'll excuse me, I have things to do," I said, butting into his shoulder and walking past him.

"Hey Dean!" he called behind me. I spun on one foot and turned to face him, sighing heavily in exasperation.

"What?"

"If you ever change you're mind, you know where to find me. Look for the big car being driven by the big dick man. That will be me," he called with a laugh. A puzzled crew member walked between us as I approached the producer, ignoring Dugan's comment. Reaching the producer, we talked for a few minutes, as I explained to him that Catherine was upset over personal issues but that she should be back to work right after they broke for lunch around 1:00 or so.

"Just make sure she is here. We can go a day or so without her, but if she isn't back in top form than we will have to postpone production till next week. And the studio heads will have my ass," he said. I gave him my assurance and headed back to Catherine's trailer. I had managed to kill about 40 minutes of time, so I thought I would just go in quietly and wait for Catherine to wake up. I would be there in case she needed anything, plus I could stress how important it was that she get back to work ASAP if she was already ready.

Opening the trailer door quietly, Catherine was still stretched out on the couch, her back facing me. Only now I saw, she was naked from the waist down, presumably to get more comfortable in the sticky heat of this giant metal box. Her perfectly shaped ass faced me and for a moment I felt a twitching in my pants. I quickly examined the rest of the trailer, trying to avoid looking at her smooth skin, supple ass cheeks and long legs. Out of things to look at in less than a couple of minutes, I took a seat across from her and watched her sleep, the rhythmic breathing of her back moving up and down softly. I knew she would be annoyed to find me sitting there watching her while she slept, especially naked, but if I had to then I could just play it off as having just walked in.

To my wide eyed surprise, Catherine stirred in her sleep, turning over onto her side as she now faced me. Her luscious breasts were still held inside of her bra, but seemed to be straining against the flimsy fabric. I could see the outline and top of her nipple just poking out over the top of her bra. They were about medium sized, a rich dark brown color with the tips poking against the fabric of her undergarment. Her mound was a dark black nest of neatly trimmed hair, her pussy lips slightly visible in between her crossed legs. Like her nipples, they were a deep brown color and looked so inviting, a hint at the pink buried deeper within visible only slightly.

I realized I had been holding my breath in awe at her beautiful naked form and let the air escape from my lips slowly, the heat of the trailer, combined with the rush of spying on this sleeping beauty causing my head to pound. I debated about what to do: should I leave and then reenter loudly to let her know I was there, giving her time to get dressed? Or would she even care if I continued to sit where I was and gaze upon her, hoping that she wouldn't be angry when she awoke.

Catherine stirred again and the left underside of her breast pushed against the surface of the couch she lay on, causing her breast to free itself from the weak encumberment that held it inside her bra. Her nipple was now completely visible to me and I was flushed with the excitement of being a voyeur to her snooze. But she wouldn't want her breast sticking out like that, would she? I quickly decided that she wouldn't and made up my mind to very slowly approach her and put the heavy weight of her beautiful orb back inside it's casing. Standing up, I took a few very slow steps until I was over her. I waited for a moment to make sure she wasn't awake, but her shallow breathing continued. I slowly lowered my hand to just an inch or so over her breast, the slight perspiration of her skin in the morning heat causing small little droplets of sweat to form beneath where my hand hovered.

I moved down centimeter by centimeter to her breast until the tip of my finger touched her smooth, supple skin. I then placed two more fingers on her flesh and slowly traced down to the base of where her nipple lay exposed, enjoying the rough feel of it. My fingers glided past her nipple to the bra itself and with two fingers I took the lacy material in my fingers and held it there, trying to be cautious about sliding it up. However, in that moment that I held it, her naked body just lying there, my morals urging me to cover her up, my mind instead did something different. Rather than pull the fabric back up, I held the tip of the bra firm and pulled it down more, ever so slowly. I watched as it slid down her breast, down the slope of it till it had reached the bottom of her globe and wedged itself beneath it. With one breast exposed, the luscious sight of it intoxicating in the stale heat of the trailer, I stepped back slightly and gazed down upon what I had done. My body was in full control of my mind now and I watched through my mind's eye as my hand drifted over to the other breast and, just as slowly, pulled the bra off of it till both breasts lay exposed in the room.

The excitement of undressing Catherine inch by inch was too much for me, I had to take things as far as I could. My fingertips drifted away from her breasts down to her firm tummy until my hand rested just an agonizing inch or so above her womanhood. I paused now for a few seconds, debating what to do - should I leave her as she is or try to go further, perhaps see what her inner folds held for the curious.