Ch. 07: His Lucky Star
Casey knew Sol Levine from grammar school back in Southie. Sol was the best stickball player on the block. But they hadn't spoken much to each other over the years. He had seen a headline in the Entertainment section of the Globe mentioning a major Hollywood agent named Sol Levine, but he figured it could have been anybody.
Then Sol called him up. Out of the blue.
"A little bird I know heard from another little bird who knows you that you got this discreet little profession going, where you kind of help out the ladies with, let's say, a certain kind of physical problem, and I figured you could help me out. Not that I'm a lady, though around here you never know for sure who is or was...Well, nevermind. You know I am in the picture business and..."
Casey knew what was coming. Now and again, at a party, when someone figured out what he did, how he helped women get their sex lives back, then he always heard, "Damn, you must have some stories to tell! You could write quite a book, or maybe make a movie!"
So Casey told Sol he wasn't interested.
"I can't share these stories. I'd get sued. There's actually a doctor/patient thing here."
Sol laughed.
"Casey, Casey. I don't make pornos and I don't work with people that do, or at least I don't know if they do. Couple of times I have had to cover up some early indiscretions for a client. No, what I got here is someone who needs your help, bad. And I need your help, too, because she is losing her sizzle and she loses her sizzle she doesn't make pictures, and she doesn't make pictures I don't get paid."
"An actress?"
"You could say an actress."
"And you're telling me this young woman is a protΓ©gΓ© of yours...
"Yeah."
"You're telling me she would get more work if she could sort of amp up her sex appeal? She's kind of a plain Jane, good actress but needs some..."
"Not exactly, but close. This young woman, let's call her Jane... Yeah, that's good. Jane Doe. Jane is actually pretty accomplished, pretty well known."
"Would I know this person?"
"Assuredly. Box office. Definitely box office."
"Can you tell me her name?"
"Might not be a good idea right at this moment. The paparazzi around here, and around her, and around me are worse than the CIA."
"So how am I going to give her lessons without them picking up on the whole thing and casting me as her latest, or a male whore, or...?
"We'll have to work that out. Suffice it to say, it can't happen here. For starters, we'll say she is going into rehab."
"And what exactly is the problem?"
"In a nutshell, she is so sick of being a sex bombshell that she can't stand men. She doesn't want to wear anything hot on the red carpet. She doesn't want to make the kind of pictures that, damn it, take advantage of her assets. She wants parts as bag ladies, or junkies or frowsy trailer trash. You gotta help me."
Casey knew this could be tough. What would he do with a real prima donna who expected catering hand and foot? Besides, he didn't totally agree with the plan. If she wanted to be an actor rather than a bimbo, that was her career choice. Still, a plan was beginning to form.
"Sol, do you have some money to burn?"
"Some."
"Ok, here's what I need. Private plane from LA to Bangor, Maine. Hairdresser and costume person on the plane. No mirrors anywhere on the plane. Private vehicle from the Bangor airport to a camp I know. You pay for the camp and the guide. OK?"
"So when do we start burning money?"
"That was it."
"That? That for her is a taxi ride. That is riding lean and mean. That's all you need?"
"That, some supplies and you keep the jackals at bay for two, three weeks. Really bamboozle them."
"That's hard. But that will be fun. There are guys and gals I am dying to lead on a wild goose chase."
A month later, the woman who climbed out of the private jet onto the tarmac at Bangor airport drew absolutely nobody's attention. She had mousy brown hair that looked as if it had been hacked with a saw in the dark. A splotch of thick freckles and blemishes marred an uneven tan. The famous puffy lips looked chapped; and when she gave a shy smile the teeth behind those lips appeared discolored and a bit crooked. The million-dollar ass was well disguised by a pair of paint-spattered overalls. A baggy flannel shirt hid the cleavage thousands of men had spilled seed over in their dreams.
They simply climbed into the Landrover and soon were winding through heavy pine woods.
Casey shook his client's hand. There was nothing elegant about it.
"Casey...Casey Darden."
"Jane...Jane Doe."
If he had closed his eyes the voice with its throaty growl might have told him who he was talking to but he looked her straight in those amethyst eyes.
"It's good to meet you, Jane. Do you like camping, fishing?"
"I haven't done much of it, but I'm willing to learn, though some people think I'm dumber than a fish."
"Fish can be pretty smart."
"So can I, given half a chance. But I thought I was here so you could teach me how to fuck."
"No."
"I figured some romantic hidden resort, maybe a little rough, a little elegant. Canoes under the full moon. Cocktails by the lake."
"Not exactly"
"Which explains the no makeup and the ugly overalls and why I had to leave all my people behind."
"Yes."
"So where are we going?"
"Fishing."
"Fishing? You weren't kidding. Will I have to stick worms on hooks? I'm sometimes vegetarian."
"No worms. We use flies."
"Flies? I knew they had big ones up here... You're serious? How do they tie them on the hook?"
"Imitation flies, but some guys would tie real ones on if they thought it would catch fish."
"I was dumb."
"No, you just didn't know. That's OK. The whole idea is that you try something you haven't tried before. Are you game?"
Her face lit up with the famous smile, though the funky teeth somewhat dimmed her glow.
"This could be fun!"
The Landrover pulled up in front of a low building with a small plaque in brass next to the door that read "Aquarius Aquaculture. A stunning redheaded woman was locking the door. She was tall and the haunches she revealed were high and round and separate. She turned and waved and large green eyes sparkled. Her rusty hair, pulled high with a calico scarf bounced with impudent curls. She effortlessly picked up a huge backpack in one hand and tossed it into the back of the vehicle.
Casey introduced her.