Three weeks later on a Saturday, the cast was readying for the road opening of West Side Story in Washington, D.C. just four days away.
The girls were taking a break and as usual Elsie, always the actress, was regaling Amy and Linda with the latest on her latest boyfriend.
"We're done," she said flatly. "I told Lorraine that he asked for her number. I just wasn't psyched to assist this match, but the only thing more pathetic than girls mooning over uninterested guys are girls who sabotage other girls, even annoying ones, as part of some futile intra-sex competition. As usual, Lorraine spent several minutes obsessing over tan lines and diet. She's bowstring-thin with auburn highlights — and don't remind me Linda, I know Grady has this redhead fixation, but she's no Firecrotch. This is a girl whose last boyfriend told me she wouldn't scratch or massage his back because it would ruin her manicure. So let Grady have her and her listless leg-spreading."
She threw her hands in the air to emphasize her next line. "Elsie's sloppy seconds? Hmm, I don't know if I like his nose," Lorraine said. "Which kills me because I love his nose and can think of plenty of places for it."
She sighed adding to her little drama. "But I left Grady's number with Lorraine before hanging up; fuck it, the bimbo can call him if she realizes her awesome luck.
Elsie looked directly at her two friends before continuing. "Anyway, I've hooked up with Mel again."
Linda caught Amy's eye and arched an eyebrow. Amy stifled a giggle, truly enjoying her moment with the two women.
Elsie went on. "Would you believe . . . I don't know why I didn't tell you this sooner, Linda, but Mel called from Club Med last Tuesday!"
Linda nudged Amy in the ribs with her elbow, as if to clue Amy in on Elsie's next line.
"I wanted to hear your voice," he said — and to make plans for Friday the day after I return." The shit reduced me to useless puddle of sap. I veered from toe-curling sex fantasies to sugary mental pix of couple-hood and back again for several hours."
Linda was impressed: "You had what? One date and he's asking you out from his Club Med vacation in the Caribbean?"
Elsie beamed at the two of them. "Yeah!" she exclaimed and smacked her lips.
"Jesus, Elsie," Linda said sarcastically, "If Mel had any more nerve; he could give my clitoris a run for its money."
Elsie ignored the remark and continued on with her tale of the day. "So there I am, all buoyed up on Thursday 'cause we're gonna meet in like in less than 24 hours, ya know?"
"I'm feeling minimal pain when I practically mowed Grady down in the corridor. He began yapping about Lorraine again. So I bluntly informed him I'd already given Lorraine his number, told him the ball's in her court. Grady tried to conceal his telltale face-fall and asked if I wanted to grab a latte somewhere. Told him I was on my way to meet a guy for dinner (never mind that it was my dad). I've no use for Lorraine's "sloppy seconds," to borrow the charming girl's phrase. Let Grady find some other consolation thighs."
"Ya know," Elsie opined reflectively, "I should really focus on my lines for today, but I just left Mel, who by the way, is cooked to a crisp from the Caribbean sun. So I'm decompressing. Last night he accompanied me to a photo exhibit I was dying to see, which scored major points because he's no culture-vulture and simply wanted to make me happy. There was one mortifying moment, though: There we were, standing before a black-and-white, bird's-eye-view nude photo of the artist's lover, her face and breasts and tummy emerging proudly from the shadowy bedsheets. Mel's behind me, his fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of my neck, when he remarked, at full volume: "She's not that hot."
"Christ, he wasn't even being ironic — he was dead serious! Everyone, including the gallery owner, shot us a look like we were beyond contempt, and I don't blame them. I mean, he probably thinks the Mona Lisa has a dingy complexion. I know I sound like I'm unfairly harsh on the guy, but the incident underscored how disturbingly hung up on appearances he is. I mean, before that we watched the roller blader's in the park, and Mel kept pointing out how this one had PMS -- premature mammary sag -- or how that one was packing the spandex with too much gut. He finally became so obnoxious that I told him I hoped he wasn't spending this much energy secretly denouncing my flaws. He said I had nothing to worry about, because I'm as serious a gym rat as he is. Glad he wasn't around a few years ago when I had my bout of exercise bulimia — his comments would've really cranked up my craziness."
"Anyway, after the gallery, we go to Mel's place, and while we're fooling around shirtless, Mel interrupts the proceedings to ask if I think he's gotten more ripped over the past few weeks. I told him I hadn't noticed, and when I explained that I didn't feel ready to let things go any further tonight, he immediately hopped up to mix himself a protein drink. Oh, yeah, guy — if I'm not going for the mattress-springing, it must be because your lats can't cut glass yet!"
Amy was sure Elsie had more to offer, but the choreographer waved them back with the other dancers and had them all run through their paces three times in rapid succession.
Amy, having finished her segment, wondered if they were feeling a time crunch here. Linda sauntered over to stand alongside Amy as the others number wound down.
"I swear I'm gonna need oxygen after this number if we do it one more time."
"Tell me about it," Amy offered, by now feeling accepted by everyone in the cast. Although she suspected there were several cast members who didn't like her one iota. Amy readily accepted that as part of being in the "Biz," as she was wont to say these days. She had found she had time and help from various members of the production team as well as the director to explore the inner dynamics and relationships between the characters. But the writing was so good that most of Amy's scenes didn't require that much work in order for them to be effective. But she worked through them just the same, sometimes finding it a little tedious; but more often finishing the day with a feeling of exhilaration at improving her performance level another notch.
The entire cast was now working at a collective rhythm. Amy found it a little odd, but very reassuring. She had learned from Anna, who had proven to be a sensational Maria; that sometimes that moment never materializes, and having attained it augured well for the musical when it opened.
*****
Amy arrived back at John's apartment hopeful that he would be there waiting for her. He had been out of town for several days and she missed him terribly. She was especially horny for it had been four nights without having had him enter her.
Eve was also out of town, visiting her grandmother, who worked as a maid in Cleveland, Ohio.
The doorman greeted Amy as was his custom, but this day he had a wider smile than usual as he said, "Evening, Miss Prentice," followed by a whispered, "Ya didn't hear it from me, but Mr. Prentice is upstairs. He arrived an hour ago."
"Thank you! Elliott," she cried out joyfully and hugged him. Elliott watched as Amy took the elevator to her floor and then hastily made his way to the men's room in the lobby to masturbate while he could still feel the imprint of her breasts on his chest.
*****
"It's not fair John," Amy whispered contritely. "I've had three great climaxes since dinner . . . four if you count that horrible thing you did to me in the shower, and you've only had one. Tell me something I can do for you," she grinned wickedly and added, "My master."
"You should have more orgasms than me," John Prentice whispered back, "girls are designed that way. Guys are lucky to have two orgasms a day, maybe three. But girls can have multiple orgasms; they can keep coming until they cannot stand another."
"Really?" she said, surprised. "I've heard girls talk about multiple orgasms, but other than feeling absolutely wonderful, I didn't think more than three was possible."
"How many did you just have?" John inquired, already secure in the knowledge that it was probably four or more."
"Umm," Amy pretended to count them on her fingers, then went on to count her toes. Her giggles told him she was teasing.
