Butterflies

Studio B was tucked back in a distant corner of the sprawling Metro Films lot. Discarded props and miscellaneous film production equipment, too valuable to junk, but too old to be of service at the bigger studios nearer the front gate, surrounded the old, square building.

She parked in the temporary lot as she had for the last two weeks. Though, she wasn't late, the young woman lost no time as she made her way inside. Slipping in the stage door she had hoped to find the building deserted, but the set was already buzzing with activity. Grips were hanging lights, and production assistants were busy dressing the set. Trying to act casual, she made her way towards her dressing room. Was it just because she was so nervous she thought she noticed everyone glancing at her as she passed by? "No," she decided, "I've got to stop being paranoid."

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts she didn't see it at first, but her timing could not have been worse. As though a black cat had crossed her path, she stopped, frozen, just ten paces from the safety of her dressing room door. Two production assistants were wheeling a complete king-sized bed toward the set. Feeling her cheeks redden, she let them pass and fairly leapt to the security of her dressing room door. Once inside, she put her purse down and went immediately to the large, lit mirror over her dressing table. "Oh no," she thought. "How unprofessional, I'm blushing."

She stood stock still, reminding herself to breathe slowly as she stared into the mirror collecting her thoughts. The girl who looked back at her was pretty; anyone would be quick to agree. She was almost petite, but nicely shaped. Her curves were full and suited her nicely. Her dark, reddish brown hair hung to her shoulders, accented with bangs cut straight an inch above a pair of striking hazel eyes. She smiled at herself, revealing perfectly capped teeth, a cosmetic enhancement, which complimented the surgeon's fine touch to her nose. For a young twenty-something, up and coming actress, she certainly looked the part.

As though coming out of a trance, she blinked back to life. She had to get ready. Today was the big day. She checked her watch for the umpteenth time in the last five minutes and began to go about her routine. But she just wasn't with it. Her mind was in a whirl.

A few months ago, it had all started; she found it flooding back. Since graduating from college with a BA in drama, she had been to maybe fifty auditions. Only for minor roles, had she ever been called back. She'd played the parts of the maid, the cousin, the sick sister; but she knew that she was better than that.

After her reading this day though, it had been different. The director/producer had asked her to stay and meet with him later in the afternoon. It was though a bomb had gone off in her heart. There in his little office, he told her he wanted her to play the co-starring role. This was a small, independent production for video release, and it would pay her $5000 for three to four weeks work. Actual shooting would begin in a few months. It was a typical action film with the crusty but benevolent good cop versus the handsome but evil drug lord. That kind of thing.

"Yes," she'd blurted out. "Oh, yes. I'll take the part."

The director looked pleased by her over eager response. "Great!" he came back, unsuccessful in suppressing a grin. "Uh, you are aware that the role does require a love scene." His eyes were steady. "A nude, love scene."

No, she hadn't known. She only knew she had auditioned for the role of Cassie, the tough yet spunky undercover DEA agent who would infiltrate the gang by becoming the gangster's girlfriend.

She attempted to compose herself. "No, uh, I wasn't aware." She tried not to sound disappointed. "You mean explicit---?"

The director cut her off. "No, no. This isn't a pornographic film." He rose from his chair and came around to sit on the edge of the desk in front of her. "But the script calls for a scene where your character goes home with the bad guy, and they end up in bed. She goes along as she wants to avoid any suspicions on his part."

She sat there, her legs crossed primly, hands in her lap, staring back at him.

"It's not pornographic," he continued. "No penetration or oral sex, nothing sleazy like that, but it will have to be convincing."

She didn't know what to say.

He picked up her paperwork and gave it a quick scan, flipping over the photograph on top and running his finger down the first page. "I see by your resume you don't have all that much professional experience, so far nothing outside of a few minor roles."

He tossed it over on the stack of others, but seemed reluctant to quit his explanation. "I thought your reading was good and you look the part. You've got a fresh new face. I think I can turn your inexperience into a disarming cuteness, which will give Cassie a hesitant believability in her scary undercover situation."

He sat up off the edge of the desk and returned to his chair. "But before we went any further I wanted to make sure this would be all right with you."

"What should I say? What should I do?" Her thoughts tumbled in confusion.

He pushed his glasses back up on his nose, obviously a nervous habit, and exhaled in regret. "Well, okay, I understand..."

She came to life. She'd decided. "Oh no. I don't have a problem with a 'romantic' scene. As long as it's a necessary part for my character, and doesn't really involve ... Like it's not going to be extreme close ups." She stopped, putting her frantic hands back in her lap, then continued boldly. She wanted the part. "None of that..." her fingers clenched as her hands once again sought to help describe her anxiety, "...awful banging, sucking..."

"No, no, no." He laughed. "No. It's only one scene, and it'll be very tastefully done. With the violence in this movie, we'll already earn a hard R rating. We don't want to do anything to push it over the edge. We can't. Not for this distribution."

Relief flooded through her, and her excitement came back. "No," she stated firmly. "In that case it won't be a problem. I'm a professional. I've done kissing scenes before."

He pushed his glasses up again. "This is a little more than kissing."

"As long as it's not pornographic," she stated flatly. "I'm just starting on my career, and I don't want to ruin it." She looked him straight in the eye, her hands back in her lap.

"Well, okay then," he nodded. "Welcome to the cast. There'll be some papers you'll need to take home and bring back tomorrow, signed. My secretary has a package ready for you. Pick it up on your way out."

She almost wasn't listening; she was so caught up, already thinking about calling her mother and celebrating tonight with her boyfriend.

"No, problem, Mr. Weaver" she smiled.

"We're informal here." He leaned across the desk and offered her his hand. "Call me Max."

She stood up and leaning forward took his hand and shook it vigorously. "I'm Sally."

He held up her resume. "Yes, I know."

Feeling absolutely ecstatic, she turned to leave. It was the hardest thing to be calm and not leap up and shout, "Yeah, baby!"

"Oh, too." He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes and then the bridge of his long nose. "Before you go; just one last thing."

"Yes," she beamed.

"I need to ask you to please disrobe."

"What?" she replied, the crack in her voice revealing her surprise. "Here?" She took a wary step back from the desk. "Now?"

He seemed more than a bit embarrassed as well. "I just need to be sure you'll be okay. You know. No birthmarks, no tattoos." He smiled, obviously trying to lighten the mood with some humor. "No great hairy moles."

He stared at her from behind the desk and put his glasses back on. "I'll need to do this sometime before we sign the contracts. If you'd be more comfortable with another person also watching." He reached for the phone. "I can call in my secretary."

"No," she said swallowing deeply. "It's all right. I understand."

He put the phone down and just looked at her, waiting.

She clutched her purse. "Now?"

He shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands apart.

"I mean, I guess." She squeezed her purse straps, strangling them with both hands. "If it's really necessary?"

He touched his fingertips to each other delicately, his elbows on the desk. "I'm afraid so."

She stood there staring back, caught in the situation. She remembered thinking, "I'm going to remember this moment the rest of my life."

She knew it was her move.

With one toe, she slid off the back of one of her slip-on sneakers and then repeated the action with the other foot. Her shoes off, another long moment stretched out. She could hear a phone begin ringing somewhere on the other side of the door, an entire world away.

And then, she began.

She placed the purse she had been clutching on the seat of the chair behind her, and when she came back around her hands rose to the top of her blouse. She felt her fingers begin at the top button and start down. The first stuck as she tried to push it through, but finally popped free. Her fingers were shaking. Nervously, she found herself counting them off silently to herself as the button released and the blouse began to spread open: "one, two, three, four..." She swallowed again, thinking, "Is this me? Am I actually doing this?"

Pulling her shoulders back, she shrugged out of the blouse and turning, placed it on the chair back ever so carefully, hanging it out with its empty arms dangling. For some reason her purse looked foreign to her, odd, sitting there all alone on the black plastic seat of the chair. Turning back to face the man behind the desk, she noticed his expression hadn't changed a bit from when she'd started. He looked glassy eyed as though he wasn't focusing on anything, yet his eyes followed her every move.

"Should I take off my bra next, or my skirt?" she thought, hesitating. Her palms were wet and her cheeks were hot, as she reached to her side and began unbuttoning the skirt. Stepping out of it, she gathering it up before folding it in half over her arm and laying it down flat, covering her purse. It was as though none of this was real. She knew she was doing it, but it was like she was watching herself, like she was caught up in one of those eerie out-of-body experiences described by people in the tabloids who've come back from death. Now, standing here under the bright lights of this office, wearing only socks, panties and a bra, she became acutely aware of the feel of the smooth skin of her thighs as they pressed together.

Swallowing dryly, she reached behind her back, fingers fumbling for a moment as she unhooked her bra. It loosened and came free. Her breasts tingled and her nipples were embarrassingly erect as she slipped it off, feeling the cool air rush up against her exposed skin. She coughed slightly, bringing her fist up to her mouth, trying to clear her parched throat. Never had she felt so naked in her life. She let herself look down and seeing her own nipples, stiff and pink, she felt something in her stomach flutter and go cold at the same instant.

For some reason, she attempted folding the bra, but only succeeded in wadding it up. Awkwardly, she feigned a wiry smile, fidgeting with the thing before giving up and dropping it on the seat of the chair. When she turned back, for a moment, her eyes met his, and they both instantly looked away. Taking a deep breath, she tried to think, to breathe, anything to calm her fiercely pounding heart.

Her hands went down to her panties. Feeling the elastic under her fingers she tried not to think about what she was about to do. Staring straight out, she pulled them down, so aware of the fabric sliding down between her thighs. And then she stepped out of them, first with the left leg, then the right. Her mouth had gone stone dry. A few hours ago she had never met this man, and now here she was, standing naked before him in his office.

Somehow the silky little garment slipped from between her fingers, fluttering to the floor at her feet. She moved to pick them up. But bending over she became ultra aware of her breasts as they dangled away from her body. Startled by this exposed feeling, she thought in a flash it would be better to squat down. Instantly, this thought was followed by a vision of her legs coming apart when she neared the floor, and so she just stood back stiffly, not having a clue now as to what to do with her hands. Instinctually, her fingers wanted to cover the sparse wisps she could feel so glaringly exposed, but she fought back the impulse. She didn't dare follow his gaze down when his eyes dropped, preferring to watch the second hand of the wall clock behind the desk as it dragged along.

Again the silence closed in, the clock ticking loudly, each second echoing throughout the room.

"Should I take off my socks, too?" she offered, shattering the moment and feeling suddenly foolish. Her hands, she couldn't think of a thing to do with her hands.

It was his turn to have his voice crack when he spoke. "Uh, no. Uh, that won't be necessary. Would you, uh, please put your arms over your head?" His voice was more than a little shaky. "Turn all the way around, slowly?"

She found herself doing as he asked. Her arms came up, her breasts rising slightly with them. She closed her eyes and licked her dry lips when she had her back fully to him, taking a moment to breathe in and out, in and out. After what seemed the longest time she finally heard him say, "You can turn back around."

She turned all the way about and faced him again. He was looking her up and down. For a split second she feared there might be something wrong. But he said, "Okay, great. Thank you. You can put your clothes back on. You're a stunningly beautiful young woman. You'll do just fine." Beads of sweat were on his forehead and upper lip.

And that was that. He made himself busy about his desk while she dressed, feigning interest in various papers, which he picked up and shuffled around, eventually replacing them exactly where they had been moments before. She had gone home and signed the contract, and now for the past weeks she had been "Cassie" undercover DEA agent. But today was the day. As always, the future had arrived.

She slipped out of her reverie at the knock at the door. It was Marge, her costume/makeup assistant. All the production crew on this low budget film had more than one job and carried a hyphenated title.

"I heard you'd come in early," she said with a smile. "Thought I'd do you first since you don't need much wardrobe today." She half winked and held up the hanger with the small string bikini.

They had shot the beach scene yesterday, where Cassie conveniently meets Frank outside his Malibu beach home. She had gone inside with him for a drink and one thing led to another. In the last shot, he grabbed her and kissed her and she didn't resist. The camera dollied behind them as he led her into the bedroom and closed the door. "Cut," she had heard Max say, "Print. We'll see everyone back tomorrow."

Randall, the actor who played Frank Falcone, the bad guy, had smiled to her and said, "Nice kiss." His smug grin had reminded her of a wolf.

She sat in front of the mirror letting Marge do her thing. Sally's thoughts dissolved to her first day in pre-production, her first time in her very own dressing room, the first time she had met Randall. She had wondered if he was thinking the same things she was when they shook hands, their first touch. She knew he must have been, for later in the day, after rehearsals, he'd approached her.

"Sally," he said, scooting his chair closer to hers. "The production schedule says we have our big scene coming up pretty soon."

"I know," she said, feigning interest in some activity across the studio.

"Well, I've been in a few of these types of pictures and I know, or experience has taught me," he closed in, "that maybe we'd feel a bit more at ease if we did a little extra rehearsal."

She turned and looked him squarely in the face. "Rehearsal? I do have a boyfriend, you know."

He laughed and put his hand atop hers. "I'd imagine so? Hey, look, I'm married myself."

For some reason, she hadn't thought of that possibility.

"It's part of the job," he pressed on. "Look, my wife's an actress too. You know, now that I think about it you two even look alike. Listen, Sally, she understands. We're professionals. I'm telling you, it'll make us much more comfortable when we do our little scene."

Something almost made her agree. He really was good looking. He had dark, wavy hair and a strong angular face. He was solid and well toned; he just looked like a movie star. But he was just a little too eager.

"No, I don't think so," she decided. "The scene is one thing, but I don't think we should meet off the set. I mean go to a motel or---"

"No," he broke in trying to salvage his pitch. "A motel would be, well, uh, kind of seedy, don't you think? I thought more along the lines of your place," he tried to make his eyes go soft and caring. "Where you could feel relaxed, more laid back."

It was those eyes that made up her mind.

"No," she said with finality. "I don't think I could justify it to my boyfriend. Besides, I'm sure Max has it all worked out, exactly what we're supposed to do."

"Okay, whatever you say," he said getting up. She could tell he was trying to hide his disappointment; but, he wasn't that good of an actor.

"There, all done," preened Marge. She gathered her makeup kit and went to the door. "Don't be nervous, honey. Its all just play acting. You'll do just fine. You know, actually Randall's not so bad. To tell you a secret, I kind of envy you."

Sally just stared.

Marge laughed, adding, "Break a leg," and she went out leaving Sally all alone.

Sally looked at the time again, eleven minutes. Her palms were wet with sweat. She took off her street clothes hanging everything up perfectly on the wire hangers in the cubby of a closet. She picked up the small bikini from the dressing table and held the pieces out in front of the mirror. She had worn it most of the day yesterday, and had enjoyed the reactions from the guys in the crew, noticing each time they quickly looked elsewhere when she turned her eyes their way. She decided to not put it on just yet, thinking maybe she'd feel more natural if she stayed like this for a while. "Hey come on Sally," she thought to herself trying to bolster her confidence, "you're no prude, girl."

She remembered her sophomore year in college. The night she had parked with a fellow drama classmate. They had been petting and groping, for at least a half hour in the back seat, and finally all of their clothes were off. He was hard and ready, and she was breathing so fast. It was all hot and sweaty in the car, like a sauna. He had just put it in. All the way in and laid down on top, kissing her deeply, when there was a great crash, and the car lurched to the side.

Some other students, drunk, had hit their car in the parking lot. Before they could do anything, people had materialized from nowhere and had ringed the car, watching them as they struggled to find their clothes and get dressed. The campus Police arrived just seconds after she had gotten her shirt back on. She still wondered whatever had become of that bra.

She snapped back to reality and looked at the time. "Okay, five minutes," she thought. The insistent tickle she had recently come to know so well, fluttered in the bottom of her stomach as she tied the bikini on. "Butterflies," she thought to herself.

She slipped on her white robe, and with one last, big, deep breath, abandoned the security of the dressing room for the walk to the set. Crew members stopped what they were doing and watched as she passed by.