Part 1
So there I was in my office over Wong's Chinese Antiques in Chinatown waiting for my occasional secretary, Britney, to get back from her latest attempt at breaking into the movie business at an audition for a role in a movie called It Came From the Deep. Britney was a nice kid. UCLA graduate in Theater and all that. Pretty surfer type blond from Orange County with bright blue eyes and a nice little figure she liked to show off. But she had two things working against her show business-wise. She couldn't act. I'd seen her in a couple of plays and she was just awful. And she had a moral center that kept her off the casting couch.
Some people in the business thought she was a tease because of the way she dressed with short skirts and low cut blouses, but they didn't realize that she pretty much grew up wearing bikinis and she thought she dressed modestly. To accuse her of dressing like a slut would be like accusing an Hawaiian girl of the same for wearing nothing but a lei and grass skirt.
I spent a lot of time trying to get the movie madness out of her and convince her to get into a money-making trade like being waitress or private detective, but she always pointed out that I was always late in paying her and wasn't exactly rolling in jack.
I was half reading and half sleeping through a copy of Popular Mechanics. I am neither popular nor a mechanic, but I try to keep up with current technology, if only in theory. I thought it was a crime when electronic ignition became the norm in cars. I actually enjoyed setting the points on my old Plymouth Barracuda when I had it.
So I was reading an article that I seemed to have read every year since 1965 -- You Will Fly to Work -- when there was a knock on the outer door of the office and then the squeak of the door hinges.
A voice called out, "Hello?"
I put the magazine in the drawer next to my bottle of Old Grand Dad and called out, "Come on in."
And then she walked in. She wasn't Britney. She was almost the opposite of Britney. Instead of the sunshine of Britney this woman was night. Shiny black hair, olive skin, dark eyes and more curves inside her pin striped navy suit than Mulholland.Drive The type of woman who would make a corpse kick the slats out of his coffin. Just looking at her made me gasp. And I've seen the best of them.
Some people in the business thought she was a tease because of the way she dressed with short skirts and low cut blouses, but they didn't realize that she pretty much grew up wearing bikinis and she thought she dressed modestly. To accuse her of dressing like a slut would be like accusing an Hawaiian girl of the same for wearing nothing but a lei and grass skirt.
I spent a lot of time trying to get the movie madness out of her and convince her to get into a money-making trade like being waitress or private detective, but she always pointed out that I was always late in paying her and wasn't exactly rolling in jack.
I was half reading and half sleeping through a copy of Popular Mechanics. I am neither popular nor a mechanic, but I try to keep up with current technology, if only in theory. I thought it was a crime when electronic ignition became the norm in cars. I actually enjoyed setting the points on my old Plymouth Barracuda when I had it.
So I was reading an article that I seemed to have read every year since 1965 -- You Will Fly to Work -- when there was a knock on the outer door of the office and then the squeak of the door hinges.
A voice called out, "Hello?"
I put the magazine in the drawer next to my bottle of Old Grand Dad and called out, "Come on in."
And then she walked in. She wasn't Britney. She was almost the opposite of Britney. Instead of the sunshine of Britney this woman was night. Shiny black hair, olive skin, dark eyes and more curves inside her pin striped navy suit than Mulholland.Drive The type of woman who would make a corpse kick the slats out of his coffin. Just looking at her made me gasp. And I've seen the best of them.
posted by Hitz at 7:44 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home