In the morning she was kneeling over me.
"What do you want me to do for you?"
"Kristi, I'm only interested in your professional skills."
She slunk down.
"You're disappointed in me."
"No, no, baby. I just don't require you for a sexual nature."
"You don't."
"Yes I'm sorry if that goes against local custom but I think you have a mind and I wish you to rent it to me."
Kristi held my face in her hands while she cried.
"No one's ever said that to me before."
"Well get used to a little bit of praise and a little bit of love. Your worth isn't all in your vagina. Though I'm sure it's lovely."
"You want to see?"
"I'm twice your age, girl! Me seeing that nubile little thing cannot have positive consequences on our professional relationship! So keep your vagina to yourself. Run around in your panties I don't care but don't show me the shit! I'm 40 years old. Can't you imagine me getting jealous of your soft little 20-year-old puss?? Fuck, girl."
"I'm sorry..I didn't mean to tease you with my..20-year-old puss. I didn't realize it was such a commodity!!"
"Well it is!"
"Alright!"
"Do you want to work on the script now?!"
"I was born to work on the script, sir—uh—"
"That's ok. Sir is fine..from you. For now. Sir is fine."
And this nubile little girl sits up, in her undies, wrapped in my down comforter, and says, "Yes, sir."
And now, I shouldn't have let this girl enter my heart, but that's that way I am—I let people into my heart—and I couldn't but with this Kristi—20-year-old Hollywood girl—let her into there as well.
As the girl enacted my parts—my crazy, unformed characters—she arched her thighs and showed me tendons as tight as any steel wire, and obviously you know this by now but I loved the girl as more than my assistant. My scruples, though, would never let her know that.
I'll tell you watching that girl got some of my girl juices going, from when I was that age. My pussy got so wet I had to put on shorts.
But I mean this kid could have been my daughter—what am I going to do. Give the whore a job and some decent employment? What else were you going to do with Kristi, dancing around my room in her Bambi panties reciting lines from my script on her tablet.
"This doesn't really work, does it?" she says, towering above me, hip bones making me want to eat her.
"What part?" I say.
"This part with when he would do? Don't you think the negative would do? You need a dialogue coach."
"Get me one."
Kristen lowers her tablet.
"Right now?"
"As soon as possible. You're my assistant. You're supposed to assist with things."
"Ok," she says, and she makes some calls. "He'll be here in half an hour."
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
"No."
"How much is this going to cost me?"
"Oh, Ruiz will work for free."
"Why would Ruiz do that?"
I point at my mistress.
"No—oh! I didn't do anything with Ruiz. But Ruiz is trying to meet up-and-coming directors so he does pro bono work like this from time to time?"
"I'm a charity case?"
"You're not a charity case. You're a commodity. Do you know what a director is worth in this town? When a successful director comes along, she makes millionaires all over the city. You're hope. This town is built on hope."
This is a 20 year old in Bambi panties telling me this.
"I'm a 40-year-old waitress from Portland. I doubt I'm a commodity."
"You are," Kristi says, kneeling over me. "You still have hope. You brought hope to Hollywood."
"It might be hope. It might be stupidity."
"Of course it's stupidity," Kristi says, throwing aside her tablet. "Of course it is! What do you think the dreamers are? Do you think Hollywood is built from the inside? That's what makes this shit different from all that east-coast bullshit!! People come from Canada, Australia, India..and do you think they'd have a chance? Of course they do! And you!! You're the spark on which this town is built."
"Ok, ok, either you're drinking whisky that I didn't notice or you're waaay too positive for me this am. How 'bout you put some fucking clothes on and we get ourselves a breakfast?"
"As long as it includes coffee," Kristi says, peeing in my toilet with the door open.
"Yeah I always include coffee," I say.
"And no corn syrup, wheat, or refined sugars," Kristi says, wiping.
"Wouldn't dream of it," I say. "When is Miguel the dialogue coach going to meet us?"
"Ruiz. He'll meet us at the restaurant."
"How does he know what restaurant? I didn't even tell you the restaurant."
"Let me worry about ok, if I truly am your assistant. I mean there's no reason getting me if you don't let me take care of things sometimes."
"Truer words were never spoken. Now let me jill off in the bathroom and we'll get coffee. Ok?"
"Ok!"
And I did, I took a bath while waiting for Kristi to wait for me and I jilled my pussy off real good thinking of that little girl outside my bathroom. I had to treat her professionally, of course, but what I did in the privacy of my own bathroom or own mind was ok—wasn't it?
I didn't feel bad about jerking off to her when we went down the elevator with tenants flush with dogs, and headed toward our coffee restaurant, to meet Ruiz, the drama coach. I had already survived the Oracle of Hollywood—what else could be left? Well—it turned out—a lot, a whole lot.