SIXTEEN
A early evening heavy rain drummed against the three story modern building on a cul-de-sac next to the Van Nuys Airport. Winter in Southern California. Storms out of the Pacific. Louie Sinreich's office was warm and dry. Just the way he liked it to interview new talent such as the skinny redhead seated before his desk. Her starstruck eyes studied the various publicity posters of airbrushed naked actresses. portraying the glamor of the sex industry.
"Your poster could be up there?" Louie commented to get her attention
"Really, Mr. Sinreich?" She sat up straight on the post-modern sofa, as if she was applying for an airline stewardess job.
"Louie, call me Louie," he told the young girl. Her name escaped him, mostly since he would be changing it soon. Her pasty skin gave her the appearance of having lived underground, but also rejuvenated her younger than her eighteen years and young sold big in the XXX industry. "How long you been in Southern California, honey?”
"About three months." The redhead bit her chapped lower lip.
"Not easy getting settled in out here, is it?"
"No." Like most of the girls his scout sent him, she was too embarrassed to look him in the eyes.
"Maybe I can changed all that," Louie said, because many of these newcomers were straight off a farm or ranch, barely finished high school, and in LA for the sun and a chance to become someone other than who they had been back home. few months they fell behind the rent and a MODELS WANTED ad in the local paper seemed to answer these girls' prayers.
At the most recent open call the 'photographer/scout/talent agent' had seen something in the redhead that separated her from the rest. He had phoned Louis and arranged an audition. The producer always scheduled them for late in the day. Louis never knew where they might lead.
"I really like these shots. They show real potential." He held up a glossy black-and-white photo.
His words were music to the redhead's ears.
"Yes, seeing them I got real excited and said to myself, "This girl could go someplace.”
"I could?”
"Yes, you can, but I have to ask you a few questions. You're over 18, right?" The Vice Squad would arrest any video producers engaged in breaking the Mann Act with minors, so Louie prohibited all under-age girls from his set, even as spectators.
"I'm 18." The redhead pulled out a wrinkled driver's license from her tight jeans. She was almost 19. Louie handed back the license. "I also have your HIV test results, which were negative.”
The free and easy 1980s and 1990s had suffered too many casualties to repeat those mistakes, especially since only two years ago one big name had killed herself after having received a positive result.
"Now the next questions might be a little more difficult. All I need is a yes or no. Think you can handle that?”
"Yes." She answered with certitude of a girl willing to sell her soul.
”You understand my films don't get airplay on the Family Channel.”
"Yes." She didn't want her parents, family or friends back in Kansas seeing her naked with strange men.
"And that they are adult films, meaning you and another person have sex on film?”
"I'm okay with that." The redhead had been dreaming about stardom on the big screen ever since the men and boys back home fed her the line that she should be in movies.
"You ever see an adult film before?”
”Yes."
"Did it excite you?”
"Not really.”
"Answer yes or no."
"Yes, it did.”
"Do you like sex?" Finding beautiful girls for his films was easy. People needed money. More difficult was finding women to show their inner fire, while having sex with a man, woman, or machine.
Her tiny breasts rose against her flannel shirt and she admitted, "Yes, I like sex.”
"Do you like oral?”
"Yes, both giving and getting." The little redhead blushed, for no one had ever asked these questions.
"Anal?"
"I've never tried.”
”Girls?”
"Yes." The redhead nodded, as if she were guilty of a crime.
That innocence sold videos and Louie pressed forward asking, "Have you ever been with more than one man?”
"No."
"Would you like to?" This question was important, because the audience were keen for more than one-on-ones for newcomers. "I mean, could you get it on with a couple of guys in front of a camera?”
"I guess I could." The redhead squirmed on the couch, imagining the actual act of having two men at the same time.
Louie smiled at her eagerness to forsake her innocence and planned out a career trajectory. First year as the classic farm girl runaway. Second year soul sold to Satan. Third year S&M princess. He pulled the office's curtains shut and sat on the edge of his desk.
"I like these photos, but there's nothing like seeing it in the flesh. You don't have a problem with taking off your clothes, do you?”
"None at all." The redhead wiggled out of her jacket, jeans, and tee shirt down to her off-white panties.
"Dance a little, honey. You know how.”
Louie Sinreich flipped on a CD of techno music. From long experience he had learned that people have sex the same way they dance and if 'Alice' could dance, then she could also be in the movies.
The redhead swayed side to side with her hands roaming over her body. She wouldn't need any instructions on how to be sexy.The redhead teen had what it. Louie didn't have say a word. She understood where she was a stripped off her shirt and jeans. No underwear.
He continued his silent assessment of the redhead naked body.
Her pale white legs were Olive Oyl thin and her butt was the size of two 59-cent grapefruits. Her belly pouted without an ounce of fat and the rest of her body exhibited the effects of a no-food diet. Her arms were too thin and her ribs stuck out/ Two weeks of three square meals would fill her out nicely. Afterward he would tell her she was getting fat and put her on speed to keep her weight under control, for nothing controlled these girls like playing on their low-self-esteem.
Her small breasts would be fine for a debut, though when her video shelf life deepened, implants would be a necessity, maybe 35 CC. Most of the girls and even some of the men in the industry had cosmetic surgery on their breasts, butts, faces, stomachs, and even private parts to refine what nature had divined to undefine.
Striking several poses like a cheerleader drunk on beer, the redhead dipped two fingers under the panties' frayed waistband and peeled off her last piece of clothng. She sat on the shag rug. Her moon skin outlined by the black. The young girl was playing sexy. Louie wasn't into this business for games.
”You can stop, honey.”
"Am I no good?" She stiffened with her hopes dying in his eyes.
"Honey, you're more than good. I can already see you on the screen." It was only forty hours of no-sleep preventing Louie from making full use of his producer's couch.
"You mean, I got the job." The redhead beamed with gratitude. Bright lights, cameras, the movies, men and women wanting her, money, and fame danced in her head like a mirage transforming into an oasis.
"Yes, you're going to stop being a nobody. So get dressed. We'll take it slow at first."
”Slow?"
"Maybe a lesbian film for starters.” Most of these young girls needed a time before moving onto the real hard-core. "Is that alright by you?"
"Whatever. The sooner the better.” The redhead tugged on her shirt, shoes and jeans.
"I'll advance you $500 to tide you over, till we begin shooting.”
"Thank you, Louie, this chance means a lot to me." The first thing she was doing upon returning to her shabby studio apartment in North Hollywood was quit her minimum wage nurse's aide job. Stars didn't change bedpans.
”No thank you, because without you I can't make movies."
Calling his videos 'movies' sounded more glamorous to the newcomers, even though the porno industry had move away from shooting celluloid in the early 1980s to reduce production costs. "Now you're in the movies, we're going to give you a new name. Alice BeBadd. How do you like the sound of that?”
"Just fine, Louie." She pulled on her tee-shirt. "It's almost like I'll be a new me.”
"Exactly, honey. Go out and talk to my secretary, Donna. She'll have you sign a contract and waiver, give you the advance, and tell you where and when your career starts.”
”Thank you,” Alice leaned over and kissed him on the lips. Like most newcomers she thought sex would seal the deal. He smiled with appreciation, "I might call you tomorrow. For an informal video test over my place. I mean you don't have a date or anything?”
"No, I'm free for whatever. Whatever you want, Louie.”
"Good, now go tell Donna she can go home.”
The redhead blew him a kiss and shut the door.
Louie was alone. He stretched his muscles. It had been long couple of days. Exhaustion had sapped his body. A little speed could eke out another evening of work. His doctor had cautioned him repeatedly that the drug would kill him someday, however other than collapsing into a coma at bedtime, the headaches, and his frayed nerves, Louie was fine and he checked his computer for the monthly figures from his line of gay porno books published out of New York. The cellular phone inside his jacket vibrated again.
Louie almost answered, but switched off the power, for what he needed right now was a few minutes by himself. His elbows rested on the edge of his desk, hands cradling his head. His eyes slid shut. Even in this semi-state of sleep Louie could only think about his work.
Sex, videos, and money.
Each videos from his various production companies had turned a profit. They were cheap. No story. Lots of action. Good-looking girls. Average guys with normal cocks to create viewer identification. Great box covers and titles. His films reaping five to ten times the cost. Even after paying taxes to the State of California and the Feds his earnings millionaired him every couple of weeks. The numbers slipped through his dozing head to become dimensionless equations added, subtracted, and broken down to integers without ever lighting on a final resting place.
Louie woke with the snap of his neck. His eyes opened to his office. The rain had intensified during his nap and it was night. Almost 5. Night came quick this time of year. He was the only one in the building. No one worked overtime unless it was on the film set. Only him. He packed several folders, checks for deposit at the bank, and the new issue of ADULT VIDEO NEWS into his briefcase and stuck a licensed 9mm Walther automatic into his shoulder holster, then exited through the 'slave room' where thousands of dupe machines copied the video for mass-consumption. Downstairs Louie stepped into the foyer. His bodyguard was speaking with the security guard. Something about his tale about being locked in a closet during the Northridge earthquake.
"Jimmo, walk me to the car.”
"Sure thing, Mr. Sinreich." Jimmo excused himself and popped open an umbrella, The rain was hard. The big man held it over Louis's head. Halfway to the Cadillac Jimmo asked, "You be needing me tonight?"
"No, I'm going back to the house." He stuck a piece of gum in his mouth to stop grinding teeth. "You can take off.”
"You sure?"Jimmo hated his abnormally long hours, but an ex-con with his record had few job openings.
"Yeah, I'm sure." Louie snapped at the big man's question, then reined in his temper. The big guy was just doing his job “Tomorrow’s another day.”
"Whatever, Mr. Sinreich." Jimmo shut the door and returned inside the building without another word. The ex-cop he knew how to keep his mouth shut. Louis liked that in a man. Women too.
Louie sat inside the the two-months old. Louie settled into the custom leather seat and twisted the key in the ignition. The car's V-8 engine purred to life and he tuned the radio to K-Rock Aerosmith's DREAM ON. Louie pulled out of the parking lot. At the red light before the Freeway entrance Louie contemplated driving over to Hollywood. Che in restraints. If you were going to teach a lesson, more was always better than less. The fantasy faded with the sweep of the windshield wipers.
The Cadillac sped onto 405 by the Sepulveda Dam. Traffic was light. The rain was heavy. Louie maintained the speed limit. The California Highway Patrol targeted hydroplaning cars. Getting off at the Encino exit, the Cadillac splashed uphill to the last hour on the cul-de-sac. Louie parked beneath the carport.
His arrival should have triggered on the outer lamp. The storm must have damaged the bulb. He started toward the house, then stopped before the door. Someone was lurking in the bushes. His right hand dipped inside his jacket for the 9mm.
"Don't even think about it." A voice ordered from the gloom. A voice he knew.
Louie lifted both hands to shoulder height. A man skillfully plucked the automatic from its holster.
"Turn around.”
Kevin Driscoll's Jack O'Lantern visage greeted Louie.
"Driscoll." Louie began to lower his arms.
Keep 'em up. I like it better that way." Driscoll poked him in the stomach with the pistol's muzzle.
"What's up?" Louie asked calmly, showing panic to Driscoll was like chumming guts to a shark.
"That's what I want to know." Driscoll roughly jabbed the 9mm into the producer's gut again. "I've been callin' you all day.”
"The battery in my phone died," Louie said amicably, as Driscoll frisked him for the Nokia, which he switched on, and put to his ear. "It's workin' fine now."
Louie shrugged and Driscoll tossed the phone into the bushes bordering the driveway.
"Were you tryin' to stiff me and Frank?”
"What gave you that idea?” The ex-cop was visibly high. Louie would have to handle him very carefully to keep his fuse from burning any shorter.
"Like you weren't supposed to be here until tomorrow.”
"So let me guess. You don't have my money.”
"I don't carry $25,000 on me. No one does. If you need money, I can give you five right now and the rest tomorrow after I go to the bank. That's the best I can do right now." Louie was telling the truth. "Have I ever screw you or Frank?"
The three of them went back to Brooklyn in 1988. Driscoll had taken out a Pakistani XXX storeowner in 1988. Non-payment. Friendship had nothing to do with their relationship. It was all business.
"There's always a first time." 8. Friendship had nothing to do with their relationship. It was all business.
"There's always a first time." Driscoll sputtered, "I want my money now."
”Like I said I have five.” Louie was stalling in the hope that Driscoll would see reason once the cocaine died in his veins. "Where can I get the other twenty this time at night?"
"At the fuckin' millionaire ATM in Beverly Hills." His fingers clenched the 9mm with bone-white intensity. Veins popped out from his temples and throbbed with each heartbeat. The ex-cop was seconds away from pulling the trigger and for once nothing Louie could say or do would save him. Just as Driscoll began to lift the 9mm, a hard object cracked into the ex-cop's head and the big man crumpled to the driveway.
"You all right, Mr. Sinreich?" Jimmo held up a splintered two by four. "I spotted him following you from the parking lot. I figured he had to be up to no good.”
"You took your time.”
"Had to get the right angle. Not easy in this weather.”
"Better late than later." Louie picked up his 9mm and patted down Driscoll's jacket to find Isaac Conti's wallet. While none of the Vegas papers had mentioned the old man's murder, this wallet confirmed his elimination. It wasn’t there. The cop had fucked up somehow.
”Where you want him?" Jimmo nudged Driscoll with his foot.
Louie panned up and down the street. All the nearby occupants were watching TV. Same as everyone else in the Valley. It was that kind of night. Same as the days before. Same as the nights to come in the suburbs of America. Killing Driscoll would be easy. They could call it 'self-defense', except Louie was no murderer and neither was Jimmo, plus then he would have to deal with his partner. Louie told Jimmo, "Just take him inside and down to the basement.”
"Sure thing." Jimmo hoisted the fallen man over his shoulder without the slightest sign of exertion. Louie unlocked the door and his bodyguard lumbered inside the darkened house.
Louie recovered his phone and the shattered pieces of two by four. He entered the house and the door shut behind him. Same routine for every house in this neighborhood. There had been no witnesses to Jimmo taking out Driscoll. All the nearby occupants were watching TV. Same as everyone else in the Valley. It was that kind of night. Same as the days before. Same every night in the suburbs of America. Everything nice and quiet and safe.
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