SIXTEEN
Rain drummed against the office building on a cul-de-sac next to the Van Nuys Airport. Winter in Southern California, but Louie Sinreich's office was warm and dry. Just the way he liked it for interviewing new talent such as the skinny redhead, who couldn't take her starstruck eyes off the various publicity posters of airbrushed naked actresses on the office's walls. Louie had spent over $100,000 decorating the office. It said modern and sex.
"Your poster could be up there?" Louie commented to get her attention
"Really, Mr. Sinreich?" She sat up straight on the post-modern sofa like she was applying for an airline stewardess job.
"Louie, call me Louie," he told the young girl, whose name escaped him, mostly since he would be changing it soon. "How long you been in Southern California, honey?"
"About three months." The redhead bit her chapped lower lip. 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.
"Not easy getting settled in out here, is it?" Louie perched on the edge of the desk.
"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 really were. After a few months, they fell behind a couple of months 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 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.
"They do?" 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. Satisfied she was of age, 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, though 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 seeing them.
"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." Louis ignored the cellular phone inside his jacket vibrated. Business first.
"Yes, it did."
"Do you like sex?" Finding beautiful girls for his films was easy. People needed money. More difficult was finding women who can show their inner fire, while having sex with a man, woman, or machine. These girls were rare.
Her tiny breasts rose against her flannel shirt, as 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,” she replied shyly.
"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." Her hands restlessly scratched the inside of her legs.
"Would you like to?" This question was important, because one-on-ones for newcomers were a rarity. "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. "Yes, I could."
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, because she had what it took, though Louie didn't say a word, as he continued his silent assessment on the redhead's desirability.
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, but 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 beere, the redhead dipped two fingers under the panties' frayed waistband and peeled off her last piece of clohting. 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 and said, "You can stop, honey."
"Am I no good?" She stiffened with her hopes dying in her 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 gratefully at Louie. Bright lights, cameras, the movies, men and women wanting her, money, and fame danced in her head like a mirage becoming 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 little breaking in before moving them onto the real hard-core. "Is that alright by you?"
"Whatever. The sooner the better," the redhead answered, tugging on her 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 getting back to her shabby studio apartment in North Hollywood was quit her minimum wage nurse's aide job. Stars didn't change bedpans.
"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 stopped 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."
"Sounds great,” 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."
"Sure, Louie." The redhead blew him a kiss and shut the door behind her.
Louie stretched his muscles. It had been long couple of days. Exhaustion was sapping his body, but 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 each time he slept, the occasional headaches, and his fraying frayed, 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 of the 458 videos from his various production companies had turned a profit. They were cheap. No story. Lots of action. Good-looking girls. Average guys 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 7. He was the only one in the building. No one worked overtime without and 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, which the big man held over Louis's head to shield him from the slanting rain. Halfway to the Cadillac Jimmo asked, "You be needing me tonight?"
"No, I'm only going to the house." He stuck a piece of gum in his mouth to stop his teeth from grinding. Jimmo hated his abnormally long hours, but an ex-con with his record could count the number of job openings on one hand, even if you were missing a few fingers. "You can take off."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, I'm sure." Louie snapped at the big man's questioning him, then reined in his temper. The big guy was just doing his job and Louie said, "I'll see you tomorrow."
"Whatever, Mr. Sinreich." Jimmo shut the door and returned inside the building to finish his story. The big man liked to talk, but knew when to keep his mouth shut. Louis liked that in a man. Women too.
The two-months old Cadillac still smelled new. 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. It was playing Aerosmith's DREAM ON. Louie pulled out of the parking lot. At the red light before the entrance to the Freeway, Louie contemplated driving over to Hollywood, then decided Che could stand a night in restraints.
If you were going to teach a lesson, more was always better than less.
The Cadillac sped onto 405 by the Sepulveda Dam. Traffic was light, but the rain was heavy. Louie kept the car at the limit, since the California Highway Patrol targeted cars hydroplaning in the rain. Getting off at the Encino exit, the Cadillac splashed uphill to the dead end below the reservoir. Louie parked under the carport and slipped out of the Cadillac like a hand leaving from a glove.
His arrival should have triggered on the carport's 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 shadows.
Louie dropped his briefcase and lifted both hands over his head. 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, for 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 cellular died," Louie said amicably, as Driscoll frisked him for the phone, which he switched on, and put to his ear. Hearing the dial tone, he said, "It's workin' fine now."
Louie shrugged and Driscoll tossed the phone into the bushes bordering the driveway.
"Were you tryin' to not pay what you owe 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."
"That sucks."
"That's the best I can do right now." Louie was telling the truth. "What's the problem anyway?"
"Problem, you want to know what the goddamn problem is?" The gunman's pupils drew closer together, as if they were magnetically attracted to each other. "The problem is that you owe me and Frank twenty-five thou."
"You'll get your money tomorrow like I said. I mean have I ever screw you or Frank?" The three of them went back to Brooklyn, where Driscoll had taken out a Pakistani XXX storeowner in 1988. 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."
"Five I have. It's in the briefcase.” Louie was stalling in the hope that Driscoll would see reason once the cocaine died in his veins.
"What about the other twenty?"
"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, but 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 a splintered length of 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 off the driveway 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.
"Where you want him?" Jimmo nudged Driscoll with his foot.
Louie's eyes panned up and down the street. Not a single face was at a window. 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, so 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 Jimmo lumbered inside the darkened house.
Louie recovered his cellular and the shattered pieces of two by four. He entered the house and the door shut behind him. The light flickered on in the kitchen. Same routine for every house in this neighborhood. There were 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 as the nights to come in the suburbs of America.
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