Let's Be Playmates by Planet Jackson
“I told you Jonathan, I’m big time now,” Ola Ray barked out. “I don’t have time to be in any little home movies,” she said as she patted her hair into place.
“Ola--” Jonathan tried in vain to interrupt.
“I mean, since I’ve appeared in Playboy I have to be careful about my image,” she said while inspecting her sport-length British Red Coat false nails.
“Ola--” he tried again.
“I really have to be seen with the movers and shakers. I can’t have my name attached to any little--”
“OLA RAY!”
“What is it Jonathan? I mean, you don’t have to yell!”
“It’s a music video project for a very important artist. All the right people will be attached to this project. It will be a good stepping stone for you.”
“Well who is it?”
“The artist prefers not to be revealed until everything is in place. I’m going to send over some papers by courier…”
‘Hmm…I wonder who it is?’ Ola thought to herself. ‘Teddy Pendergrass? Hall and Oates? No, he said artist. It has to be one person. Ooooh, maybe it was Billie Dee Williams with his fine self! Lando Calrissian could dock his ship in her bay any day. This Lady wouldn’t be singing anybody’s blues with him on her arm. All she needed was five minutes alone with him. He would forget all about Diana Ross. Her hair was fake anyway. She didn’t see what any of those men saw in her skinny ass anyway--’
At that moment her Jack Russell Terrier Kohana entered there room, jumped up on her cream-colored settee and began yapping.
Jonathan, hearing the little dog barking in the background, began to get agitated. He tried to wrap up the conversation as quickly as possible; memories of his last encounter with the little beast still fresh in his mind. “…so that’s what I need you to do. Do you think you could do that, Ola?”
“Huh? What? Oh, yeah sure,” she said while stroking Kohana’s coat; the little dog was various shades of brown and he shed profusely.
“The courier should arrive there by four o’clock this afternoon,” he choked out. He was beginning to sound pained. Almost as if he were severely constipated. Jonathan looked down at his hands and realized he had torn off the corner of the script he was saving for Jennifer Beals. Another pretty face with little talent. He would have dropped her as a client a long time ago if he didn’t want to get in her pants so bad. He had taken the corner and ripped it into little shreds while listening to Ola’s dog on the other line. “Please make sure you’re available to receive the package,” he sputtered.
“Wait Johnny Poo! Can’t you at least give me a little clue at who it is? You know I’ve been meaning to make it over to your part of town. A girl gets lonely all the way out here by her lonesome. Just a hint. I won’t tell. I promise,” Ola purred into the receiver of her pink and gold colored princess phone as the volume of the dog’s barking increased steadily.
Jonathan felt his trousers become tighter. Ola had often caught the older man staring at her breasts while they were speaking. She had the most delectable backside he had ever seen. He had a tough time convincing the scouts over at Playboy to give her a chance because she was a Black girl. That was until they saw her in person. Ola knew how to turn on the charm. Once she got through prancing her way around the office in her short green leather skirt and high heeled pumps and talking in that sing-songy breathless little girl voice of hers, she had charmed the pants off them literally. Ola never did tell Jonathan what exactly happened after the head exec sent him down the street with a hundred dollar bill to get coffee. All he knew was he sat in the waiting room counting the patterns on the wallpaper and making pained faces at the pretty young receptionist for 45 minutes after he returned from the coffee shop. When Ola came out she was beaming and shouting that she had gotten the photoshoot. The dog’s volume increased. Jonathan began to rub his temples.
“Ola, I have to go. Be on the lookout for the courier.” With that, Jonathan disconnected the call.
Ola Ray sat staring at the receiver for a moment, her mind still preoccupied with wondering who the video shoot was for. Kohana continued to bark as she fingered the red plaid bows the groomer put in his hair earlier that morning. Her thoughts were interrupted by Guadelupe, her Mexican maid.
“Escuse me missus,” she said.
“Yes, Guadelupe?” Ola raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.
“Escuse me but el perrito…the dog…he make poopi on da carpet again.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He use da bathroom, he make poopi on da carpet in da clo-set.”
“What? Why didn’t you take him out?”
“Aurelio did take him out. They were gone almos’ una hora. Then as soon as they return, he make da poopi.”
“Well, clean it up and you tell Aurelio this better not happen again or there will be consequences. He obviously didn’t walk him in the right places. Kohana only likes to walk on the garden path. He doesn’t like the sidewalk with all those noisy cars and other dogs’ smells. It upsets him isn’t that right baby?” she began to speak in baby talk to the now bored-looking dog panting on the settee next to her.
Guadelupe scowled at the brown dog hair all over the settee she had just cleaned off an hour ago. Ola insisted she go over the surface with sticky tape, a small brush, and a DustBuster vacuum every single day to remove the dog’s hair; she was required to do the same with the rose-colored bed spread and the cream colored shag carpeting in the bedroom. 'I am 55-years-old on my hands and knees cleaning up after that little yapping chinchilla. That dog eats better than I do!' she thought to herself. She went off to find club soda so she could spend the next two hours scrubbing the dogshit out of the light colored carpet.
Later that afternoon, the bicycle courier arrived just as Jonathan said he would. She searched the papers in the packet for any clue about who was involved in the project. Finding none, she quickly grew bored with the script and threw it on her chaise lounge. She ran her fingers through her hair, fluffed it up, then decided her curl needed more activator. She stripped down to her panties, put on her dressing robe, then sat on the overstuffed King Louis chair at her dressing table. She rubbed the cream oil into the palms of her hands and ran them through her hair, then pumped the spray bottle until she had depleted the contents by another ounce. She placed the plastic cap over her hair, pulled down her eye mask and lay back on the down pillows on her king sized water bed to take a nap. It was five o’clock in the afternoon.
Chapter 2
“No, no, no! None of these girls look right! I thought you said you were gonna get me some quality girls for this casting call?” George said.
“I did. Look, look, why don’t you take another look through the pictures. There are some real babes here,” said Carl, his casting assistant.
“This is garbage. You bring me all these pretty faces, but none of them has that spark.”
“Just look again, I promise. Besides, we haven’t even seen all the girls yet. Don’t give up too easily.”
“I’m just tired. We’re behind schedule, and I have to have this right for them. My neck is on the line here.”
“I know. Look, we’re going to find her. We’re bound to find just the right girl, I promise.”
Six hours later they had auditioned nearly every wanna be starlet in the LA area. There were the “serious thespians” like that one who showed up in a cape made of brown sack cloth with a rope tied around her waist. She had to be around 35 and she looked every year of it. George had specifically said no one over the age of 25. In the middle of the reading at the part where the zombies surrounded the couple, she whipped out a lighter and held it underneath her hand. She went into some monologue about how no zombie could best Joan of Arc. George had discreetly called in security as Carl sank lower in his seat.
There was the bubbly blonde bimbo who giggled through her reading and punctuated every other sentence with “like, oh my gawd!” When Carl informed her all the other actors in the production would be in full zombie makeup her response was “grody to the MAX!” Then there was petite readhead who looked so familiar to George. As she stumbled through her lines, mispronouncing even simple words, George racked his brain trying to remember where he had seen her before.
“Thank you very much...” Carl looked down at her headshot and file.
“It’s Kimber,” she called out while biting her lips. Kimber stood with her legs slightly apart and her arms akimbo.
‘Man, she had a nice rack,’ thought George. That’s it! She was July’s Penthouse Pet in last year’s Penthouse Magazine. George cleared his throat. “Yes, Miss…Kimber. Kimber, have I seen you somewhere before?”
Kimber just gave a sly smile, then slowly squinted her eyes while she parted her lips slightly. Her already ample breasts pushed out even further through the thin material of her halter top. “I don’t know. I guess it all depends on your reading habits,” she ended with a throaty chuckle.
“Yes, well, thank you very much. We’ll be in touch,” George lied as he quickly ushered her out of the room.
“Ola--” Jonathan tried in vain to interrupt.
“I mean, since I’ve appeared in Playboy I have to be careful about my image,” she said while inspecting her sport-length British Red Coat false nails.
“Ola--” he tried again.
“I really have to be seen with the movers and shakers. I can’t have my name attached to any little--”
“OLA RAY!”
“What is it Jonathan? I mean, you don’t have to yell!”
“It’s a music video project for a very important artist. All the right people will be attached to this project. It will be a good stepping stone for you.”
“Well who is it?”
“The artist prefers not to be revealed until everything is in place. I’m going to send over some papers by courier…”
‘Hmm…I wonder who it is?’ Ola thought to herself. ‘Teddy Pendergrass? Hall and Oates? No, he said artist. It has to be one person. Ooooh, maybe it was Billie Dee Williams with his fine self! Lando Calrissian could dock his ship in her bay any day. This Lady wouldn’t be singing anybody’s blues with him on her arm. All she needed was five minutes alone with him. He would forget all about Diana Ross. Her hair was fake anyway. She didn’t see what any of those men saw in her skinny ass anyway--’
At that moment her Jack Russell Terrier Kohana entered there room, jumped up on her cream-colored settee and began yapping.
Jonathan, hearing the little dog barking in the background, began to get agitated. He tried to wrap up the conversation as quickly as possible; memories of his last encounter with the little beast still fresh in his mind. “…so that’s what I need you to do. Do you think you could do that, Ola?”
“Huh? What? Oh, yeah sure,” she said while stroking Kohana’s coat; the little dog was various shades of brown and he shed profusely.
“The courier should arrive there by four o’clock this afternoon,” he choked out. He was beginning to sound pained. Almost as if he were severely constipated. Jonathan looked down at his hands and realized he had torn off the corner of the script he was saving for Jennifer Beals. Another pretty face with little talent. He would have dropped her as a client a long time ago if he didn’t want to get in her pants so bad. He had taken the corner and ripped it into little shreds while listening to Ola’s dog on the other line. “Please make sure you’re available to receive the package,” he sputtered.
“Wait Johnny Poo! Can’t you at least give me a little clue at who it is? You know I’ve been meaning to make it over to your part of town. A girl gets lonely all the way out here by her lonesome. Just a hint. I won’t tell. I promise,” Ola purred into the receiver of her pink and gold colored princess phone as the volume of the dog’s barking increased steadily.
Jonathan felt his trousers become tighter. Ola had often caught the older man staring at her breasts while they were speaking. She had the most delectable backside he had ever seen. He had a tough time convincing the scouts over at Playboy to give her a chance because she was a Black girl. That was until they saw her in person. Ola knew how to turn on the charm. Once she got through prancing her way around the office in her short green leather skirt and high heeled pumps and talking in that sing-songy breathless little girl voice of hers, she had charmed the pants off them literally. Ola never did tell Jonathan what exactly happened after the head exec sent him down the street with a hundred dollar bill to get coffee. All he knew was he sat in the waiting room counting the patterns on the wallpaper and making pained faces at the pretty young receptionist for 45 minutes after he returned from the coffee shop. When Ola came out she was beaming and shouting that she had gotten the photoshoot. The dog’s volume increased. Jonathan began to rub his temples.
“Ola, I have to go. Be on the lookout for the courier.” With that, Jonathan disconnected the call.
Ola Ray sat staring at the receiver for a moment, her mind still preoccupied with wondering who the video shoot was for. Kohana continued to bark as she fingered the red plaid bows the groomer put in his hair earlier that morning. Her thoughts were interrupted by Guadelupe, her Mexican maid.
“Escuse me missus,” she said.
“Yes, Guadelupe?” Ola raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.
“Escuse me but el perrito…the dog…he make poopi on da carpet again.”
“What are you talking about?”
“He use da bathroom, he make poopi on da carpet in da clo-set.”
“What? Why didn’t you take him out?”
“Aurelio did take him out. They were gone almos’ una hora. Then as soon as they return, he make da poopi.”
“Well, clean it up and you tell Aurelio this better not happen again or there will be consequences. He obviously didn’t walk him in the right places. Kohana only likes to walk on the garden path. He doesn’t like the sidewalk with all those noisy cars and other dogs’ smells. It upsets him isn’t that right baby?” she began to speak in baby talk to the now bored-looking dog panting on the settee next to her.
Guadelupe scowled at the brown dog hair all over the settee she had just cleaned off an hour ago. Ola insisted she go over the surface with sticky tape, a small brush, and a DustBuster vacuum every single day to remove the dog’s hair; she was required to do the same with the rose-colored bed spread and the cream colored shag carpeting in the bedroom. 'I am 55-years-old on my hands and knees cleaning up after that little yapping chinchilla. That dog eats better than I do!' she thought to herself. She went off to find club soda so she could spend the next two hours scrubbing the dogshit out of the light colored carpet.
Later that afternoon, the bicycle courier arrived just as Jonathan said he would. She searched the papers in the packet for any clue about who was involved in the project. Finding none, she quickly grew bored with the script and threw it on her chaise lounge. She ran her fingers through her hair, fluffed it up, then decided her curl needed more activator. She stripped down to her panties, put on her dressing robe, then sat on the overstuffed King Louis chair at her dressing table. She rubbed the cream oil into the palms of her hands and ran them through her hair, then pumped the spray bottle until she had depleted the contents by another ounce. She placed the plastic cap over her hair, pulled down her eye mask and lay back on the down pillows on her king sized water bed to take a nap. It was five o’clock in the afternoon.
Chapter 2
“No, no, no! None of these girls look right! I thought you said you were gonna get me some quality girls for this casting call?” George said.
“I did. Look, look, why don’t you take another look through the pictures. There are some real babes here,” said Carl, his casting assistant.
“This is garbage. You bring me all these pretty faces, but none of them has that spark.”
“Just look again, I promise. Besides, we haven’t even seen all the girls yet. Don’t give up too easily.”
“I’m just tired. We’re behind schedule, and I have to have this right for them. My neck is on the line here.”
“I know. Look, we’re going to find her. We’re bound to find just the right girl, I promise.”
Six hours later they had auditioned nearly every wanna be starlet in the LA area. There were the “serious thespians” like that one who showed up in a cape made of brown sack cloth with a rope tied around her waist. She had to be around 35 and she looked every year of it. George had specifically said no one over the age of 25. In the middle of the reading at the part where the zombies surrounded the couple, she whipped out a lighter and held it underneath her hand. She went into some monologue about how no zombie could best Joan of Arc. George had discreetly called in security as Carl sank lower in his seat.
There was the bubbly blonde bimbo who giggled through her reading and punctuated every other sentence with “like, oh my gawd!” When Carl informed her all the other actors in the production would be in full zombie makeup her response was “grody to the MAX!” Then there was petite readhead who looked so familiar to George. As she stumbled through her lines, mispronouncing even simple words, George racked his brain trying to remember where he had seen her before.
“Thank you very much...” Carl looked down at her headshot and file.
“It’s Kimber,” she called out while biting her lips. Kimber stood with her legs slightly apart and her arms akimbo.
‘Man, she had a nice rack,’ thought George. That’s it! She was July’s Penthouse Pet in last year’s Penthouse Magazine. George cleared his throat. “Yes, Miss…Kimber. Kimber, have I seen you somewhere before?”
Kimber just gave a sly smile, then slowly squinted her eyes while she parted her lips slightly. Her already ample breasts pushed out even further through the thin material of her halter top. “I don’t know. I guess it all depends on your reading habits,” she ended with a throaty chuckle.
“Yes, well, thank you very much. We’ll be in touch,” George lied as he quickly ushered her out of the room.
When the door was safely closed, he rearranged himself and turned to face Carl. “Carl, I am NOT happy. That was the last girl of the day and we still haven’t found anybody suitable for the role. I told you we needed to find the right kind of girl for this shoot. So far all you’ve brought me are bimbos, psychos, and trollops. We need somebody bubbly and wholesome to play alongside Michael--”
“What’s that you’re saying about me?” Michael asked as he strode through the back door of the room. “Are y’all talking ‘bout me again?” he asked with mock seriousness.
“Hey Mike!” Carl jumped up relieved to have the distraction from the chewing out he was sure to have gotten from George. “How you doin’ Mike?”
“I’m fine man. What’s up? How’s it goin’ today?”
George frowned at Carl, “Not so hot, Michael. We’ve gone through hundreds of people today and we just can’t seem to--”
“Do you all have the people yet? Do you have the girl ready for me?” Michael interrupted. “You know the girl is the most important part. She has to be just right.” Michael absently picked up photos off the table in front of the two men.
“I know, Michael. It’s just that the girls we’ve seen so far today--” George attempted to explain.
Michael interrupted again, “you know she has to be shorter than me. I want a wholesome, girl-next-door type, but she has to be pretty, very, very pretty. She has to be able to dance and act, too. The girl is the most important part. Everything else will fall into place. The girl has to be perfect for me.”
As he said those words, the front door to the casting room silently opened and a woman appeared in the doorway. “I’m glad to hear that because here I am,” she called out in her breathy, sing song little voice.
“What’s that you’re saying about me?” Michael asked as he strode through the back door of the room. “Are y’all talking ‘bout me again?” he asked with mock seriousness.
“Hey Mike!” Carl jumped up relieved to have the distraction from the chewing out he was sure to have gotten from George. “How you doin’ Mike?”
“I’m fine man. What’s up? How’s it goin’ today?”
George frowned at Carl, “Not so hot, Michael. We’ve gone through hundreds of people today and we just can’t seem to--”
“Do you all have the people yet? Do you have the girl ready for me?” Michael interrupted. “You know the girl is the most important part. She has to be just right.” Michael absently picked up photos off the table in front of the two men.
“I know, Michael. It’s just that the girls we’ve seen so far today--” George attempted to explain.
Michael interrupted again, “you know she has to be shorter than me. I want a wholesome, girl-next-door type, but she has to be pretty, very, very pretty. She has to be able to dance and act, too. The girl is the most important part. Everything else will fall into place. The girl has to be perfect for me.”
As he said those words, the front door to the casting room silently opened and a woman appeared in the doorway. “I’m glad to hear that because here I am,” she called out in her breathy, sing song little voice.
All three men immediately stopped what they were doing and looked up to see who had spoken. Before them stood a 5’5” brown-skinned beauty in stiletto heels. She wore a short blue denim patchwork skirt that hugged her hips like a mural painted on the side of a VW bus. She had on an orange-red tube top and gold hoop earrings. Her lips were painted a bright orangey red color and her electric blue eye shadow stood out prominently on her slightly closed lids. She had rounded cheeks, a bright white smile and a halo of black hair surrounding her beaming face.
She took her hands off her hips and strode into the room. The only audible sounds were the click clack of her heels on the wooden floor and the breathing of the men who stared at her silently. She came to a stop in the middle of the room directly in front of the table by the men. She once again placed her hands on her hips, framing her bosom. Carl was the first one to regain his composure. He began to stammer, “I’m—I’m sorry Miss. The casting call is over. We ended at five o’clock.”
Ola looked from one man to the other. The one who had spoken was a short geeky type with glasses and dirty blonde hair. His trax sneakers were scuffed and dirty. He looked sweaty and sported stubble on his pasty white baby face. The one next to him looked older—40 maybe. He had on black trousers and a white button down. Ola could see the stain from the coffee he had spilled there halfway through that afternoon’s list of America’s Worst Actresses and remnants of the crueller he had eaten to console himself still stuck to his beard. His shoes were those of a much older man. He favored comfort over style and seemed much more practical and experienced than the man who had spoken.
Ola continued her survey, her eyes resting on the third man. She wasn’t even sure if she could call him that, he looked so young. He stood tall and lanky, much taller and leaner than the other two. He was dressed in red jeans, a white shirt, and a bright red cardigan sweater. His face looked as smooth as a baby’s bottom and his eyes were a clear quiet brown. His hair fell in short waves from his head and he had copious baby hair brushed out around his temples and cheeks. How did he do that? His curl looked much better than hers. She made a note to interrogate her hair dresser about the latest products and cold processes when she went for her touch up. Her eyes traveled back down to his lips. He was beaming at her like one of those Topol toothpaste commercials. He had nice lips.
She spoke, “oh, I’m sorry I’m late. It took me so long to get here. Since I’m here, why don’t you--” she paused, then continued in her little school girl voice, “give me a try?” At this last word, she took her hands off her hips, placed them on the table and leaned forward giving the men a view of the tops of her breasts spilling from her tube top. Carl looked nervous, his eyes darting back and forth between George and Michael. George swallowed hard, his eyes transfixed on the woman’s bosom. There was something very familiar about her breasts. He just couldn’t put his finger on it; he wished he could put his finger on them. He swallowed hard again. Michael still had his toothpaste smile plastered on his face, his head nodding almost imperceptibly up and down. No one spoke for a moment.
Again, Carl broke the tension. “I’m sorry Miss. We were very clear on the flyers we sent out to the agents. The casting call officially ended at four o’clock. We even extended it an extra hour just to make sure we saw everyone who showed up. I really am sorry.”
George’s lips opened and closed wordlessly, his eyes still trained on the band of elastic at the top of her tube top. Michael giggled and looked down shyly, then looked up at her again through his eyelashes. “Aw, Carl. I think we can make an exception just this one time. Give the girl a chance.”
George finally found his voice, “But Michael, we are already behind schedule. We have got to begin to narrow down the field of dancers for the shoot.”
“It will only take a minute. Besides, she’s come all this way. It can’t hurt. You said yourself, we still haven’t found the girl,” Michael countered.
“That’s right,” Ola answered George without taking her eyes off Michael. “It will only take a minute. Besides, I’ll make it worth your while.”
“It’s settled then. Let’s read through some lines,” chuckled Michael as he clapped his hands together.
‘Lines? What lines?’ thought Ola to herself. She hadn’t bothered to read through the script Jonathan sent over. She figured she could just strut in here, show a little leg and some skin and get the part. It had always worked before. Did they actually expect her to prove she could act? And against this kid? He looked kind of familiar…
“Okay, let’s go. We’re going to start at the part where you run out of the theater,” instructed Michael.
Ola hadn’t memorized her lines, so she had to ask George for a script. The man sighed and nodded to Carl to hand her one. She took nearly five minutes to find her place in the script during which time Carl and George took turns sighing and rolling their eyes. Even Michael began to get impatient and worry about whether or not she was reading or simply staring at the page. After scuffing the toe of his penny loafers for the fortieth time, he finally took the script from her and pointed to the spot in the plot line.
“We’re right here,” he showed her. “I’ll start off.” Michael began to read his lines.
When it was Ola’s turn, she simply stood there adjusting the elastic on her tube top, her script clasped between her knees. The elastic had been pinching her under her arms since she left the house. Nothing seemed to fit right since the enhancement. Still, it had been worth it. Casting directors were finally starting to pay attention and they had helped her land that Playboy gig. Never mind what she had to do to pay for them, it was worth every penny.
She heard someone clear their throat. At the second throat clearing, and a polite “Miss?” Ola finally stopped what she was doing and looked up.
“Yes?” she breathlessly answered.
“Um, it’s your turn,” prompted Carl. “We’ve been waiting on you to say your line. When Michael says that last line, you have to answer back.”
“Oh okay. Lemme see…I wasn’t stared.”
“Uh, Miss, the word is SCARED. Scared with a “c”.”
“That’s what I said.”
Carl looked nervously at George for support. George was still pissed at all the duds Carl brought in to waste his time this afternoon. There was no way he was going to save him. Carl looked back at the woman.
“Um, okay. Continue.”
“Yeah you were,” said Michael.
Ola stared into his eyes and got lost for a minute. Suddenly, she was a little girl looking into the brown river down below the bridge in her hometown. “Well, maybe a widdle.”
“Uh, Miss?”
“Yes!” Ola answered testily. That short one was really going to be a problem.
“Miss, you said ‘widdle’. You said it like Elmer Fudd. We need you to speak like a young woman on this part…okay let’s take it from the next scene.
“I want us to walk in tandem and I’ll kind of dance around you,” Michael informed her.
‘Walking? That’s all he wanted her to do? Well, THAT she could do. She would give them a little show,’ thought Ola. She began to walk slowly across the room, teetering on her stilettos. Michael walked next to her trying to match her speed. He occasionally walked around behind her, sneaking glances at her buttocks swaying back and forth with her stride. He began to sing the opening lines of the song. Ola stopped. She knew that voice. It couldn’t be! It did look an awful lot like him, but so many guys had adopted that look nowadays. It was him!
Meanwhile, George racked his brain trying to remember where he had seen this girl before. He would never forget a pair of tatas that inviting.
“Whydya stop?” Michael said.
“Oh, no reason. Let’s try it again,” Ola chirped as she made her way back to the other side of the room. She would have preferred his brother Jermaine, but this one here was cute, too. He looked so young! She was really going to work this. This could lead to bigger and better things for her. She better not mess this up. ‘Get it together girl,’ she admonished herself.
After they finished running the scene a couple of times, George told them that was enough. He said he had seen enough for the day. Carl busied himself with tidying up papers on the table. Michael clasped his hands behind his back and scuffed his penny loafers as George told her they would be in touch.
She walked out of the building and got into her orange Datsun. The car sputtered then buzzed like a flat line when she turned the key. Damn this car. Samuel was going to have to do better than this. Sure, he allowed her to live in her rented condo in a good part of town and paid for her housekeeper and gardener, but she still had no decent car and no money in the bank. She had been his mistress for over two years now and all she had to show for it were a couple of pairs of earrings and a tennis bracelet. She suspected the only reason he let her live in the condo is so he could write it off on his taxes. She had been patiently waiting for him to take their relationship to the next level, but he seemed content to keep things just where they were. She suspected his ice queen of a wife would never give him a divorce. It was time for her to make plans for the future. She turned the key again, and the engine sputtered and caught and began chugging out plumes of smoke. Yes, it was time she began to live the good life she was meant to live. It was time to make moves.
She took her hands off her hips and strode into the room. The only audible sounds were the click clack of her heels on the wooden floor and the breathing of the men who stared at her silently. She came to a stop in the middle of the room directly in front of the table by the men. She once again placed her hands on her hips, framing her bosom. Carl was the first one to regain his composure. He began to stammer, “I’m—I’m sorry Miss. The casting call is over. We ended at five o’clock.”
Ola looked from one man to the other. The one who had spoken was a short geeky type with glasses and dirty blonde hair. His trax sneakers were scuffed and dirty. He looked sweaty and sported stubble on his pasty white baby face. The one next to him looked older—40 maybe. He had on black trousers and a white button down. Ola could see the stain from the coffee he had spilled there halfway through that afternoon’s list of America’s Worst Actresses and remnants of the crueller he had eaten to console himself still stuck to his beard. His shoes were those of a much older man. He favored comfort over style and seemed much more practical and experienced than the man who had spoken.
Ola continued her survey, her eyes resting on the third man. She wasn’t even sure if she could call him that, he looked so young. He stood tall and lanky, much taller and leaner than the other two. He was dressed in red jeans, a white shirt, and a bright red cardigan sweater. His face looked as smooth as a baby’s bottom and his eyes were a clear quiet brown. His hair fell in short waves from his head and he had copious baby hair brushed out around his temples and cheeks. How did he do that? His curl looked much better than hers. She made a note to interrogate her hair dresser about the latest products and cold processes when she went for her touch up. Her eyes traveled back down to his lips. He was beaming at her like one of those Topol toothpaste commercials. He had nice lips.
She spoke, “oh, I’m sorry I’m late. It took me so long to get here. Since I’m here, why don’t you--” she paused, then continued in her little school girl voice, “give me a try?” At this last word, she took her hands off her hips, placed them on the table and leaned forward giving the men a view of the tops of her breasts spilling from her tube top. Carl looked nervous, his eyes darting back and forth between George and Michael. George swallowed hard, his eyes transfixed on the woman’s bosom. There was something very familiar about her breasts. He just couldn’t put his finger on it; he wished he could put his finger on them. He swallowed hard again. Michael still had his toothpaste smile plastered on his face, his head nodding almost imperceptibly up and down. No one spoke for a moment.
Again, Carl broke the tension. “I’m sorry Miss. We were very clear on the flyers we sent out to the agents. The casting call officially ended at four o’clock. We even extended it an extra hour just to make sure we saw everyone who showed up. I really am sorry.”
George’s lips opened and closed wordlessly, his eyes still trained on the band of elastic at the top of her tube top. Michael giggled and looked down shyly, then looked up at her again through his eyelashes. “Aw, Carl. I think we can make an exception just this one time. Give the girl a chance.”
George finally found his voice, “But Michael, we are already behind schedule. We have got to begin to narrow down the field of dancers for the shoot.”
“It will only take a minute. Besides, she’s come all this way. It can’t hurt. You said yourself, we still haven’t found the girl,” Michael countered.
“That’s right,” Ola answered George without taking her eyes off Michael. “It will only take a minute. Besides, I’ll make it worth your while.”
“It’s settled then. Let’s read through some lines,” chuckled Michael as he clapped his hands together.
‘Lines? What lines?’ thought Ola to herself. She hadn’t bothered to read through the script Jonathan sent over. She figured she could just strut in here, show a little leg and some skin and get the part. It had always worked before. Did they actually expect her to prove she could act? And against this kid? He looked kind of familiar…
“Okay, let’s go. We’re going to start at the part where you run out of the theater,” instructed Michael.
Ola hadn’t memorized her lines, so she had to ask George for a script. The man sighed and nodded to Carl to hand her one. She took nearly five minutes to find her place in the script during which time Carl and George took turns sighing and rolling their eyes. Even Michael began to get impatient and worry about whether or not she was reading or simply staring at the page. After scuffing the toe of his penny loafers for the fortieth time, he finally took the script from her and pointed to the spot in the plot line.
“We’re right here,” he showed her. “I’ll start off.” Michael began to read his lines.
When it was Ola’s turn, she simply stood there adjusting the elastic on her tube top, her script clasped between her knees. The elastic had been pinching her under her arms since she left the house. Nothing seemed to fit right since the enhancement. Still, it had been worth it. Casting directors were finally starting to pay attention and they had helped her land that Playboy gig. Never mind what she had to do to pay for them, it was worth every penny.
She heard someone clear their throat. At the second throat clearing, and a polite “Miss?” Ola finally stopped what she was doing and looked up.
“Yes?” she breathlessly answered.
“Um, it’s your turn,” prompted Carl. “We’ve been waiting on you to say your line. When Michael says that last line, you have to answer back.”
“Oh okay. Lemme see…I wasn’t stared.”
“Uh, Miss, the word is SCARED. Scared with a “c”.”
“That’s what I said.”
Carl looked nervously at George for support. George was still pissed at all the duds Carl brought in to waste his time this afternoon. There was no way he was going to save him. Carl looked back at the woman.
“Um, okay. Continue.”
“Yeah you were,” said Michael.
Ola stared into his eyes and got lost for a minute. Suddenly, she was a little girl looking into the brown river down below the bridge in her hometown. “Well, maybe a widdle.”
“Uh, Miss?”
“Yes!” Ola answered testily. That short one was really going to be a problem.
“Miss, you said ‘widdle’. You said it like Elmer Fudd. We need you to speak like a young woman on this part…okay let’s take it from the next scene.
“I want us to walk in tandem and I’ll kind of dance around you,” Michael informed her.
‘Walking? That’s all he wanted her to do? Well, THAT she could do. She would give them a little show,’ thought Ola. She began to walk slowly across the room, teetering on her stilettos. Michael walked next to her trying to match her speed. He occasionally walked around behind her, sneaking glances at her buttocks swaying back and forth with her stride. He began to sing the opening lines of the song. Ola stopped. She knew that voice. It couldn’t be! It did look an awful lot like him, but so many guys had adopted that look nowadays. It was him!
Meanwhile, George racked his brain trying to remember where he had seen this girl before. He would never forget a pair of tatas that inviting.
“Whydya stop?” Michael said.
“Oh, no reason. Let’s try it again,” Ola chirped as she made her way back to the other side of the room. She would have preferred his brother Jermaine, but this one here was cute, too. He looked so young! She was really going to work this. This could lead to bigger and better things for her. She better not mess this up. ‘Get it together girl,’ she admonished herself.
After they finished running the scene a couple of times, George told them that was enough. He said he had seen enough for the day. Carl busied himself with tidying up papers on the table. Michael clasped his hands behind his back and scuffed his penny loafers as George told her they would be in touch.
She walked out of the building and got into her orange Datsun. The car sputtered then buzzed like a flat line when she turned the key. Damn this car. Samuel was going to have to do better than this. Sure, he allowed her to live in her rented condo in a good part of town and paid for her housekeeper and gardener, but she still had no decent car and no money in the bank. She had been his mistress for over two years now and all she had to show for it were a couple of pairs of earrings and a tennis bracelet. She suspected the only reason he let her live in the condo is so he could write it off on his taxes. She had been patiently waiting for him to take their relationship to the next level, but he seemed content to keep things just where they were. She suspected his ice queen of a wife would never give him a divorce. It was time for her to make plans for the future. She turned the key again, and the engine sputtered and caught and began chugging out plumes of smoke. Yes, it was time she began to live the good life she was meant to live. It was time to make moves.
Inside the studio, Carl and George began to argue.
“I cannot believe the lineup you had for today. I gave you very specific instructions on what we were looking for. Look who you brought me!” George accused.
“I did my best George. I can’t help who shows up. We ought to be able to find someone before we start next week. I mean, the part isn’t exactly Shakespeare!”
“Hey guys! Simmer down. There’s no need to argue,” Michael moderated.
“I need to go have a cigarette!” George thundered, slamming his briefcase down on the table. Files and papers came sliding out onto the table. Carl’s eyes briefly alighted upon a magazine that had come out of the bag along with the manila folders. He gave a small hand gesture to George to get his attention.
“What now?” George snapped.
Carl raised his eyebrows and snapped his head to the side towards Michael who seemed deep in thought, a slight smile plastered to his face. Carl cleared his throat and quickly pointed to the magazine. He could see a scantily-clad woman on the cover with the tell-tale Play peeking out in a font he knew oh-so-well. “You know how he is about stuff like that, I cannot believe you!” Carl muttered between clenched teeth.
Still distracted, it took George a moment to understand what Carl was pointing to. When realization dawned on him, he reached out to scoop up the magazine. At that same moment, Michael turned towards the men and quickly closed the two steps between them. George instinctively hid the magazine behind his back.
“I’m glad to see you two have made up. There really is no need to fight over this,” Michael began while looking curiously at George. “George, what are you doing?” he asked while watching George trying to awkwardly conceal something behind his back.
“Nothing Michael, uh…uh, let’s go,” he stammered.
“Oh, is that a present you’re hiding? You know how I love surprises! Lemme see!”
“No, Michael. It’s nothing. We really should get going,” he protested. Michael quickly darted over behind George and snatched the magazine from his hands. At first he didn’t know what to make of it, but he slowly realized it was one of those girlie magazines he had seen his brothers hide under their beds. Sure, he had seen some of the pictures inside them when his brothers forced him to look, but he had never really looked at one on his own. This one looked to be an old, well-worn copy. He studied the cover more closely. It said June 1980; the name on it said Playboy. Curiosity got the better of him and he flipped it open.
Michael was unprepared for the amount of female flesh that greeted him. There were breasts, legs, and thighs everywhere—the whole entire chicken was on display for any man that wanted to take a look. There were women frolicking through fields and sun tanning by the pool nude with their legs cocked open. He saw two women rubbing soap suds on each other while they washed some rich man’s Mercedes. He kept flipping through until the magazine fell open on the centerfold. He beheld a lovely young black woman wearing black stockings and silver sandals perched on some sort of green table. It looked to be a back office lounge of some sort. Besides the shoes and the stockings, the girl had a blouse hanging around her elbows. Other than that, she was completely nude. That face looked familiar…he checked the name.
“Michael give me that! You don’t need to be looking at things like that,” George chastised while making a grab for his favorite issue of Playboy. It had been a comfort to him on many lonely nights. He felt nauseous at the thought of anything happening to it.
‘Ola Ray? What a strange name,’ Michael thought to himself. “Hey, that girl who left was named Ola, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah, why?” asked Carl.
“Isn’t this her?” Michael asked while turning the magazine around to face the other two men. “This looks an awful lot like her, I mean with clothes on. As a matter of fact, don’t look at her body. It isn’t proper,” he said as he held his hands over everything from the neck down in her centerfold. “I’m almost positive this is the same girl!”
A wave of warmth spread through George as he mentally compared the photo of the curves that he knew so well with his more recent memory from this afternoon. Michael was right! He had had the goddess right here in his presence and he didn’t even know it! Oh man! He didn’t even get an autograph.
“I can’t believe that girl was a Playboy Pet Rabbit, she seemed so nice,” said Michael. “I mean, she really had the wholesome look and that girl-next-door quality we were looking for,” he said as his mind replayed how she looked in that short skirt and tube top. “She ran the lines so well…” A smile played at his lips again.
Michael startled the other two men by slamming his hand down on the table. “That’s it!” Carl didn’t think he could take any more admonishments today; his nerves were shot. He looked nervously at Michael ready to flinch at the first word of criticism.
George took the initiative asking hesitantly, “What’s it?”
“That’s it! We’ve got our girl. She’s the one! The Pet Rabbit.”
“Bunny,” corrected Carl. “Playboy Bunny.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah that’s what I said. She’s the one!”
George and Carl exchanged quizzical looks with one another. Had he heard and seen the same thing they had seen? Carl knew from the moment she walked in that she was no actress. She couldn’t even get through the lines without mispronouncing the words. George had worshipped her body for two solid years, so he knew more than any of the three she was no girl-next-door.
“Yep, we got it. Well, gentlemen we’ve had a productive evening. I’ll see you on Monday.” With that, Michael spun around 5 times and landed with his feet apart. He then got a running start and slid out the door.
George sighed and resumed throwing things into his briefcase.
Chapter 3
(to be continued...)
“I cannot believe the lineup you had for today. I gave you very specific instructions on what we were looking for. Look who you brought me!” George accused.
“I did my best George. I can’t help who shows up. We ought to be able to find someone before we start next week. I mean, the part isn’t exactly Shakespeare!”
“Hey guys! Simmer down. There’s no need to argue,” Michael moderated.
“I need to go have a cigarette!” George thundered, slamming his briefcase down on the table. Files and papers came sliding out onto the table. Carl’s eyes briefly alighted upon a magazine that had come out of the bag along with the manila folders. He gave a small hand gesture to George to get his attention.
“What now?” George snapped.
Carl raised his eyebrows and snapped his head to the side towards Michael who seemed deep in thought, a slight smile plastered to his face. Carl cleared his throat and quickly pointed to the magazine. He could see a scantily-clad woman on the cover with the tell-tale Play peeking out in a font he knew oh-so-well. “You know how he is about stuff like that, I cannot believe you!” Carl muttered between clenched teeth.
Still distracted, it took George a moment to understand what Carl was pointing to. When realization dawned on him, he reached out to scoop up the magazine. At that same moment, Michael turned towards the men and quickly closed the two steps between them. George instinctively hid the magazine behind his back.
“I’m glad to see you two have made up. There really is no need to fight over this,” Michael began while looking curiously at George. “George, what are you doing?” he asked while watching George trying to awkwardly conceal something behind his back.
“Nothing Michael, uh…uh, let’s go,” he stammered.
“Oh, is that a present you’re hiding? You know how I love surprises! Lemme see!”
“No, Michael. It’s nothing. We really should get going,” he protested. Michael quickly darted over behind George and snatched the magazine from his hands. At first he didn’t know what to make of it, but he slowly realized it was one of those girlie magazines he had seen his brothers hide under their beds. Sure, he had seen some of the pictures inside them when his brothers forced him to look, but he had never really looked at one on his own. This one looked to be an old, well-worn copy. He studied the cover more closely. It said June 1980; the name on it said Playboy. Curiosity got the better of him and he flipped it open.
Michael was unprepared for the amount of female flesh that greeted him. There were breasts, legs, and thighs everywhere—the whole entire chicken was on display for any man that wanted to take a look. There were women frolicking through fields and sun tanning by the pool nude with their legs cocked open. He saw two women rubbing soap suds on each other while they washed some rich man’s Mercedes. He kept flipping through until the magazine fell open on the centerfold. He beheld a lovely young black woman wearing black stockings and silver sandals perched on some sort of green table. It looked to be a back office lounge of some sort. Besides the shoes and the stockings, the girl had a blouse hanging around her elbows. Other than that, she was completely nude. That face looked familiar…he checked the name.
“Michael give me that! You don’t need to be looking at things like that,” George chastised while making a grab for his favorite issue of Playboy. It had been a comfort to him on many lonely nights. He felt nauseous at the thought of anything happening to it.
‘Ola Ray? What a strange name,’ Michael thought to himself. “Hey, that girl who left was named Ola, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah, why?” asked Carl.
“Isn’t this her?” Michael asked while turning the magazine around to face the other two men. “This looks an awful lot like her, I mean with clothes on. As a matter of fact, don’t look at her body. It isn’t proper,” he said as he held his hands over everything from the neck down in her centerfold. “I’m almost positive this is the same girl!”
A wave of warmth spread through George as he mentally compared the photo of the curves that he knew so well with his more recent memory from this afternoon. Michael was right! He had had the goddess right here in his presence and he didn’t even know it! Oh man! He didn’t even get an autograph.
“I can’t believe that girl was a Playboy Pet Rabbit, she seemed so nice,” said Michael. “I mean, she really had the wholesome look and that girl-next-door quality we were looking for,” he said as his mind replayed how she looked in that short skirt and tube top. “She ran the lines so well…” A smile played at his lips again.
Michael startled the other two men by slamming his hand down on the table. “That’s it!” Carl didn’t think he could take any more admonishments today; his nerves were shot. He looked nervously at Michael ready to flinch at the first word of criticism.
George took the initiative asking hesitantly, “What’s it?”
“That’s it! We’ve got our girl. She’s the one! The Pet Rabbit.”
“Bunny,” corrected Carl. “Playboy Bunny.”
“Huh? Oh, yeah that’s what I said. She’s the one!”
George and Carl exchanged quizzical looks with one another. Had he heard and seen the same thing they had seen? Carl knew from the moment she walked in that she was no actress. She couldn’t even get through the lines without mispronouncing the words. George had worshipped her body for two solid years, so he knew more than any of the three she was no girl-next-door.
“Yep, we got it. Well, gentlemen we’ve had a productive evening. I’ll see you on Monday.” With that, Michael spun around 5 times and landed with his feet apart. He then got a running start and slid out the door.
George sighed and resumed throwing things into his briefcase.
Chapter 3
(to be continued...)
©2010 by Planet Jackson and PJWN, LLC. All Rights Reserved. This story is a work of fiction. Any names, places, and other identifying features are used in a fictional manner and are in no way representative of any actual events. All lyrics, song titles, photographs, song clips, and videos are copyright their creators. This work may not be reproduced, transmitted, copied, or stored without express written permission from PJWN, LLC.