In Development Page 7

CHAPTER SIX

  A Romantic Proposal

  Stan looked down the length of Brianna's naked body as they lay on the black crocodile sectional sofa at the far end of his three thousand square foot corner office. He considered her body to be in the top one hundred he had ever made love to.

  Brianna put her left arm around his waist and looked up into his fierce, driven, green eyes. "Stan, I think I'm in love with you."

  "Brianna, I think I'm in love with your ass," he replied sincerely.

  Her left hand slapped the side of his bare gluteus maximus. "C'mon be serious. I'm really head over heels in love with you!"

  "I am being serious." He began kissing the golden brown skin of her neck, just below her ear. "I'm really head over heels in love with your ass."

  "Stan," she pulled her neck back just slightly so he'd have to listen. "You're forty-years-old, don't you think it's time for you to settle down and get married?"

  "Who the fuck would marry me?" Stan had used this line many times and it usually worked.

  "I would," answered Brianna, touched that the man she was in love with was willing to show self-doubt and weakness in her presence.

  He shook his head?it wasn't the response he had hoped for. "Brianna, before we take our relationship to that level, I need you to go to work for Brad Jones over at the studio."

  "What's that have to do with us getting married?"

  "I need you to seduce him so we can get him on video tape engaging in a highly compromising sexual act. Something really bad so I can blackmail him into giving us cart-blanche on "Two Jews and a Blonde Psycho"."

  Brianna's face contorted in horror. "That's the most revolting thing I've ever heard!" she said, almost choking on her own words.

  "That's because you haven't heard what I just heard!" Marilyn Sue's distinctly big African American, angry voice shouted from mid-office. She was a very sizable woman and she was headed right for them.

  Stan could only watch, stupefied, as Marilyn Sue Berry thundered his direction. "Marilyn sweetheart, I love you. But I was just fucking my secretary?"

  "Nicole Kidman!" she shouted and glared at Stan. "I'm not working with that skinny little white bitch. I'm the black Kathy Bates, baby. You promised me the blonde psycho would be some unknown bimbo. I'm supposed to be the female star of this movie."

  "Marilyn, it's not me, it's the studio. If Brianna would just do what I need her to do, everything would be back on track."

  Marilyn turned her full attention to Brianna. "Well what are you waiting for child? You're messing up my game!"

  "He wants me to sleep with another man so he can blackmail him into doing whatever he wants," Brianna said tearfully, woman to woman.

  Marilyn rested her hands on her extra-wide hips and her head seemed to move independently of the rest of her body. "Now I've heard it all! Just when you think someone in Hollywood can't stoop any lower, you come up with a brilliant idea like this! She's perfect, he'll never be able to resist banging his top grossing producer's girlfriend!"

  Brianna's tearful expression turned to pure shock. "I can't believe you're on his side. I mean, as a woman, I would have thought..."

  Marilyn held up her hand signaling her to stop or continue at her own peril. "Baby, wake up and smell the coffee. Did all that dick you just got give you a brain concussion? If you want to land a man like Stan Peters, you have to sink to his level. Hell, I'd sleep with Brad Jones if I thought it would do any good."

  "You would?" Brianna asked, wide-eyed. "It just seems so wrong."

  Marilyn modified her voice to its most soothing intonation. "Sweetie, you're half my age and I'm guessing you've already had more cocks in the hen house than Foster Farms. Seriously girl, tell me you haven't had more bones in your mouth than a Saint Bernard? You know you have. And don't even get me started on that hot little ass of yours, because it had more visitors last year than Disneyland."

  "All right, I'll do it." Brianna said, looking deeply into Stan's eyes with determination. "But you have to promise to marry me if I do. And I have a witness."

  "I do!" Stan smiled. "I mean I will, if you do."

  Marilyn stared down at them with a look that was not patience. "Good. Now swing into action and let's get this movie back on track."

  "Trust me big girl," Stan assured. "Things are going to work out just fine."

  "You know I only trust you because you grew up in an orphanage in Africa." Marilyn's face softened for a moment at the thought. Then, it resumed its diva form. "Otherwise I'd have my lawyers all over your white devil ass. Alright I've got to go." She turned and walked out.

  Brianna and Stan were quiet for a moment. The calm was shattered by Marle's voice coming from the intercom. "Stan, I've got your mom and dad on the phone."

  Brianna glared at him. "An orphanage in Africa? You should be ashamed of yourself."

  "Voicemail, Marle!" Stan shouted then pulled Brianna close to his body for one more round of intercourse?before she started sleeping with Brad.

  "Have you always been like this?" asked Brianna wondering how she fell in love with such a monster.

  "Yes," Stan answered, determined to avoid conversation and resume sex. It was just another lie. There had been a time when he loved and trusted.

  Tracy, one of the most attractive girls attending UCLA, was a sorority girl with long brown hair, high cheekbones, and perfect skin. She was a rare beauty that made heads turn, including Stan's, the summer just prior to his sophomore year.

  After ten months of dating bliss, it was clear to both of them that their relationship was headed for marriage. Stan found it hard to be away from her, even if only for a few hours. To think that she was going to be gone for a whole weekend visiting Irv and Martha was almost unbearable.

  He put the suitcase into the trunk of her car and she fell into his arms for one last tender hug before her drive to San Diego. "I'm going to miss you. I miss you already," Stan said, staring deeply into her lovely eyes.

  She kissed him softly on the lips. "I'm going to miss you too. But Irv and Martha are getting so old I really need to spend more time with them. They're like second parents to me."

  Stan kissed her on the cheek. "I know. You better get going before traffic gets bad." He hugged her again and whispered in her ear, "Drive safe."

  Stan stood in the alley and watched her car disappear from view. He had never felt so good. During the course of his young life, he had only known success. Success in sports, success in academics, and success at work. Yet, he had always felt lonely and unfulfilled. Tracy was the final piece of the puzzle-she had completed him; the loneliness was gone.

  "I'm coming," Stan shouted at the ringing phone as he ran up the stairwell to his apartment, a nice place by college student standards.

  "Hello," Stan said, trying to catch his breath.

  "Hey, what's your plan for the weekend?" The voice belonged to Stan's childhood friend, Andy."

  "I don't have one. Tracy just left for San Diego, I'm on my own."

  "What's she doing down there?"

  "She's close with a little old couple that live in La Jolla. They're actually friends of her parents but she likes to spend time with them. The old guy is a great photographer-kind of like Ansel Adams. He takes her around and shows her how to get shots. You know I don't much about photography. But I think she may actually have some talent. What are you up to?"

  "I was supposed to go to Las Vegas with Larry but he just called to tell me he can't make it. The room's on my dad's tab if you want to keep me company."

  "When were you thinking of heading out?"

  "Now! So start packing."

  "I'll throw some stuff in a bag. Be here in twenty."

  "Get ready to have some fun," Andy said, excited to have found a last minute replacement.

  Stan hung up the phone and smiled.

  Vegas is a good way to keep your mind off of Tracy. Boy are you in love.

  The car traveled north on I-15 unimpeded by traffic. Stan enjoyed catching up w
ith Andy but spent most of the ride staring out of the window at the desert scenery-thinking about Tracy.

  Because Andy's dad was a high roller, he was able to finagle a spectacular two-bedroom suite. Stan gave himself the tour-glass of champagne already in hand. "Nice digs. I could get used to this!" he shouted from his bedroom.

  Andy walked through the door, smoking a cigar. "I think I'm going to take a shower before heading out."

  Stan looked down at the Jacuzzi tub in the middle of his bedroom. "I'm going to take a bath."

  "Should I line up some hookers for later?" Andy took a long drag on his stogie and then proceeded to blow rings.

  "Sorry, big guy. Those days are over for me. I've become an honest man."

  "I envy you buddy." Andy raised the cigar back to his lips and took another puff. "I'd give up hookers too if I had a girl like Tracy. Getting a good Catholic girl from a small town instead of a spoiled Jewish Princes-smart move."

  Stan shrugged. "I just got lucky."

  An hour later, Stan stood at the craps table dressed in his Vegas suit. He picked up the dice and tossed them down the green cloth.

  "Winner! Six is a winner!" shouted the man standing mid-table.

  "Hey, kid you gonna keep rolling the bones good all night?"

  Stan looked at the Italian gentleman-obviously a New Yorker-that stood to his left. "Just keep betting. I'm the luckiest guy on the planet."

  "I've been coming here once a month since before you were born. Never left a winner one time."

  "Now I know how they paid for this giant hotel." Stan picked up the dice and threw them back down the table.

  "Six is the point! Place your bets!"

  "So this is a lock. You're not gonna throw a seven on me?"

  "The only place I throw a seven, my friend, is out of bed for eating crackers." Stan's brow lifted. "And that's because it makes a mess of the bag-over her head."

  The Italian laughed. "You're okay. I like you! What's your name?"

  "Stan. And you are?"

  "My name's Ray, Ray Delcrotch. Listen, you like this six?"

  "Yeah, I'm good for it. Place the eight also. I feel some eights coming."

  Ray threw his money down on the table.

  "Eight!"

  Stan turned toward Ray. "I told you. Press it."

  "Eight!"

  Ray looked at the pile of chips on his eight. "Another one?"

  Stan nodded. "Press it."

  "Eight!"

  "You're unfucking believable!" Ray said, realizing that there were powerful forces at work.

  "Six! Winner six! Pay the line!"

  "I told you." Stan smiled, it was a million dollar smile that caused Ray to blink.

  "You're a pretty confident kid."

  "When you're as good at everything as I am Ray, it's hard not to be." Stan threw the dice.

  "Six! The point is six!"

  "This is unfucking believable. What are you a pro?"

  "College student. What about you? How can you afford to come here and take a beating every month?"

  "Movie producer. But I suck. Got a goyishke kup. I'll never make it big."

  Stan laughed, and threw the dice. "Get a Jew partner."

  "Got one. I'm so unlucky, I got the only Jew in Hollywood that can't make a good movie."

  "Winner six!"

  People at the table started throwing chips Stan's way. Tips, he was used to them.

  "Hey fuckface, don't tell me you're actually winning?"

  Stan looked at the short, plump, Jew. "Your partner?" he asked Ray.

  "I can pick 'em."

  The Jew extended his hand to Stan. "I'm Iren."

  Stan looked down at Iren's hand but didn't take it. "They'll think you're slipping me dice. Nice to meet you, I'm Stan."

  He threw the dice.

  "Four! The point is four!"

  "Four?" asked Ray, worried.

  "What? You think I can only roll six and eight. Place six and eight and I'll get to four."

  "Six!"

  "Six!"

  "Eight!"

  "Four! Winner four!"

  "Hey shmucklips, can you roll like this all night long?" asked Iren, pulling a handful of chips out of his pocket.

  "Until I get tired. I have about forty minutes left in me. Throw down some money."

  Ray gave Stan a pat on the back. "You're a nice kid. We've got a comped table at the hotel's new nightclub tonight. Why don't you join us?"

  "I'm here with a buddy."

  "Bring him along." Ray nodded toward the table. "Now keep throwing those fucking dice."

  The music at Club Glow pounded through the air into the bodies of its patrons. Lights flashed while girls dressed in black chaps and braziers danced on platforms. The crowd cheered the DJ as he raised aerosol fog canisters and blasted the room with a spine shattering sound-remarkably enough to the beat of the music.

  Ray leaned toward Stan, who sat dead center of the booth. "They spent millions on this place. What do you think?"

  "Really nice. There must be two thousand people here."

  "Three thousand!" Iren shouted over the music. "Can you believe some of these chicks?"

  "I've never seen so many hotties in one place!" shouted Andy.

  Ray looked from Andy to Stan. "Why don't you guys bring a couple over to the table?"

  "Go get 'em boy," Stan shouted across to Andy.

  "What about you?" asked Ray.

  "He's taken!" Andy shouted, answering for Stan.

  Ray leaned closer. "You don't fuck around?"

  "No," Stan said, shaking his head. "No fucking around for me."

  "She must be hot." Ray grinned, happy to have discerned this information.

  "She is? And nice also-a really good girl."

  "Well, you're in Vegas-she'd never know."

  "'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,' my friend." Stan winked. "You've heard that one before?"

  Ray nodded. "You're a better man than me." He pointed at Iren. "And a way better man than him. What's this girl look like, that she can keep a good looking guy with money like you behaving on the straight and narrow?"

  Stan's creative mind went to work trying to paint a picture that he could articulate. "Medium height, long brown hair, great cheekbones, and some really cute freckles around her nose. She kind of looks like?" Stan looked around the dark room until he found a suitable match on the dance floor, "like her," he said pointing.

  "I can't tell what she looks like." Ray squinted trying his best to get a good look.

  "Well wait 'til she stops making out with that guy." They were all over each other. "You know he's gonna be fucking her tonight," Stan commented, missing Tracy just at the thought.

  "Do these two ever come up for air?" Ray asked, frustrated and getting horny at the near pornographic, dance-floor-make-out-session.

  "I'm beginning to wonder!" Iren stared on.

  "Finally," Stan said with relief.

  "Wow, she is hot," Ray said, clearly understanding what Stan meant.

  Stan nodded. "They could be twins." And then it felt like his heart had dropped to his stomach. It was difficult to breathe and his face was on fire.

  "Oh shit!" Andy said, doing a double-take from Stan to the dance floor.

  "What?" asked a completely baffled Ray.

  Stan pointed at the dance floor. "The girl that looks like my girlfriend, who's practically fucking that guy she's dancing with-is my girlfriend."

  Ray put his arm around Stan. "I know what you're thinking right now-don't do it."

  Stan looked on as his girlfriend, the girl he planned on marrying and having children with, grabbed another man's crotch as he stuck his tongue in her mouth. "What do you suggest?"

  "Let's blow out of here to another club, grab some chicks, and fuck 'em."

  Stan looked away from the dance floor back to his friends. "I think I'm going to be sick. I actually feel like throwing up."

  Ray put his hand behind Stan's neck and gave it a sque
eze. "Forget about it. No cunt's worth it. I've got twenty years on you, so listen to what I'm telling you. They're all the same. You're going to fuck someone else tonight and forget about her."

  "I'm the perfect boyfriend. Why would she do this to me?"

  Ray's hand squeezed tighter. "Because she doesn't give a shit about you. She just cares about herself. You think a woman wants the perfect boyfriend-the perfect husband? Maybe someone with character?" He laughed, "They want money and dick! And that's still not enough. They're only happy when they have something to be unhappy about."

  Stan glared back at the dance floor. She was having the time of her life. "Well, from now on I'm going to give them what they want."

  Iren picked up the bottle from the middle of the table and poured four shots. "You know, a good looking young guy like you in our business could fuck three girls a day."

  Stan downed the shot Iren had placed in front of him. "Are we talking in the most demeaning way?"

  Iren's face tightened, causing his lips to pull back into an unrestrained smile. The type of smile usually exhibited before hysterics. "Are you kidding? In our business, you'd break hearts, ruin lives-you'd love it!"

  Stan looked to the dance floor one last time, then back at Ray and Iren. "I can come up with a lot of money-but you two work for me."