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CHAPTER SEVEN

  Beware Of Black Dildos

  Iren reclined in the chair behind his desk. In his left hand, he held the phone to his ear. In his right hand, he held a large black dildo that he had bought at the Hustler Store on Sunset the night before.

  "Listen to me fuckface!" he yelled, waiving the dildo around angrily in the direction of the phone. "Tom Cruise was begging to do this movie for free. I had to force him to take five million dollars. So tell Russell he should be kissing my ass to do this for ten million."

  "I don't believe you," the taunting, arrogant, uptight voice on the other end of the phone hissed. "Tom would never work for five million dollars."

  "I tell you what, if I'm lying we'll pay Russell twenty million. But if I'm not, he gets the same as Tom."

  "You're bluffing," said the voice.

  Iren pointed the fake, giant, black cock at the phone. "Only one way to find out. Come on putz, put your money, or should I say Russell's money, where your mouth is."

  "I'm calling your bluff," the voice said knowing it wasn't his money anyway.

  "Call Tom's agent, Jimmy Smith. Then call me back and kiss my ass." Iren hung up the phone and started dialing. "Jimmy you still there?"

  "Of course I'm still here, I answered the phone."

  "Listen smartass, he's going to call you right now. Don't fuck me up. Tell him we're paying Tom five and that you're very excited. And son, on a side note, don't ever tell anyone that Smith isn't your real name." Iren hung up the phone and hit the intercom button. "Stan I need you down here to close this one. I think I've got Russell on the hook for five million."

  "I'll be right there," Stan replied, always excited to do a close.

  The break room, like everything at Peters Entertainment, was the best in the world. The girls all stood around Brianna, captivated by her account of the recent event.

  "It was so special, we were in the office fooling around. I mean it doesn't sound that romantic, but it was. I mean it was like a scene from "Gone With the Wind"."

  "What do you mean fooling around?" asked Tiffany, the intern with the nice feet and brown BCBG jacket. "C'mon, it's just us girls, you can talk." She looked around to make sure.

  Brianna concluded that there was no point standing on pretense. "We're on the couch and he's fucking me with that giant cock of his, like the dog that I am, until we both cum like it's an eight-point fucking-0 earthquake. And then, I do not shit you, he asks me to marry him. My pussy's so hot-the iceman finally melted."

  One after the other her co-workers started to hug and congratulate her. The break room was filled with a cacophony of girl talk and happiness. "Oh that's so great, I'm so happy for you," said Tiffany.

  "I don't even know you and I feel like crying," said another attractive secretary.

  Brianna came face to face with Marle. "It couldn't happen to a nicer person," Marle said in her phoniest voice.

  "I'm jealous. You're the luckiest girl in the world," said a secretary, a former playmate of the month, as she wiped away tears of joy.

  "Thanks you guys," Brianna wiped away a tear of her own. "I'm so lucky to have friends like you." She looked at her watch. "Oh shoot, I'm late, I have to get to the studio."

  "What do you have to do at the studio?" asked Tiffany.

  Brianna tensed slightly. "Oh, just some undercover work. You know, from the top." Not wanting to risk being pressed for more information she headed straight for the door.

  Tiffany turned to the rest of the girls. "She means some under the covers work. Fucking tramp."

  The receptionist imitated Brianna perfectly. "You know, from the top." She dropped the imitation. "She means someone on top. Fucking gold digging bitch."

  Marle crossed her arms in front of her body and looked at her co-workers. "Oh come on you guys, cut the shit. We've all slept with him; no reason for hating."

  "I haven't," said Ray's over-qualified secretary, to Marle.

  "You're kidding," Marle's lips moved back and forth twisting into a skeptical pucker. It took a lot to shock the girls in the break room but this revelation was something, even by Peters Entertainment standards. "It's not possible," Marle exclaimed.

  "When I came in, they assigned me right to Ray," Ray's secretary responded, wondering why they were all looking at her like she was a leper.

  Laughter began to escape from the various secretaries, assistants, receptionists, and interns.

  "You poor thing," said the front desk receptionist. She put her hand on the unmolested woman's shoulder to show that she understood that working for Ray was far worse than having to sleep with Stan. "I'm sorry. I really am." Then she turned and walked out of the break room followed by the other girls. Some were still giggling at their co-worker's misfortune.

  Ray's secretary stood alone in the room. "I'm beautiful, smart, and talented," she said aloud to herself. "Doesn't that count for anything in this town?"

  The air in Iren's office was abuzz with excitement. An exhilarated Stan stood in front of the desk while Iren sat in his chair behind the desk, the large black dildo in hand.

  "One, two, three," he counted, then pointed the dildo at the phone.

  "I have Ron Embry on the phone. He claims to be Russell Crowe's agent," said Tiffany over the intercom.

  "Claims to be?" Iren smiled and gave Stan a satisfied nod.

  "Cynical, suspicious, and nice feet." Stan looked at Iren curiously. "Why haven't you recommended her for our executive training program."

  Iren held the big black fake cock in the air as if it were an exhibit in the trial of the century. "I have bigger plans for her future." He then used the fifteen inches of latex pleasure to push the intercom button of his phone.

  "Put him through." He paused and counted silently, one, two, three? " Ron are you there?"

  "Yes, I'm here." Ron's voice was dry.

  "Listen Ron, Stan's here with me."

  Ron's response was instantaneous. "Hey Stan, your guy is ripping me a new asshole. I don't know how you got Tom for five million, but you have to do better for Russell."

  "We had a deal!" Iren shouted, trying not to laugh.

  Ron pleaded to the boss for mercy; it was an age-old strategy. "Stan, can you help me out?"

  Stan never tired of this moment. "I wish I could Ron, but actually the news gets worse. I don't know where Iren got Russell Crowe from. I told him to get me Curtis Blow."

  "The rapper from the eighties!" Ron was incredulous. "I thought the part we're talking about is one of the Jews?"

  "Yeah, it's a comedy. I was thinking we'd bring Curtis back, kind of like a Sammy Davis Jr. kind of character. Or maybe a Jewish George Jefferson. I'm really sorry about the mix-up. Anyway, I have to get going. Tell Russell I'm sorry things didn't work out."

  "Stan. C'mon I'm offering you Russell Crowe and you're telling me you're going with Curtis Blow? This isn't really happening?"

  Stan held his hands to his stomach, wanting to double over and laugh. "Tom Cruise and a black guy playing two Jews is hilarious," he managed to say with considerable enthusiasm.

  "It's just..." Ron began.

  "Hey, slow down there Buckwheat!" Stan wanted to piss in his pants he was having so much fun?it was time to play the hardass. "I know you're not questioning me. You little shit, I made my bones in this business when your mother was still wiping your ass. I'm a fucking legend in this town. I have more creative juice in my left nut than you have in your whole body!"

  "Stan, I'm not questioning you." Ron's voice had a tremble in it. "I would never do that. I'm just saying that we really want to be a part of your team. It's fate that Iren accidentally called. I see it now."

  Stan gave Iren a high five. "What about, 'Five million can't you do better for me?' What was that whiney bullshit about?" Stan asked, imitating Ron's voice perfectly.

  "I apologize," Ron said, eating a hot, steaming, mound of shit.

  Stan was far from done. "Don't apologize, do something! Show me you really want to be part of this team."
r />   "What do you want?" Ron was a broken man. "What do you want me to do?"

  "I want you to put some skin into the fucking game, Ron!" Stan shouted like a football coach.

  "But I'm straight." Ron begged, appalled and sickened but willing if need be.

  "Not your asshole, asshole. Money!" Stan continued to shout. "You want me to get rid of a perfectly good black rapper and put Russell in this movie, I need some financial fucking incentive!"

  "Four million," Ron offered meekly.

  Stan flashed an evil look at Iren. "Two point five or it's a rap, no pun intended. Dare to say yes baby and you're on the fucking team!" Stan knew he had him, so he cupped his hand to his ear and awaited the response.

  "Yes." Ron's voice said almost a whisper.

  "Let me hear it again!" Stan yelled.

  "Yes!" Ron shouted on command.

  "I'll send a contract right over," Iren said exuberantly. Then leaning forward, he extended his arm with great care and hit the speakerphone off button with his trusty dildo.

  Ron looked around his office. It felt small all of a sudden. He noticed his hands were shaking as he opened the top middle drawer of his desk. He pulled out a mirror and a brown vile of cocaine, which he shook out onto the mirror. He used a letter opener to make two long lines, which he immediately snorted. He shook his head and then looked at the silent phone. "What the fuck just happened? What did I just do?"

  The mood in Iren's office was jovial. "You really are the best ever. How'd you pull Curtis Blow out of your ass?" Iren asked in pure amazement.

  Stan pointed at the black dildo in Iren's hands.

  "A big, fake, black cock and you come up with Curtis Blow. You should consider running for president. I think you'd win."

  Stan sat sideways on Iren's desk so that his right foot was still touching the floor. "No time for politics right now. We've got the new cast in place. I've got Brianna working on Brad and Danny working on the rappers. Now, what I've got to do is prepare for our new investors meeting while you and Ray make up some kind of bullshit, G-rated version of the script."

  "How much do you think you can get out of the new investment group?" Iren asked, sensing they might be back on a roll.

  Stan thought for a moment. "Well, unfortunately they speak English. So, I'll ask for a billion. But with any luck we'll probably wind up with a billion five."

  "That's it!" exclaimed Iren, his bubble popped. "It's a lucky thing we don't really need money; it's getting hard to come by." Then, inspired again. "Don't the Chinks have a lot of money these days? Maybe we should start shooting in China."

  A look of distaste crossed Stan's face. "I'm really not attracted to Asian women. Besides, you fuck one and an hour later you feel like fucking again."

  Iren's devious little mind was hard at work. "You're right. We better stay here. But I'm telling you there's more money out there somewhere."

  They looked up to see Ray standing in the doorway.

  "The Arabs still have plenty of money," he suggested. "That's who we should be going after."

  Stan winced. "Arabs? They're a bunch of terrorists."

  "C'mon, they're not all bad," Ray said in defense of a billion people.

  "They cut people's heads off and think Allah is going to give them seventy virgins?although I have to admit I do wonder what Arab chicks look like under those Grim Reaper outfits. Maybe they're smarter than we give them credit for."

  Iren looked at Stan like he was from another planet. "Smart? Name one modern day contribution that they've made to the world? If we didn't need their oil, they'd still be living in tents and riding camels. In fact, half of them still do. But seriously Stan, would you fuck a camel if no one was ever going to find out about it?"

  "You're dad did-now look what I have to deal with." Stan looked at Iren with smug satisfaction.

  There was a moment of silence.

  Ray decided to give it one last try. "Listen, just because they didn't invent electricity or cure Polio doesn't mean we can't take their money. I mean, what the fuck? It's really our money anyway. I give it to them every time I fill up my car."

  Stan shook his head. "Have you no morals at all?"

  Iren and Ray laughed.

  Stan sighed. "Stupid question."

  There was another moment of silence.

  "How we doing on the whole Two Jew fiasco," Ray asked stepping into the office only to be distracted by the large black dildo in Iren's hand. "What the fuck is that?"

  Iren looked at Ray stoically. "I found it."

  Ray turned to Stan.

  Stan smiled. "Things are coming along. With any luck the rest of the day should be a winner. Just a little?"

  Tiffany's voice interrupted, "Mr. Peters, I have a guy who claims to be Danny on the phone."

  Stan looked from Ray to Iren and nodded. "She's good."

  "I can't wait to find out," said Iren, holding up the dildo.

  Stan turned toward the phone. "Put him through."

  "Boss, we have a problem," Danny's voice crackled with energy. "Really more like an emergency."

  "Otherwise known as a big fucking problem," Ray clarified.

  "Where are you?" asked Stan, not wanting to believe that the day could get more complicated.

  "I'm waiting for you in your office." Danny's voice sounded unusually strained.

  "I'll be right there." Stan looked from Iren to Ray. "You two work on the script. I'll go deal with whatever the fuck is going on now."

  "That's why you get the big bucks," Ray shouted after Stan as he walked out of Iren's office.

  Stan gave him the middle finger without bothering to turn around. "Thanks."