Boulevard that bright May morning would have readily been aware why this town was set apart from all other towns in the world. It was the beautiful people. Sitting behind the wheel of their powerful automobiles, standing at the intersection waiting to cross the street, walking slowly past the shops aligned on either side, or just idling away the hours leaning up against a convenient facade, there they were; the beautiful people.
One such person was Randy Nelson. He was dark-haired, twenty-eight years of age, and a five year veteran of battling the Hollywood wars.
In those five years, Randy had just about managed to wedge a foot in the door. He was a day player, which took him out of the extra ranks. He only did a role if he had dialogue, and was paid by the day; good money when he worked, which wasn't always. His agent, Reynolds Moss managed to get him Jobs however, and life had not been too unpleasant for Randy.
There had been many women along the way, stars, starlets, bit players and extras, a steady procession of them that had come and gone like so many images upon a screen. Occasionally, Randy had felt himself to be in love, but it was a feeling of short duration, for his restless nature permitted no other. In the parlance of the town, Randy Nelson was a Hollywood stud. He had used his fine physique and sexual attributes, which were generous, to get what he wanted at the moment, whether it be a gold watch or a part in a new picture. It had always worked.
Now, as he stood waiting for the light to change he let his practiced eye wander over the steady stream of pedestrians swarming about him, the cross section of Hollywood on this particular May morning. There were the usual bright eyed looking girls with their almost stereotyped sameness, along with the more coldly calculated female types, whose eyes glanced at him with a more than passing interest. Randy was aware of his effect on women. He had parlayed it to good advantage on many an occasion. He took a delighted satisfaction in his ability to look at a woman with an open invitation in his eyes. An invitation which seemed always to be accepted.
Now, he was on his way to Petersen's, the gym and health club where he worked out on his free days away from the studio sets. Since he wished to devote several hours to the club, he didn't follow up any of the glances that he was aware of now. Perhaps, later, after a long hard work out, shower and massage, he might let his gaze linger a little longer on some of these starry-eyed girls that seemed to be drawn to this magic town as if by some magnet.
He crossed the street now and walked over to Cahuenga Boulevard, turned right, and entered the unobtrusive entrance marked: "Petersen's."
He was greeted at the desk by Max, the old employee who knew every Hollywood face from the present to the silent film days. For years he had been the private masseur for one of the top Hollywood glamour boys until that worthy had suddenly dropped dead while working over his most recent conquest, a starlet signed by the front office. Then Max came to Petersen's and many of his friends had been faithful and came to the establishment out of a sense of loyalty. "Hi, Max. Anybody in?"
"Morning, Mr. Nelson," the old man replied. "Yes, there's quite a few here." He mentioned a number of top Hollywood male stars. Then he added: "Ernest Charles, the director is here."
"Thanks, Max. I'll keep an eye out for him."
Ernest Charles was one of the old veterans of the Hollywood scene, and as such, a valuable contact for some one like Randy.
He reached for the key which Max handed him, with his number 123 on it. This was the locker where he kept his street clothes while at the gym.
"In case I get any calls, transfer them upstairs, will you Max? I might get a call from Allied about tomorrow's shooting schedule."
"Will do, Mr. Nelson," old Max nodded. "Have you got a picture?"
"Yeah. I'm going to be on "Lady For Tonight" with Mona Williams."
"Mona Williams?" Max echoed with a sly smile. "That should be interesting. Mona always likes handsome bucks around her."
"Yes, and Hal Borden is directing," Randy added.
"That will be a contest," Max quipped. "I wonder who'll get the most!"
Both men grinned. Hal Borden was one of those directors whose open proclivities toward males was one of Hollywood's worst guarded secrets.
"Knowing Mona, I think she'll beat him," Randy observed. "But it'll be interesting keeping score."
He went up the flight of stairs leading to the dressing rooms and turned to the row of lockers standing along one side of the room. He found 123, inserted the key, and opened the metal door.
Randy began to strip and soon was dressed only in his briefs. He took out of the locker his athletic togs for his work-out; a sweatshirt, a I-shirt, shorts, and his jock strap. A tall, lanky looking guy, dressed in a towel came in, and smiled in Randy's direction.
"Just coming in?" he asked pleasantly.
"Yeah," Randy answered. "I thought I'd give the old chassis a little run through. You quitting?"
"That's right," the fellow said. "I have an appointment with Tony Marco for some photos."
"Tony?" Randy queried. "He's great. I'd say the best in the business."
"So I've heard."
Randy started to climb into his work out clothes while his companion began to dress for the street.
"Are you new in Hollywood?" Randy asked, pulling on the white shorts.
"About a month," the guy answered. "I'm here on a 'one-shot' from New York. Name is Don Eilers."
He came over and extended his hand.
"Glad to know you, Don," Randy said. "I'm Randy Nelson."
"What's to do in this town for relaxation? It all seems to be pretty much of a closed shop," Don commented.
"Yeah," Randy agreed. "Hollywood is like that. Everyone has their own little group. Where are you staying?"
"At the Hollywood Arden."
"That's quite a pad. There should be chicks a plenty around there."
"Yeah," Don agreed. "But they come high. I see lots of dollar signs in their eyes."
"That's for damn sure. I know a bunch of girls though that don't mind having a good time with a guy for a nice dinner and a few drinks. Why don't we make it a foursome some night?"
"Sounds great to me," don said happily. "Give me a ring at the hotel."
"Will do," Randy replied.
He spent several hours at Petersen's. First, he worked out, doing some push-ups, pull-ups, and chin-ups, with a session on the rings, before heading for some steam. It was there he found Ernest Charles, the director.
The old veteran was sitting off in a corner, letting the hot atmosphere free his muscles of his fatigue and tensions.
"Welcome to hell," the middle-aged man said in greeting. "I'm sure it can't be any hotter down there."
"Oh, I like it," Randy answered. "Really takes the stiffness out of you if don't get too much."
He sat down near the director and noted that the older man's eyes looked at his nakedness in an interested manner. Randy immediately wondered if Ernest Charles was of the same inclination as Hal Borden.
"You've a nice body," the director observed. "Are you a weight lifter?"
"No," Randy answered. "I'm an actor in pictures."
"Yes, I know. Everybody in the whole damn place is," sighed Charles. "I guess the only way to get away from actors would be to go to a Buddhist lamasery, and I'm not so sure of that even."
Both men laughed. The director continued to look at Randy in an appraising manner, with his glance directed definitely below the waist.
"You must make a lot of women very happy," he said with a smile. "You are unusually well endowed."
Randy had learned long ago to pass off that remark with a genial smile. He knew that nature had indeed been very kind to him, and that he was larger than most men. He had always accepted it as one more asset in his quest for what ever life had for him.
"I've had few complaints," Randy quipped.
"I should think not," Ernest Charles replied. "You might make an appointment with my secretary for next week. I have a film coming up that might be of interest to you."
Randy's mind was jumping ahead now. He knew that Ernest Charles was an important director, and his films were good ones. He also had the feeling that Ernest Charles was interested in seeing him for reasons other than film making. He had been through the scene before. If parlaying what he had meant a good movie role, what the hell, why not?
"Will do, Mr. Charles," Randy said quickly.
The director rose to go. His body was valiantly trying to block the inroads of middle age flab, but the battle was a losing one. He smiled at Randy.
"I'll be looking forward to seeing you again," he said. "I think I can make it very interesting for you."
He smiled and was gone.
Randy grinned. He knew just what Ernest Charles had in mind. His hand went down to his loins and he took hold.
"Junior, if you perform real well for Ernest Charles, I might get to be a star!"
CHAPTER TWO
It felt good to be outside again, after the locker room smells of Petersen's and Randy Nelson gulped in the fresh, bright air.
He glanced at his watch. It was only one o'clock. He debated whether to take a turn around the area on foot, or to go get the convertible out of the parking lot and go spinning down to the ocean.
He decided on the former, and so began to walk down Hollywood Boulevard.
He felt good. The work-out had gone well, the refreshing shower and massage had toned him up and his spirits were high. He knew he had a job in the new Mona Williams picture and then there was Ernest Charles in the near future. He was very pleased with himself at this point, and his pleasure manifested itself in his manner of walking, and in the smile of contentment on his face.
Again, he was conscious of the glances of passers-by, both male and female. He didn't respond to the first with any interest, but he did return the glances of the girls who passed. Not that Randy Nelson disdained the attention of men. In a town like Hollywood such an attitude would have been professional suicide, at least for someone in his present position. A star could well afford to bestow his favors where ever he might be inclined. Someone like Randy, who had to rely on each day's luck would have not this luxury. But he could pick and choose, and pick only those who might do him some good. Like Ernest Charles. He knew that if he really went the route with someone like Charles he'd probably get something worthwhile out of it.
His mind dwelled for a moment on Milton Evans, the agent, who had managed to build several handsome males into big stars, and always by giving them odd ball names, like Rex, and Race, and Lance. But it had worked. And who knows what the guys had done in return for Milton Evans. Well, everybody knew what they had done!
Randy stepped into a drug store and gulped down a large glass of orange juice, the national product of the state. People drank it like water. It seemed to symbolize health, happiness, and the good life.
"May I have a napkin, please?"
Randy turned to the feminine voice beside him. She was a girl of about 22 or so, he judged, and her pert face, with its cute button nose, was distinctly appealing.
"Of course," Randy replied. "Be my guest."
He pushed over the napkin holder to her place.
"Thank you," the girl said in an accent, not quite identifiable to him. Perhaps the mid-West, or slightly south of there.
"Are you new in town?" Randy asked.
"About two months," the girl answered. "And you?"
"Oh, I'm a veteran of the Hollywood scene," Randy replied. "I've been here five years."
"Five years!" the girl exclaimed. "You must really know your way around."
"That I do, doll-face, that I do."
The way Randy said it with a slight emphasis left little doubt of his own convictions on the subject.
"Have you a picture now?" the girl asked. "I'm working on the new Mona Williams opus tomorrow."
"Lady For Tonight?" Randy nodded.
"So am I," the girl said excitedly. "I'm just an extra in the swimming pool scene. You too?"
For a moment, Randy hesitated. The inexorable caste system of Hollywood reared its head. There were actors and there were extras, they even had different union names, but Randy just decided to forget the distinction, especially with this particular chick who appealed to him in a definite manner.
"Well," he said haltingly, "I have lines. I'm a day player."
"A day player!" the girl almost breathed. "How great. By the way, I'm Vickie Morrow."
"Hi yah, Vickie. I'm Randy Nelson."
"Is it true they are actually using Mona Williams' own pool for the scene?" Vickie asked.
"Yes, quite true. Mona Williams is one star who is also a shrewed business woman. She'll get paid rent for the use of her pool and be at home while working."
"I think she is just great," Vickie went on. "I used to see all her pictures when I was just a little girl."
"Well, I don't think I'd mention that fact to Mona tomorrow," Randy observed with a grin. "Mona Williams is a little sensitive about people saying they remember her when they were children."
"Oh, I know what you mean," Vickie smiled. "Well, she isn't exactly a teen-ager."
"That she is not," Randy agreed. "But she is still a lot of woman. A lot of woman."
They lapsed silence for a moment. Then Randy put out a feeler.
"How about a little ride somewhere? I have my convertible in a lot about two blocks away."
Vickie Morrow looked at Randy. She took in all that rugged masculinity, all that calculated charm and manner, and she was hooked.
"Okay," she agreed happily. "I was just wondering how I'd spend the afternoon."
"Well, I might have an idea or two," Randy said archly, and in his mind's eye at least the deed was accomplished.
As the convertible darted in and out of the traffic on Hollywood Boulevard, Randy listener to Vickie Morrow.
"My home is a little hick town in Missouri," she bubbled happily. "A little place called Meta. If you sneezed while going through it, you'd miss it completely."
"How come you decided on Hollywood, or is that the craziest question of the week?"
"No, I won a "Miss Personality contest back in St. Louis," Vickie said. "With it went a free trip out here. I hung around, got my Guild card, and here I am."
"How do you like it?" Randy asked as he expertly guided the car through the traffic maze.
"Hollywood?" Oh, I don't know. People are friendly and all that, but everyone seems occupied with their own little world. It can be a lonely town."
Randy detected a very serious note in Vickie's voice. For an instant he heard a stranger calling out to a stranger. He knew the sound. It had happened to him. He decided to take the plunge.
"Would you like to drop by my place for a drink?"
There it was. The invitation. The bait. Call it what you will. It was the direct approach. It either got you results or it didn't. Randy had felt all along that Vickie Morrow was probably in the "nice gir!" category, but then, he knew, even "nice-girls" did it.
"That would be fun," Vickie said. "As long as I can be home by six."
Randy realized he had scored. And yet, he didn't feel any great elation that he had made a conquest. Somehow, Vickie Morrow didn't come under that heading. Although he had known her scarcely more than an hour, already he had a feeling of tenderness and warmth her. Maybe it was the way she read that line about Hollywood being a lonely town. Whatever it was she had touched him. Sure, he wanted a session in the sack with her, but more than that, he found he just wanted to be with her.
The car swung off the busy boulevard and turned into Wilton Place.
In a short time, Randy was pulling into the drive of his duplex, and bringing the car to a halt at the end of it.
"Here we are, Miss Personality, this is home," he announced.
"Looks nice," Vickie observed. "You live here alone?"
"Absolutely," Randy answered. "I never did dig the room-mate bit. I'm too onery to get along with anyone, at least to live with day after day."
"I share a place over on Melrose Avenue with a girl who's a receptionist at one of the ad agencies."
"Oh, really," Randy replied. "Is she from Missouri too?"
"No," Vickie answered. "Mary Louise is from Alabama. A real rebel."
Randy thought of the New York actor he had met at Petersen's.
"Maybe she'd like to meet a guy from New York who's out here to do a segment on a TV series. He's looking for some company."
"You ought to run a 'Miss Lonely hearts' bureau," Vickie laughed gaily. "You really try to bring people together."
"Why not?" Randy replied. "Life is more fun that way."
They entered the duplex and Randy threw open a window.
"Might as well let a little of this great weather circulate," he said. "I think May is the best month we have."
Vickie looked about the tastefully furnished apartment. There were signed pictures on the wall of the famous and the near famous, including one of Mona Williams. Vickie looked at the familiar features of the screen glamour woman.
"She is really beautiful, isn't she?" I guess she has had any man she ever wanted."
"And a few she didn't want," Randy commented. "She just got rid of husband number four." Then he added: "How about a drink?"
"It's really pretty early in the day," Vickie replied. "But maybe just a weak one to be sociable."
Randy snapped on the FM hi-hi and soon some music was filling the room. He returned with the drinks and they sat on the sofa.
"Well, here's to your movie career," he toasted. "Bigger and better things to come."
They touched glasses and Vickie smiled at him.
"You are sweet, Randy", she said. "Very sweet."
"I think you'll get along in this town," Randy commented. "You have a very rare quality, Vickie. A very direct warmness that comes across."
He wasn't really making a build up. He felt sincere in his judgment about her. But he couldn't deny the physical urge either. It was there. He wanted this girl, and he felt she wanted him. He began his preliminaries.
His arm went about her and he let his fingers reach out and caress her breasts beneath the thin print dress she was wearing. When he felt no resistance he became bolder and brought her close to him and their lips and mouths met in an ardent embrace. She responded like a starved man suddenly set in front of a turkey dinner. She grasped hold of him and pressed him firmly against her own body.
He felt her inquisitive tongue begin to make its demands and he responded with some pressure of his own. Meanwhile, his other hand was finding its way along her leg, and up under her dress. She seemed to become almost feverish as fingers slipped under the sheer panties and he found what he sought, and began a slow manipulation of the warm flesh there. She shook and shuddered under this stimulus and then almost in a frenzy she began tearing at his clothes.
"Oh, Randy, Randy," she said urgently. "Take them off. Take everything off. I want to see your body. All of it."
Randy stood up from the sofa and began undressing. He stepped out of his trousers and slipped off his shirt in almost the same motion.
"And I want you naked, Vickie," he breathed at her. "I want to feel my flesh against yours."
He helped her with the dress which fell to the floor beside them. He unhooked the bra and let it fall also.
She had small, but perfectly formed breasts. They were pert and erect, and the tiny nipples seemed to invite his mouth and he slipped his tongue upon them as she moaned in her pleasure and feeling. Excitedly his hands reached for the elastic band of her panties and he pushed them off her hips. Almost at the same time he felt her hands pushing and pulling at his briefs until they had left his body and had fallen to the floor.
Naked, they stood pressed together, as he again sought her lips and crushed her against him.
Then she pushed him away.
"I want to look at you," she breathed. "I want to see all of you."
Randy stood before her, the evidence of his excitement manifested before him, as his maleness throbbed in a powerful arc of firmness.
"You are so big," she sighed softly, "so very big."
She let her hand caress the firm body that jutted toward her. Randy breathed heavily as her fingers grasped his warm flesh and moved back and forth upon him.
"Come on, doll," he said in a husky voice. "Let's try the bedroom. It'll be more comfortable."
She didn't let go of him as they walked into the adjoining room.
There was a large king size bed which seemed to completely fill the room. They both fell toward the wide bed, and Randy pulled Vickie over on to him. He lay upon his back and she let her length cover him. Then she began to caress his body with her hands, her lips, her mouth, all of her. He squirmed in his delight at the sensations she provoked.
"Now, it's my turn," he said to her. "Lie back, Vickie."
She did what he asked and saw his powerful body arch over her and then down in a tight, all encompassing embrace. She could feel his maleness making an insistent demand with each beat of his heart.
"Be gentle with me, Randy," she breathed into his ear. Be gentle."
"I will, baby," Randy sighed. "It'll be slow and easy. Just very slow and easy."
She readied herself to receive his hot rigid desire and as she felt it begin for her, her trembling and shuddering began anew, with a delicious ache and pain that became like a second stage of ecstasy.
Slowly and expertly Randy thrust himself forward to become one with Vickie's body. He knew he must always be aware of his power and that any undue haste could only cause his lover to cry out in pain and agony. But he knew also it was pain and agony of the most exquisite kind, because his partners let him know how it felt to them. They groaned and moaned aloud at this steady firm pressure that they felt from this male and his rigid insistence.
And so it was with Vickie. She thrashed about and cried his name and moaned loudly in her pleasure.
He then began his rhythm, with long sturdy thrusts that probed deep, and Vickie rose to meet him, and they seemed to become one magnificent body.
Randy felt Vickie's nails raking his back and her voice broke out into little sobs of joy and elation.
"Oh, Randy, Randy," she sighed. "It's so good to have you this way."
For answer, Randy accelerated his motions. His rhythms increased, his probes seemed to go even deeper, and all his actions became more and more frantic. He sensed it would happen for her, as it didn't always for some women, but for Vickie, Randy knew it would be. His firm flesh was giving her release such as she had never known and she cried out now in her emotion.
He sensed his own apex was upon him, and he knew there was no turning back, that he had reached that delightful plateau where he could only give over to the reflexes of his body and let the pent up force within come bursting out from deep recesses of his male being, and so they met together on that plateau and gasped out to each other their joy and happiness.
CHAPTER THREE
The cool morning air felt good on Randy Nelson's face as he drove the convertible at a moderately fast speed toward Allied Studio. It was nearly six A. M. and the incredible amount of traffic was testimony to the penchant West Coast habitues have for rising early and getting a head start on the day's activities.
Randy had long been accustomed to the routine of early morning rising. The film studios were scattered and separated by many miles in the Hollywood area. Directors expected actors to be in costume and make-up by nine, at the latest. This meant usually a 5 A.M. rising for Randy, since it was a location report, he had to be even earlier. He would drive to Allied Studios and there chartered limousines would be ready to transport him and the other players to the location, which today was the pool at Mona Williams' Cold Water Canyon home.
As he drove along in the crisp morning air Randy lingered fondly on some of the details of yesterday's activities with Vickie Morrow.
There was little doubt but that she had been really stirred by Randy's love making. He got the idea that she had had only limited experience with men, and, in fact, she told him that there had been only one or two others before him. They had found each other for a second time later in the afternoon and she had cried out in her ecstasy as he probed deeper and deeper within her, and realized, probably for the first time, a release of her own, which had caused her to almost shriek out in her joy and happiness. Later, they had showered together and it had been fun, lathering each other's body and letting their hands cares each sensitive part of the other. They had lain naked in each other's arms for the balance of the time before Vickie had to leave.
Now, as the car swung into the gate at Allied, Randy knew he'd be seeing her today, but in an entirely different aspect. They'd be actors, working together on a film, with a star who liked to monopolize the men about her. It was her trade mark and Randy knew he'd come in for his share of attention, although he hadn't seen Mona Williams but once before.
Randy stopped at the studio commissary for some coffee and a piece of Danish, and immediately was caught up with acquaintances and friends and the people who are the Hollywood scene. Allied was busy with three pictures going, so there was news and exchanges of information among the actors about their activities.
"I hear Ernest Charles has a big Western coming up," a lanky type actor friend said to Randy as he sat with him at a table.
"So I hear," Randy replied. "I've never done an oater. Are they fun?"
"Hell, yes. Especially if you get three or four weeks on location. Plenty of hell raising after shooting hours."
Randy's mind was working now. Ernest Charles had told him to get in touch when they were talking yesterday at Petersen's. Soon as he finished up with "Lady For Tonight" he'd do just that.
"I hear Ernest Charles is a fag," Randy said as a throw-out to the actor sitting with him.
"Hell, yes," his companion verified. "But he only has the rough ones on his pictures. I suppose he has a few he plays around with, but no one talks much on once of his pictures. I don't suppose it makes a hell of a lot of difference to the front office what he does, as long as he cuts the mustard."
That seemed to be the attitude Randy had discovered as far as the various Hollywood mores were concerned. It was common knowledge that several of filmdom's more virile heroes preferred their own sex to any other, but no one got very excited about it, as long as the box office take wasn't affected. And there was that big female star whom every one in the business knew was a lesbian, but her pictures were always top gros-sers, and that was what counted, not the sex life of the star.
"I had a little talk with Ernest Charles yesterday," Randy confided to his fellow actor friend. "He told me to call him."
"Well, as sure as hell would do it. So what if he wants to perform a few little didoes on your anatomy, unless you don't dig it at all."
Randy hesitated a bit before answering. No one really cared he had learned just what a person did or did not do for sex in the Hollywood scene, yet many people were careful not to get too many stories going about them.
"Well, it might be interesting for a change of diet," Randy finally observed. "As long as he knew it was just that, and nothing else."
"Oh, Ernest Charles knows he gets what he wants because of who he is, and what he can do for a guy. He's a realist enough to know that it's just that and nothing else."
His coffee finished, Randy stood up and smiled a good-by to his breakfast companion.
"Have fun with Mona Williams," the actor said. "She'll keep you jumping around."
"So I hear. Take it easy."
Some time later, Randy was in the twelve passenger limousine the studio had hired to transport the actors to the Mona Williams estate. Randy knew that Vickie Morrow would not be in the vehicle. The extras would be transported by bus. That was the old caste system working again. The name players would have private cars to take them, an echelon above Randy's own status. Te sometimes wondered if he'd ever find himself in that rarefied atmosphere known as stardom. He had no delusion about his talent as an actor. He was a body, with a more than average handsome face to go with it, and a certain facility for saying lines intelligently and that was about it. He had met people along the way who wanted to help, both males and females, and he usually discovered that all they asked in return was to be allowed a little time with that body, and Randy had obliged most of them. Since Nature had been most generous in her endowment to him, his parteners were always quite impressed with him and his performance. So far things had been good for him. He was always waiting for the next development.
The limousine began to climb into the roads leading up to Cold Water Canyon, an area much favored by the cinema elite for their ranch type houses, complete with pool and barbecue grill. The car passed several estates owned by well known stars, and in one instance, the owner himself was standing outside and waved as they passed. Randy remembered he was the big action picture male star who got mixed up in a marihuana party a few years back, but apparently the public forgave him.
Shortly after this they had arrived at their destination, the low, rambling, and expensive looking residence of Mona Williams, and already Randy saw the camera crews and lighting men had begun their tasks of setting up, a routine that seemed to occupy most of a day's shooting, or so it always seemed to the actors. Randy had once been told that it was considered a good day if two minutes of screen time finally resulted from a day's toil. Well, that wouldn't be hard to take around this set up, he observed.
The pool was a rectangular affair, with chromium grips leading down into the sparkling greenish water. At one end there was the diving board equipment, and about the edge were a number of tables with gaily colored umbrellas hoisted above them, and the usual number of folding chairs and rubber floats and pool side paraphernalia in profusion. Now there was the added confusion of cameras and lighting equipment and sound booms and canvas chairs with rather important names painted on their backs. The male star, if there really ever was one in a Mona Williams picture, was Garth Peters, whose friendship with Hal Borden, the director, was the cause of much speculation, but nothing definite had ever been discovered about him. Peters was one of those male stars who was seen in public only with some glamorous sex pot, but rumor had it his real inclinations were in another direction.
Randy was hailed by the assistant director, Max Richards.
"Hi, Randy. Good to see you. You have a couple of scenes today with Mona. Did you get the script okay?"
"Yeah. I read it over and I think I have all the words."
"The hell with the words. You know how Borden works. He'll probably change it all anyway. Just go into wardrobe inside and get your swim trunks on, and hang around."
Max was one of the really efficient members of the assistant directors fraternity. Many of these men aspired to become first rank directors, but it was a difficult jump to make, and so the majority were content to stay in their own little pool of good money, plenty of security, and no recognition.
"When do you think they'll start shooting?" Randy asked.
"Who the hell knows?" Max replied. "Borden isn't here yet. I heard he really hung one on last night."
"Man, he'll be in great shape working out in this hot sun," Randy observed.
"Yeah, all that 100 proof bourbon will be coming out his pores all day."
Randy went inside the house whose cool shadows seemed to embrace him after the glaring sun that had been reflected off the pool.
"Where's male wardrobe?" he asked a studio assistant he knew.
"Upstairs, Randy. It's marked when you get up there."
Randy bounded up the stairs and did see the door with a placard attached: "Wardrobe. Male." He went in and discovered another old friend, Wendall Nolen, who was the costume designer for the film. Unlike many of his trade, Wendall was all male, and was notorious for his sexual escapades, usually with very young girls.
"Hi, Randy. I heard you were to be in the picture. I have a nice pair of blue trunks for you. Cut as low as the Valenti office will allow. Of course Mona would like you only in a jock or less, but they won't let you do it."
Both men laughed.
"Hell, I'd do it bare if they wanted," Randy said.
"Don't say that," Wendall grinned. "I'd be out of a job, if they started to make nudist films."
He held out the pair of brief blue swim trunks that Randy was to wear.
"I had them put in a little extra protection for you, so it'll hold it all. As I remember, you are a pretty big boy."
"Thanks for remembering," Randy said in a bantering tone. "I didn't know you had looked."
It was easy to joke with a man like Wendall Nolen, whose genial personality and charm were legends in Hollywood.
"I'm just jealous, that's all," Nolen replied. "These chicks I date would screan plenty if I waved something like you've got in front of them."
"Send 'em around," Randy said. "They can scream for me."
He took the blue trunks and went into a second room where there were several full length mirrors. Quickly he undressed, and then stood before the mirrors and observed his nakedness. He had looked at himself counties times before, but it was devoid of erotic interest. He saw himself as a perfectly constructed mechanism that people found attractive, one that he could sell and merchandise, and was he felt, his greatest asset. He observed his wide shoulders and firm, broad chest, with a sprinkling of dark hair. This narrowed down to a small trim waist, and broadened slightly to boyish hips and long, sturdy muscular legs. His maleness, which nestled below the dark area was impressive, even now in repose, and the heaviness of his masculinity seemed accentuated by the length and size. Suddenly he was aware he was not alone. It was Jerry, the wardrobe assistant and dresser. Randy knew that Jerry liked looking at naked men, liked it very much indeed, and his eyes were taking in everything that Randy was showing. Quickly he reached for the trunks, stepped into them, and pulled them up, not with out a bit of a struggle over his hips.
Jerry came over and helped him with the metal buckle. Not that he needed any help, but it was his job, and Randy, wise to the ways of the Hollywood work scene let him adjust the buckle and the trunks although he was aware at the same time that the middle-aged man was lingering much longer than necessary with his hands.
"Looks fine," he commented. "How does it feel?"
"Snug," Randy replied.
"Well, it will loosen a bit when it's wet," the assistant said. "I think Mona will find it most becoming, and I'm sure Mr. Borden will also."
Randy decided not to comment on that bit of trivia. He always felt it politic not to discuss the sexual proclivities of some one as important as a director, especially with some one in Jerry's particular category.
At this juncture Wendall Nolen came into the room, and smiled genially.
"I knew it would fit you like a second skin," he said. "This will cause a few comments, like that scene in 'Darling' ."
Randy remembered the very vivid line of males lying side by side in a sun bathing scene in the film and how prominent the male anatomy had been emphasized in a low angle shot looking across them.
"Maybe I'll get a new name around town," Randy quipped. " 'The Bulge' ."
"Think that's bad," Wendall commented. "It could start a whole new career for you."
Randy went down to the pool again and this time he saw that Hal Borden had arrived. Since it was his first day on the picture, etiquette demanded that he pay his respects to the director.
"Good morning, Hal," he said in greeting. "I heard you were a bit under the weather this A.M."
"Oh, yes," Borden replied. "I thought I wouldn't live. But I may just now. You look great in those trunks, but I'll have to be careful with the cameras."
Randy knew that Hal Borden was really scrutinizing him. Although he had never worked in a picture with Borden he had heard about him and knew how he operated. He felt he'd be able to take care of any situation that developed.
His attention was diverted now by Mona Williams making her entrance. And that's just what it was. Even in her own familiar home, Mona knew how best to suddenly appear and immediately become the focus of all eyes. She paused momentarily in the doorway, then that familiar voice called out.
"Hal, darling, are you ready for me?"
Immediately, of course, every eye, including Randy's went to the figure of the star, now wrapped in a colorful Japanese robe of white silk, and she posed for just an instant.
"Not quite, baby, but come over and meet Randy Nelson."
Mona drifted across the distance from the door to where Hal and Randy stood and her eyes jumped from Randy's face to his lower anatomy, lingered a bit, then glanced back again to his face.
"How are you, Mr. Nelson," she gurgled. "I think I'm going to like you very much!"
CHAPTER FOUR
They didn't get a great deal accomplished in the hours before the luncheon break. There were a few camera set-ups and Randy actually spoke two lines of dialogue in a scene with Mona. He felt excited doing a scene with a star as big as Mona Williams, but he paced himself carefully and made it all seem very nonchalant. There was no doubt of his effect on Mona. She monopolized the conversation with him, and always he knew her eyes descended downward to below his waist where the trunks fitted him in such a revealing manner. When Garth Peters, the male star put in an appearance, Mona scarcely nodded her head in his direction. He had a fine physique and looked trim and fit in his white trunks, but obviously Mona was aware that he would not return any interest she might have in him. She became very confidential with Randy as they sat alongside the pool between takes.
"I didn't really want him for the picture," she said in a low voice. "I know he's queer as a three dollar bill, but his name does sell films, and with this one I can use some help."
Randy smiled, but didn't comment. He felt in a situation like this he should just be the listener.
"How does it happen we've not done a picture together before?" Mona asked.
"Well, that's the film business," Randy said. "I really haven't had a lot of big breaks. I've done okay, but mostly only day player stuff. When my agent submitted me for this, I wasn't sure I'd get it."
"I do remember seeing the shots of you they sent over," Mona said. "When we got the ones of you in swim trunks I put in my word for you."
"Thank you. I really owe the job to you then."
"Oh, let's just say I helped. And you will come to the party when the picture is done?"
Randy had heard a great deal about the parties that Mona Williams gave.
Fortunately, the real facts never got out into circulation because the grapevine had it they became wild orgies with naked guests everywhere and any kind of sexual activity you wanted was free for the asking. Now would be his opportunity to see if all this was really true.
"Id be very glad to come," Randy said graciously. "Is it formal?"
"Decidedly not," Mona replied with a wink. "Most of my guests are very informal."
The day wore on, and a few more scenes were taken. It was after lunch, which had been a box picnic affair, that Randy spotted Vickie Morrow among the two dozen or so extras that had been recruited for the background around the pool. She looked very appealing indeed in the two piece green swim attire that she now wore.
"I was wondering if I'd ever lure you away from Mona Williams," she laughed in greeting him.
"Hi yah, babe," Randy said breezily. "Well you know with a star like Mona you sort of do what she wants."
"And I gather that what she wants is you," Vickie said grinning.
"Oh, I just happen to have caught her eye at the moment," Randy said. "In her next picture, it'll be someone else."
"This is a great way to spend a day," Vickie observed. "Lolling about a pool and getting paid for it."
"I agree," Randy said. "How many days are you getting?"
"I think three, weather permitting," Vickie replied.
Randy knew that all extra calls were phrased that way. If inclement weather developed on an outside location shot, the calls were cancelled.
"I'd say you'll get the three days. We're in for a run of sunshine and clear days."
"How about you? When do you finish?"
"I'm in for today and tomorrow, but we're going so slow, I think it'll stretch to a week."
Vickie smiled.
"Man, that's nice stretching, at one hundred bucks a day."
"Yes, nice enough," Randy agreed. "If it happened every day."
"I should think you'd really be able to make it big out here," Vickie said seriously. "You see to have a lot going for you."
"Oh, actors with bodies are a dime a dozen," Randy replied. "You need more than that. I think my basic trouble is I'm just too damn lazy to go after anything."
At this point he was called by Hal Borden for a set up with Mona and Garth Peters. The scene was a simple one. Peters was supposed to have noticed that his girl was paying too much attention to this other guy at the pool. The "other guy" was Randy. They went over the lines, and the director called for quiet and then, "Action."
Randy felt a real sense of being in focus now. The crowd of extras watched the scene along with the technical crew and of the course, the penetrating eyes of Hal Borden. Randy decided he had quite an audience.
The scene went well, ad did several others, and they called it a day. Before leaving, Mona made quite a point of saying good-bye to Randy, and saying how much she looked forward to the next day.
After Randy had changed back into street clothes he loked about for Vickie but she had left. He noticed Hal Borden and Garth Peters in company with a young camera assistant and they drove off together in Borden's expensive looking Mercedes. Evidently the guy would be "target for tonight," Randy decided.
The second day was much like the first, and so was the third. On the fourth day, since Vickie was still working be managed to get her back to his place for a repeat of their delightful session together, and he took fresh delight in exploring and probing her offered body.
On his last day on the film, Vickie was not around. Mona was unusually attentive. She had managed to get Randy some additional scenes which would be shot in the studio and this meant he'd be put under a week's contract for the work.
"I'm happy for you, Randy," Mona said to him when they were inside the house. She had asked him up to her room for a good-bye drink and he had gone, dressed in his blue trunks.
The drink was a strong one, and Randy knew the situation had possibilities, but Mona knew her game.
"Too many people around," she warned. "The house is full of everyone. We can wait."
But she did allow him to kiss her. A kiss that became a deep and long probing and caused her to clutch him wildly and her hands to reach for his maleness, now vividly outlined beneath the blue material. He pressed himself against her and he felt her searching fingers become more frantic.
"Quick, push them down," she breathed. "I want to see you."
Randy fumbled with the buckle, drew it open, and then unzipped the front, and brought into view what Mona Williams wanted to see.
"Oh, oh," she cried. "How beautiful!"
Just then a voice called: "Miss Williams, are you up there?"
In quick panic, Randy adjusted himself, and closed the trunks.
Making sure it was safe, Mona answered the voice and Randy left.
He felt a bit shaken by his excitement and when he went into the wardrobe to change and had pushed down the trunks, the evidence of his excitement was still to be seen. And the watchful eye of Jerry, the wardrobe assistant took it all in. He saw what it was and he merely looked at Randy and smiled.
"Want me to take care of that for you?" he said.
"Supposing someone comes in?" Randy said nervously.
"I have a key to the back room. Come on."
Randy felt a certain amount of disgust at his own animal behaviour, but he knew if he wasn't relieved of his tension now he'd be restless the balance of the day. He followed the man into small room, heard the lock being snapped into place and then turned to face Jerry. He pushed off the trunks from his body and he stood waiting.
"Go on," he almost hissed at the kneeling figure. "Go on and take it and do a good job." Jerry bent to his task and the magic began.
The party was a great success. Randy could see that the excitement level was constantly rising, as the amount of liquor consumed made its effect felt. Mona was a good hostess. She spread herself around to all the guests, chatting with this group and then with another. She had the real knack of making people feel that she was terribly interested in what they were saying to her, although in truth, her mind might be thinking intensely of something else. If her conversationalist happened to be an attractive male, chances were, she was mentally undressing him as she listened to what ever small talk he might be offering.
There had been some films during the evening. No Hollywood party seemed complete without running off a film. This one had been a controversial Swedish film which had had censorship problems, but somehow Mona had managed to get a hold of an uncut print. There had been frank depictions of love making in the film and Randy wondered if indeed the actors were actually doing what they seemed to be portraying. He smiled and wondered how they ever managed "re-takes" if the male was indeed finished! Mona also ran off some nudist films, and the people in them seemed pretty special, in that they were all attractive and youthful looking, and not the usual kind of humans displaying their nakedness that Randy had seen in a few nudist magazines.
He saw Garth Peters was there, accompanied by a very handsome male this time. Randy came to the conclusion that Garth didn't mind displaying his true proclivities as long as it was "in the family" so to speak and not out in the general public. Hal Borden was on hand too, and looked a little flushed from his drinking. He spied Randy and came over with a broad grin on his face.
"I saw the pool scene rushes the other day," he said happily. "You are very big in them."
"So I hear," Randy said. "What does the front office think?"
"They are being Nervous Nellies," Borden replied. "I'm going to have to fight to keep in one or two shots. You know you do have a very big development, my boy."
His grin turned almost to a leer now.
"Why don't we get together sometime?" he asked.
Randy knew he had to be tactful, yet, he also had to be decisive.
"Oh, come on, Hal, you certaintly don't lack for company. I wouldn't be much fun for you."
"I'd sure like to find out," Borden persisted. "How about it?"
"Possibly," Randy said in a sparring manner. "We'll see."
He was rescued by Mona Williams who wanted him to meet someone. But he knew that he might hear more from Hal Borden.
Sometime later he found himself alone with Mona. She had very carefully maneuvered the whole business. She got rid of people when she wanted and she steered the course of action the way she wanted it to go. And Randy could see she wanted it to go to her bedroom.
There were still some people about. Mostly hangers-on who were getting progressively drunker. In some instances they were naked, or almost so. Couples were lying about in various states of dress and undress. Randy was also conscious of the fact that the pool was being used by a number of people, of both sexes, and all in the raw. They seemed quite happy and preoccupied with their activities, and it was then that Mona began steering Randy upstairs.
He needed little prompting. Mona was a mature woman of generous proportions who exuded a style of sex on the screen that had been her trade mark. Her pictures made money because people enjoyed her frank and open manner with which she seemed to relish men and what they had to offer as lovers.
The bedroom was a lavish affairs. Its main feature was a king sized bed that looked as if it might sleep a dozen. It was Mona's play-pen, and she had it rather strategically placed in the center of the room, upon a bit of raised platform. The room was almost in darkness, but Mona snapped a switch and a soft, diffused light centered on the bed. It was like a stage setting, Randy decided.
He didn't care whether it was a stage or not once she began to let her hands run over him.
"I want to watch you strip for me," she said in her low husky voice. "I always like to watch a man take off his clothes."
Randy had had just enough to drink to put him on the right edge for this kind of thing. He fell into Mona's mood and began to unbutton his shirt. She watched him very closely and when he had shed his pants and stood only in his white briefs she spoke.
"Get up on that little platform there for the rest. I have a special light for you."
Randy grinned and did as he was bid. He stepped upon a slight platform near the rear wall. Suddenly he saw a strong spotlight was focused on him .
"Now," Mona commanded. "Take them off, and slowly."
There was just enough aroused sensuality in Randy's make-up for him to enjoy this type of play. He let his fingers inch down the white material very slowly and at the same time he began to undulate his hips. He was aware that Mona had very quickly stripped and was regarding him now with complete concentration.
Randy pushed the briefs off and heard a gasp from Mona.
"When, it is really magnificent. Let your hand do a little something."
The words came out in a low hushed whisper, but there was an urgency behind them.
Randy knew that some women were fascinated by a sight like that and he obliged for a moment. Then he stepped out of the light and found Mona Williams waiting. He edged her over to the bed, and she fell back upon it. Quickly he lowered himself over her and let her flesh feel his. She swung from under him and pushed him back upon the bed and began a long detailed journey over his body with her warm tongue. It was then that Randy became aware of the mirrors. There, in the ceiling above the bed were large mirrors, accurately reflecting what was happening below. He found himself fascinated by the sight, as Mona applied her warm moist mouth to that part of him that fascinated her so very much. She knew her business. She was good. He began to thrash about in his pleasure and Mona's mouth became more and more insistent. He knew that he couldn't hold out much longer and he told her so.
"This will be firsts for you," she groaned at him. "I'm sure you can go for seconds and thirds. I think I can show you how."
She bent to her pleasure again, and Randy surrendered himself to her in a burst of intense release that seemed to carry him up to a height that he scarcely knew existed. Mona Williams was greedy and none of it escaped.
CHAPTER FIVE
Some days later, as Randy reflected on those long hours with Mona Williams he marveled at his own performance with her. He recalled that Mona had been able to arouse him several times and each time the pitch of his excitement had been high and urgent. Mona was a skillful manipulator of men. She knew how to best arouse them to an almost frenzy of excitement. Randy had met her on her own terms. Almost savagely he had thrown himself upon her body that arched up to meet his. He had plunged with an almost insane drive all his power and vigor into that waiting body and she had given him back just as much intensity and force. It was like the mating of two splendid animals, each perfect, each magnificent. Even when they had lain spent and exhausted beside one another, her fingers had continued to search him out, to let them trace and fondle his masculine attributes in a manner that seemed insatiable. She seemingly never tired of wanting to feel all of his male magnificence.
Several days passed and Randy finished up all his scenes for "Lady For Tonight". Thanks to Mona's interest, what had started out to be a small bit role had actually taken on some importance in the film, and there was some talk now going on between his agent and Allied about billing for Randy.
When Randy spied an item in the Hollywood Daily Variety about Don Eilers it reminded him that he had promised to call. They got together for a drink and it was then that Randy mentioned Vickie Morrow and the Alabama room-mate.
"I always did dig those rebels," Don confessed. "Why don't you set it up for the four of us?"
"Will do," Randy said. "We could take a drive down to Santa Monica for some sea breeze and maybe dinner. I have a friend who'll loan me his cottage down there too. I think we could really have a ball."
"Great," Don Eilers replied happily. "I'm ready for some recreation about now."
"Been working you hard?"
"Damn right. Anybody that thinks making a TV film is easy has rocks in their heads."
"So, let old Dr. Nelson take care of the remedy," Randy smiled. "I think you'll find it will make you happy and contented."
The clicked their glasses together and grinned at each other.
It was good hearing Vickie's voice again. They chatted at some length when Randy called her by telephone the following day. She had not been working since her call for "Lady For Tonight" and there was a little note of discouragement in her voice.
"Don't worry, doll-face," Randy consoled her. "We all get stretches when nothing much seems to be happening.
"I could do one of those quickie nudies if I wanted," Vickie said over the phone. "This guy called me and said there was a picture in the works."
Randy was familiar with this operation. There were firms in Hollywood that specialized in turning out these pictures, known as "explotation films" that usually featured unknowns who would take the jobs, which paid well, but certaintly wouldn't advance anyone's career. The story line was a thin one, but usually included bedroom scenes, where some flesh exposure could be worked in.
"I don't think you should get mixed up in anything like that," Randy advised. "Most of those guys are slightly more than gangsters, and the whole thing is so cheap and shabby."
"I know," Vickie agreed. "But a gal has to eat."
"Speaking of eating," Randy put in, "how would you and your room-mate like to join another actor and me for a spin down to Santa Monica tomorrow night?"
"Sounds great," Vickie replied. "I don't think Mary Louise has anything planned. Is your friend nice?"
"Not as nice as I am," Randy quipped. "But he says he likes rebels, so I'm sure he'll be most charming. Shall we say eight?"
When Randy had hung up he reflected a moment on Vickie Morrow. Compared to the sophisticated Mona Williams she seemed like an old fashioned country girl, but a country girl who could be very exciting. Very exciting indeed.
It was a typical glorious May evening in Southern California. The sky was clear and filled with myriads of bright twinkling stars. There was a fresh breeze in the air and along with the moderate temperature the combination was as agreeable as the local Chamber of Commerce said it was.
Randy swung into the driveway of the Hollywood Arden Hotel and spied Don Eilers waiting for him. He pulled up and opened the door.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said in greeting, "but traffic along the boulevard was not to be believed."
"Think nothing of it," Don replied. "I was late myself, and just got here a moment or two before."
Randy steered the car into the mainstream of traffic again and headed for the Melrose Avenue address that Vickie had given him. It turned out to be a duplex type of dwelling, like countless others in the block, undistinguished from its neighbors. Randy pulled up and sounded the horn and in response he saw the door open and Vickie stick her head out to acknowledge his arrival.
"We're ready," she hailed. "Be with you in two shakes."
It suddenly occurred to Randy that he had never seen the room-mate, Marry Louise, and so when he saw the dark-skinned girl following behind Vickie his surprise was truly genuine.
"I'll be damned," he exclaimed. "She's colored!"
"Fine with me," Don whispered. "They can be great fun."
Randy only had time to sigh a bit of relief at Don't attitude before the girls were upon them.
Introductions were handled easily and Randy found himself warming to the infectious smile and open personality that Mary Louise possessed. Her skin was of light shade, a real cafe au lait type, and that, combined with the sparkling of brown luminous eyes and red slash of a mouth made a most provocative combination.
The four of them began an animated conversation.
"I feel like a real outsider with all of you show biz types," Mary Louise said with a laugh.
Her voice was soft and modulated and delightfully accented.
"Closest I ever got to a stage was reciting a poem in school," she added, grinning.
"You are the lucky one," Don remarked. "It was just our misfortune to get bit by a bug whose bite is often fatal."
"And," Randy commented, "we're too nervous to steal."
Vickie snuggled up close to Randy as he drove, and let her hand squeeze his leg.
"Good to see you again, you big lug," she said affectionately. "I thought maybe Mona Williams had locked you up in that big house of hers."
"No chance," Randy said. "Because I know where she keeps the key."
"I'll bet you do," Vickie replied with a grin. "I'll just bet you do."
The evening was a delightful progression of enjoyment, highlighted by a candle-lit dinner at one of the ocean side cafes in the Santa Monica area, and then a long drive beside the jagged and irregular coast-line, always withing hearing distance of the pounding surf. They found a place to dance, and it was then that for the first time Randy had a chance to feel the warmth and nearness of Mary Louise as he held her close to him. She was an attractive girl, and as they danced, Randy was conscious that eyes were upon them, not because of the sight of a white man dancing with a Negro girl, but because hers was a face that arrested attention. The fact that she was colored would not have raised any eye brows in the sophisticated atmosphere of this particular locality. Santa Monica had long since accepted and assimilated all types of behaviour that only added to its own attractiveness and charm.
When Randy suggested to the three of them that they go to the sea-side cottage for which he had the key, he was delighted to see that both Vickie and Mary Louise showed eager signs of anticipation.
The cottage itself was a simple affair. It was rather primitive, with just the bare minimum of comfort, but it served for what it was intended, an occasional beach house for a swim and a quickly prepared meal. There were two small bedrooms, more functional than ornamental.
Randy had stopped by a liquor store to buy a bottle of Scotch and was pleased to find a refrigerator well stocked with ice cubes and a" few things that one could nibble on with relish. Within minutes he had served a round of drinks and they were sitting about the small intimate room with a radio playing softly in the background and the sound of the surf adding a peaceful accompaniment.
"This is glorious," Vickie sighed happily. "Imagine being able to have your own private place on the beach anytime you want it. Your friend's lucky."
"Oh, Doug Reed does all right," Randy answered. "He's a set designer for one of the TV production firms."
They sipped their drinks happily. Both girls had slipped to the floor and sat near their respective dates. The only light was from the hurricane lamps that Randy had lit when they first came in.
"Who's for a swim?" Randy suddenly spoke up, breaking the quiet spell that had descended upon them.
"Won't it be cold?" Vickie replied.
"No, not if you stay in the water," Randy answered. "It's the air that's cool, not the water."
"Believe it or not, I've never been in the ocean," Mary Louise commented. "Back in Alabama we're lucky to find a river."
"Well, honey chile," Don drawled, "ah thinks it's time you all had your baptism."
Everyone laughed. Not only at Don's expert dialect, but the fact that Mary Louise had so little of this regional speech herself.
"I'm game," Vickie announced. "Let's do it."
They began to shed clothes. Although no one had actually voiced the thought, it was obvious that there would be no swim suits, for the simple reason that no one had brought such a thing along. It all happened quickly. Almost before he knew it, Randy found himself naked, holding out his and to Vickie, and opening the rear door which led to the beach. He had not neglected to glance over at Mary Louise and discover that her body was a beautiful, even color of a dusky attractiveness. He saw too that Don was looking at his companion with renewed interest, before pushing her before him out the open door to the beach.
There was no moon and the darkness was like an all enveloping cover that shrouded them in an almost complete privacy.
Like happy frolicking children they raced the short distance down to the water and plunged into the breaking surf. Randy found the first impact almost breath-taking as the cool water leaped about his body, but soon the air itself was cooler than the water and he gratefully sank down into the swirling ocean for greater warmth.
Vickie grasped him and he felt her hands exploring him under the swirling foam, and he responded to her touch, not only by a visible stirring of his senses, but by his own manipulations upon her. At one point he dove beneath the surface and swam between her legs to her obvious delight. He also saw that Don and Mary Louise were standing waist deep in the surf clinging to one another, and their lips were meeting now in a long and feverish kiss, and he saw also that Mary Louise's hands were frantically searching out Don and he in kind was allowing his own hands to pass over that superb dark body, now highlighted by the glistening wetness, from the water.
Their water escapades lasted for about ten minutes, then Randy began pulling Vickie toward him, and murmured into her ear his desire to return to the house where he might do what he wanted. They left the water. Randy obviously excited by their foreplay in the water, and Vickie laughingly teasing him about his condition.
"Things are looking up!" she observed with a laugh.
For reply, Randy playfully spanked her soft shaking backside as she ran before him.
"Get into the house, woman," he said in a mocking heavy tone. "You're going to get what's coming to you."
"Goody," Vickie squealed. "I can hardly wait." Back in the warm intimacy of the front room, they sank down upon the softness of the heavy rug that covered the rude planked floor.
Randy hovered over her for a moment, and her hands feverishly sought him out and she let him groan in his pleasure as she manipulated the firm flesh she found.
His mouth sought out in turn her body, spread out before him, still testing of the salt water that had rushed about her so recently. He lingered on her breasts, letting his tongue caress each taut nipple that seemed to have a life of its own. They he descended downward, sensing the salty taste in his mouth as a reminder of their playful dip. She murmured softly as he reached the very center of her feeling and allowed his tongue to enter and excite her. She thrashed about in her intensity and he only redoubled his efforts at her movements. It was then that he became conscious that Don and Mary Louise had joined them on the floor. He was aware that even as he continued his actions upon Vickie, a warm pair of feminine hands were reaching for him to stroke and fon-le what they sought. Those hands belonged to Mary Louise now preparing herself to receive Don who dowered himself upon her. It was then that the hands withdrew and he was aware she had clasped her own partner closer to her. Randy felt excited and stirred by the closeness of the intimate act being performed by his side. For a moment he raised himself to look over at the couple, Don and Mary Louise. She lay beneath him and Don, with the skill of a man of long experience was moving into her with a steady and easy rhythm. His face was a study in intense feeling that told him of her extreme pleasure, as each plunge made by Don seemed to increase that feeling and pleasure. And the contrast between the whiteness of Don's skin and the dusky hue of Mary Louise's body only heightened his sensual awareness.
Then he turned to take Vickie. He took her with directness and vigor and she almost cried out as she felt the flesh make its hard demands upon her. She arose to meet those demands with a need and urgency of her own and again they seemed to melt as one as their forces gathered themselves together toward that apex which cannot be denied. Randy felt the moment, and gave into the moment, almost crying out in the intensity with which it happened. He was aware that Don also had achieved his finish, by the mounting intensity of the gasps of breath that he heard, and it was four, very exhausted persons who lay next to each other now in contentment and bliss.
CHAPTER SIX
It didn't end there. It seemed almost ordained there would be an exchange of partners. There was something in the very air that seemed to say they wanted to examine each other's bodies, in a free and uninhibited fashion, and they did it. Randy made love to Mary Louise in a long and passionate session. A session that found him lying beneath her while she expertly covered his body with her mouth and tongue. And in turn, he did the same for her. They stopped for a time and more drinks were served up and things became even less inhibited, and the four of them seemed to merge into one big, happy jumble of arms and legs, and torsos, and breasts, and male anatomies. At one point, Randy actually found himself caressing Don, whose mouth had found its way downward to Randy's warm flesh, only to be surplanted a moment later by Vickie's insistent tongue. The two men had watched in bleary eyed enjoyment as the two women, Mary Louise and Vickie savored of each other's body in an exploratory fashion before being pounced upon by the two males who promptly returned things to the usual procedures. Hours slipped by and Randy found he was losing all sense of time or duration. But at last, nature demanded a halt, a halt born of sheer exhaustion and satiation on the part of all.
For many days later, Randy recalled with fondness the events of the beach party that had had so many delightful facets to it. He liked to linger on the superb body that Mary Louise had offered, and the intensity and vigor with which Vickie had returned his actions upon her. He and Don discussed the evening at great length a few nights later.
"I must admit she was my first Negro girl," Don confessed. "But fabulous. Really fabulous."
"Wasn't she just though?" Randy agreed in happy recollection.
"And Vickie too is pretty special. She seems to know what makes a guy happy," Don commented.
"Yes, I'd say we were two pretty lucky ones at that."
They relished the scene again and again, and a few days later, when Don called to say he had to go back to New York, their parting was colored by the common experience they had shared. "If you get to New York I'll try to do the same for you," Don said over the phone. "Try to get back there if you can."
"Well you never know in this crazy business. Maybe I will," Randy replied. "Take care of yourself and have fun, buddio."
"Will do, Randy boy. And thanks again."
After several days of inactivity, Randy suddenly realized he had never called Ernest Charles, the director, for his appointment. How stupid of himself he thought! He had probably muffed a good chance to get in with one of the top Hollywood men by neglecting this opportunity. Well he would still try. Better late than never he reasoned.
He called the office number he had for Ernest Charles and asked if the director was there. As luck would have it, his call went though to the man himself, something which didn't always happen in Hollywood.
When Randy heard the familiar deep tones of the director on the phone he wasn't sure whether he should offer an excuse or not. The voice sounded happy and excited that he had called.
"I did wonder if you had forgotten," Ernest Charles said. "I know that you got extra work on the Mona Williams picture, so I reasoned that you had not been free to call."
Randy could only breathe a sigh of relief. Obviously he was still interested in seeing him.
"Could you come around here tomorrow about eleven?" Charles asked.
"Of course," Randy replied. "I'll be looking forward to it."
"So will I," the heavy voice replied. "So will I."
Randy pondered the problem of Ernest Charles. Or was it really such a problem? There was not doubt that the director was interested in him physically. That fact hardly needed any scrutiny. It was quite obvious. The thing that needed scrutiny Randy decided, was just how far was he prepared to go to respond to that interest. Again, it came down to the fact that his body was his greatest asset. There was no use in denying that fact. And if using the body was to get him what he wanted, then he just had to decide whether he really wanted to say yes or no. It was that simple.
He dressed carefully for his interview with Ernest Charles. He wore a conservative cut suit, with a button down shirt and a dark tie. He would be the well groomed, moderately successful actor today, meeting a possible employer, and wishing to create a favorable impression.
Charles welcomed him warmly and congenially. They spoke of the impending picture that was in the works.
"Have you ever done a Western?" the director asked.
"No, not really. But I can ride."
"Well, for the rough stuff we have riders," the director said, "but it will help if you can at least look comfortable in the saddle."
"Is it to be on locations?" Randy asked, recalling his conversation with his luncheon companion, a few days back.
"Yes," Charles replied. "You can hardly shoot a Western in the studio. We'll be going down to Southern Arizona for a lot of the exteriors. You might enjoy it."
Ernest Charles smiled at Randy.
"And I'd have a part, that is, one that is established?" This was the professional actor talking now, anxious for some recognition and notice.
"There's this part of the hero's brother that I think you'd be very right for," Charles replied. "And who's the hero?"
"Blair Hudson."
Randy was surprised. Blair Hudson was just about the biggest action star in the business. It meant a real chance for him.
"Sounds great to me," Randy said. "Do I have to test?"
"Ordinarily, I'd say yes," Charles answered. "But I'm relying on my instincts now. I believe you can handle it, and I have the final say on all my casting."
There would be of course, the contracts and the agent's contributions to the deal, but Randy realized that he was set and his pleasure was reflected in his face.
"I'm very grateful to you," Randy said. "I don't know how to thank you."
"I think I can find a way," Ernest Charles almost whispered. "How about drinks and dinner with me tomorrow evening?"
As he showered the following evening, Randy realized that he was going to find himself in a position with Ernest Charles that could only lead to one thing, and at the same time he began to realize that it was what he expected, at his juncture there was no turning back.
There was no time now for any shocked resentment or coy pretense that he hadn't realized the set-up.
Randy Nelson knew full well the set-up. Well what the hell, he said to himself; just because he did know the set-up, this didn't change him any. Basically, he remained the same. He still wanted women, that was the important thing. If letting a guy paw over you was part of the game, then he would have to settle for it.
He arrived at the big rambling house that belonged to Ernest Charles just as a thunderstorm broke over the canyon. In his dash from the car to the front entrance he had sufficient chance to get very wet indeed, a fact which was not lost on his host, who greeted him at the door.
"Come in, come in," he said smiling. "You look as if you were drenched. I must have some dry clothes around somewhere."
"Oh, it's nothing," Randy g-rimmed back. "I'll dry out quickly."
"Nonsense," the director replied. "I won't be held responsible for a gust coming down with a cold. Out of those clothes immediately."
Randy realized it was all part of the game. The fact that he really wasn't that wet, made the game so much more of a game, but he knew it was the one he must play.
Laughingly, he began to pull off clothes, even as he walked the length of the corridor, down to a sunken living room with dark rich furniture and tasteful decoration.
Ernest Charles produced a white raw silk robe and handed it to Randy.
"Here, slip this on while we have drinks and dinner. It's more comfortable than clothes, anyway."
He watched as Randy slipped out of his trousers and shirt, and then wrapped the robe around him.
"I didn't soak clear through," Randy g-rimmed, explaining why he was leaving on his briefs. Also, he had the feeling that Ernest Charles didn't want to rush things.
They had a simple, yet excellent meal, served by a rather solemn faced butler whose passive mein was like a mask. He was an elderly man, almost type cast from a film, but he went about his duties with quiet efficiency. There was an excellent filet mignon and salad, served with a good French wine. Strawberries with Grand Marnier liqueur made up the desert. Randy decided that Ernest Charles knew the niceties of life and had reached the point where he could relax and enjoy them. Their conversation was mostly shop talk, about films and players and the trivia that goes to make up Hollywood.
"How did you like working with Hal Borden?" Charles asked at one point.
"Very much. He seems to know his business," Randy replied.
"Yes, Hal has come a long way since he was a member of my crew more than fifteen years ago. I once was very fond of Hal."
Randy thought it best not comment on this. If the director wanted to confide about his love life he need only to listen.
They had coffee and after dinner liqueurs in another room. From some place, soft music was filling the air, and Randy noticed that the butler seemed to have disappeared into the recesses of the large house. He reasoned that about now Ernest Charles would begin his little routine of seduction. He wondered what form it would take. His curiosity was almost immediately answered because Charles now brought out several large albums and advanced toward him.
"You might find these amusing," he smiled. "I have managed to collect examples of erotica where ever I have been in the world."
Randy began to glance through the albums. They were large size photos of all types of sexual activity, arranged by countries and areas. Randy found his senses definitely stirred by some of the Middle-Eastern photos, probably taken in harems and seraglios of some potentate of the East. There was a large profusion of feminine types being displayed in every conceivable position and arrangment. As Randy continued to look at the pictures he heard Ernest Charles' voice.
"Open your robe, Randy. I'd like to see the reaction."
Without glancing away from the albums, Randy untied the robe and flung it open. Even convered by his white briefs, there was little doubt of his excitement. He could feel the eyes of his host upon him.
"When you finish those, I have some film," he said. "Really quite extraordinary."
A few minutes later, Randy was watching the film which Ernest Charles now projected onto a screen in front of them. He was right, it was "extraordinary." They were color films, obviously done by highly skilled craftsman, perhaps in Charles' own studio, and there was dialogue and sound. Randy could only marvel at the skill and technique he saw being displayed before him. He was semi-reclining now on a low sofa, his eyes avidly following the variety of events on the screen which depicted a group of five, three women and two men, supposedly shipwrecked on a desert island, and at this point in the story they were all completely naked and were beginning a series of actions with each other which left no combinations untried. The men used each woman in turn, then turned to each other, then the women presented their techniques upon the men, and then they too turned to one other. Randy found his senses were really afire now, and when Ernest Charles came to his side and began tugging at his last remaining bit of covering, he raised up so that he could push off the briefs. Now, completely revealed, he lay before the avid eyes of the director who bent over Randy and began to do what he wanted with his hot moist mouth. Randy squirmed in his excitement, meanwhile watching the events on the screen. It was a double sensation that heightener his feeling even more.
Ernest Charles knew his work. He expertly applied all his technique upon his gust and Randy knew he could not deny that demanding mouth. He knew he must yield. As the action upon the screen before him increased in its intensity, so did Ernest Charles and Randy just gave in to the sensation. His groans of passion were the signal and he thrust forward all his force and vigor and let Ernest Charles have what he wanted.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When Randy received the message to call Wilson Allan at Allied Pictures his first reaction was that it must be in connection with "Lady For Tonight!" Wilson Allan was chief of the publicity efforts of the studio and it was his often thankless chore to set up some new angle of approach on how to "sell" a picture which the studio was about to release.
When he was put through to Allan, the publicist was anxious to get right to the point.
"Listen, Randy. Mona Williams has to go up to San Francisco at the end of the week for a premiere of "Chinatown Nights" that she did up there on location. She wants you to be her escort."
The words came tumbling out to Randy over the phone, but he got the message loud and clear. He was wanted to escort the highly paid Mona Williams to a large public film premiere, an assignment that certaintly was not unappetizing. But usually, the escort for someone like Mona Williams was a male star of comparable magnitude, and Randy mentioned this fact to Wilson Allan.
"Hell, she is hung up on you, Randy, and it certaintly won't do you any harm to be seen with her in public like this."
That was certaintly true. Randy was wise enough in the ways of Hollywood to know that being seen in public with big names was a sure way to have the value of your own name enhanced.
"So, what are the arrangement?" Randy asked. "You and Mona will fly up in the studio plane on Friday afternoon, along with some others," Allan answered. "The premiere is that evening. Later, there is a big bash in Chinatown, with all the Oriental crap they can dig up, and Mona will be made a Grand Dragoness or something."
"Sounds like an exotic evening," Randy commented.
"Exotic, hell!" Allan exploded. "It's just of lot of eye wash, but we need all the help we can get on this flick. It's a bomb."
"Well, you can tell Mis Williams I'll be delighted to go along," Randy laughed. "I really dig the chop suey bit."
"See wardrobe if you need any clothes. Allied is picking up the tab for the whole thing.
"Will do," Randy replied. And after putting down the phone he sank back upon the sofa with a contented smile on his face. Things were looking up for him. First, Mona had seen to it that his part in "Lady For Tonight" had been enlarged. Then Ernest Charles had told him he would have something in the Western picture, and now he was going to escort one of the screen's top female starts to an opening. He let his mind dwell on a number of things. The scene in Mona's bedroom with it wild uninhibited passions, and the strangely different, but equally stimulating session with Ernest Charles, the director. In each case he had been aroused by pure sensuality and he knew that beneath it all was the basic fact of his own body. Randy Nelson knew it was this body that had been the means by which he had been able to accomplish what he had. He absent mindedly began to caress himself beneath the thin robe he was wearing. His mind dwelt longingly on the whole episode with Mona, and with Vickie, and with Ernest Charles. All those albums and movie scenes that Charles had shown him came rushing back to him now, to be re-enacted before his eyes. Slowly, his hand sought the tie around of his robe and he loosened it, and then finally let it untie and fall away. Almost dream like he pushed off the robe from around him and gazed down at himself, almost in a curious self detachment, as if he might indeed be looking at some one else's aroused maleness. But it was his own. Very definitely his own, and his hand sought it out now and began to work. He realized that this was something he had not done in a long time. A very long time. The urge became almost over-whelming now. It would not be denied. He caught a glimpse of his reflected image in the wall mirror not far from the sofa on which he was lying. Again, he looked at the image in a curious, detached manner, as if it were some other male. He looked at his own masculinity that jutted upwards from the rich muscular power and his actions upon himself increased. He then closed his eyes and gave himself over to the ever increasing sensation of pure sensual delight.
CHAPTER EIGHT
On the plane ride to San Francisco, Mona Williams made a pleasant seat companion for Randy. She chattered on and on about the cinema scene and the peculiar people who inhibited it. She was in good spirits and also, Randy noticed, looked ravishing. Mona Williams was one aging star that took care of herself and it showed. Rumor had it that some days she never got out of bed, but spent the entire day resting and relaxing, in darkened room. What ever her methods were, Randy decided, they had worked.
The plane was also full of studio people, publicists, cameramen, hair dressers, wardrobe personnel, secretaries, and several dozen hangers-on whose function in the movie industry was never completely clear to anyone, often even to themselves.
The flight was slightly over an hour, and they were soon beginning their descent. In the distance, Randy could see the almost fairy-like enchantment of the Golden Gate Bridge, spanning the Bay with just the hint of a low mist about it.
Once on the ground the madness began. The press photographers were like a swarm of hungry bees. They clamored about Mona and her entourage and shouted their instructions in the manner of newsmen the world over.
"This way, Miss Williams. Give us a big smile. Wave over here, now, Miss Williams. Show us a leg, Miss Williams. Little more now, Miss Williams. How about raising the skirt, Miss Williams?"
The variations seemed endless. Randy could not help being impressed with the way Mona handled them. She was perfect. She knew just how to respond to every request. She was gracious. She was charm. She was a professional. He found that his presence, while not exactly being ignored, was certaintly not being given any attention. Then Mona Williams latched on to him and began pushing him into pictures with her.
"The name is Randy Nelson," she announced to the photographers. "See that you spell it right."
"Is Mr. Nelson with you in this film?" a newsmen asked with paper and pencil ready.
"No, not this one," Mona replied sweetly. "But watch for 'Lady For Tonight.' You'll remember him when you see it."
Randy beamed his pleasure and his smile was captured by the news cameras.
Next came the television news people, and here there was more posing and interviews and retakes before everyone seemed satisfied.
On the ride into town, Mona snuggled up close to Randy in the limousine.
"Well, what do you think of it all?" she asked.
"I'm impressed with you," Randy replied. "You really know how to handle them."
"Who knows I should be able to do it. I've had enough practice."
"This is really the life," he murmured. "I think I could get really used to all this."
"Don't," Mona warned almost sharply. "It isn't real you know. It's just a little charade we play."
Randy had never really heard Mona speak in this fashion before.
"But don't you enjoy all of this attention and excitement?"
"Not really," the star replied. "It's part of my job. The job of staying on top. I know the rules and I play them."
Randy looked at her. She seemed for a moment to have dropped a mask. He saw a rather pretty middle-aged woman, with a slight tiredness about the eyes looking at him. He rose from his place and went to her. Then he bent down and kissed her. He held her close to him for a moment, then broke away.
"Thank you, Randy," she said simply. "I needed that."
The premiere was on grand scale. There were the usual kleig lights searching the skies, and the police escorts, and the milling crowds, held at bay by the barriers. For Randy it was an exhilerating experience. And Mona Williams outdid herself with her appearance. She wore a beautifully brocaded gown, cut in Oriental style, and her hair swept up in a new fashion. Her only piece of jewelry was a startling one. A large, single piece of jade, suspended on a Fine gold chain about her neck. When she and Randy stepped out of the limousine, the crowd showed their appreciation. Flash bulbs went off, and there were some shouts and cheers as the pair made their way along the carpeted pathway to the inevitable microphones and television cameras. Here the ritual continued with the excited news commentator making the usual interview questions sound as banal and trite as ever.
"Are you excited about tonight, Miss Williams?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, of course," the star replied. '"It's always such a pleasure to be in this lovely city of San Francisco and to see so many wonderful people." Then, without hardly pausing for breath, she continued: "This is Mr. Randy Nelson," she beamed into the cameras and microphones. "He will be seen in my forth coming film, 'Lady For Tonight' ".
It was Randy's moment and he grinned happily for the benefit of the television audience.
Then they swept into the auditorium of the movie theatre and the film began.
It was not one of Mona's better films, and Wilson Allan was right. It was a bomb. Randy felt almost embarrassed watching much of it, and he was conscious of Mona's fingers slipping into his at one point.
"It is pretty ghastly, isn't it?" she whispered.
"Not too bad," Randy replied, but he didn't sound convincing.
The plot was a tired shop worn one about a tradition conscious Chinese family who did not want their daughter to marry out of her race. Mona was the daughter, looking strangely exotic in the Oriental make-up, but her characterization was thin, and there was little chance for the usual highlighting of the Williams sex appeal. There was a tong war episode which generated a little excitement in the film and much of the authentic atmosphere of San Francisco's Chinatown was captured faithfully by the color cameras, but over all, "Chinatown Nights" was not a good film.
At its conclusion, the audience gave the picture polite applause, and then the ritual of introduction began, and Mona was given a good reception when she made her entrance from the wings. Later, she came back to Randy's side and it was obvious she was a little restless.
"I'm ready to go," she announced. "This next event is going to be deadly, and I'll have to have a drink first."
The Chamber of Commerce of San Francisco's Chinatown had arranged a big reception and ceremonial for the movie people and it was to this area that the party now moved.
Mona had fortified herself with several stiff drinks and seemed to be her radiant self again by the time the festivities began.
Randy was pretty much the bystander through all this, but he was caught up in the color and panoply of the event.
Mona was being made some kind of a priestess in a Chinese cult, and there was much incense and bowing, and intoning and the like. She was seated on a huge throne and an elaborate headdress was placed upon her. It was done with great seriousness and pomp and Randy was impressed.
Later they went through a receiving line, and Randy found himself confused by all the Chinese names and faces that he heard and saw. But one Chinese face did catch his attention. She was a demure, petite Chinese girl in her late teens, whose fragile beauty was like a rare piece of porcelain.
Her name, it developed, was May Ling, and she was not quite as Old World as first glance would have it. She smiled at Randy's frank appraisal.
"This is getting to be a bit of a drag, isn't it?" she said blithely.
Randy hardly expected such a tone from the girl, and he laughed heartily.
"But very impressive, I find," he replied.
"If you dig all the quaint Fu Manchu bit, it's okay, I guess," the girl went on.
Randy found himself intrigued.
"How do you fit into all this?" he asked.
"I'm the daughter of one of the planners of the whole thing. My father is the one up there doing all that mumbo-jumbo."
Randy had been conscious of the tall, regal looking Chinese who seemed to be the important one in the ceremony.
"Mona Williams is something, isn't she?" Randy commented.
"Yeah, she's a real gas in that outfit. But she shouldn't have worn the Eye of Heaven to this affair."
"Eye of Heaven?" Randy asked.
"That piece of jade she has around her neck. It has religious significance to my people here.
Now, Randy detected quite a different tone in the girl's voice. She seemed quite serious and earnest.
"I don't understand," he said to her.
"The 'Eye of Heaven' is a centuries old piece of jade that once was a part of a large idol in a shrine in Old China. I don't care about it myself, but I know there is an element of our people who want it back. They could get very nasty about it."
After saying all this, May Ling suddenly laughed.
"Now, I'm sounding like Fu Manchu. Let's have a drink."
CHAPTER NINE
Randy wasn't just sure how it all had happened. It had elements of Oriental suspense and mystery and intrigue about it, but in some fashion he would up with Mona Williams and May Ling in some sumptious Chinese apartment, surrounded by a number of young Oriental couples whose presence added an extra note of excitement.
There had been drinks. A great many of them. And Mona had come over to them and said how bored she was and how she wanted to get away, and before he knew it, the two of them were being escorted by the young Chinese girl down some rather sinister passages and finally into the dimly lit quarters where they now were.
"Whose place is this?" Randy asked, looking about.
"Oh, it belongs to part of my family," she replied. "Just relax and enjoy it."
Randy noticed that Mona was no longer wearing the jade piece.
"Yes, I gave it to Wilson to take back to the hotel safe for me," she answered. "The damn thing is supposed to be priceless."
Randy wondered if he should say any thing to Mona about his conversation with May Ling. He decided he wouldn't.
They had more drinks, including a rather sweetish brown liquid that aroused some rather sensual feelings in Randy.
"What is this?" he inquired of the girl. "I don't believe I've ever had it before."
"Call it a Chinese love potion if you want" she answered rather impishly. "It'll do things for you just when you need it most."
The atmosphere in the place was taking on an erotic tone. Couples could be seen deeply involved with each other, and the pungent smell of a rich incense was in the air. Suddenly, a gong was struck and off to one side, curtains parted, and revealed the slight figure of a temple dancer, dressed in a transparent role that did little to conceal the ivory colored body beneath.
"Right out of 'Dragon Lady'," Mona commented. "But she is exquisite."
Randy was intrigued by the sight. The dancer began to move to the soft accompaniment of concealed music. Her movements were skilled and graceful and her hands performed a ballet of motion in the air. Then she suddenly slipped the robe from off her body and stood in the soft light like a figurine come to life. The body was a perfect miniature, with firm little breasts and tiny red rosette in the center. The waist was almost non-existent, and slim hips tapered to fine legs, and tiny feet. Randy noticed the girl's body was devoid of all hair. She began to move again, and the effect was as if seeing a small ivory statue spring to life and perform. Then, a second gong sounded, and a male figure appeared. He was large without being a giant and his face was like an immobile mask. His costume was merely a loin cloth held in place by a single string, and as he moved the small cloth did little to cover his maleness. Randy could sense that Mona Williams's interest in the proceeding had been heightened by this extra added ingredient.
"He doesn't look Chinese to me," she whispered to Randy. "Probably some dancer from Brooklyn."
The couple began to move closer and closer to each other. The completely nude girl and the almost nude male and their motions were like an ancient love ceremony, a ceremony that soon became a startling reality as the girl now reached up from her reclining position and began to manipulate her male partner. And then, it was apparent there was no need for the small loin cloth, and almost impatiently, the man tore the small garment from him and stood revealed in his complete male nakedness.
Mona was fascinated. So was Randy, and indeed, so were all the spectators. There was only one focus of attention and all eyes in the room seemed riveted on the scene before them.
The two figures seemed to mesh and in the flickering light that illuminated the scene, them was little doubt as to what was happening. The male became one with the female in an age old manner, and then, he began his rhythm.
This action seemed to have a galvanizing effect on the spectators, as each in turn sought out a partner, and Randy was aware that couples were undressing each other in an almost frenzy of excitement.
"This is some joy house you have here," Randy observed to May Ling, who was now staring at him.
"Yes, it does have its interesting aspects," the Chinese girl agreed. "Don't you want to join in?"
Randy looked around uncertainly. He saw Mona Williams looking at him with a curious smile on her famous face.
"Yes, Randy," she almost cooed. "I should thing you'd want to join in. There's enough there for both of us."
So that was it! Mona wanted a threesome!
Randy began to undress. The whole thing was taking on an unreal aspect somehow, or at least his head seemed rather loosely attached to the rest of him. He decided it must have been that last drink May Ling had given him. Or more probably, those last two drinks she had offered.
His hands continued to function and clothes were leaving his body. He was conscious too that Mona had found her way out of clothes. He could see that the black panties and bra she wore were her only garments. He advanced over to her and almost roughly drew her close to him.
"You're still the most beautiful woman in the room," Randy announced thickly. "But much too overdressed for this party."
Mona did nothing to stop his hands from un-snapping her bra and when she felt his hungry mouth upon the warm flesh of her breasts, her involuntary gasps of pleasure were very real indeed. Randy's hands began clawing at the black panties.
"Come on, take them off," he breathed.
His hands found the elastic band and he began to push the thin garment from off Mona's body. The black nylon slid down off her hips and then to the floor, and Mona stepped out of them. At the same time, Randy felt feminine hands about his own waist, pushing at his briefs. It was May Ling, who stood behind him and was now seeking that part of his anatomy that betrayed his excitement. She found what she wanted and began a caressing action that caused Randy to squirm and moan in his pleasure.
Somehow the three of them sank to the floor, with Randy's mouth covering. Mona's body with fervent kisses that followed a downward course until he reached what he sought. He was conscious also of the fact that the Chinese girl had also begun a journey on his body with her warm mouth, a journey which ended when she encompassed that part of him that had so fascinated her. Randy felt himself lost in some kind of delirium, a delirium that was mounting in intensity with every heart beat. He was also aware that the room itself was a veritable seething cauldron of activity. Couples were entwined in every conceivable combination and bodies seem-ed to carpet the floor like some type of living rug.
May Ling's mouth became more insistent now, and Randy realized he could only yield. He did not want to let go, yet he knew he must. The warm moist mouth made its demands upon his flesh and he knew he must surrender to it. He renewed his own efforts upon Mona whose shudders and tremors told him that she was experiencing her own release, and it was then that he gave himself up to May Ling in a mighty surge that caused him to cry out in the sheer ecstasy of the feeling.
CHAPTER TEN
Randy lay basking in the hot Arizona sun. He was shirtless and the warmness beating down upon him had caused tiny beads of perspiration to form upon his skin.
He stretched luxuriously and gave over to day dreaming a bit.
Only last week at this time he had been winging back to Hollywood with Mona Williams at his side, following the opening of the film in San Francisco.
His mind dwelt fondly on the whole episode. The incredible events that had followed the ceremony stood out in his memory. That Chinese chick had really been something! As he recalled the scene, all those hours flashed through his mind again. He remembered he was amazed at his own endurance, and it was then that May Ling had whispered it was due to the drink. It seems the drink had contained a rather powerful aphrodisiac known to the Chinese for centuries, but forbidden to be brought into the country. Well, what ever it had been, it had worked. Randy found that there seemed to be no relaxation of his desire; it was always at the ready! And so, he had gone from Mona to May Ling and back again, and it seemed to be a continuous process that always brought on a heightened awareness of pure sensuality. Then he had fallen into a deep sleep and when he awakened he was in an ornate bed with heavy silken covering that seemed large enough for several. And there were several, as he discovered. At least, Mona and May Ling were there, and it started all over again.
Just before he left Hollywood to go on location for the Ernest Charles picture, Mona had called and wished him good luck. She had ended the conversation in a bantering tone.
"By the way, Randy dear, is it true that Chinese women are built differently than the rest .of us?"
"Not that I noticed, Mona darling," Randy had laughed. "But then, I was pretty busy."
Now, he was out on a ranch location for the Western epic starring Blair Hudson, to be called: "Showdown at Pecos Ridge." They were a few miles below Tucson, the nearest city, and each evening went back there at the end of the day. However, later in the week they would go up into some remote mountains and would then live in a trailer type arrangement for several days and nights.
So far, Randy had had little to do. He had been involved in only one shot so far, a bit of dialogue with the star, Blair Hudson.
Randy couldn't make up his mind about Blair Hudson. He was a solidly built guy, rugged looking, with dark good looks that had made him one of the biggest box office attractions in the film business. He knew that Blair had been married once, but since his divorce had been touted as Hollywood's greatest catch for some lucky woman. Yet, Randy had noticed that the star seemed over friendly with any attractive male that happened along. When he himself had been introduced to him, Randy got the feeling that the handshake had lingered a little longer than necessary. Also, Randy had the impression that Blair had stared rather obviously at the tight fitting dungarees that he was wearing when they met.
Well, he knew Ernest Charles' proclivities from personal experience, but their relations, so far on the picture had been friendly, but very business like.
Actually, Randy realized the whole Bet up around Ernest Charles was almost exclusively male. There was Ann Bright, the script girl, but she seemed more masculine than many of the men, and dressed in the shirt and pants that she wore, she could have easily been passed off as a male.
Randy enjoyed his present status. He was a featured player in this film, certaintly a step upward in his career, and he wondered if perhaps there would be some extra payment for Ernest Charles. He casually turned over in his mind this possibility, that the director might have some plans which would involve Randy.
If so, there was no indication in the days that followed. Each night when the company headed back to the city of Tucson, it was generally a few drinks at the hotel bar, then a good book for an hour of reading, and so off to sleep. The good life, Randy thought to himself.
When the unit moved up into the bleakness of the Santa Rita range there was not even the hotel bar to turn to, but liquor flowed freely just the same.
One night, Blair Hudson asked Randy to join him in his trailer for a night cap.
"So how do you like making horse operas?" the star asked genially.
"Great," Randy replied. "Man, you can't beat this life. Out in the open, early to bed early to rise bit."
Blair Hudson smiled his world famous smile. He was wearing a dark robe tightly tied about his middle. He gulped down a Scotch and poured himself another double one, at the same time refilling Randy's glass.
"Yes, it's healthful alright, but no damn recreation," Hudson said. "There isn't much to go out here in the wilderness-like this."
His eyes seemed to be centered on Randy now, and their gaze was almost penetrating.
"You look like a well set up guy," he observed. "I think you could go places in this business."
"I've had pretty good luck, for a non-actor," Randy quipped lightly. "I never fancied myself any Academy Award winner."
"Hell, most of the guys in Hollywood are in the same class," Hudson grinned. "A lot of them parlayed a good body into four figures a week. You could do the same. Let me see you without a shirt."
Randy's mind was clicking away now. It was the build-up that he knew must come out of the situation. What ever the fan magazines might have written, what ever the gossip columnists might have said, the true basic fact was quickly becoming apparent: Blair Hudson liked men, and Randy Nelson was about to become very much aware of that fact.
He was amazed at his own cool detached manned with which he skimmed off his shirt before Blair Hudson's penetrating gaze. And somehow, he knew without being asked that the pants must follow.
When he stood before Blair dressed only in his briefs he knew it would be only the prelude to an episode that had but one ending.
"Yes," Blair said softly. "You'll do very well in this business. Very well indeed."
He advanced toward Randy, loosening his own robe as he did, and as it fell to the floor and his firm nakedness was revealed, his hands sought the elastic band of Randy's briefs.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
There was only two more days shooting on location, and Randy was beginning to look forward to a return to Hollywood and more familiar surroundings. Not that he hadn't been having an interesting time, he mused. His mind went back to that night of recent date when he had found himself face to face with Blair Hudson, and both of them completely naked. He had known there would be action, but what bothered him just a little bit was the fact that he had reciprocated in a fashion to Blair's advances on him. Although he, like all growing up males, had had his share of mutually exploring another boy's body, he never had felt any real interest or drive in that direction since those adolescent days. But now, he could sense that there had been interest the other evening. It may have been due to the drinks he had, but if he examined his mind closely he had to admit there was a strange fascination in the experience with Blair Hudson that was unlike any other.
For the final two days of shooting, the company moved down near the city of Tucson, a sprawling desert community that had multiplied in size since the boom days of World War II.
It had been announced that after the final day of shooting there would be a big barbecue and swim at the ranch house of one of Tucson's many millionaire inhabitants, an event to which Randy was looking forward with real enthusiasm. His final day on location involved him in a scene with Blair, and somehow, as he played the scene he couldn't divorce from his mind the image of the star as he had appeared in the trailer a few nights previously. As he regarded him now, dress-ed in the dungarees and trappings of the cowboy hero, he still retained the clear picture of him without these coverings. Blair's body had been firm and hard, and demanding, and almost rough in seeking out what he wanted. The two men smiled at one another before the scene began.
"Well, this almost wraps it up," Blair said pleasantly. "You're been great to work with."
"Thanks, Blair. I have enjoyed it all."
Maybe it was that slight emphasis on the last word that caused Blair's eyes to flicker for a moment.
"So did I," he said in a low, insinuating tone. "So did I."
It was then that Ernest Charles came up to them for a quick consultation.
"This is a short scene, but very important," he said in his professional manner. "You Randy, suspect that Blair here knows more about the killing than he is admitting. You must be suspicious, yet friendly. Okay?"
"Right, Ernest. I think I understand," Randy replied.
The cameraman was satisfied with the set up, the sticks that signaled the start of the scene were clicked together, and Ernest Charles softly said; "Action!"
The atmosphere was one of relaxed opulence. The ranch house was one of those rambling, sprawled out affairs that offered rich luxury with still a hint of the primitive. It had been done with good taste and no expenses had been spared, so that the effect was almost contradictory. The low beamed ceiling looked authentic enough, but it concealed hi-fi speakers that piped in the sounds of a stereo tape deck, which in turn was concealed behind the rich pine paneling of the wall.
The pool outside the house was spacious and attractive, with submerged lights reflecting the greenish looking water and the soft lantern type fixtures around the edge. Many of the guests, including Randy were in swim togs. He had looked about the assembly with a critical eye. There were a lot of new faces, that he supposed were part of the Tucson society scene. One such face was of a striking blonde girl that he had noticed earlier in riding clothes, and who now wore a very brief bikini as she sat near him at the pool's edge.
"Are you on the picture?" she asked pleasantly.
"Yes," Randy replied. "I play Blair Hudson's brother."
"How nice for you," the girl continued. "He seems to be a fascinating man."
Randy only nodded in reply.
"A're you local to Arizona?" he asked of his companion.
"Oh, no. I'm only out here on a modeling job," the girl replied. "I'm from New York. I go back tomorrow."
She looked at him with a concentrated interest. He saw that her gaze was direct and frank as if waiting for him to make the next move.
"I can see that you would do very well for modeling," he commented. "You certaintly have the figure for it."
"No," the girl replied. "I'm far too thin. They simply won't let us put on a pound you know. By the way, my name is Joan Darwin."
She smiled at him and Randy, wise in the ways of interested women, grinned back.
"I'm Randy Nelson. Why don't we go in for dip?"
"Alright," the girl agreed. "Then I want some food. I'm ravenous."
She stood up and Randy took in all her body. It was on the thin side he admitted, but she was lithe, and had a way of throwing her hips forward that was most provocative. Probably her training as a model, he mused.
For a moment, the girl stood poised on the side of the pool, then she made a perfect dive into the shimmering water. When she came up to the surface sputtering a bit, she cried out to him.
"Come on in, Randy. It's great."
He quickly slid into the water and was by her side. They frolicked about like two happy kids, and were playing a game of water tag when suddenly the pool lights went out.
"What do you suppose happened?" he managed to gasp out to her.
"Who knows?" she said blithely. "I like it better dark anyhow."
She swam close to him and he felt her .hands about his waist.
Impulsively, he grasped her close to him as they stood waist deep in the water. His lips sought hers and he found her waiting. She opened her mouth and he let his tongue enter and he began a long passionate soul kiss. It was then that he felt her hands begin to search beneath the waist band of his trunks. She expertly pulled the elastic so that she might let her fingers slip beneath the band. When she encountered his warm excited flesh, he could hear her murmur. When he let his own hands explore the small bikini and what lay beneath it her own responses grew more feverish. Suddenly the lights went back on, and the pair pulled back in startled surprise.
"Guess someone found the trouble," Randy said, his voice snaking a bit from his excited state.
"Yes, and what a pity," Joan murmured. "We were getting along so well too."
"Nothing says we can't continue on dry land," Randy grinned.
"But first I must have food, man," Joan smiled. "Lots and lots of food. Shall we get out?"
"I'd better wait just a minute," Randy smiled. "My trunks are still somewhat extended in front you know."
They both laughed and then swam to the edge of the pool and climbed out.
"I'll meet you after I change," Joan said. "Right at the roast beef caver's place."
CHAPTER TWELVE
When Randy saw her approaching him he couldn't help but be impressed. She had put on a man's shirt and white stretch pants that delineated every line of her trimness.
"I'm famished," she said. "Lead me to the food."
As they filled their plates with the appetizing array set before them, Blair Hudson came over and joined them. Randy made the introductions and was a little unsettled to notice Blair's undisguised interest in Joan.
In the time that followed, the pattern was beginning to assert itself. Blair had more drinks and became more overt in his actions toward Joan, which Randy could see were not unwelcome to her. A thought began to form in Randy's mine that in some fashion and manner, Blair Hudson was heading toward a threesome! Recalling the fact that he had been married. Randy came to the conclusion that Blair Hudson was one o: those individuals that were termed: "AC-DC, or as one wag had once put it: "he bats from both sides of the plate." It might prove interesting he decided, and he would wait for developments.
They weren't long in coming.
Blair suddenly suggested they jump in his car and go to the ranch house he had rented for his stay in the area. It was only a ten minute drive, he added, and they could swim there too.
The trio; Blair, Randy, and Joan sped along the gravel road in the cool Arizona moonlight, and began singing the cowboy's lament: "O Bury Me Not On The Long Prairie."
Some drinks later they were sprawled about the luxuriousness of the well appointed living room, when Blair suddenly suggested the swim.
"And no suits," he added, with a wag of his forefinger. "Nobody wears anything."
They helped one another undress in the manner of helpfulness that only a person manages who has had just enough to drink to make them slightly uncoordinated. But uncoordinated or not, the three of them were soon naked, the two men showing a growing sense of excitement which Joan delightfully pointed out.
"I think you two boys had better head for the pool first," she grinned. "You can point the way for me."
The three of them trooped like happy children to the pool and plunged in. Moments later the two men converged on Joan who reached out both hands and grasped each of them.
"Still pointing, I see," she grinned happily.
The swim terminated rather abruptly. It seemed as if almost by instant agreement, the three of them left the pool and were drying off with the huge towels that lay along side the edge.
Randy felt a strange new sense of excitement now. He was visibly excited by Joan's body with its angularity so pronounced, and with pert firm breasts that pointed out at him in such a provocative manner. And he was excited too by Blair Hudson's nearness, in all his nakedness. His male body was superb with carefully conditioned muscularity and now! as he looked at him he saw the evidence of his aroused state trembling and throbbing before him.
The three of them sank to the floor to the furry richness of the animal rugs that were spread about.
"A real bearskin," Joan almost crowed. "How nice to be bare on a real bearskin."
She reached for the two men with both hands and they fell upon her. Randy fastened his mouth upon hers and he felt her hands caressing him in that part that now trembled and pulsated with a steady, firm beat. He was conscious too that Blair's hands were upon the both of them, seeking and searching and manipulating. He let his own hands reach out and he went from Joan to Blair and back again. From the soft, angular lines of Joan's trimness, to the firm, throbbing hardness of Blair Hudson.
They tried each combination and found all delightful and shaking. At one moment, Joan had fastened her warm moist mouth upon Blair and his maleness, then she transferred her attentions to Randy, who lay back in utter bliss as he felt her darting tongue upon him. Moments later it was Blair who sought him out in like manner. Then Randy returned the gesture, first to Joan, and then, somewhat to his own surprise to Blair, and he dimly realized that he was doing this to a male for the first time in his life.
But passions are born to be spent, and the three of them wildly wanted to be freed from their tensions. The play was only the prelude to the act, and each wanted to follow it to the apex of feeling and emotion. To his surprise, Randy saw that Blair had lowered himself upon Joan and she was groaning out to him her exquisite feelings of relief. He was even more surprised when he found his own hands caressing that superb backside that moved before him now in unrestrained rhythm.
Moments later he lay sprawled out before the demanding mouth of Blair, who now turned from Joan and began his actions upon Randy just as expertly as he had with his feminine partner. He drew Randy up to the very heights and let him savor of the sublime feeling of a mounting crescendo before he followed through with the release that left Randy spent and exhausted.
It was three happy and satiated persons who clung to one another now in utter contentment.
"Wow, boys," Joan breathed in a whisper. "Just let me say, wow!"
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
When Randy returned to Hollwood he made a number of telephone calls. He called Vickie Morrow and they made arrangements for a dinner date. He told her much of the Arizona trip, but neglected the aspects of it that he remembered best. But Vickie was thrilled at his good luck at landing the part and he was happy in her obvious delight. He found Vickie wonderfully uncomplicated, and when they lay in each other's arms later that evening it was as if returning to some plane of normality for him. He had been somewhat troubled by his inclinations and desires with Blair Hudson, but now, nestled next to the warm comfortable body of Vickie Morrow, Randy felt all his doubts and misgivings disappear.
It was not long after that he also saw Mona Williams. But Mona Williams was a much more complicated woman than Vickie, and Randy felt a totally different frame of mind with her. Mona too was glad of Randy's chance on an Ernest Charles film, but, wise in the ways of Hollywood, she also was more direct and curious.
"You don't have to spar with me," Mona said. "I know how good looking guys get on an Ernest Charles film, but I'm curious about you. Did you play?"
Randy grinned at her.
"What do you think?" he said, impishly.
"I have the feeling you let him have what he wanted, but pretty much on your terms," Mona said simply.
"That's about it, Mona," Randy said sincerely. "I can level with you. I knew what it took to get what I wanted, and so I gave."
"It didn't hurt you any. I can testify to that."
It was then that Randy decided to tell Mona Williams about Blair Hudson. He told the whole story, from the episode in the trailer to the events at the ranch house in Arizona. When he had finished, Mona looked at him with warmness and feeling.
"I wouldn't let it bother you," she said with conviction. "Most men are a blend, you know. I think you are basically and foremost straight and if you have an occasional fling with a guy that turns you on, so what?"
"Blair Hudson seems the epitome of masculinity," Randy observed. "I'm sure the general public never suspects a thing."
"Blair Hudson is a sensualist, baby," Mona remarked. "He likes bodies, period, and sometimes it just happens to be male. Hollywood is full of such people. And some of the biggest names in the business."
Randy felt good and warm with Mona. He no longer thought of her as one of the world's most glamorous women, but as a close and trusted friend. But he also thought of her as a woman, and it was as a woman that he now turned to her. Their sex was unhurried and deliberate. They undressed and explored one another's body in slow, easy contentment.
Even when the frenzy began it still had a deliberateness about it that made it all even more stimulating. Later, as he lay in her arms, he felt happy and content.
"I'm wondering what will happen for me now," he murmurmed to her, as he snuggled up against her soft bareness.
"You are going to do okay, I think," Mona replied. "When 'Lady For Tonight' is released you are sure to be noticed."
"Well, at least in those swim trunks," he laughed happily. "I hear I sort of stand out in those scenes."
"Yes, I saw the scenes," Mona smiled. "Hal managed to get the front office okay. You look good, alright, but not as good as you do now."
She bent over and kissed the part of him they had been discussing.
"That'll get you into trouble," he teased. "Real big trouble."
"I see what you mean," Mona grinned, as she regarded the reaction to her kiss. "Well, I'm ready when you are, C. B."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
When Randy heard the news flash on the radio he couldn't believe his ears. It must be some monstrous joke, but the impersonal voice kept droning on: "and the star's body was found floating in the pool of her luxurious Cold Water Canyon home. There have been only tentative announcements from the Police Department at this time, but first reports would indicate death by strangulation."
Randy's mind was in turmoil. This couldn't be true! Mona Williams dead! It was only two nights ago that he had lain in her arms and felt her warmness next to him. He quickly reached for a phone and dialed Allied, asking for the extension of Wilson Allan. Only when he heard the shocked quality of the publicist's voice did he realize that it must be true.
"It's just too much to believe," Allan almost sobbed into the phone. "Who would want to knock off a beautiful dame like that?"
"What time did it happen?" Randy asked in hushed tones.
"They suspect sometime last night about midnight," Allan said tearfully. "When the maid went to wake her and didn't find her in the bedroom, she began to look around."
"And found her in the pool?"
"Yes. She was floating there just like that awful shot in 'Sunset Boulevard'."
Hollywood was still Hollywood, Randy thought bitterly. Even in a tragedy like this, the movie angle is always present.
"And what are the police doing?" Randy asked.
"They are everywhere, asking questions and taking photographs. You'd better prepare yourself. They have you on their list."
"Why me?" Randy asked. Yet he knew the answer before he heard one from Wilson Allan.
"They are going to question everyone that was close to Mona. And that certaintly includes you. The maid said you were there on Tuesday, two nights ago."
"That's right," Randy admitted with a sigh. "I was there. All night, as a matter-of-fact."
"Well, boy, you are in for some grilling, I can tell you. You'd better have some answers," Wilson Allan commented.
When he had hung up, Randy began to think. He had spent all of Wednesday at Petersen's, which was easy enough to prove, and in the evening, he and Vickie had gone to Grauman's Chinese to see a film, and he was with her until 2 A.M, after which he returned home and hit the sack.
When the door bell rang he knew instinctively it was the police, but he was scarcely prepared for the entourage with them. There were press photographers, and reporters, and a number of plainclothesmen whom he knew must be detectives. One of their number, a pleasant faced Irish looking type held out his hand.
"I'm Tom Brannigan," he announced. "Los Angeles Homicide Squad. I guess you know why we want to talk to you, Mr. Nelson."
"Yes, I've been on the phone with Wilson Allan at Allied. He told me to expect you."
"Well, Mr. Nelson," Brannigan said pleasantly. "We don't want to make this an ordeal, but we have to find out some answers. Could you tell me when you last saw Mona Williams?"
"It was Tuesday night," Randy replied promptly. "We had dinner together."
"The maid tells us you stayed over. Right?"
For a moment, Randy hesitated. He saw the reporters with pencils poised, waiting for his answer.
"Well, it was pretty late, and rather than drive back, I did stay. In one of the guest rooms," Randy added with a trace of a smile.
"Of course, Mr. Nelson," the detective said solemnly. "In one of the guest rooms. And what about last night?"
Randy told him of his date with Vickie Morrow, the film they saw and his leaving her about 2 A.M.
"All of which I'm sure Miss Morrow will be happen to verify?"
"Of course," Randy answered.
The detective asked a great many more questions. How long Randy had been on the Hollywood scene, his previous life, his family, his work, his close friends, the whole thing. After it was over, Randy felt shattered and spent.
"Well, Mr. Nelson, I think that's it for now. Please arrange to be available to us however.
And I wouldn't advise leaving town." Brannigan smiled at him.
"Do you actually regard me as a suspect?" Randy said with an incredulous tone.
"No, not at all," the detective nodded in a benigh fashion. "Let us just say, a very material part of the whole picture."
Once the assembly had left, Randy reached for the decanter of whisky and poured himself a drink. A very big drink.
The afternoon papers shrilled the headline: "Glamor Star Murdered!" In type not much smaller, Randy saw the phrase: "Boy Friend Grilled" and there was his picture that the photographers had taken during Brannigan's visit.
Vickie Morrow called him, afraid and tearful. He calmed her down and told her to tell the police exactly the truth. They had nothing to hide.
He was called to Allied and Wilson Allan talked to him in a paternal fashion.
"Randy, this could be a bombshell for you. It's going to make you known from Coast to Coast, and while I hate to sound mercenary at a time like this, if you handle it right, you've everything to gain."
Randy's first reaction was to lash out at this unfeeling attitude. But he realized that what Wilson Allan was saying was true. Careers were built on just such sensational grounds, and he knew it. Fate had thrown him in with Mona Williams and now fate was again throwing him loaded dice, which he could use to parlay himself into something big if he called the throws correctly.
"So what do I do?" he asked.
"Let them play up the boy friend angle. The tabloids will hint you were sleeping with her also. You can always fend that one off with a smile. Let them think what they want. The more they play you up as a boudoir playboy the better your image at the box office becomes."
"It all seems so heartless," Randy cried out. "And poor Mona has to be the one to make the pay-off."
"Don't let it get to you," Wilson Allan advised. "You'll crack up if you do."
"She was a fine, good woman," Randy said softly. "Let me weep for her in my own way."
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The days that followed were frantic for Randy. He found that Brannigan had a very big curiosity about a number of things. Names kept coming up that needed amplification as to their connection with Randy and Mona Williams:
"You worked with Hal Borden, didn't you?" Brannigan asked at one session.
"Yes," Randy replied. "He was the director on 'Lady For Tonight'."
"I hear he is a fag," Brannigan said quietly. "Any truth to that?"
"How in hell should I know what he does in bed?" Randy replied hotly.
"No need to get testy," Brannigan said soothingly. "I suppose if the truth were known we have them on the force too."
The grilling went on.
"Do you think Hal Borden would have any reason for killing Mona Williams?"
"Absolutely not," Randy replied. "He was fond of Mona, he got a good picture out of her, and certaintly she was no threat to his kind of life."
"That's what I wondered," Brannigan commented. "Do you think Mona knew he was queer?"
"I'm sure she did, and I'm sure she couldn't have cared less."
"So you don't think a guy like that would kill rather let his secret be known?
"What secret!" Randy nearly exploded. "Half of Hollywood knows that Hal Borden is gay. So what?"
Brannigan sighed.
"Yeah, I guess that's true enough. It doesn't seem to make a hell of a lot of difference what a guy does out here, as long as he produces the goods."
"Hal Borden is no William Wyler or John Ford," Randy said. "But he gets good films. They make money at the box office."
Brannigan pulled thoughtfully on the cigarette that dangled from his lips.
"I hear you and Mona made a little jaunt up to Frisco lately."
"Yes," Randy admitted. "The studio asked me to accompany her up there for the premiere of 'Chinatown Nights,."
"'Chinatown Nights'?" Brannigan echoed. "Did she play a Chinese in that one?"
"Yes, she did," Randy replied, somewhat in surprise. "Why do you ask that?"
"Well, there is an interesting angle to this case that I've never quite been able to figure out," the detective replied. "Did you know, for instance, that Mona Williams was once married to a Chinese?"
Randy was startled by this information.
"No," he replied in genuine amazement. "That is something I never had heard."
"It was early in her career, I believe," Brannigan said. "She met this importer from Hong Kong who was a very wealthy jewel merchant."
"She never mentioned him to me at all," Randy said truthfully. "I did gather though that the Chinese people seemed fond of her when we had the ceremonial in San Francisco."
"What ceremonial was that?" Brannigan inquired.
Randy filled in the details about the crowning ceremony as he had observed it, but decided there was no need to mention the events that followed.
When he had finished he observed that Brannigan seemed quite absorbed in thought. Then he spoke.
"The medical examiner tells me that Mona Williams was strangled by a tiny thin wire. Do you know what that indicates?"
"No," Randy said with a hint of a smile. "My business is acting, not criminology."
"Death by strangulation with a tiny thin wire is a favorite method of execution used by the Chinese."
Brannigan let the words come out with out any trace of emotion. He looked intently at Randy.
"Do you know any reason, Randy, why the Chinese would want to kill Mona Williams," he said.
For a moment, Randy's mind refused to grasp this new fact and evaluate it properly. Then suddenly it functioned.
"Well, I do know that she had a piece of jade that seemed very important to these people."
"A piece of jade?" Brannigan said with a sense of urgency in his voice. "What kind of a piece of jade?"
Randy struggled to remember some of the details of conversation he had had with May Ling in San Francisco. He remembered that she had said it had a religious significance to some of the Chinese present, but also that many of them resented Mona Williams having it. These facts he relayed on to Brannigan.
"Who told you all this?" the detective asked urgently.
"A China doll named May Ling," Randy replied.
"In San Francisco?"
"In San Francisco."
"Randy," Brannigan said, turning to him. "I'm going to ask you to go up there with me, so we can talk to this girl. I think we may just have something."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
On the plane ride to San Francisco, Randy felt depressed in spirit and mind. The whole thing reminded him too sharply of the similar ride he had taken only a few weeks ago with Mona Williams by his side.
Before they had taken the plane north, there had been the gruesome business of the funeral.
Hollywood funerals are a rite into themselves. When a star as big as Mona Williams is involved the procedure becomes a planned operation, requiring the presence of reinforced police, hordes of newspaper men, with their photographers, and crowds of curiosity seekers, bent on seeing and identifying each celebrity who had decided to attend.
The services were held at the Wee Kirk O' The Heather at the much discussed and often maligned Forest Lawn Cementery in Glendale.
Randy attended with Wilson Allan, the publicist, who gave him an experienced running commentary as the events unfolded.
"She's drawn a good crowd," Wilson said professionally. "A few cases of hysteria are in order, a few faintings, a few outcrys. It almost always happens. Don't be too annoyed at the press boys. They'll be after you for pictures. Try to maintain a sober, shocked look."
Again, Randy was repelled by the cold, detached manner of the publicist, but he realized that this approach was the only feasible one.
He noted a sudden interest in the crowd as he and Wilson stepped out of the black limousine and started up the steps.
Behind the rope barrier he was conscious that the curious bystanders were assessing him and his demeanor. He heard his name being hissed about in the crowd, with the added footnote: "the boy friend."
The flash bulbs popped as the pair continued and made their way up the steps. Suddenly a Hand shot out from the crowd with a small album attached.
"Hey, Randy, how about an autograph?"
Randy felt a chill go through him. His whole sensibilities were numbed by this tasteless gesture. He sensed the pressure from Wilson Allan's arm.
"Keep going," he whispered. "Ignore the creep."
Mercifully, the services were brief. A touch of music, a few prayers, a short eulogy in tribute before the closed casket, and it was over. Randy spotted a great many famous faces, stars, producers, directors, and writers who had known Mona Williams. Some of them turned to look at him, and he returned their gaze with simple and direct solemnity.
When they emerged from the church, Wilson steered him rather quickly to the waiting limousine.
"Good show," he whispered. "You did well. Let's go get drunk."
All these scenes came back to Randy now as the plane began its descent for the landing at San Francisco's airport. Mona Williams was in her crypt at the mausoleum, while the world spun on, and he and a detective named Brannigan were trying to locate her murderer.
Some time later, they sat with May Ling in the richly furnished apartment that he remembered so vividly. The little Chinese girl was obviously distressed by the reason for the visit.
"It seems pretty certain to me that it was an acto of revenge," she said simply. "She should not have worn the 'Eye of Heaven' to the premiere."
She gave Brannigan a full account of the gem and its history and of the significance that it had for her people. He listened to her story with complete and undivided attention.
"Who or what faction would particularly want the gem back?" he asked.
"The cult of Ho Shaw," she replied. "The Ho Shaws would kill for it. That I know."
"And who are the Ho Shaws?" Brannigan demanded.
"That I do not know. They are a secret Chinese cult, known only to themselves and I cannot help you there."
Her troubled face was grave with concern.
Randy was glad when Brannigan had left and the two of them were alone together. May Ling was trembling in her nervous excitement.
"Hold me, Randy," she almost sobbed. "Hold me very close."
Randy put his arms about her slight figure and felt her shuddering cease.
He was not too surprised when she led him from the room to a small, almost bare chamber that contained only a low bed.
"I feel a great need for loving," she said simply. "And in the fashion of my people of long ago. Put this on, Randy."
She held out to him a richly brocaded robe, slit at each side, which would allow his bare body to be seen in profile.
May Ling slipped out of the room as he undressed and when he had put on the robe against his warm skin, the silk felt cool and soft. He lay on the bed, waiting for her return, his mind somewhat disjointed by all the events of recent days.
May Ling glided back into the room almost silently. Her robe was the feminine counterpart of Randy's and as she approached him, he caught a tantalizing glimpse of her ivory colored skin as she walked.
There was a strong smell of a powerful incense in the room and only a soft indirect light illuminated the scene.
May ling lay down beside Randy now and he took her into his arms. He bent to seek her lips and she reached up to him with eagerness. Their foreplay was gradual and slow, but Randy felt his forces gathering in anticipation.
May Ling's fingers found the openings in his robe, and she skillfully began to seek out his body with an inquisitive touch. He found the sensation thrilling and exciting and he reciprocated by allowing his own hands to trace that exquisitely formed body that lay waiting beside him.
Soon, they had cast off the robes and now, body to body, they began to fondle and explore, completely unencumbered by clothing. Randy felt almost protective in his attitude toward the soft fragility of the Chinese girl, but she yearned for him to possess her, and he knew that his own excitement would not allow him to hesitate any longer.
He raised above her now and her hand reached for him guided him to where she waited. He heard a soft moan escape her lips as his own hot flesh began to make its demands upon her. Slowly, but insistently he let his flesh become one with hers and when he knew he had done this he began his rhythm.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"I don't know how to handle all this Chinese chop suey thing," Brannigan was saying. "But I know this is the right trail. When I phoned down to L.A. they went over the house with everything but a vacuum cleaner. There is no piece of jade."
"Then you think this bit about the Ho Shaws is on the level?" Randy asked.
"I have no other level," Brannigan admitted. "I can only trust what the China doll says."
"So what do we do now? Wait for someone to tell us who is a Ho Shaw and who isn't?"
"I don't know if it is that simple," Brannigan drawled. "But I have an idea if you're game to play pigeon."
"Play pigeon?"
"Yes, Randy. We need the Ho Shaw to tip their hand. I think we can with bait."
"Yes, go on."
"I don't know much about the Chinese," Brannigan continued, "but they do seem to have some kind of a grapevine of information. They find out things. I want them to find out you are looking for the murderers of Mona Williams."
"And how do we do that?" Randy inquired.
"With the aid of May Ling, we nose around, asking questions, looking suspicious, and in general, be something of a nuisance."
"And you think this may flush them out?"
"Yes, I've seen just enough old movies with Chinese villains in them to believe they'll make a move and try to kidnap you or something like that."
"And at the last moment, as I'm in danger of being impaled with an iron spike, the good guys come to my rescue. Right?"
"Right."
"You can't be serious," Randy said with a laugh. "It's straight out of 'Ming and Flash Gordon'."
"Well, it's so improbable that I thing it will work. Are you game?"
"If it means finding out who killed Mona Wil-lams, I certaintly am," Randy replied.
Oyer dinner that night, Randy told May Ling of the plan. He was surprised at her calm acceptance.
"Your Mr. Brannigan should have been a Chinese philoshopher. I think he does understand many qualities of my people."
"You really think it will work then?" Randy asked.
"I know that if the cult of the Ho Shaws feel they are in danger of being exposed, certaintly there will be same move from them."
May Ling's face was again a study in concentration and anxiety.
"But you are in danger, Randy," she almost cried. "They can be cruel, vicious people."
"Well, maybe I could get a magic ray or something to use."
They both laughed and May Ling's face took on a brighter look.
"I have many trusted friends in Chinatown," she said. "Friends who will help if danger comes."
The next few days were busy one for Randy and Brannigan. He suddenly realized that the make-believe facade of Hollywood seemed far away to him as he saw himself facing the grim reality of a police quest with Brannigan.
"You know, I'm going to tell my agent to start getting me work in pictures as a private eye," he said gaily to the detective. "I like going around asking people questions."
"Sorry, Randy," Brannigan grinned. "You just aren't the type."
They visited curious stores and restaurants and laundries and every type of Chinese activity in San Francisco's busy Chinese quarter. They looked at the inscrutable faces of the Chinese and asked questions. Questions about the Ho Shaws. They received only blank stares from most of them, and vague, tentative answers from others. It was then decided the time was ripe for Randy to be the bait.
He wandered down along through the quarter, long after the tourists had left, long after most of the shops were closed, long after the streets were emptied. He stood in dark hallways and roamed through dimly lit passages.
When he heard the quiet voice ask: "Mr. Nelson?" he turned, and it was then he felt the blow on his head. Before sinking into the oblivion of unconsciousness he realized the trap had worked.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When the dim light of consciousness began to allow Randy to perceive his surroundings, his only sensation was one of soothing hands being laid upon his body. A body, he discovered, quite devoid of any clothing. He also began to realize that the hands were feminine, but quite strong and effective in their kneading and massaging of his muscles. Then, as the scene completely cleared for him he saw that the feminine hands belonged to a very fragile looking Chinese girl whose face now began to smile as she saw him stir with life.
Randy returned the smile.
"I know it sounds like every cliche in the book, but where an I?"
"I cannot reveal these things to you," the girl replied in a sing-song fashion, but the smile did not cease.
"I remember that some guy really lowered the boom on my head and the lights went out."
"Lowered the boom?" the girl said quietly. "What is this lonered the boon? I do not know this."
"Well, sweetheart, it means I was knocked out. Made unconscious."
"Oh yes," the girl nodded. "You were made senseless. This was on orders from The High One."
"The High One? Who and what is The High One?"
"She is most powerful of all our number."
"A 'she'?" Randy asked a bit increduously. "You mean a woman had me brought here?"
"The High One is the priestess of our number. She rules supreme."
For a moment Randy just relaxed under the deft manipulations of this tiny bit a of femininity who knelt at his side. He appeared to be lying on a low divan or couch, covered with a soft silk. He felt her fingers which seemed to be moistened with a scented oil glide over his legs and thighs. She then moved between his legs and continued her massaging. The effect was almost instantaneous.
"You are very big man," the girl said softly. "I have not seen man so large as you."
"Well, honey, the effect gets bigger and bigger, the more you keep doing what you are doing."
Her laughter was like the tinkling of small bells.
"I am pleased to see such a sight," she said happily. "It is most pleasant."
The whole situation suddenly struck Randy as being completely ludicrous. Here he was, being held captive in some Chinese headquarters run by a fanatical group of Chinese murderers, and being manipulated in an exquisite manner by some China doll whose name he didn't even know. He decided that at least he could find out this bit of information.
"What name do you have?" he asked, while squirming with pleasure at her massaging technique.
"I am called Lily Chu," the girl answered.
"Well, Lily Chu, I think you'd better let up on your massage bit, or else there might just be complications."
"Please," the girl said. "I do not understand."
For answer, Randy decided that as ridiculous as it might seem, there was no reason why he shouldn't take advantage of the situation, bizarre as it was. Accordingly, he pulled the girl's hand away from her task and then drew her to him, fastening his mouth upon hers as he did so. Lily Chu did not resist.
All the time that it was happening, one part of Randy's mind kept reminding him that at any moment some Chinese thug might come crashing through the door and put an end to all this pleasant scene. A rather nasty end he envisioned, which might forever deprive him of ever engaging in so pleasant a diversion again. He had read that Oriental despots were won't to excite their male captives and then, using a huge sharp knife cut off the source of their excitement with one deft blow. He certaintly didn't want that!
But the very real presence of the Chinese girl negated any supposed phantasy he might have. She lay beneath him now and he was fumbling with the fastening on her long kimono like garment. She helped him find the series of strings, and soon she lay revealed, again, he thought, it was like a lovely piece of ivory, cut to perfection in every detail. The breasts were tiny, but inviting. The trim body was perfect in its proportions and she awaited him with eager anticipation.
"Please," she whispered. "You are very big. Be gentle with me."
"Of course, Lily Chu," Randy breathed into her ear. "Very gentle."
He expertly sought his way with firmness, yet with the gentleness that she needed. He felt her receive him and there was a low gasp from her as the union was accomplished. When he began his rhythm with her she rose to meet him and the old familiar sense of urgency seemed to grip them both. As the urgency increased Randy could only pursue ie to its ultimate, an ultimate that gripped and shattered him with its impact, and he found its echo in the soft moanings of fulfillment that escaped from the Chinese girl's lips as she breathed out her joy and contentment.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Time seemed to have little meaning for Randy. He had no idea how many hours, or even days may have been elapsing. He was alone now, the Chinese girl had left. A surly looking Oriental guard had brought him food, but no clothing, and he ate the rather appetizing variety, sitting on the edge of the bed, still completely naked.
He wondered what Brannigan might be doing about all this. He had agreed to be the "pigeon" so that the Ho Shaws would tip their hand and come out of hiding, and now that the hand was tipped, what happened next?
Randy got the answer to that one sooner than he expected. Two rather burly looking Chinese came into his room, pulled a robe oaer his body and led him down a series of corridors and passageways. Soon he felt the coolness of night air upon him, and even though he had been blindfolded, he knew he was now outside and that he had been placed into an automobile that now was racing through the night.
The ride seemed less than an hour to Randy, but he found he had difficulty in actually evaluating the pasagge of time.
When the car did stop, and he bundled out, the air seemed even cooler and sharper to him, which could indicate he was out in the countryside somewhere. He also realized that the silk robe was his only covering and he decided that while they may be decorative, Chinese robes were also drafty!
He was led up some steps and into a building. Of that, he was certain, for the air immediately became warmer. Another series of corridors and passageways seemed to be transversed, and then, the blindfold was removed and he found himself again in a room similar to the first. There was the same low divan type bed and a low flickering light from a single lantern.
"You will wait," one of the Chinese guards said to him. "The High One will call for you."
Randy grinned in spite of himself. It was just all too much like one of those movie serials where the hero is confronted by the Dragon Lady.
He lay down upon the divan and let his mind slowly review a few things that had happened. Prominent in his assessment was the recent session with Lily Chu. That had been pretty special. There had been a sequel in which the girl had shown him a few Oriental variations that had served to increase his feeling and elation. One such variation had seen him lying prone while his partner hovered above him. in tantalizing motions against his warm made flesh.
His reverie was abruptly interrupted now when the two guards entered and grasped him by the arms.
"Come, it tile," one of them grunted.
This time he was not blindfolded and he saw he was being led through various rooms which were dimly lit and which revealed a richness of Oriental furnishings that spoke of taste and wealth. He couldn't help but think it would all make a good movie set!
He felt this even more when he was finally led into an enormous room with a flight of steps leading up to a throne-like chair at the top, and, of course, seated on the chair, looking down at him, sat the Dragon Lady herself. From his distance, looking up at her, the features seemed like some immobile mask, but now as he was led up to the figure, he saw she was an attractive woman, and while no youthful Lily Chu, Randy had to agree she was a handsome, mature woman, gaze seemed fixed upon him.
"Welcome, Mr. Nelson," she said in a low musical voice. "I regret that it was necessary to use such methods upon you, but your Mr. Branningan was getting much too curious."
Randy did not know if a reply was expected, but he decided to hear more.
"Your Mona Williams was a beuatiful and talented woman, but she blasphemed the Holy One when she wore the 'Eye of Heaven' upon her skin. This could not go unpunished!"
The voice was strong and impersonal. Randy decided he must speak.
"But that was no reason to kill her," he savagely. "Mona Williams had a right to live."
"I regret that the killing became necessary," the Chinese woman went on, "but Mona Williams was not prepared to give up the gem willingly."
"So you had hired thugs strangle her to death!" Randy shouted. He found himself lunging at the woman in an almost automatic reflex. It was then he felt rough hands upon him, the woman rose from her chair, her face contorted with anger. She uttered a series of words in a language unintelligible to Randy, but he sensed their content when he felt himself being attached to a Y-like frame by strong cords. No sooner had this been done, then those same hands, tore off the robe from hi mand he stood naked before the angry gaze of his abductor.
The woman's gaze softened now as she looked upon Randy's nakedness, and she approached and began to caress his hard muscled body.
"Keep away from me, damn you!" he spat at her. "I don't need or want you to touch me."
The woman did not cease her manipulations and Randy, in spite of his heightened feelings against her, could not help his physical body from responding. The woman seemed pleased by what she saw.
"Most impressive, Mr. Nelson," she purred. "You have a most impressive maleness. I think Mona Williams was a very lucky woman to have enjoyed such favors."
Suddenly the robe which had covered her was thrown to the floor and she stood before Randy completely nude, and he felt her body against his, pressing and probing, flesh against flesh.
Then her hand took hold of him and began to move in rhythm.
"I want to feel you upon me," she moned. "I want the vigor of your body to fall upon my bareness."
The whole bizarre scene began to take on a note of unrealness to Randy. Surely, he'd awaken now and find that it all just some kind of crazy mixed-up dream.
But the hand upon his pulsating flesh was very real, and so was the rising feeling within him. He knew he could not stop it, he knew he could not hold from her what she wanted. As his increased breathing told her of his approaching apex, she slipped beneath him, lying there in anticipation to receive his warm passion upon her, and as it happened she cried out in her ecstasy as she felt it.
Scarcely had the spasms stopped for Randy before he heard the shots ring out. A series of shots, and with them, shouts, not only in Chinese but in the unmistakable Irish brogue of Tom Brannigan.
CHAPTER TWENTY
"I just wish I had had a camera," Branningan said with a grin. "Your Hollywood future would be assured if the fans could have seen you as I did."
They were seated in a dimly lit cocktail lounge on the Strip in Hollywood. It had been a week since their return from San Francisco and things were beginning to fall into place.
"I guess I did look pretty silly, strung up there like a Christmas goose," Randy smiled.
"Not only strung up, but bare as Mother Hubbard's cupboard, and the Chinese dame was in the same state. It also looked as if you had been playing games," Brannigan added.
"Yeah?" Randy said slyly. "What can a guy do with his hands tied?"
"Beats me," Brannigan admitted, "but she looked as if something had happened."
"I noticed she got the hell out of there in a hurry. Did you nab her?"
"Sure," Brannigan said. "I had most of the San Francisco riot squad with me. We had the place surrounded. No one got away, including the dame."
"And Lily Chu was the one who tipped you off?"
"Yeah," Brannigan replied. "She contracted me at the headquarters and said she knew the hide-out of the Ho Shaws and that they were holding you prisoner. She seemed to be sort of hung up on you as a matter-of-fact."
"She's a very nice chick," Randy said almost reminiscently. "Very nice indeed."
"Well, with her help, we went to the place and were doing fine until some guards were alerted. That's when the shooting began. We knocked off four of them and sent them to their celestial ancestors."
"So what's going to happen in the Mona Williams case?" Randy asked.
"It's a tough deal," Brannigan said seriously. "We can't really put the finger on anyone as the actual murderer. But we have something else To work on."
"What's that?"
"Horse. Heroin. The Ho Shaws have been trafficking in drugs and we've got the evidence. Part of the firework the other way at the hide-way."
"So you think you can get a conviction on that?" Randy asked.
"Not only a conviction, but probably it will ultimately leads us to who actually did the job on Mona Williams."
The two men drank in silence. Then Brannigan smiled at Randy.
"Say, will you autograph a picture for one of my kids?" They've been pestering me to ask."
"Sure thing," Randy replied. "If you'll promise to rescue me anytime I get captured by a gang of Chinese cut-throatn."
"It's a deal."
Randy lay alongside Vickie Morrow and the two of them puffed on their cigarettes.
"Why do these always taste so good after making love?" Vickie asked, in a tone of contentment.
"Don't know, gorgeous," Randy replied languidly, "but you have a point. Maybe it's because the juices are all stirred up, and now need relaxing."
"Tell me all about the Chinese thing," Vickie said coaxingly. "I think it must have been frightening to have such an experience."
Randy filled in the details. Perhaps not all. A few he kept to himself, such as those that involved a certain little bit of Chinese femininity known as Lily Chu. Vickie lay beside him and as he spoke she almost absent mindedly began letting her fingers wander over his muscled body. Her actions brought about the desired result, and Randy looked over at her and smiled.
"Well, as the magazines say, 'continued in our next', because lady, I can't go on now."
"I wouldn't want you too," Vickie whispered in his ear. "That was the point of my busy fingers."
"And here's the point of my...." Randy broke off as she reached for him, and the word was lost as his mouth fastened upon hers.
When the phone rang alongside his bed, Randy sleepily reached for it, letting his mind slowly come into focus. He heard the voice of his agent, Reynolds Moss, with more than his customary excitement.
"Listen, baby," he started in. "They want you at Warners for this big prestige picture they have lined up."
"Yeah, what kind of prestige picture?" Randy said sleepily.
"Well, it's about a guy who comes to Hollywood who has a great body. He sleeps around and makes the grade here and there. He gets involved with a glamorous female star who is later found murdered and this leads to a whole big Chinese kidnapping bit."
"You must be kidding! Randy said.
"No, not at all," Moss went on. "They wanted Steve McQueen for it, but he's all tied up. It'll be a big break for you, baby."
Suddenly Randy Nelson began to laugh.
The laughter poured out of him in an ever increasing crescendo.
"What in the world is so funny?" Moss asked in an anxious tone. "Have you gone nuts?"
"No," Randy managed to gasp between laughs. "I'm just wondering how they'll film some of the scenes!"
