My cell phone rang. It was my dad, calling from his truck up ahead of me on the highway. I put him on speaker as I concentrated on keeping my vehicle from drifting out of its lane. “Hey Pumpkin, that stallion is getting twitchy back there. I think we better pull off soon.”
Dad waited while I checked my GPS. “There’s a big commercial truck stop in about four miles,” I responded after a brief search. Dad agreed and hung up. As the exit approached, the right blinker on the horsy trailer ahead of me came on. It and my dad’s diesel pickup drifted onto the off-ramp. Following in our RV, I turned off also. Dad pulled onto the huge asphalt expanse of the lot at the truck stop, heading for the seclusion of the unoccupied parking spots at the far end of the property. I pulled in near to him, feeling a sense of pride at the bold lettering on the truck and trailer — PARKER’S EQUINE TRANSPORT.
Dad and I had built the business up from scratch after Mom had left. I worked part time when I was still in high school, but in the two years since graduation I had gone to full time and the business had really taken off. We were building our reputation as one of the premier horsy transporters in the nation. Our clientele trusted us with the delivery of multi-million dollar race horsys and you can believe we raked in the money from that crowd.
Horses are by nature jumpy animals and frankly not all that bright on average. Race horsys take that nervous energy to a whole different level, and in unskilled hands have been known to injure or even thrash themselves to death in a panic-induced frenzy in a trailer. With all the drug testing that goes on these days in high-stakes horsy racing, giving the animal sedatives during the trip was of course out of the question. So owners were willing to pay handsomely for handlers like Parker’s — with our special skills and knowledge — to deliver their precious cargo across the country unscathed. In the case of a jittery stallion, the sure-fire solution was to find some way to tame his nervous sexual energy. Finding and eager-beaver volunteer was part of my job…
I turned off the engine in the RV and climbed out. As I passed by the horsy trailer, the huge black stallion within gave a snort of curiosity and then lashed out with a hoof at the rear gate. The steel trailer shuddered under the impact and I flinched at the unexpected metallic bang. Yeah, he was definitely getting worked up in there and prompt attention was needed. I approached the passenger door of my dad’s white pickup truck. Dark tinted windows blocked my view into the cab, but the window rolled down as I approached. “I’ll see if there’s anything promising in the diner,” I announced. “You want anything while I’m there?” Dad said he didn’t and the window rolled back up into place.
Detouring back to the RV, I opened the door to the back and grabbed a magnetic sign. Attaching it to the steel door of the RV, I adjusted it to level and then gave it a quick once-over. ‘SILVER STARS TALENT AGENCY — Angela Wentworth, Owner – Hollywood, CA’ the sign proclaimed. I smiled. Ten bucks plus shipping on the internet, and suddenly I’m a movie and TV talent agent.
Walking across the wide parking lot I finally arrived at the truck stop diner. I stepped inside, removed my sunglasses, and surveyed the crowd. It was around mid-afternoon but there were still about a dozen patrons. I mentally discarded most of them immediately. Numerous truck-driver types, a family of three probably on vacation, a sorry looking drunk slumped in a booth… and there she was… just what I was looking for.
The girl was sitting by herself at the counter. She was a pretty thing, trim but with nice curves, about five foot three, sporting a blonde pixie haircut with just a tinge of fading pink dye. A light hint of freckles and a perky little upturned nose gave her a very cute appearance. A really nice pair of tits seemed to lurk within the confines of her tight shirt, and her perfectly formed rump was nicely on display as she straddled diner stool in a somewhat unladylike posture. The requisite rebellious-phase nose ring was present, as was a small tramp-stamp tattoo on her bare lower back. The frayed cut-off tee-shirt exposed plenty of firm midriff, suggesting that she might be used to getting by on her physical appeal. Fashionably ripped designer jeans betrayed she came from money, so she possibly didn’t have a ton of street smarts as of yet. Tugging self-consciously at the slipping hem of her low-rise jeans, she tied to cover up the exposed lavender waist band of her thong panties. She was picking at a plate of toast, hinting that funds were tight. And the grungy backpack on the stool next to hers told me she didn’t have a car to leave her luggage in. All the signs were there; a little cutie with no particular plan, waiting for the next guy who would offer her a ride a little further on down the road to nowhere. Yeah, there was definitely potential there…
I sat down in an unoccupied booth nearby and an elderly waitress soon appeared. I subtly laid a crisp twenty on the table. “Just tipping in advance,” I said quietly with a smile “in case I’m a little high maintenance.” She grinned and Mister Jackson disappeared into her apron pocket with a practiced swipe of her hand as she waited for my order. “I’ll have the garden salad with ranch, no onions” I said, perusing the menu. “And I’m going to need the following: A cheeseburger with fries. The burger and fries on two separate plates, please. And I’ll need a chocolate shake with whipped cream — too much whipped cream — running down the sides of the glass too much. She gave me a cocked eyebrow in response, but the twenty in her pocket served to shut down any questions or protest. She disappeared with the ticket and I settled into the booth to keep an eye on my prize.
The waitress eventually returned, bearing my order on a tray. I took the salad while the plates with the burger, fries, and glass of overflowing shake were set on the opposite side of my table as I directed. Once everything was situated, I rose and approached the girl sitting at the counter. “Hi, excuse me, I don’t mean to bother you, but are you Lydia?” I inquired.
The girl turned to me and rolled her eyes. “Uh… no…” she replied with a pouty attitude. I loved it when they started with an attitude.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, my mistake” I apologized politely, turning away from her. I sighed and looked around the diner before taking out my phone. Without dialing anyone, I held the phone up to my ear. “Hi, Max? Angela. Look, Lydia is a no-show… Yeah, yeah, I know, but her loss, right?” Well, I don’t know… we’ll just need to find someone new… Max… Max! Relax. You always panic. You know this is what I do. Have I ever let you down? OK then. I’ll talk to you in a few days. OK… Bye.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the girl watching me. As I looked back towards her she turned away, feigning disinterest. I started to walk back to my booth, then stopped and took a few steps back to her. “Hey, I’m sorry to disturb you again. I’m not trying to be creepy or anything, but I was supposed to meet someone here and she bailed on me. I’ve already ordered for her. Burger, fries and a chocolate shake, if you want it. It’s just gonna get thrown out if no one takes it.”
She paused for a moment, considering the offer. “Naw, I’m good,” she replied, starting to turn back to her plate of toast.
I knew she would refuse. They always refused at first. It was some sort of pride thing they had to work past. “OK,” I smiled. “If you change your mind I’m right over there and you’re welcome to it,” I offered, pointing in the direction of my table. She looked in the direction I indicated. Good. There was the first tentative nibble of interest on the hook. I returned to my seat without a backward glance and began to tuck into my salad.
A couple of minutes later I sensed someone standing over my table. I looked up. Predictably, it was the petite blonde. “I guess if you’re just going to throw it out anyway…” she offered sullenly, as if doing me some sort of a favor.
“Oh, yes, please, help yourself,” I offered with a sweep of my hand. She looked at the tempting meal, split into two plates and the overflowing mess of the chocolate shake. Of course she just wanted to just grab it and hurry away. But experienced planning on my part made that difficult. I could see the mental wheels turning as she tried to figure out how to make off with the entire meal with the minimal amount of yucky social interaction.
I let her study on it for a moment. “Oh, I’m sorry, where are my manners?” I exclaimed. “Please, take a seat… I won’t bite, I promise.” I flashed a charming smile and I could see some of her instinctive reservations begin to crumble. She looked me over, seeing a young woman attired in a professional looking grey skirt and white blouse. Not exactly the menacing stalker type. Tentatively she sat down on the far end of the bench seat, as if scooting all the way in was somehow more of a commitment than she was willing to make. I scooped up my phone, pretending to answer an incoming call and absorbing myself in the caller. With my attention apparently distracted, the girl dared to ease her way further into the booth, daintily picking up a few fries and sampling her free meal.
I turned my attention to my imaginary phone conversation. “Teresa, darling, I’m so glad you called! Are you packed? No? Well you better start! Filming starts in Bermuda next Tuesday… That’s right! The network signed the contract this morning. I got you one full season — twenty two episodes — at one hundred thousand per episode, so two point two million… Teresa? Teresa, are you crying? You’re so cute! Well save your tears for when you write the check for my twenty percent agent fee… Ha! OK… OK then. I’ll call you tomorrow and we can go over the details. Great… I’ll talk to you then.”
I looked up and saw I had the girl’s undivided attention. She quickly looked down, focusing on her meal. “I’m sorry,” I apologized. “Things are always flying a mile a minute with me. I’m Angela — Angela Wentworth,” I offered, discretely pushing a business card across the table. It matched up with the magnetic sign on the door of my RV: “SILVER STARS TALENT AGENCY — Angela Wentworth, Owner — Talent Scout and Agent”. Old-style rolls of film and a camera on a tripod comprised the background image. Eight bucks for a box of five hundred cards and boom – instant credibility in whatever field of expertise you want to claim.
“You like work in the movies and stuff?” she inquired, her interest perking up as she read over the card. “That is so cool. I was…”
I interrupted her, holding up my hand as I snatched up my phone once more. “Max? Hi again… Max… MAX! Oh my god, take a breath! Now she did what? … No, of course she can’t… Well of course Bernie fired her! She signed a contract, didn’t she? She can’t just renegotiate for more money once she signs. Well, I don’t know what now. What does Bernie want? … What? A complete unknown? When? Is he serious? Max, come on, where are we going to get a complete unknown by the end of the week? I mean any girl trying to get into the film industry has got some sort of exposure — commercials, bit parts, a walk-on, something. I can’t just shake a complete unknown out of my sleeve like some sort of magician… OK, OK! Yes, Max, Jeez! I’ll check around and see what I can do.”
With a groan I put the phone down. The girl across the table looked up and gave me a shy smile. “Being in the movies would be like the coolest thing ever,” she offered in a barely audible tone.
I looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Look to your left,” I told her, studying her profile as she turned. “Now right,” I directed, allowing just a hint of enthusiasm to creep into my voice. “Hmmm… have you had any acting classes, theater in high school, anything like that?” She shook her head. “Well, no matter. You’ve got a fresh look that people might be interested in. Why don’t you give me your demo and I’ll fire it over to Bernie and see what he…”
“What’s a demo?” she interrupted.
“You know, a video showcasing your range of acting talent. What can you do, what would grab a director’s attention?” I explained nonchalantly.
A worried look crossed her face, derailing her budding excitement. “I don’t have one of those,” she confessed sadly.
I paused for a moment. “Hmmm… Well, I’ve got some video gear in my RV…” I said in a considering tone. “It’s not studio quality, but I don’t know… Maybe we could knock something together that might at least get your foot in the door. What sort of special talents have you got?”
She looked down at the table, morosely nudging her fries around on the plate with her fingertip. “I don’t think I have any,” she admitted.
“Oh, everyone has something. You just need to find that unique bit of crazy, anything to make yourself stand out from the rest of the crowd and make the director remember you. It’s just a matter of what you’re willing to do, and how far you’re willing to go.”
She chewed her lower lip, pondering. “I’m sorry,” she said with a whimper. “I just don’t know what I could do.”
I nodded, looking disappointed. “Well, that’s OK. The movie industry isn’t for everyone,” I agreed, finishing up my salad and laying out another twenty on the table to cover the bill. “Look, if you change you mind, I’ve got some work to do out in my RV. It’s that blue and white one way over there by the horsy trailer. I’ll be in the lot for a little while. If you change your mind, come on out for a visit.”
I called my dad on the way out of the diner. “I found one. She’ll be out in a few minutes.”
Halfway across the lot I heard hurried footsteps racing to catch up with me. The girl from the diner fell in step with me, carrying her half-eaten burger in one hand and lugging her backpack in the other. We crossed the asphalt lot together in silence. I made it a point to pass by the truck and horsy trailer on the way to the RV. “Another one of my clients,” I announced with a chuckle, patting the side of the trailer. From inside, a snort and whinny responded.
“You do horsys?” the girl asked. Then she blushed bright red. “Ah, I mean, you know… you’re like an agent for a horsy?”
I laughed. “Oh sure, I handle all sorts of talent. But it’s funny isn’t it, that a horsy needs an agent? Well, his owner, actually, but yeah, that big black stallion is going to be famous. Barkley there has got a lead role in a new western. But that’s all I can tell you.”
We reached my RV. She studied the magnetic sign on the door, gaining reassurance from it that this all seemed legit. I opened the door for her and then followed her inside. She looked around, impressed at the luxurious interior. I motioned her towards the table and sat down across from her, flipping open my laptop. “I just need to get some basic information,” I explained, tapping randomly on the keys. “So what’s your name?”
“Stacy Anders… Smith,” she stammered. “Stacy Smith.”
I nodded, typing. “You’re smart to use a stage name,” I acknowledged. It helps when you start to get famous and everyone is trying to call you. She smiled, liking the sound of that. Now, you’re at least eighteen, right?”
“Uh… is that important?” Stacy inquired with a concerned look.
“Oh, it’s just that I don’t represent kids… company policy. It requires release forms from parents, and lots of legal issues for the studios. It’s just not worth it.”
“Umm, yeah, I’m eighteen,” Stacy asserted.
“Great,” I responded. I’ll just need to see a copy of your ID for the file.
Stacy blushed. “I… I ah, lost my license, like last week. I’ve been meaning to replace it, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet…”
I nodded, clicking on some more keys. “That’s OK,” I replied. You can get it to me when we eventually get you under contract. But I’ll just overlook it for now.”
Stacy breathed a sigh of relief. I quizzed her on some other pointless nonsense and then closed my laptop. Retrieving a video camera from a drawer, I set it on the table and looked at her expectantly. “OK Stacy, time to shine. Have you thought about what you want to do for your demo video?”
She took a deep breath and looked down at the floor, tracing the patterns on the carpet with the toe of her shoe. “I… ah… I was thinking maybe that, you know, if I could maybe meet the director, he and I could work something out?”
I gave her a condescending smile. “Now Stacy, you’re on the right track. Honestly, sex is absolutely what sells in Hollywood. But with what’s been in the news lately, with the lawsuits and everything… Well, trust me, you’re not going to get any alone time with any director who has half a lick of sense. Like I said, sex sells, but sleeping your way to the top just isn’t done these days.”
“Oh…” she replied in a crestfallen tone, feeling her one bit of marketable currency slip though her fingers. Then she looked up at me with hopeful eyes. “Maybe you could put in a good word for me? I really would do anything to get a chance.” She gave me a meaningful, sultry look. “Anything you want…”
I had to restrain a giggle of surprise. No one had ever attempted the lesbian seduction route with me before. Giving Stacy an appraising glance, I had to admit that the thought did have a certain appeal. She was trim and petite with a cute, eager face and an absolutely impressive set of tits. Her perfectly shaped ass strained in the confines of her impossibly tight jeans, and she had a degree of innocence about her that just begged to be plundered and despoiled. Putting her pretty face to work wriggling between my naked thighs was not a completely repulsive idea… Then I realized suddenly that a long silence had fallen over us as I considered the matter for far too long. I shook my head, trying to get my focus back on the main objective. “Ah… oh, Stacy, my, that certainly is a very — very — tempting offer. But I’m afraid it would be absolutely unprofessional of me. I just can’t get involved with my clients.”
Stacy nodded in understanding. But she seemed pleased with herself that I had obviously taken the offer under consideration. “I… I don’t really know then… I mean, could I maybe do a video where I take off my clothes or something? I can sort of dance… and you know, maybe do some other… stuff?”
“Ummm…” I pondered. “The problem is… honestly, videos of naked girls are all over the internet for free. You really got to do something special, Stacy, something funny, crazy, or amazing that will make you stand out. Or… If you know someone famous in Hollywood, maybe you could pose with them…”
Stacy sniffed, her eyes beginning to well up with tears of defeat. “The only famous person I know in Hollywood is your horsy outside in the trailer…” Suddenly she perked up, putting the carefully staged puzzle pieces together. “Hey, do you think I could maybe… you know, like do something like pose with your horsy? He’s going to be famous, right?”