That’s right. Our Roy Cooper. He’d starred in a movie. Well, almost starred in a movie. It was produced and directed by David Hunter. And it was the reason David Hunter had needed to die.
After the Ramrod debacle Roy had rededicated himself to the art of acting. More workshops, more classes, more plays. It was while acting in one these small plays that Roy noticed a guy sitting in the audience with a poodle on his lap. A famous dog in a famous lap. Jennifer the dog and David Hunter the producer.
Hunter’s nephew was playing a part—a football player with a drug habit—and Hunter showed up as a favor to his sister. His nephew sucked, but Roy’s performance as the best friend caught Hunter’s attention. He was about to cast a new movie about a sixteen-year-old girl who falls in love with the high school football coach. Roy was perfect for the coach.
Hunter was being very selective with this role. More selective than usual.
It isn’t unusual for co-stars to fall in love while making a movie, especially when a lot of love scenes are involved.
Hunter wasn’t about to let that happen, because Hunter was in love with Tiffany Granger.
Hunter had first seen Tiffany on a billboard. It was a Calvin Klein ad. Tiffany was wearing nothing but CK jeans. Tiffany had a fresh face that enchanted Hunter. He had his casting people track her down and fly her to Hollywood for a meeting.
Tiffany had just turned eighteen and had only been a model for six months after being discovered in a Bath and Body Shop in a Houston mall. In truth, she was eighteen going on thirty-eight. Her mother was a stripper at an exclusive Men’s Club, and occasionally Mama would bring home a customer to make a few extra bucks. By the time Tiffany reached puberty, she had no illusions about the sanctity of sex. Her mother had taught her that it was a commodity, and that’s how Tiffany used it.
At fifteen Tiffany lost her virginity to one of her mother’s clients. He’d spotted her sitting in front of the TV wearing shorts and a tube top. Tiffany looked at the john with those big hazel eyes of hers and smiled. He offered Tiffany’s mother two thousand dollars if he could make love to Tiffany. Tiffany’s mom looked at her, and Tiffany looked him over. Businessman-type, maybe 35, cute enough.
“Five thousand,” she said. “I’m a virgin.”
“Deal,” he said.
Afterwards, Tiffany’s mother asked if she liked it. Tiffany just smiled. “What’s not to like?”
Tiffany’s mom was a meth head, which meant the money never lasted long. They sold her ‘virginity’ a few times over the years, once for ten grand.
Tiffany was ambitious. She didn’t want to spend her life in Houston, waving her tits in a strip club, so when she was asked in that Bed and Bath if she’d like to model, she jumped at the chance.
New York was great. But she found the modeling work itself just another form of stripping. Posing for hours in scanty clothes looking sexy for the camera. She wanted more. When David Hunter’s people contacted her, she knew she had a shot at the big time: Hollywood.
She drooled at the house in Holmby Hills. Saw the lust in Hunter’s eyes when they talked in his massive living room. He was talking about all the careers he’d built, rattling off an impressive list of movie stars. Meanwhile she noticed the way his eyes probed the skin of her thigh, the freckled mounds of her breasts. He didn’t want to make her a star so much as he wanted to bury his face in her sweet, young bush.
He loved her youth and presumed her innocence. She fed his fantasy. She flirted with him, but feigned shyness, naïveté.
He took her out for dinner and dancing and, back at the hotel, Tiffany timidly let him seduce her. She moved into his Holmby Hills mansion two days later.
That had been six months before Hunter saw Roy in the play. During that time Hunter had developed Jailbait for Tiffany. He was sure it would make her a star. All Hunter needed now was a ‘safe’ co-star. Directors and stars sometimes hook up as well; Hunter eliminated that possibility by directing the movie himself. He went backstage, introduced himself to Roy, told him about the movie, and promised to send him a script and set up an audition.
When Roy read the script he knew this could be his big break. It was a terrific story—provocative, sexy, yet still intelligent. Even though the coach sleeps with an underage girl, he ends up being the sympathetic one, the victim.
Roy was surprised when he walked into Hunter’s office a few days later and was introduced to Tiffany.
She looked so ... sweet. A wide-eyed kid. How could she ever pull off this Lolita-like vixen? But as they talked he sensed the sensuality simmering behind those hazel eyes. It turned him on.
Tiffany liked Roy’s looks, too. Those sculpted cheekbones, the jutting jaw, the sea-green eyes. Even through his clothes, Tiffany knew his body would be hard—a welcome change after David’s pudgy flesh. She also knew she’d have to be careful, not let David know how attracted she was to Roy. If David knew, he’d never cast him.
The audition went well. Tiffany was a natural, and all of Roy’s work had paid off. Roy gave the coach texture; you sensed a man being pulled apart at the seams, his desperate love for the forbidden fruit driving him to risk everything. The very real chemistry between them came through in their performance. When they finished Roy looked expectantly at Hunter.
“Excellent,” the producer said, but he looked worried. “Tiffany, would you leave Roy and me alone for a few minutes?”
Tiffany didn’t like being excluded from anything but she managed to shove a smile into place. “Of course, darling.” Careful not to look at Roy—fearing Hunter might try to read attraction into it—she left.
Hunter got up, the poodle in his arms, and began to pace around the large office.
Now Roy looked worried. “Is something wrong, Mr. Hunter?”
“Yes. You were terrific, and I’m not going to cast you.”
“What? Why? You just said—”
“Because I’ll lose Tiffany if you co-star with her.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You guys clicked together. I could feel the heat. And this script has plenty of heat. Total nudity for Tiffany, and if the actor playing the coach is up to it, maybe even a quick shot of his cock for the ladies in the audience.”
“You could shoot a long shot of my cock if you cast me.”
Hunter shook his head, continued his pacing. “No, it just won’t work. You and Tiffany have three major love scenes. You have to kiss her, caress every inch of her body, pretend to make love to her while you’re both naked in a shower. Naked on a desk. Naked in bed. There is no way you two could spend that much sexual time together and not fall in love. Or at least in lust. You’re going to end up fucking her for real.”
“No, I won’t. I promise.”
“You won’t be able to help yourself. I can’t tell you how many ‘fake’ love scenes have turned into the real thing. There are hundreds—hell, thousands—of actors who pretended to screw on screen, and got so worked up they couldn’t wait to get off the set so they could fuck each other’s brains out for real. In each case, marriages were ruined and relationships destroyed.
“No, I must’ve been nuts thinking I could stand by and watch some gorgeous hunk put his hands on my precious Tiffany. Look, I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Roy, but I can’t cast you. I can’t cast anybody. I just can’t make this movie.”
Roy couldn’t believe it. He was this close again! He had to say something, find a way to change Hunter’s mind. Then he realized a simple truth. “If you don’t make Jailbait you’ll lose her anyway.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“She wants to be an actress, right?”
“More than anything.”
“So what’s she going to say when you pull the plug on the movie? ‘That’s okay, honey, I’ll just knit for the rest of my life?’ No, she’ll leave you and find someone else to put her in a movie.”
“I’ll develop another movie for her. A safer movie.”
“Playing what, a nu
n? ’Course there would still be a few male actors in the cast, any one of which could seduce her away from you. Or maybe do a movie about a bunch of wild women, you know, Amazons. ’Course she could fall in love with one of the women in the cast. Hey, I know, how about a movie about a woman trapped alone on a deserted island?”
Hunter put up a pudgy hand. ‘Enough. You made your point.”
“David, Tiffany was born to play Suzie. Jailbait will make her a big star. But it will do something else. It will make me a big star. So I’ll promise you this: I will keep the relationship between Tiffany and me completely professional. Nothing more. She’ll be safe with me, I guarantee it.”
Hunter looked deeply into Roy eyes, unyieldingly, as if trying to see the soul, judge the soul, decide if he could believe this man, turn over the love of his life to him and get her back whole. Finally, hesitantly: “Okay.”
They rehearsed for two weeks prior to shooting. Always at Hunter’s mansion, and always with at least the three of them in the room—Tiffany, Roy and Hunter. Four, if you counted the poodle on Hunter’s lap.
Sometimes the writer joined them. Sometimes the script supervisor. Once a couch full of studio brass watched them rehearse. Everyone could see what Roy and Tiffany felt: a sizzling sexual tension.
It was all the more impressive because Hunter never allowed Roy and Tiffany to kiss during rehearsal. Not even to touch. Hunter’s paranoia dictated the rule.
Unbeknownst to him, his precautions were actually backfiring. Unable to let off any sexual steam, both Roy and Tiffany were getting horny as hell. Even though Roy was determined not to fall in love/lust with Tiffany, he couldn’t help fantasizing about that first kiss.
Tiffany, on the other hand, had no compunction about love or lust, and was fantasizing about sitting on Roy’s face. No wonder their rehearsals were so hot.
On the last day of rehearsal David presented them each with a gift, a Jailbait movie poster.
Roy stared at his name on the one sheet and an involuntary smile swept his face. He’d finally made it. He was going to be a star.
Hunter had planned the schedule to start with an innocuous scene on the football field when Suzie first saw the Coach and they flirted a little. Then to spend a couple days filming innocent scenes of Suzie with her parents and the Coach with the football team. Hunter said he wanted to build up to the sex scenes, but Roy and Tiffany knew that he was putting them off as long as he could.
Rain changed all that. A cold front attacked L.A. the first day of shooting and they had to start on the sound stage; the only set that was ready was the men’s locker room. It was a critical scene, the first seduction. The Coach is taking a shower and Suzie sneaks into the locker room, takes off her clothes, and slips into the shower with him.
At six a.m. a nervous Roy sat next to a surprisingly calm Tiffany in the makeup trailer. He wore sweatpants and a tee shirt. She was in a robe. As hair and makeup people fussed over them Roy said, “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Really? I am.”
“You should be. I mean, I should be. Any normal person would be. Maybe I’m too inexperienced to be nervous. Or too stupid.”
He met her eyes in the reflection of the makeup mirror. “You’re not stupid.”
She held his look. “Thank you.”
Jenny, Tiffany’s makeup girl, said she was going to get a cappuccino and asked if anyone wanted anything. Roy and Tiffany said no, but Jorge, Roy’s makeup man, said he wanted fruit from the craft service table and left with her. For the first time since they’d met, Roy and Tiffany were alone.
Without a word, Tiffany got out of the makeup chair and sat on Roy’s lap. Roy looked into those huge hazel eyes, the deceptively innocent face. Then Tiffany leaned forward and kissed him. Tender at first, then lips opened to tongues, until the pent up passion of the last two weeks overwhelmed them both. His hands went under her robe to her breasts, her hands dug under his shirt for a feel of his hard stomach. She began to grind her hips into his, “Fuck me,” she begged. “Oh, Jesus, fuck me.”
Tiffany grabbed his sweatpants and pulled them down to his knees. She stared hungrily at his cock. “God, it’s beautiful,” she sighed then hurriedly pulled off her panties. “I want you inside me, now.” After another smothering kiss she took his cock in her hand and lowered herself slowly, wanting to enjoy every millimeter of his penetration.
“No,” he said suddenly. Roy twisted out from under Tiffany, climbing out of the chair. “I can’t do this.”
“Why not?”
“I promised David I wouldn’t touch you.”
She slithered out of the chair toward Roy. “Then let me touch you.”
He backed away. “No, Tiffany. If David thinks for one minute we’re having an affair he’ll fire me.”
“It’ll be worth it.”
“Tiffany, please. This is my big chance. I worked hard for it.”
Her eyes focused on his crotch. “I can see how hard ...”
As much as Roy wanted her, he said, “No, I can’t do it.”
Tiffany suddenly dropped to her knees and took Roy in her mouth. He groaned in pleasure. Oh, God, she was good. Too good. Roy felt the first stirrings of an orgasm. He had to make her stop. Roy took his hands and placed them on the side of Tiffany’s head.
And that’s when David Hunter walked into the trailer. He had the dog in his arms and his assistant director at his side.
Roy, seeing Hunter, instinctively pulled away from Tiffany. Unfortunately, it was just as he was coming, and he sent a blast of sperm into Hunter’s face.
Tiffany screamed, Hunter screamed, Roy screamed, the dog barked.
Hunter went nuts, grabbed a pair of scissors from the counter and charged Roy. Roy’s sweatpants were still gathered at his feet, and as he backed away from Hunter he fell.
Hunter lunged at Roy, slashing away with the scissors. Roy ducked, avoiding the blades, then scrambled to his feet. Unfortunately his sweatpants were still on the floor. Roy was naked from the waist down.
Hunter attacked again and Roy panicked. He had to get out of there. He burst out of the trailer door, Hunter right behind him.
It was a sight no one would soon forget: a very exposed Roy, his junk blowing in the wind, being chased across the Warner Brothers back lot by an enraged David Hunter.
Tiffany, the cast and crew watched, stunned, as Roy raced around the craft service table, putting a little distance between himself and the crazed Hunter. Then Roy tripped over the edge of a light stand and fell. So did the light, exploding as it hit the ground.
Hunter loomed over Roy. He swung the scissors, Roy rolled right, the scissors just missing him. Roy rolled left, but too late, and the blade caught him on the shoulder, ripping open the skin.
Roy screamed out in pain as Hunter swung again, only this time a couple of grips finally got up the guts to grab Hunter and pull the scissors out of his hand.
Hunter glared at Roy. “I trusted you.”
Those words sliced through Roy’s soul. “I’m sorry,” Roy said, ashamed. “I tried, David. I really did. I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry my ass,” Tiffany screamed at Roy. “You tried to rape me!” Then she turned to Hunter, threw herself into his arms. “He forced me to do it, darling. I swear.”
You bitch, Roy thought. You fucking bitch.
David tilted Tiffany’s face up to his, wiped the tears from her eyes. “You’re a good actress, baby. But not that good.” Hunter pushed her away and stalked off.
“David, wait!” Tiffany yelled and ran after him.
Roy just lay there, devastated.
They were both fired, of course. And the picture was shut down. Roy never saw Tiffany again. Hunter threw her out of his mansion. That night she got drunk and drove her BMW off Mulholland Drive. She was decapitated as the car tumbled down the hillside.
Roy never thought it was an accident. There were rumors that Hunter had used Underworld connections to finance
his early movies, and Roy was sure Hunter had contacted them again to get rid of the bitch who had betrayed him.
Roy figured he was next, that Hunter would arrange another ‘accident.’ But the industry rumor mill saved his life. Word spread about what had happened that morning on the Warner Brothers lot. And questions started to be asked about the timing of Tiffany’s car accident. Another ‘accident’ would raise too much suspicion.
So Hunter did something even worse. He started spreading rumors that Roy was always late to rehearsal, would show up unprepared for work and had done drugs all day long. Before long word was out: Roy Cooper was bad news. Hunter made it his mission to ruin Roy’s career. Roy would never work again.
Back in his bathroom, Roy stared longingly at the Jailbait poster. He had been so close to stardom.
Fuck.
But now back to the business at hand. Roy turned his attention to the magazine, an oldie but goodie, a 1984 issue of Playboy. The issue had come out the same time Roy reached puberty, and the centerfold, Terri Jackson, was the first playmate Roy ever masturbated to. Roy turned to Terri every so often, knowing he could always rely on her for a fabulous fantasy. Well, he needed her tonight. This Gravesnatcher bullshit had him totally stressed out.
He opened the centerfold and looked into those familiar blue eyes. “Hello, baby, I’m back ...”
The Road Too
Often Traveled
I needed one important ingredient to start making my letter bomb—a pinch of explosive. Not an item you can easily pick up at the local market. Luckily, I happened to have a small cache of C-4 hidden in my apartment, partial payment from a Serbian gunrunner who hired me to find out if his brother was sleeping with his wife. He was, but so was his cousin Milos, his Uncle Stephan and his best friend, Ilija. My client was furious, but so was Milos, who didn’t know she was also sleeping with Stephan and Ilija. So was Uncle Stephan, who didn’t know she was sleeping Ilija and Milos, likewise Ilija, who didn’t know about Uncle Stephan and Milos. The wife, not the least bit remorseful, left them all and moved to Las Vegas with an aerialist from Cirque du Soleil.
Dead and Not So Buried Page 17