Body Parts (Rye & Claire 1)

by Crumb, Kit

  She inpected her makeup in the tiny bathroom mirror and said, “I’ll finish out this day no matter what.” Running a brush through her air and starting a new stick of gum, she continued, “Then it’s back to the motel and if Jan hasn’t left a message, I’ll go to the police tomorrow morning. But she’ll call.”

  * * *

  Von Seagram picked up the loud hailer. “Break everyone. Ten minutes then back and ready to finish today’s shoot.” He handed the loud hailer to the stage manager and walked off the set.

  Crystal walked to the corner of the nearest set and stopped not sure what was happening except that the director was talking to someone she’d never seen before. He was tall with olive skin and jet-black hair slicked back, but neat and trimmed. His clothes were expensive, his manner restrained.

  “I’m telling you that she needs to come with me now,” Simms said. Looking around he dropped his voice.

  “And I’m telling you that there are no other girls who can do this. If she doesn’t perform, I walk,” Von Seagram screamed, veins sticking out on his neck like cables.

  Simms pumped his hands up and down, like he was trying to slow traffic. “I’ve come all the way down here to pick her up,” Simms said, dropping his voice in further hope of calming the agitated director.

  Von Seagram took a deep breath. “All I’m asking is for a few hours so I can finish this shot, a couple hours at the most.”

  Simms continued looking around. “Ok, two hours. You’ve got exactly two hours, not a minute more.”

  Simms relented only because he had to be back up north in time for an extraction satellite linked to the customer; he’d be operating live. If he couldn’t take Crystal now, he’d have to find another way to get her to the clinic.

  All Crystal could tell was that the director was mad at the stranger. She hadn’t heard her name mentioned, but was sure they were talking about her.

  The director waved at her. “Come here, doll. You just got the starring roll.”

  Her heart beat faster when she realized he was waving at her. She knew what that meant.

  “You got your lines down, doll?”

  She glanced down at the script, at her three lines. She was to play the mistress. The jilted husband was going to knock at the door of her apartment and when she answered, wrapped in a towel and immediately seeing how upset he was, she would say, “Lets see if I can help you forget her.” She would drop to her knees right there at the door. He would then help her to her feet and carry her to the bed where she would say, “How would you like it?” At which time he would guide her into a doggy position ending with a tight shot of his climax. Crystal would then respond with her final line, “Oh that was really nice.”

  Her stomach began to lurch as she re-read her three lines.

  “C’mon, doll, what’s the hold up? Drop the robe and get on your mark. Time’s money.”

  The director’s assistant guided her to the chalked x, taking her robe and script, and handing her a towel.

  Conner Roddy played the part of the dejected husband, and had been acting in porn movies for nearly ten years. He possessed classic good looks and at six feet, weighed a lean 170 pounds.

  He was a porn director’s dream, able to sustain an erection despite the lights, techs and two or three takes.

  Crystal had supposedly just stepped out of the shower. When the director shouted action she was to move across the floor as though heading for the closet, interrupted by the knock at the door.

  As she began to walk she wished she had a stick of gum to settle her stomach.

  “Knock, knock, knock.”

  She turned and took the two steps necessary to reach the door, grasped the knob and opened the door.

  She cooed as her pretend lover leaned forward to kiss her.

  “It’s Vicky,” Conner said. “She, she’s left me.”

  As Conner stepped across the threshold, Crystal dropped to her knees.

  She gasped out her first line, “Let’s see if I can help you forget her,” closed her eyes and prayed he would be quick.

  “Cut!” the director shouted. “Hey, doll, you got something in your eye? What’s it going to look like if your doing your lover with your eyes closed? Close the door, Con; get on your mark. Doll, pick up the towel, we’ll take it from the knock at the door. Remember eyes open, big smile.

  She cursed herself for having to do it again, but wondered how she was going to smile with a mouth full of…

  “Action!” Von Seagram shouted.

  “Knock, knock, knock.”

  She opened the door, once again cooing as Conner leaned in for the kiss, then stepped across the threshold.

  “It’s Vicky, she, she’s left me.”

  Crystal dropped to her knees, eyes open. Fumbled with his belt and zipper, extracting his…

  “Cut!” Con, baby. First the kiss, then your line…then step over the threshold. Back on your mark, close the damn door. Doll, pick up the towel. We’ll take it from the knock on the door. Everybody ready? Let’s get it right this time. Action!”

  On the third take, the director caught Crystal fumbling with Conner’s zipper. Take four, he looked bored. Take five, Crystal was making a face. By the sixth take Crystal didn’t care any more, just wanting it to be over. As Conner carried her to the bed, a big four poster, she had no idea what she was in for. He gently laid her on the bed on her back, cue for her second line.

  “How would you like it?”

  She thought it would be like the time with Rudy, her third lover who liked different positions. Not so.

  Without a word Conner kneeled down on the bed placing one hand between her thighs and the other on her side, practically flipping her onto her stomach, her cue to come up onto her hands and knees. Completely out of sync — she felt as if she were moving in slow motion while he was moving at full speed. He was very well endowed, and for once she was thankful for the director’s interruptions, bringing Conner to a halt while the camera moved in for a different angle.

  Finally, as her already sore knees began to suffer burns from sliding back and forth on the sheets, he finished, cue for her third line. Still on her hands and knees Crystal looked over her shoulder. “Oooh, that was nice.”

  “Cut! That’s a wrap. Everyone back on the set tomorrow, eight o’clock sharp.”

  Crystal was off the bed, snatching up her robe as she stormed off the set headed for the trailer. Twenty minutes later she was in her rental car headed back to her motel.

  Chapter Eight

  Rye stood behind Paul Casey, the rope wrapped around his waist.

  Suddenly, Paul made a lunge at the tripod. “It’s slipping!”

  Rye quickly tied off the rope at the last stake. “Christ, it’s not holding her weight. Paul we need a board that will reach across the hole to keep the tripod from falling in on her.”

  Paul limped to the barn as fast as he could.

  Moments after he disappeared through the barn doors, Rye looked on in horror as the legs of the tripod slipped and the center portion that supported the rope dropped the nearly five feet to ground level.

  The harness allowed Claire to descend in a sitting position, the rope coming down in front of her face attached to the ring located near her abdomen. When the rope went slack, her legs straightened and she dropped like a stone. She attempted to spread eagle as she fell, hoping to span the hole and at least slow her fall. But she continued to plummet feet first. When the rope finally stopped her fall, Claire felt a sharp pain in her stomach, and then blacked out. Her limp body finally came to a stop with all her limbs hanging down, bent backwards.

  Somewhere in the depths of Claire’s unconscious, Clarice reached the mine entrance before her pursuers, but the iron-gate that led to the Star Mine’s elevator was locked. Frantically, she looked over h
er shoulder, the three young men had slowed to a walk when they saw she had no place to go. Shuffling to the right she tried the handle on a little door. When it flew open she nearly fell over but quickly recovered and dove into the dumbwaiter, slamming the iron door behind her. Rolling onto her back Clarice saw in the dim light that an iron latch had fallen into place. Lurching forward she applied all her weight to hold it. She could feel someone on the outside trying the handle.

  “Shit, the little bitch has locked herself in,” the leader of the three said.

  The taller one stood in front of a small wooden box mounted just above Clarice’s hiding place.

  “Hey, look at this.”

  He broke open the door to the box, revealing two buttons, one red, marked up, one blue, marked down.

  He leaned down until his face was next to the little door, and shouted to be sure Clarice could hear. “Hey guys, since she won’t come out, let’s send her to the bottom of the mine.” They all laughed as he straightened up and pressed the blue button.

  The dumbwaiter that carried tools and sometimes explosives to the various levels of the mine had its own shaft. Designed to descend at breakneck speed, it never was meant to carry human cargo.

  Clarice plunged into darkness and felt her stomach lurch with the sudden drop.

  * * *

  Paul ran as fast as his hip would allow. He carried a twelve-foot, four-by-four across his shoulders. Rye ran to meet him, grabbing the post. Together they lugged it to the hole, and shoved it beneath the center ring of the tripod. Suddenly there was a loud metallic sound as the tripod completely fractured and the four-by four took all the weight.

  “Claire, are you alright? The tripod collapsed but the rope is secure,” Rye yelled.

  No answer.

  Rye cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Claire.”

  No answer.

  Paul came around next to Rye. “You think she’s alright?”

  Rye sat back on his haunches. “She could be in trouble. Claire has claustrophobia, something happened to her when she was a little girl…God, I just don’t know.”

  Reaching out, Rye grabbed the rope and began to shake it. “Claire, talk to me, Claire!”

  Her back pinched out a needle of pain and Claire opened her eyes. She was spinning and nauseous. Everything was out of focus; a yellow arch of light illuminated a muddy wall. Claire’s disorientation suddenly fell away. She reached out for the rope and began to pull herself upright, hand over hand. Grasping the rope with both hands she gave one final yank and pulled herself back into a sitting position.

  When she finally summoned the strength to look up she could see an arm stretched out to the rope, and heard someone calling her name.

  “I’m OK. Rye, Paul.”

  Rye breathed a sigh of relief. “Hang on, we’re going to pull you up.”

  She was still nauseous, her back ached and the memory of being locked in that tiny dumbwaiter in the mine was still in the back of her head. “No, keep lowering.”

  Rye and Paul looked at each other. “What do you think?” Paul said.

  Rye was looking back down the well. “Keep lowering.”

  Paul positioned himself at the last stake, the rope wrapped around his waist. Rye was half way between Paul and the hole.

  For the first fifteen feet there wasn’t any change in the walls, then slowly the sides narrowed and the mud gave way to stone.

  Her progress stopped. Claire held the rope with an iron grip. When she looked up, a heavily silhouetted head was peering over the edge of the hole. She was reassured by Rye’s voice.

  “You’re about twenty feet down, what do you see?”

  She paused and looked down; there was still nothing for her light to illuminate. “The walls are closing in, and are solid stone. There’s still no sign of Amy.”

  She looked back up, but the head was gone, and she began to descend again.

  She smelled it first, and then the temperature dropped. Reaching into the little change pocket of her jeans she pulled out a penny. Holding the coin away from her body she dropped it and began counting, she’d reached twenty before she heard a splash.

  “Shit! Hold up,” Claire shouted. She kept descending. “Rye, Paul, hold up.” Her progress came to a sudden halt. Claire squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath until the bouncing stopped. When she looked up, the head looking into the hole was tiny.

  “Everything OK down there?”

  Claire could hear the fear in her husband’s voice.

  “Fine. I’ve got water about twenty feet below.” She was interrupted by a tiny voice.

  “Aunt Claire?”

  “Yes, yes it’s Aunt Claire. Amy honey, are you OK?”

  Claire strained, listening for a response until her ears rang.

  “Amy, where are you? I can’t see you. Can you see me?”

  “I’m muddy. Are you on the rope?”

  Claire began turning her head left and right, scanning the wall around her with the helmet light.

  Wait a minute, Claire thought. Am I on the rope? She can see the rope. She’s above me!

  Claire scanned the wall above her. She didn’t see Amy, but she saw movement.

  She shined her light on what looked like a ball of mud about the size of a basketball.

  “Amy, I can see you!”

  “I don’t want to be here any more, Aunt Claire.”

  Claire gasped as a little hand reached out. “Amy, please don’t move. I’ll come get you”

  The hand retracted. “OK.”

  When wells were dug by hand, ledges or handholds were built into the walls so the digger could climb out. Amy was sitting on a little ledge extending out less then a foot from the wall.

  Chapter Nine

  The two doctors leaned over the stainless steel sink at the center of the scrub station, antibacterial soap up to their elbows.

  Dr. Frank Mason, the younger of the two, would be assisting Dr. Austin Young, the senior surgeon at Medford General, in the removal of a damaged kidney from an accident victim.

  The gowning nurses hadn’t entered the scrub room and Dr. Mason was only on his second scrub.

  “How do you do it, Frank?” Young said.

  “I’m sorry, do what?” Mason said.

  “The cars, the house…and all the trips. When I was your age I struggled for years just to pay off student loans.”

  Mason rinsed and began scrubbing for the third and last time. “Good karma, I guess.”

  “I’m serious! You know that I make quarterly entrees on every surgical resident based on both in-house performance and community standing. I’m obligated as senior surgeon and assistant director of Medford General, and I have a board of directors to account to. That meeting is coming up next month. Looking at your income and the number of surgeries you perform each month I find that you’re living beyond your means. You have a good community profile, Frank, numerous events on behalf of the hospital, but nothing to indicate an outside source of income. All the staff sees is that you’re working half the hours and living twice as well as anyone else at your level. You’re making waves, Doctor. The board will see this and ask me how you do it. So I’m asking you.”

  Mason turned from the sink, arms dripping, and faced the senior surgeon. “What would you have me do, sell my home because it makes people jealous?” He wasn’t yelling, but his voice held the indignant tone of one being accused.

  “No, Frank, just enlighten me. Where’s the money for these excesses coming from?”

  At that moment, the head surgical nurse entered the room. Dr. Mason spun around and barked at her, “You’ve got five minutes to find another assist for Dr. Young,” then slammed through the heavy double doors and stormed down the hall.

  Chapter Ten

&nb
sp; Simms’s hair was meticulously styled, held in place with mousse. His posture was more erect than usual. New sheets, starched and creased, covered the donor. The operating table sat diagonally so the elevated camera could view every detail of the surgery. The anesthesiologist was prominently seated where the camera couldn’t miss him.

  Simms held his right hand out to the side. “CD tube, please.”

  He inserted a tube that carried carbon dioxide through a small incision into the body cavity that would lift the abdominal wall away from the kidney. Satisfied with the space, he made a ten-inch incision, cutting through the abdominal wall.

  Simms extended his right hand again. “Number 14 shear, please.”

  Nurse Clouse slapped a tool into his palm that looked like a gardener’s tool for trimming branches. Making a show for the camera, he snipped off one rib, lifted it out and placed it on a tray. The camera zoomed in on the organ cavity and the five-inch long, reddish-brown occupant.

  Simms looked at the camera. “As you can see, the kidney is healthy and fully exposed for easy access.”

  Clouse crossed the room giving a wide birth to the area covered by the camera. Knowing the doctor was right-handed, she came up on his left side.

  She leaned in. “Doctor, the light…you have a call on the red phone. Would you like me to finish the procedure?”

  Simms buried his anger at being interrupted. He turned to the camera in the ceiling and said, “This is Surgical Nurse Clouse. She has over twenty-five years experience as both nurse and surgeon, she will finish the procedure.” He walked out of the room.

  Simms snatched up the phone. “Yes?” he hissed.

  “Peter, this is Frank Mason. You said you were going to call me.”

  “Shut up and listen. This call has just jeopardized a sale. I was in the middle of a kidney procedure. This was not a recording. I had the recipient viewing the entire procedure from Brazil. Now what the hell is so important that it couldn’t wait until the next batch?”