As soon as I heard her honeyed voice make its way to my chair, my ears weren’t the only things that perked up to pay attention. As I sat back, I saw that Ellie’s smile was just as infectious as her laugh, and my senses zeroed in on her—and only her—during the time I was meant to be observing everyone coming in the lecture hall. Unfortunately, I honestly couldn’t tell you shit about the rest of the students, only her.
If she’s as smart as she is attractive, then she’ll definitely be somebody’s jackpot. From experience, though, it’s never the way. It’s rare that a person is ever actually blessed with the trifecta of wit, intelligence and beauty that Ellie’s “Mr. Vernon” reply indicated. I just might like holding her for detention. Either way, I’ll gladly accept the lovely view for the semester. I, myself, prefer brains with a more understated beauty. Not that it would matter if I were attracted to her anyway, teacher/student relations are a no-go.
However, listening to the two young women was quite entertaining. Entertaining to the point where I was almost late starting the class. Ms. Hughes seems to have a rebel streak, that whole “A for Asshole” joke piqued my curiosity. I’m very interested to see what type of student Ms. Hughes will be. Truth be told, I’d like to hear her thoughts about me more than I’d care to admit. Did she find me intimidating? Good looking? Does she think I’ll be some stuck up film guy, or did she like what she saw?
I have a pretty good idea where Ellie’s friend was going before I choose that as my point of entry into the conversation. Luckily, I managed to start class on time, while gaining two new model students, I presume. The look on both women’s faces was priceless, once I’d introduced myself after I stood up from the seat behind them, shocking the hell out of them. The blush over Ellie’s face was even more compelling. Now, if only I could stop trying to imagine what the rest of her would look like flushed under my perusal.
Ellie Raine Hughes could be big trouble if I’m not careful.
Chapter 7
Ellie
Walking into our apartment, I slam the door a little harder than I’d meant to.
After two weeks of looking for a part-time job that pays enough, the rejection and lack of openings for a person with my current restrictions of school, an injury, and needing time for physio, is slowly taking its toll on not only my bank account but also on my confidence. You’d think in a university city, a job would be easy enough to find. Or maybe it would be if I didn’t have so many constraints. No way can I stand for hours behind a counter serving coffee; my knee would most likely give out after the first hour and be swollen to the point of pain. Finding a desk job or a simple telemarketing job where I could sit is proving to be a hell of a lot harder than I ever expected. The one telemarketing job that I was offered turned out to be a bust, once I factored in the travelling time and cost. The pay was too low to be worth the long bus trip to Newmarket. And If I’m going to try to get back my spot on the team like I’m determined to, regardless what the doctors said, I need to be a bit picky about the job I take. I need to be close by so I can keep up with physio and the gym. “Stupid knee,” I mutter, tossing a few bags on the floor and my purse on top of the kitchen table. After a few hours of bussing around the neighbourhood, my knee is throbbing again, needing an icepack and elevation.
Kicking off my shoes crankily, I hear Court calling me out.
“I take it from your mood, Rainbow Bright, that things didn’t go well at the interviews?” I walk into the living room with its two-toned grey walls, where Court is sitting at our shared desk with her MacBook open. She’s obviously working on some kind of film as I see Filmora is open and loaded with her current project.
I throw myself into the oversized cream armchair, swinging my legs over the side so I can nestle into the puffy cushion and sulk while I tell her about my job woes.
“Well, did you get something or what?” she asks.
“Nah,” I sigh. “I didn’t have enough experience to work in a kitchen as a prep staff or line cook, or even to be a hostess, according to Mr. Smythe. He wouldn’t even entertain the idea of training me, or giving me a chance. Which totally pisses me off, despite me knowing these weren’t the best jobs for my knee, but I’m getting desperate. And, I mean, why did he even call me in for an interview? You saw my friggin’ resume, asshole. But I guess he might have seen me limping a bit when I walked in. I decided to walk the five blocks for exercise. Apparently that was a bad idea…”
“That’s shitty, Els. I’m sorry. At least he wasn’t some creep like at the last place.”
“Funny you should say that. I was thinking along the same lines at first, but then I kinda started to get that pervy-old-man feeling when he started asking me about all the ways I knew to cook eggs. As I told him each way I knew, he kept looking at my tits, especially when he’d interrupt to tell me how much he loved yolks.” I shudder at the memory.
“Ew, that’s so wrong,” she laughs, “funny. But so, so wrong.”
“Gah, thinking about it makes me feel dirty. I need a shower”
“Maybe you oughta report him to the campus paper, the Varsity, so they won’t run his ads anymore. Sounds like he could be some old dirty bastard looking for some university hottie to help fill his nightly spank bank,” she jokes, but I cringe at how close she might be.
“Yeah. I probably should.” I stand and move over to her computer, looking at the screen then down over her notes. Leaning over, I swat her hand off the trackpad and click a few options on the still picture she has up, the one she’s been messing with the whole time we talked. “There. You need to click on the hamburger, then click the top of the still so you can tweak the angles.”
“Bugger, I’ve been on this one forever trying to figure it out. You are a good girl,” she says, reaching for the notes app on her iPad. “I need to write those steps down. This program is a trip to use.”
“I promise it’s easier than iMovie, you just have to play around with it. Let me shower then I can put my knee up and help you while you help me make a plan,” I sigh, grabbing my stuff from the kitchen.
“Okay, hurry up, ’cause I might have a job you’d be perfect for,” Court calls out.
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yes, I talked to Erica today. She has a great idea.”
“Okay. As long as it doesn’t involve eggs or selling myself on a corner, I’ll consider anything in between.”
“Well, this job will guarantee to keep you in school and in the green.”
“Okay, now I’m intrigued. Let me go put my stuff away, I’ll shower after.” I scoop up my bags from the floor, then head down the hall to my room. I toss it all back on the floor, too excited to hear about the job that Erica, Courtney’s sister, might help me get.
*
“No way! Court. There is absolutely no way I can do that.”
“Ellie, listen. You need a job and Erica had the best paying job all through university. I think it’s time to call in the big guns here. I think you need to take her up on her offer.”
“Are you kidding me? I can’t be a phone sex operator! I’m like two months short of having my hymen grow over, I’m seriously the poster child for born-again virgins. There is no way I’d have the capacity to be sexy or witty…and forget wild. I’m as vanilla as you can get. I’m prudish to the point that I only discovered the joys of masturbation in my first year of university! There’s no way I could ever get a man off over the phone; I barely turn a man on in person. The Eggman aside, of course,” I say, pacing the living room, my brain barely registering that this conversation is actually happening.
“Jesus, are you done your soliloquy there, Shakespeare?” Courtney moves from her desk to follow me into the kitchen. “It’ll be fine. They train you. Erica was lame the first few times too. But now she’s got some great stories and made a fortune. They loved her so much that when it was time to quit after graduation and get hired on at her law firm, the Conrads—the couple that own the agency—practically begged her to stay. Mrs. Conrad offered
to allow her to work from home. No one at Breathless Whispers gets to work from home!”
“‘Breathless Whispers’. Pfft. No. I’m sorry,” I say, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of water and an icepack. “I can’t. My mom would frickin’ kill me.”
“She doesn’t need to know, Els. No one does. You don’t really have any other options at this point. Do you?”
“Shit, don’t we have anything stronger? Water isn’t gonna cut it tonight.”
“You know I’m right. You aren’t having any luck, and this is perfect, really. I say you don’t have much choice.”
“Focus. I need alcohol, Court,” I say, looking in the cupboard above the fridge. “I’ll concede that you have a point. It seems I might not have many options at this point, but it doesn’t mean I have to jump into a sex trade.” I slam the cupboard door.
“Here,” Courtney says. She produces a bottle of Crown Royal from some mystery hiding spot and slides it along the island. “Make it a double, you deserve it. And easy with the sex trade dramatics, it’s not like I offered to be your pimp. It’s all over the phone, Els. No one will ever know it’s you.”
“Thanks.” I nod at the glasses, silently asking if she’d like one too.
I sigh. “I’d know though. But you’re right. Tuition is just over eight thousand, plus living expenses, books, and whatever else I’ll need. I’ve got about half paid from the last of my scholarship. I still need around forty-five hundred for December’s final instalment or I’m out of the program, flying back to Mommy. And there’s the huge issue that I need to make this money while seated, and only working a maximum of fifteen hours a week because of school and physio—”
“See? There’s no way you’ll find a regular job and make that kind of money in under three months. And you do not want to go back home, do you?” Courtney interrupts.
“No. I refuse to give up. Going home’s not an option. Who’s to say I’d even get back in the program if I left for a year to earn money, then reapplied. You know how many students apply to this program. One thing I don’t get, though, is why would Erica have worked there? You guys are loaded,” I say, gesturing around our apartment and taking a huge swig of the amber relaxant.
“Truth be told, she was bored.” Court shrugs her shoulders like it makes total sense. “Her roommate, Ashley, dared her to apply with her. Turns out they both got hired and loved it…well, the money, not necessarily the actual job,” she adds, pulling a Caramilk bar out of our treat drawer. “Ashley went on to write a memoir about her experiences actually. I think you can buy it online or something. Who knows? Maybe you could be the Barbara Walters of phone sex when you’re older? And if that doesn’t float your boat, you’ll at least make enough to cover grad school this year, and maybe even your doctorate if you decide to go on?” She raises her eyebrows, knowing she’s saying all the right things.
Biting my nail, I start to really contemplate this crazy idea. I mean the number of hours and flexibility of the shifts would be perfect. Best of all, I could sit and rest my knee, and would bring my schoolwork and do it between calls. And really, how hard could it be?
“Okay, but promise me it’s classy. That it’s not like one of Madonna’s erotica characters—that ‘My name is Mistress Dita’-type of crazy S&M shit—where I’ll have some guy begging for me to dominate him while I pretend to spank then shit on him, right? No stomping on imaginary testicles with imaginary high-heeled shoes?” I exhale, reaching for a piece of her chocolate bar, my stress levels needing indulgence big time.
“Oh my God. Did you just compare phone sex to being a dominatrix? Girl, those are fetishes. Although I’m sure they’d teach you to handle those too. You might totally branch off into people’s specific kinks. I bet you’d get to deal with all kinds of fetishes, freaks, lonely losers, and the hot bossy types. Erica had some sweet fetish stories,” she winks.
“I hate you.” I run my hand down my face. “I dunno, it feels wrong, and I really have doubts that I could pull it off.” I lean on the counter, staring, willing her to agree that this whole thing is a bad idea.
“Fine, but why not at least go for an interview to check it out? What do you have to lose?”
I glare at her before popping the rest of her chocolate bar in my mouth. “I suppose.”
“You know you love me.” She reaches for her cell, I assume to call Erica. To give her the news and to get the details, the details about my becoming a phone sex operator. Fuck my life.
“Loved, past tense, is the word you’re looking for.”
“We’ll see,” she replies, covering the phone with her hand.
“Whatever. I’m taking a shower. I need to bang my head off the tiles for a few minutes. Let me know what Erica says.”
“You got it, Dita,” Court cackles.
I flip her the bird before heading for the shower.
Chapter 8
Ace
Being three weeks into the fall semester, today is the first meeting for the students in my SDFM4328 Masters Thesis Essay in Sexual Diversity in Film class.
Along with meeting me, the students will be introduced to my team of grad students: Jax, Sam, and Joelle. Aside from us each sharing a bit about ourselves, the goal for today is to review the expectations for the thesis essay writing process, explain our roles, and to answer any questions that they may have thus far.
“Hey, Ace. You still keen on giving them another two weeks to get sorted? That will bring us to the second week of October before we meet to assign advisors,” Jax says, looking over his iPad to where I’m setting up in the smaller conference room.
“Yeah,” I say. “From my experience most won’t have started taking this overly seriously yet. Today’s meeting will be what lights the fire. Especially once I share the timeline and tell them about the five-page introduction paper they need to write and email in to me by next Wednesday on top of their expected thesis work. Most won’t realize that by now they should have a topic, a solid grasp of the direction they think they want to go, and know they should be outlining a plan of attack for writing their thesis papers. So, two weeks is good.” I laugh, picturing what the looks on their faces will be once I tell them what should technically be done.
My intention is to set a laid-back tone for our first Friday morning meeting, one where the students will get a sense that my teaching assistants and I are here to guide and support them, not dictate and demand or take over and babysit. I’d like the students to feel as if we are a team, all of us.
“I want them to grasp the process,” Joelle adds and I agree, moving to the laptop and securing the cord to the projector. “I think that’s important. Maybe I can talk about some research guidelines and give them a few starting points to check out. Stress the importance of not typing ‘thesis topics’ into Google. Explain how that never works. Encourage them to be unique.”
“Good call, and mention to avoid anything Wikipedia says.” I shake my head. I’ve seen too many people opt out of using traditional research methods and getting slammed by the Wiki. A site where unfortunately any Tom, Dick or Harry can add bits of info without confirming accuracy or validity. As grad students, you’d think they’d know this by now, but there’s always one. “Sam, you can talk about how we’ll be working together to help them achieve the end goal of completing their thesis. Tell them we know how stressful it is and how we have a lot of experience, to ask for help along the way, not to save it until they’re freaking out.”
“Sounds good,” Sam answers. “I can definitely share my story. Thought I was going to have to drop the course, I was at such a standstill with mine.”
“Perfect. They’ll relate to that.”
I’m hoping they’ll see we are here to help along the way and actually take us up on using us as resources. The possibility of getting their papers featured in a published journal is a huge feat, one I know many fourth years bank on to pad their resumes. The film business is tough, so talent’s not always enough, everyone needs that littl
e bit extra. I want to set a positive tone, and encourage them to remain focused on the end goal and not get distracted.
However, when Ellie walks in, I zone out—distracted—just as I had been when I spotted her on the first day of class. And, subsequently, each one since as she takes her seat which, I might add, is right in front of me, every Monday and Wednesday morning in my Sexual Aesthetics/Representations class. Distracting me.
Ellie is very distracting. She’s gorgeous, and from what I’ve seen so far, she’s bright too. She’s always ready to offer her opinion, and seems to have a real passion for gender equality in films, referencing the Geena Davis Institute on Gender in Media and Emma Watson as huge influences, women who’ve inspired her as a female wanting to work in the industry. Ellie went on about how Geena Davis is a force in the equal representation of women in film movement, sharing how Davis encourages all women to demand an equitable working environment; from actresses to grips, no woman should allow herself to be underpaid or made to feel less relevant than her male counterparts. Ellie spoke with so much conviction that I did more research into the Geena Davis Institute.
For the first time, one of my students sparked a curiosity in me so strong that I decided to immediately catch myself up on the Institute’s progress. It’s been a few years since I’ve looked into it, wanting to become more conscientious of the lack of equality that might exist for many of my students in the industry. I hadn’t really revisited the topic since I included a few examples in an article on gender bias which I published in Reel West magazine.
I was very impressed with the work being done by these two actors. Along with Ellie’s passion, the combination led me to decide this was something I needed to stay current on. I’d like to keep better informed about the issues facing women in the film industry so much that I have now liked and followed both Davis and Watson on social media.
Call Me Page 4