His Dark Secret - Part 1 (Erotic Romance Serial Novel) (2 page)

Maybe it was just the money, maybe
the idea of being in a movie, but I wanted to take the chance. Saturday found
me wandering around the lots of Mythic Studios, overwhelmed.

Between the sand colored
warehouses, I realized I had fallen into a strange new world. One of the first
things I came across were a pair of zombies, one with a dangling eye, drinking
coffee and talking about a weekend surfing excursion. I almost screamed when I
saw that eye, but held it together.

Moments later I came across the
set of an action film where the shooting had stopped, the director yelling at
one of the stunt doubles for missing his cue. Turning a corner, I almost got
run down by a speeding golf cart, the driver cursing at me from down the way.
Startled and almost regretting my decision to come here, I was relieved to find
an information desk in one of the buildings and got directions to Studio 32,
where they were shooting
Chimera
.

A young man with a headset and a
clipboard was standing outside the studio, jotting something down, when I
arrived.

“I’m here for Mr. Rushmand's
film,” I said, holding out the flyer.

The man barely looked up, giving
me a quick once over. He spoke into his headset, “Have we got room for another
slave girl?” He nodded as he got a response from the other end, speaking to me
now. “Do you have all your paperwork?” I nodded, pulling out the documents from
my bag, which he slipped into his clipboard. “Head in, costumes and makeup will
be on the left, don’t walk through the set, fixing up the lights right now.
They’ll run you through what you need.”

My first impression of the studio
was how hot it was. The bright lights overhead sent out waves of heat that had
the crew sweating. I caught a quick glance of the set, a gorgeous banquet hall
with a distinct Arabic feel to it: a low table surrounded by plush cushions;
gold amorphous statues that looked vaguely human. It was funny to see the crew
in their street clothes in the midst of all the sumptuous decorum. In the
middle of it all was a dark haired, green-eyed man in jeans and a black
t-shirt. His hair was coiffed into a wave. His face was defined, his cheekbones
accentuating a sharp nose. He yelled up into the dark behind the lights.

“Grip, I need you to raise light
two. And refocus twelve while you’re at it. The edges are too sharp, it needs
to bleed out more.”

I took him to be an electrician or
the crew lead. He was gorgeous, but I didn’t have time to gawk as I headed to
the costuming area. It was set up like a corral, partitioned stalls for private
dressing, and a big area where most everyone was milling about. Rows of lights
and mirrors reflected the images of the actors and extras. Most of the men
seemed to be dressed in leather, looking like gladiators, or in long blue
robes. The women were all in diaphanous silks, blue green, and gold. A frazzled
looking costumer took a hold of me, directing me to stand still and raise out
my arms as she wrapped a measuring tape around different parts of my body,
jotting down my measurements. After this she disappeared between the racks of
clothing, returning with what was to be my costume, which I was taken aback to
find didn’t amount to much. A long burgundy strand of cloth and a skirt made to
look like metal strands of coins.

I held up the almost translucent
scarf and asked, “What do I do with this?”

The costumer shot me a stern look,
which melted when she realized I really had no idea what I was doing.

“This is your first time, isn’t
it?”

“Yes, I just thought I’d try this
out.”

“I’ll help you into that. Come
over here.”

She shepherded me over to a corner
stall and told me to undress. I felt embarrassed undressing in full view of the
rest of the cast, but she reassured me by closing the curtains of the stall. I
quickly got down to my underwear and slipped into the skirt. The cool touch of
the plastic on my thighs was a relief. I was about to wrap the cloth sideways
around my chest when the costumer shook her head.

“You need to take off your bra,
dear. I’ll get that on you. Oh, and you’ll want these.” She handed me two
strips of black plastic.

“What are these?”

“Double backed tape. So you don’t
slip out. Just put them on your nipples,” she said brusquely.

I complied, taking my bra off,
feeling uncomfortable being handled by a stranger. Now half-naked, I applied
the tape, and instantly felt my breasts begin to itch.

“It’ll pass,” the costumer said,
as she looped the cloth around my neck from behind, crossing it in front so
each end passed over my breasts, and tied it in back.

“Just make sure the tape sticks to
the cloth.”

“It’s kind of uncomfortable.”

“The important part is you look
great dear. Now get over to makeup.”

As she left, she turned back
around. “Break a leg, dear. You’ll have fun.”

Barefoot, I walked over to the
makeup area. I was relieved to see I wasn’t the only one in the ridiculous
get-up. A few of the “slave girls” even looked as uncomfortable as myself. I
took a seat in front of the mirrors, and a makeup assistant began to work on
me. During this a production intern began running us through the shoot.

“In this scene, Captain Malcolm
and the crew of the Chimera are meeting with the Yusian leader, King Gothas.
Guards, you stand around, look stoic, menacing. Yusian aristocrats, we want you
to make small talk, look interested in the Earth party. Think regal and
disinterested. Slave men and women, you’re the servants, go around serving food
to everyone at the table; carry yourselves in an alluring manner. Meek but
alluring. Everyone understand? Good, let’s get going.”

By this point my hair and makeup
were done and a stranger looked back at me from the mirror. My brown hair was
pulled back in a tight bun, a gold fan stuck in it, making a halo behind my
head. My lips were done in crimson, my cheeks rouged to give me high
cheekbones; my eyes were tapered with liner, making them look larger. I was
thrilled, feeling empowered in my new look.

On set, I was handed a gold tray
decked with meats and fruits. Again, I was instructed to offer the tray to each
guest as I made my way around the table.

“Be servile, but flounce what
you’ve got.” The production assistant said.

Directly under the lights, it was
unbearably hot. I was worried the tape holding up my costume would melt, but it
seemed to be holding fast. Looking at the men in robes and leather, I was
suddenly thankful for my own skimpy costume. A voice called out, “Action,” and
I looked up.

Standing next to the camera was
the dark-haired, green-eyed man from before. He was whispering rapidly to the
cameraman, gesticulating wildly. I would have smacked my forehead if I weren’t
in front of the camera. It was Scott Rushmand, the director, that I had been
goggling before.

“Captain Malcolm, I do hope you
and your men enjoy the bounty of my people.”

That was my cue. Working
backstage, I had found that the skirt sparkled more in the light when it
swished, so I swayed my hips as I walked, the platter held before me. I was
getting a kick out of this. I went to each guest, and would kneel down, eyes
lowered, offering up the food. I repeated this over and over, making my way
down the long table. Reaching the middle, I felt a tingling on the back of my
neck as I knelt down, as if someone was watching me. I looked up quickly,
locking gazes with Scott Rushmand himself.  He was riveted, transfixed. I
was afraid I’d lose focus, so I broke away, moving to the next guest. Moments
later, I heard him call, “Cut.”

A skinny, harried looking man in
glasses came up to Scott. “What’s up? I thought the scene was going well.”

“It is, Gary, it is, but we’re
missing something here. I feel like we’ve got to reveal the plight of the
Yusian people sooner, in this scene actually. Something that Captain Malcolm
can be thinking about while he’s dealing with the king. Add a little tension to
the meeting.”

“So you want a rewrite?”

“No, no, just a small line. One of
the slaves tries to reach out to him during the banquet. He starts to question
the new alliance with the king, transitions more smoothly down the line when he
comes to the aid of the rebels. We ad-lib it. How does that sound to you,
Troy?” This last bit was directed towards the actor playing Captain Malcolm, a
brown haired, rugged looking guy dressed in brown leather jacket and matching
pants.

“Tell me what to do and I’ll get
it done.”

“Perfect.” Scott made his way onto
the set. He was searching through the cast, shaking his head, whispering to
himself. Despite his circular wanderings, he seemed to be making his way
straight to me. His eyes sparkled when they locked onto me.

Stopping in front of me he asked,
“What’s your name?”

Suddenly, I was very much aware of
my outfit. Trying not to let myself blush, I replied, “Samantha Jane.”

He smiled. “Think you can handle a
few lines?”

“Sure. What do I need to do?”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

He briefly ran the cast through
the scene change, the crew quickly rearranging the set into a series of small
tables and piles of cushions. They took my tray away, replacing it with a
golden pitcher. Once everything was set, Scott called out, “Action!”

This time I wove my way between
the guests, filling goblets, bowing. The King moved away from Captain Malcolm,
which was my cue to walk over. As I poured him a drink, I whispered, “Will you
save us, outsider?”

Captain Malcolm gave slave-girl me
a quizzical look. “Excuse me?”

That was my cue to look up, and
notice the King returning with one of his attendants.

“All is not as it seems on Yusia,”
slave-girl me finished with a bow and headed off the set.

“Cut,” Scott shouted. “Everyone,
Tony, Samantha that was great. Let’s keep rolling.”

I was ecstatic. My first day
working on a movie and I already had a speaking part. Small, sure, but it was
enough to get me through the next few hours of shooting, which involved a lot
of bowing, serving, and posing. When the shooting was finally done, I was happy
to get out of my costume and into some normal clothing. I needed a shower,
badly, especially since the adhesive wouldn’t come off my nipples, so they stuck
to my bra. I was making my way past the set when I saw Scott again. He’d been
talking to Gary, when he broke off, waving me over.

“Great work today, mind having a
chat with me in private?”

My stomach did a flip. A private
chat with Scott Rushmand, the director himself. I nodded and he led me out of
the studio, to his trailer. It was cozy, in grays and whites, furniture and
even a small kitchenette crowding the interior. We sat at a kitchenette table
as Scott started up again.

“Honestly you did a wonderful job
today. Did you study acting?”

“No. Art history. Painting, when I
was in college.”

“Well then I don’t know how to
explain it, but you have this special presence in front of the camera. Very
striking, intense. Been in town long? Sound like you’re from the mid-west.”

“No, yes. Just been here a few
days. From Iowa, originally.”

“I’m going to guess you haven’t
had a lot of down time since moving to L.A. Care to come to a party tonight?”

I was thunderstruck. “A party?”

“Sure, an after-shoot get-together.
Everyone will be there, cast and crew, and I’d love it if you came as my
guest.”

“Really?”

“Of course, we’ll be meeting at
Frost, I’ll write the directions down for you. So I’ll see you there?”

He was already writing on a slip
of paper, eyes still fixed on me. I felt carried on a wave, pushed forward by a
powerful force.

“Sure thing, I’ll be there,” I
replied, dazed.

Later that night, Jenny helped me
into one of her dresses, black, with a high slit that showed off the curves of
my left leg. The neckline dipped, revealing the inner curves of my breasts. I
had never owned such a dress, but Jenny had told me it was the perfect thing to
wear.

“This’ll catch Mr. Scott
Rushmand's eye for sure. Classy, but shows a little skin.”

“Pretty sure I caught his eye
earlier, walking around more naked than Princess Leia.”