Six women crowded the honeymoon suite of the Coastal Motel. The buxom ‘groom’ waited patiently on the bed, while the brutish camerawoman glanced at the director and tapped her watch.
“Lena, are you ready yet?” A bead of sweat trickled down the wiry director’s spine, as she knocked on the bathroom door.
“One more minute,” the female lead shouted from inside the tiled room.
“That’s fine as long as it’s sixty seconds.” Sherri Conti signaled the camerawoman to prepare for the money shot, acutely aware that the different segments of a movie set operated at contradicting speeds within the same time frames.
The technicians were habitually fast, except they were had nothing to do, and the talent was traditionally slow, especially when they were being rushed by the producer.
A director’s job was to ensure the contrasting sides of the camera meshed during the actual shooting and Sherri checked the equipment for any potential miscue. Everything was in place, except for the girl in the bathroom.
There was no way that Lena was suffering stage fright. The young starlet had performed sex before a camera over fifty times and had not once gone up or blown her scene. Lena was simply dropping into her persona. Sherri had undergone the identical transformation in hundreds of hotels, condos, and ranch houses over her twenty-year career in XXX films.
The extra time had been worth the wait, because once Sherri had heard the word ‘action’, her body had exhibited a tangible hunger for sex and the camera never lied in an industry with no special effects.
Sherri’s name had blazed on marquee lights in Times Square and her body had filled a millions of TV screens for audiences of one. A devoted fan had amassed a list of her on-screen lovers. The number ran into the thousands. The handful of stand-outs had vanished from the Valley like animals scourged into extinction. Sherri could have easily joined them, but her near-miraculous survival granted the forty-five year-old director the status of living legend.
The accolades, setbacks, or sins were meaningless to Sherri, for porno was still a business and time was money and she turned to the black woman on the queen-sized bed.
“Josie, give us a sound check.”
“You got it, boss.”
Big Josie Cane had worked for Sherri ten times.
The ex-actress’ production company paid better than the standard daily of $500 and the director had never blindsided the actresses with bizarre requests, so Josie gladly saved her best performances for Sherri. These girl-on-girl scenes were especially easy with Lena, for the Spanish girl shone in a business where most actresses were lightbulbs.
Rising off the mattress Josie spoke into the overhead boom.
“Testing, one, two, three.” Josie cinched the belt of the strap-on dildo, which she didn’t want to slip out of place during the shoot. This was going to be one long take and she meant to make the most of it.
“How clean is it?” Sherri asked the soundwoman.
Even with the taped windows and heavily blanketed door the microphone picked up the wet sizzle of 18-wheelers on the rain-drenched Ventura Freeway.
“Nothing I can’t fix in the sound studio.” The soundwoman had heard worst background noise.
The battery of Soft Ks, 10Ks, and Mighty Mole lights around the room pushed the temperature into the 90s. Sherri surveyed the sheen of sweat on Josie and figured that the male audience would appreciate the glistening ebony skin.
“It’s a go once the ‘jig inky’ is in focus.” The stocky gaffer in jeans studied the bed. Not a single shadow was visible on the sheets.
“Okay, we’ll deal with that when Lena is in place.” This scene needed to be shot and Sherri nervously pushed back her brown shag-cut hair. “Lena, that minute is up.”
“Ready or not here I come.” The raven-haired actress emerged from the bathroom and struck a provocative pose before the crew. The muscles of her girlish body were taut from dance classes without any deformation by gym training. A neutral-toned blush heightened the smoothness of her olive skin. Mascara accented the Oriental cant of her green eyes and her coal-black hair was cut to mimic Cleopatra.
She was more exotic than beautiful and this attribute converted into star quality. Her DVDs sold out every first run and the critics had nominated her ‘best new starlet’ for the upcoming XXX awards in Las Vegas.
“Finally.” Sharon clapped her hands and the crew snapped to attention.
Lena crossed the room to her off-screen lover.
She was an inch shorter than Sherri and her pouting pelvis grazed the director’s thigh. The older woman stiffened, wishing that she was on the bed, instead of Josie, however the director had retired from that side of the camera five years ago.
“Nervous?”
“Nervous? I was made for this.” The younger woman glided out of reach and every woman in the room studied her nakedness. Lena wouldn’t have it any other way, for she was as much an exhibitionist as a voyeur.
Lena lay on the bed with her legs apart.
Her character in the film was called Desiree.
A runaway who had never been with a woman before.
Lena had run away from her home at the age of 14 and knew every aspect of this role inside out.
The gaffer adjusted the ‘jig inky’, as the make-up artist feathered the final touches on Lena’s metamorphosis into a white trash virgin’s first meeting with a bull dyke.
The market for most adult entertainment was predominantly male. Lena’s audience was evenly split between men and women, despite purely lesbian content of her films. Part of her appeal had to do with Lena’s youth. She was new meat.
Sherri had once been Lena’s age.
Her first film had been a short 8mm movie filmed in a Times Square studio. She had played a pizza girl delivering an order of pepperoni pies to a stag party. The invulnerability of her youth hadn’t lasted long in the meat grinder of adult film industry and Sherri was determined to protect Lena from such damage, but no one could survive forever without losing their soul.
Lena deserved to be in real films and Sherri had a plan to get the young girl on the silver screen, but now was not the time.
“Everyone set?” Sherri asked the crew.
“Ready, when you are, boss lady.” The gaffer retreated from the lights and Lena’s hand dropped to her shaved vagina. Soon it would be replaced by that of another woman. The old Jefferson Airplane song SALLY GOES ROUND THE ROSES popped into Sherri’s head and the chorus repeated in her mind.
“Saddest thing in the whole wide world is to see your baby with another girl.”
“Josie, take your position.” Filming Lena with another woman was becoming increasingly difficult, but Sherri waved the make-up woman from the bed. In the end she was a professional.
“Places.”
Big Josie Cane assumed the ‘top’ position for the classic ‘cowgirl reverse’ shot and the Super 8mm video camera transmitted a pixilated image of Lena speaking her lines onto the video monitor. The picture was a little fuzzy.
“Sharpen it a little,” Sherri ordered the crouching camerawoman.
“Got it.” The camerawoman crystallized the focus with the deftness of a safecracker.
The image on the screen looked real and Sherri prayed a technical failure would halt the filming, except the words, “Lights, camera, action.” transported the crew and actresses into the magic world of movie-making.
While the camera wasn’t 35mm and the budget was less than $20,000, every woman in the room prayed today’s filming guiding was a magic carpet them to that most promised of Californian lands.
Hollywood, and no one was refusing a chance at the big time no matter how big or small the stage.
Any god or goddess would have known the truth.
Not everyone gets a shot at silver screen.
Only the very lucky and the very good and sometimes the very bad reached the promised land and Lena de Gama was made for that heaven.
The camera never lies.