“But I worked hard for it,” Lynda says, her voice tight. “And I think I deserve it. I really, really wanted to be nominated for the best actress this year.”
“I’m sorry, honey,” the agent replies. “Hey, nobody wants you to be nominated more than I do. But the rules are the rules. Your rating was 7.9 last month.”
“But I was above 8 all year, one month even 8.7.” Raising her voice, Lynda leans forward on the agent’s desk. “How can it be?”
“What can I say?” the agent says, leaning back on her throne-like chair. She pops open a cup with a circle rack of cigarettes and takes one.
Reading the scene, Lynda leans back, taking her demanding eyes off her agent.
“Showbiz is tough and is getting tougher,” the agent continues. “The audience wants to see fresh faces on their screen and every month new talents enter the game. Look at me, honey. Look at me.”
Lynda drags her disappointed gaze up onto the agent’s face again. The cigarette lit, the agent takes a drag.
“I’ve been an agent in Beverly Hills for almost 27 years now. Every year new stars come and go, and before the devil knows the fans forget their names, just like that,” she says, blowing out smoke by forming her mouth in an ‘O’ shape. “Forgotten. Gone with the wind. This decline is just a beginning, I’m tellin’ ya.” Using her index finger, she points to a graph on her monitor. “If you don’t do something about it, next month it will be 7 and the month after that 6. You would be lucky if it remains above 3 by the end of the year.” She leans forward and touches Lynda’s hand on the desk, intently looking into her eyes. “I know it. I’ve seen it. If you wanna compete with these younger faces, you gotta want it badder than everyone else. It takes guts, and it takes dedication. You gotta be willing to do what they don’t have the audacity to do.”
“I started doing sodomy like you told me to,” Lynda complains, separating her hand.
“Sodomy?!” the agent asks, squinting her eyes. “Oh. Anal, you mean.”
“Do you have any idea how much it hurts? Very. But I did it, I endured all the pain like you told me to. What else do you want me to do?”
“Hey, hey, hey,” the agent says, waving her hand. “Let’s just cool it down a bit, shall we? We don’t point fingers in this agency.” Brows knitting, her tone gets aggressive. “This is not a blame game. Showbiz is not like… like… a cooking recipe that you follow word by word and succeed. It is a challenging business. Many are competing in this game, and the road to success does not have a written manual. We figure it out as we move on,” she continues, on each work slapping her hand on the desk.
The trick works on Lynda. Feeling inferior, she leans back, her demanding face replacing with a complying one.
“September, we gave anal a shot,” the agent says casually, “and it worked a little. Your rating went up from 8.1 to 8.3, didn’t it?” She waits for Lynda to nod. “Admittedly, it didn’t work out as well as we hoped it would. Time has changed and many actresses do sodomy now. It’s not as newsworthy as it used to be back in the good, old days. It was a simpler time. But have no worries.” She takes a long drag of her cigarette. “Lucky for you, you’re in good hands.”
Lynda coughs when her agent exhales the smoke into her face.
“Your good, old agent has it all covered. I already worked out a solid plan for your career that guarantees an eight-plus rating for at least one full year. Nomination for the next year’s award will be an absolute certainty. Hector has a vacancy for the lead role in his special show next Sunday, and I already persuaded him to just give it to you. No audition required. It’s a one-day job that will also be live-streamed on Pornhub.”
“What is it? Beyond sodomy,” Lynda asks, willing to hide the skepticism in her voice.
While Lynda is anxiously waiting, the agent takes a moment to stub out her cigarette in the overflowing ashtray. She gets up from her throne, gets around the desk, and stands before Lynda. Holding Lynda’s chin up, the agent looks down into her eyes.
“Imagine your name on the front page of Almost Legal magazine. I’m talking the full front page dedicated only to your close-up, and probably your breasts too. Your name will be remembered in the Guinness World Records forever. And probably, I don’t wanna jinx it, but who knows, perhaps the AVN award for the best porn actress of the year.”
“What is it?” Lynda asks eagerly, looking up at the agent with dilated eyes.
“Two words: Lisa Sparks.”
“The freak who had intercourse with 919 men in one day!” Lynda exclaims, the brightness in her eyes gone. The small office seems shrinking, making her space even tighter. Under her arms getting wet with sweat, she breathes with difficulty, yearning for some nontoxic oxygen.
“See?” the agent says with a triumphant smile. “After 6 years everybody still remembers her name. That’s what I’m talking about. You get similar publicity, and boom, your career is golden, for the next few years at least.”
“You want me to screw 919 men in one day?” Lynda asks, her face cringed, breathing heavily.
“Hey, hey, hey,” the agent says waving her hand. Breaking the gaze, she paces the tiny space of her office. “Let just not… we don’t point fingers in this agency. This is a free country, alright? And you are free to do whatever you want with whomever you want. All I’m saying… ah… it’s actually 920.” The agent stops, turning to Lynda. “Hector insisted that we top Lisa’s record, otherwise it doesn’t get the buzz that he wants, I mean we want, I mean you want.”
Lynda does not say anything, making a disgusted face. Still breathing rapidly, she now can hear her heart pounding.
The agent strokes her chin, staring at Lynda.
“You know,” the agent says after a while, “two years ago I offered a similar opportunity to one of the hottest porn stars of the year, but Tori Purple rejected my offer.
“Who?”
“Exactly,” the agent says with a sly smile, stepping toward Lynda. “If you don’t want your rating to plummet in the next few months, if you want your name to be remembered, you gotta do what Tori Purple didn’t have the guts to do.”
Hearing the word ‘rating’ Lynda’s attention gets locked. The agent surely knows how to talk to Lynda—and the likes of her. It is not just about the rating; it is about what the rating represents: popularity, success, and, most important of all, winning. And heaven knows she is in this game to win it.
“How much do they pay?” Lynda asks, willing her voice to calm.
“Pay?!” the agent chuckles. “Honey, Hector is doing you a favor here. This is for your own good. You get a name after this.”
“So, I have to screw 920 men for free?” she asks, her voice almost squeaking.
“Well, they will be screwing you to be technically accurate. But yes, you get publicity from this. And who can put a price on publicity?”
No one, Lynda thinks. Publicity is the ultimate goal, the purpose, the meaning. It’s everyone’s dream that only a few can achieve; the dedicated few that have what it takes; the boldness to do what others do not.
“Where will it be announced?” Lynda asks, swallowing her instincts.
“Oh, everywhere,” the agent replies, brightened. “Almost Legal, HotBitches.com, Lust, you name it. Everywhere.”
“I mean the announcement for the event?”
“Yeah… it’s kind of already announced, you know,” the agent replies, sitting back on her throne. “This is like one of those projects where the picture is much bigger than the actors, like… like Avatar. Men will swarm to Hector’s event no matter who stars in it. But Hector will probably amend the star name by spreading flyers all over the LA streets and alleys. You know, direct-to-consumer advertising.”
“Then he might see it,” Lynda says, brows knitting together with worry.
“Of course he will…Eh… Who are we talking about?”
“Ryan.”
“Ryan! Who the hell is Ryan?”
“My boyfriend.”
“You’re still with that schmuck! I told you to get rid of that uptight, backward, possessive idiot. I smelled trouble the moment you told me about him. He’s going to hold your career back. Mark my words. See when I warned you.”
“He… ah… He is—”
“I don’t understand why you would want to be attached anyway. This is LA for fuck’s sake. I heard George Clooney is separating from that Lebanese bitch. Time to be on the lookout.”
“I… I’ll talk to him,” Lynda says, dismissing the agent’s concern with an airy wave.
“Yeah, do that. And if he didn’t listen, let me know to fire up an army of lawyers up his tight ass. You’re a free woman and this is a free country. We are lawyered up at the agency just to deal with the freaks like him, to protect your freedom.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Lynda says, turning her eyes on the promise ring on her finger. “Ryan loves me so much. He’ll understand… I hope.”