ROMANCING TANDY

Chapter One

The film studio’s name was spelled out in red neon above the Iron Gate EXCITING FILMS. That did not tell much about the type of movies made in the long, yellow brick one floor building sandwiched in between two warehouses with a tavern for company on an unexciting street of the city.

The human traffic in and out of the big place was mostly good-looking young women. These, and a few young men served as reminder’s to the neighborhood that the Product of Exciting Films was nudie movies. Or mildly pornographic cinema in the human art form.

The interior of the sex film factory was two spacious studios illuminated by window light and a variety of artificial lighting. These and several side rooms could be dressed to look like any

thing for the needs of the thin storylines that fleshed out each motion picture. These were far from the regular commercial movies of the Hollywood variety. They ranged from 15 to 30 minutes in length. The camera lens lavishly caressed and dwelt upon the flesh of the undressed model who cavorted and disported herself in the company of other pretty girls and young men.

A reception desk stood at the front entrance, along with a lounge where applicants for employment waited and were interviewed. Two doors down the hallway was the main office where Andy, the President of this dubious… well paying enterprise was at the moment speaking to his newly hired personnel director.

“You wanted to see me?” the newly appointed executive asked as he entered the room.

“There’s a new girl waiting to join us,” Andy said. “Since part of your job is to interview new bodies for hire I want you to go talk to her. Be sure she understands that this is not a fashion show we put on. Her name is Tandy Williams. Be sure and check her birth certificate for age. If she didn’t bring it, tell her to get it1 Show her a copy of the magazine. Explain that we do a five-picture layout of each model each month, and then tell her about acting in the films, and the set-up there. Assure her that we don’t do any perversion stuff, Mention that unless she just warts to do a spot layout for the stills she’ll be on duty six hours a day for the movies. Tell her the ray rate for both. And of course we don’t wart her if she’s a drab. The receptionist at the front gate is supposed to send away any that aren’t at least half way good looking. We don’t hire overweight girls nor with poor complexions. Them who look like they stepped off a college campus are the best kind, but we’ll take her unless she looks like a druggie or an alcoholic. Or fat. Just so she has the build and the face that’ll help sell the magazine and the films. Okay, get going before she gets away.”

Vance gave the last remark a half smile. He had acquired the job of personnel director by buying stock in the company and with certain reservations he loved this work.

The movies and the photos in the magazine were all soft porn, to use a term at that time coming into vogue. Hard porn, its dissolute cousin was still illegal, The films and the magazine sold well in the big cities especially. A few that got past the city council in smaller towns drew scorn and wrath in newspaper columnists comments.. In 1974 the United States was still living within it1s strait-laced traditions when it came to that sort of entertainment. Later, when the wolves of hard porn finally breeched the gates the Supreme Court reluctantly decided that it wasn’t worth the effort to fight them down. So the gates were opened wide, and the wolves of hard porn leaped joyously and satanically into the arena. America could look back at the age of soft porn as the end of the age of innocence.

He walked down the hallway to the lounge and entered. His first look at the new applicant told him that he would add her to the payroll, for she was all that any photographer could ask for. Slim, big breasted, a face that the Creator had taken some special pains to make.

What makes some feminine faces beautiful and others merely fair, or less than fair. lie had often asked himself. He question, and he knew it was a certain delicate arrangement - - and shape of nose in conjunction with mouth and chin. All facial features and the complexion had to be in perfect definition.

He sat down beside the applicant. “Hello, my name’s Vance. I’m the personnel director. So you want to work here. What’s your name.”

“Tandy.” She handed him an application form. “The receptionist gave me this.”

He noted that she had filled it out. The receptionist had evidently decided that this young person would be hired.

Vance scanned the paper. Name: Tandy Williams, Martial status: single. Telephone: 244-5223 Address 2414 Lilac Street. Nearest relative: Grandmother. Age: 23. Do you sing and dance? Yes. What kind of dance? Exhibition. Tap.

And the question: do you have any inhibition or reluctance to being filmed in the nude for our magazines and cinema. (You will not be asked to perform sex perversions of any kind). She had answered, No to the question and signed at the bottom alongside the date, May 4, 1974.

Have you ever done this type of work before, Tandy?

“No, never have. I worked as a computer program analyst. Worked–for she named a prestigious firm in the city.

“That didn’t pan out so good, though and they let me go. “I was a waitress for a while, not making much money. So I saw your ad and decided to try it.”

Her eyes were a deep translucent blue. He avoided looking into their soft depths. He held his tone firm and business-like.

“We have 15 girls on our payroll for full time movie work. They earn a flat rate of three hundred dollars per week. They are on duty each weekday from ten each morning to around for with a bonus for overtime. Mostly they are paid to be in our movies, and posing for stills in the two magazines we produce. Or you can just model for the magazine. That doesn’t pay nearly as much as the movie work. You just report in as we call on you, make a five-picture layout for which you’ll be paid two hundred dollars. It’s all done in a day, and then you are on your own until we call for you again.

“You say I can do either one—or both?”

“If you sign on as an actress in the films you can do both.”

“Well, I always did want to act in the movies, so, I’ll sign on for that, and the stills, too.”

“It’s not quite like making a movie for a Hollywood studio. The stuff we make are simple stories to add a little interest and continuity to the physical nudity, of which there is quite a lot. These are made both here at the studio and out on location. I’ll show you one of the movies so you can see just what kind of stuff you will be doing.”

“Whatever, I’ll sign on. So long as its just showing my body mind. I won’t do any hard porn, but I see on this paper you don’t do hard porn.”

That’s right. It doesn’t appeal to us. That doesn’t mean all sex is out. The normal, baby making kind is in, without producing any babies of course.

“You mean I’ll have to let guys screw me?”

“Well, pretend to, let’s say. Course, if you want to let them go all the way that’s up to you. We’ll film it if you okay it. And we don’t throw it in the, audiences faces. No close ups. You’ll see it in the film I’m going to show you.”

“Okay, show me.”

“The name of the movie is The Devil In Miss Jones. 16 minutes of lusty talk, some comedy and some love making. I happen to play the part of the devil. Now we’ll go to the projection room.”

“Oh?” She followed him from the lounge.

Chapter Two

In the next few days of Tandy’s employment Vance paid her little attention. She was just another face and form among a number of well-endowed chorines doing their thing in the three or four movies a-month that the film company turned out. Some of the movies had exterior-scenes. These were sometimes filmed on Andy's two-acre suburban ranch, and just as often at exclusive, out of the way beaches along the Southern California coast.

Vance was not with the three girls and Wally Hornbrook, the cameraman on the location jaunt that resulted in disaster. He heard about it in lamentable detail from Wally, and Wesley, the director.

The ill-fated expedition returned to the studio without the models --Tandy, Judy and Roseanne.

Vance and Andy listened distressed and chagrined while the sad story poured into their ears.

“We went to Zuma Beach just like as usual because it’s undeveloped and doesn’t attract people much. Besides, it being the middle of a work-day we didn’t expect to be bothered by snoopers, “Wally related.

“We had the camera rolling, following the girls climbing over rocks and wading in tide pools without a stitch on except tennis shoes and those little pasties the law insists they cover their nipples with. When up comes 2 guys to where we were filming. They stood watching, bold as brass.

Well, the hell with that, Wes says. “Tell em, Wesley,” He handed the narrative over to the director.

“I walked over to em. Says, this is a private operation. No spectators are allowed. This is a public beach, says one them. We got as much right, here as you. Anyway, we like the show you’re putting on. Let’s see some more of it.”

“It’s no free show, and you don’t watch our models,” I tell em. We’re doing a commercial movie, and no spectators allowed, so take off.”

The girls had put on their beach robes and stood looking irritated. The guys could see that they were not going to see anything but sand and rock and ocean, so they took off.

“Wally, started the camera again, and the action continued. The girls waded in the surf and climbed, on boulders and played in the sand, and we were getting good footage. I was about ready to call it a day when here comes a black and white--you know--a police patrol car. Oh, oh, I thinks. We got trouble. And we sure had some. The cops questioned me and Wally while the girls huddled together in their robes trying to look innocent.

I explained that we were licensed from a commercial film company, showed them our credentials and so forth. That didn’t impress the cops much. They says that a complaint had been phoned-in by certain parties that some indecent exposure was happening at Zuma Beach, one of the cops explained. When such a complaint is made we have to do something about it.”

Well, I knew who had made that complaint--those two bastards who wanted a free look at our filming, and I wouldn’t let em. They did it to get even, and we were stuck.

The cops told the girls they were under arrest for indecent exposure in a public place. “Indecent exposure” Wally snorted angrily. “Can you beat that? They didn’t arrest me or Wes, because we were dressed, I guess. But they put Tandy and Judy and Roseanne in their car and drove off with em, after giving me this. He handed Andy a slip of blue paper, a notice of violation of city ordinance number so and so. The girls were named, a bail could be made for them at Santa Monica City jail.

Andy cursed fluently. “That’s what I get for using a public beach. My place hasn’t got the ocean or the desert for a background, but it’s safe from this sort of thing.”

“We’ve got to get them out of jail and fast,” Vance said. “I’ll drive over to Santa Monica and pay their bail. It can’t be much.”

“Get going,” Andy said.

The ten-mile drive along busy streets and boulevards led Vance the city jail in Santa Monica. Bail paid, three irritated and disheveled young women were liberated.

“I’m taking you girls to your homes. So who lives where?” Vance said to the three when he escorted them to his car.

Judy and Roseanne lived within five miles, so he maneuvered to let them off first. “And now, my dear lady, where do you live?” He asked Tandy, when they were alone in the car.

“223 Lilac Lane. It’s just this side of Wilshire near Rampart. I live with my grandmother.”

Of course. You wrote it down on your application, I remember. I welcome this chance to talk with you, Tandy, without a lot of background static. Just you and I driving along. To grandmother’s house we go.”

“It’s not over the river and through the woods, though. More like past the mall and down the freeway.”

He gave her an appreciative chuckle for the play on the Thanks

giving poem.

“Is Tandy your real name?”

“No it’s Diana. My dad started calling me Tandy when I was three, and the name stuck.”

“Is he still around? I mean, do you keep in touch with your father?”

“My father is in prison. Now, I’ve told you my deep sad secret, so, you tell me something about yourself. What do you do beside what you do at the Studio? I notice you weren’t there last three-days. Judy told me you work part time in s garage.”

“That’s right. I fix cars.”

“You fix cars in a garage as well as work for Andy?”

“Yes. That’s my line.”

“Quite a jump from making love to a dozen sexy young women, to grinding valves and doing auto tune ups.”

“I work for my brother. He owns the garage. That’s why I can make my own hours. He thinks it’s hilarious that I work, in a sex factory. He told me that attending to girls and getting paid for it is the very ultimate in fine employment.”

“Well, isn’t it?”

“I dunno. Is it?” He shrugged.

“Yeah, I. guess you’re right. Sex sells. Can’t count on it as a career, though. But any job that depends on physical beauty is not going to last longer than it takes for the breasts to sag---and the wrinkles to show. Lucky that brains don’t fade as fast as looks do.”

"That’s true for women, not so much for men. So what else have you done? Have you had a good life?"

"All depends on how you look at my life. My dad was in - - the Air Force, stationed in Germany where he met my mother. They got married, and he brought her to this country when he left the Air Force. So I can claim to be half German. Wanna hear me -Spréct die Deutch?"

"Not really. You say your father is in prison. How did that happen?"

"Well, you could say that he was a good soldier, but a lousy civilian. He fed my mother quite a line about the grand life they would have together. She had some great expectations, but it didn’t work out that way."

She went silent as the urban scenery passed by.

"You don’t want to talk about it," Vance said. "I can understand that."

"You might as well know, He got in with a bunch of hoods, and I guess he became one himself. - Maybe he needed a war to fight to keep straight. War gives a man a chance to do a lot of wild stuff that gets him put in jail if he tried it in civilian life."

"That’s true, Tandy."

"Like killing and sabotage and blowing things up. All okay if you do it in war, fighting your country’s enemies. But there was no enemy for my dad to do it to, but he did it any-way. Took him ten years to commit enough petty crimes to get the book thrown at him. After his last caper he pulled down a life sentence as a habitual criminal, or three-time loser. Anyway you cut it, it’s goodbye Papa."

Her tone was bleak.

"I’m sorry, Tandy."

"Yeh, sure. We’re all very sorry that things are the way they are. Maybe a little of his dark side rubbed off on me. What I’m doing now isn’t respectable, but it’s honest."

"Under the blessing of the United States Supreme Court."

"I’m going to earn a lot of money in this nudist racket, and then get out. It won’t take me long."

"What will you do with all that money?"

"One thing I’d like to do is buy a plane ticket to Frankfurt, Germany, and spend some time visiting my nieces and nephews, and my uncle Kurt."

"You left Germany when you were a baby, right?"

"Actually I was born on the ship bringing mother over here."

"But you’ve kept in touch with your relatives all this time. You must have some very friendly relatives."

"Well, you have a friendly brother; you said so. And I have a friendly uncle. He’s quite a big shot--the on the board of directors for a textile manufacturing firm--G.K. Himmelstoss Werke. That last means some thing like corporation. He worked his way up from nothing--or I could say from less than nothing. Kurt is an amazing man, all right."

"Why is he so amazing?"

"Well, this is something I don’t talk about just to make conversation, but since we’re on the subject...Most people have a built in dislike for anyone who was once a Nazi. But it’s like any mistake one can make when young, and later manages to live it down. My uncle Kurt was an SS officer during the war. He joined that outfit, and swore a blood oath to defend Nazism. Hitler was his god. He didn’t do any of the really bad stuff like killing Jews or running a concentration camp. He was in the Waffen SS.

"The Waffen SS?"

"Yes. They were like military police. They mostly persecuted other Germans who didn't follow the Nazi line or refused to serve in the German armed forces. The other branch was the Totenkopf, or Deathheads. They wore a skull and crossbones insignia and did stuff that Gave Germany a very bad reputation."

"I know. I’ve read some bocks on the subject."

"Well, in 1943 Kurt was given a special assignment. My mother told me all this, you understand. Her brother was assigned to be one of Hitler’s bodyguards. He had served some time on the Russian front, and this was supposed to be his reward."

"And how did that work out?"

"All I know about it is a picture he gave to my mother; she passed it on to me."

In the picture Kurt is walking a few paces behind Hitler coming down some steps.

"Maybe sometime you’ll show me that picture." -

"If you like. It was taken by a German photographer during the war, and printed in some Nazi magazine. Hitler gave the original to my uncle, and signed it."

Vance was unsure what to do with all this information. He knew as much about Hitler's seduction of Germany as the next man and he equated that scandalous history with all other major human excesses of cruelty, depravity and leadership driven by cruel ambition. He had studied human nature that had read like a horror story, and seen that this too shall pass away. Living in a country, which never strays far from the straight and sunlit paths he had encountered no idols that needed to be smashed.

"What kind of work did you do before you landed this job you’re in now?

I studied computers in high school and got a job in L.A as-a programmer. But maybe I wasn’t very good at it, and I wasn’t crazy about that kind of work--sitting 8 hours a day in front of one of those oversize typewriters punching keys. So I wasn’t unhappy about being laid off. Then I laid around for a spell until I saw the ad in a skin magazine. Wanted, models for nude posing. You know the rest.

"It’s almost noon, Tandy. What say we stop for lunch?"

"Better yet, come up to my place and I’ll fix us lunch and I'll show you the picture. And you can meet Grandma."

Okay, Tandy.

Her place was a brownstone apartment house on a quiet street.

Tandy pulled a leather bound album from a desk drawer. "Here’s a pictures of my German family, a couple of me when I was a kid. But the special one is this."

She opened the album to an oversize photograph, depicting the infamous Nazi leader, Adolph Hitler. He was coming down a flight of steps, trim and jaunty, wearing a black cape over his uniform. Behind him walked a young man in a German army uniform carrying a submachine gun at port arms. It was one of many photographs of the Fuhrer taken by German newsmen at the time when German armies under his leadership rode roughshod over Europe and into Russia.

Vance scarcely glanced at Hitler. His attention locked on the bodyguard, Tandy’s uncle. "Some uncle," Vance thought. Alert and deadly he held his weapon as if ready to open fire at any threat to Hitler.

"If this is the original photograph, it could be worth some money if you sold it to a collector," he remarked. "That signature alone... The picture was autographed: Fur Hauptmann. Sebring. A. Hitler.

"It’s the original and I won’t sell it. I don’t need a few extra dollars that bad. Kurt gave it to my mother long ago more to get rid of it as a connection with his Nazi past."

Vance looked through the album. He saw various scenes of German, various relatives of the Sebring family, and a photograph of a little girl smiling. The same girl as a teenager surrounded by two ladies was especially interesting.

"That’s you," he said.

"Yeah. And that’s my mother, and grandma." Tandy pointed a polished fingernail at each.

"So your family name is Sebring. Mother, grandmother, granddaughter, and Lieutenant Sebring."

"And my daddy, don’t forget him. He doesn’t sing in Sing Sing. Being a Nazi SS man, uncle Kurt was probably a bigger criminal than Dad ever was, and he paid a penalty, too. I guess a Russian prisoner of war camp is a rougher place to serve time than Sing Sing."

"Well, there is a difference, and the SS were not just military police. They were the worst of the Nazis," Vance reminded her.

"Yeah, I know. I don’t hold his past military history against him. Fact, I’m rather proud of him, climbing out of so much degradation, rising to the top of the heap. He says he’s going to fly over here and visit us one of these days."

"Oh, he writes to you?"

"Sure. He’s a great letter writer. He’s kept us acquainted with every step of his upward career."

He had left her shortly thereafter, exchanging a few polite words with grandma as well. He said goodbye to Tandy in the lower hallway.

"I won’t be seeing you until next Monday. Like I said, the next three days I fix cars. But look, don’t let Andy make you do anything you don't want to do. You just tell him 'no'. He won’t fire you, that’s just a bluff. He needs a wide variety of female faces and bodies to fill that magazine every two months."

"All dressed up in their little bare skin. I wonder how the models feel about being looked at that way by all over the country," she are remarked.

"You'll soon know how you feel about it.?"

* * *

On Sunday afternoon he could not resist the urge to hear her voice again. And hopefully an evening date. He dialed her number, not sure just what to expect from Tandy.

"Hello."

"Tandy, this is Vance. How’re you doing? Mast of all, how did the photography go?"

"It wasn’t a fun time. I felt most of the time like a side of meat hanging in a window."

"That bad, huh?"

"Poked, prodded, ordered about. Stand here, bend over, show the customer more than they want to see. I was disgusted-both at them and at myself for doing it."

"I know just what you mean," he said. "So why do you do it?"

"Because I’m a goddamn exhibitionist, I guess. And I want to be rich in a hurry. I’ll tell you, Vance. I’ve got my sights on ten grand. When my earnings reach ten thousand dollars in that pigsty, I’ll quit. And it won’t take long."

"We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Or better still, this afternoon. How about having supper with me at that place we went to before?"

"Nah. I got to get some sleep. I got up early for mass, and I need my sleep, because tomorrow will be another rough day."

"You go to Mass?" He was astounded.

"My grandma likes to go, so I take her. And it probably does me some good."

He marveled silently. A girl in a kind of work just a cut above whoredom attends Catholic Mass on Sunday morning.

"There’s an expression, as nervous as a whore in church," she remarked. "Is that why I’m so nervous Sunday morning?"

"I think you’re kidding me."

"Not about the Mass, I’m not."

"Do you go to confession, too?"

"No. I couldn’t get absolution unless 1 promised the priest to quit. And like I told you."

"You won’t quit until you’ve racked up ten thousand bucks. I meant to ask you about your mother. Is she still a live?"

"Yes, she lives in upstate New York-married. Went up there to be near Dad in prison. Then she met this guy and after the divorce she married him, and that’s where she is now..."

Chapter Three

Vance entered the yellow brick building on the following Monday with the same feelings he felt each time he returned after four days away. The models and the 'actors' resumed their one-dimensional shape when they entered and were available to the camera.

He would observe and participate in their antics with a sense of tarring himself with the brush that Andy wielded, knowing that he was whatever they were.

He entered the office and signed in, then punched the time dock. One of the men, who served as Andy’s assistant in addition to his other duties, handed him a fifteen-page film treatment.

"Andy’s not in. He said to give you this. It’s the treatment for a four-reeler." A movie of that length had never been done by Exciting Films. The film company had neither the resources nor the finances to support such a project. One-reelers could be made on a shoestring budget and sold readily to the releasing syndicate.

"A lot’s been happening while you were away," the secretary explained. You know that Andy’s been talking about accepting Sinn Cinema’s offer to merge us with them. Well, Andy did it. He’s signing papers today with the headman at Sinn Cinema. It's a merger. We’ll be bigger, take in more models and do great stories with Sinn Cinema, using their resources, working with them instead of competing."

"A merger, huh? Hey, that’s great. Best thing that’s happened in show biz since Barnum merged with Bailey."

The secretary looked perplexed. "Say again."

"I'm kidding, but I meant Barnum and Bailey-the circuses."

"So anyway, with Sinn Cinema we can make better and bigger stuff than the bedroom sex stuff we do here. Andy’s going to do that motorcycle opus he’s had on the self a while. Andy says we’ll hire a motorcycle gang. Film on location, out in the desert, somewhere away from people. Anyway, read the treatment and you’ll see. It’s all about a gang of hotrod bikers who tear around raising all the hell they can get away with; call themselves "The Devils Disciples."

"There’ll be parts for everybody." His enthusiasm glowed in his tone.

"Sounds good," said Vance just as a tall man sporting a neatly trimmed black beard, entered the office. He was a director for the one-reel skits that Exciting Films specialized in.

"Vance, come on. I need you on the set."

"Victor’s been telling me about this merger with Sinn Cinema," Vance said.

"Yeah, well, that’s for tomorrow and next week. Today we’re doing a special. It’s all soft porn and you could call it a goodbye to our one- reelers.

With Sinn Cinema, we’ll be doing a lot of soft porn feature length stuff."

"That’s the best kind as porn goes," Vance said.

"Yeah, well, we don’t deal so much in moral values as in money values. Let us keep our priorities straight. Come on, I got an assignment for you."

They left the office and walked down the hallway toward a door that opened into one of the more elaborate sound stages. It was one hundred feet square and all lights were a blaze indicating that a rehearsal was in progress.

Several women in undress costume and the gaffers and grips (stage technicians) were standing around a makeshift artificial forecourt of a luxurious palace.

It was all plywood and curtain backdrops artfully painted. Two 35mm cameras were in place for filming.

Wesley Alpren, the director, handed Vance a six-page script. "Your lines are shaded in blue. I’ll give you 30 minutes to study them and 20 minutes to get into costume. Plus ten minutes to memorize the song and go through it once or twice. We start shooting one hour from now."

"No rehearsal?"

"It’s all dance plus your dialogue and Randy’s. We been rehearsing the dances and you boys can do your lines cold. I better explain that we have a new face with us. Richard Cahill. I call him Randy, more appropriate somehow for this line of work." A chuckle. "He’s from Sinn Cinema. Because of the merger, he’s over here to do the dance number."

"Read the script," Wesley continued. "It’ll give you a fix on the layout. If you want to adlib some of the dialogue feel free to do so if you think you can improve on it. As you read the lines think about an Arab sultan surrounded by a harem of beautiful girls. That’s what you are, a Sultan in some desert kingdom. Randy’s a prince ling come to visit you."

"How does a sultan entertain a-what’s his rank?"

"He’s an Emir. Which is one degree above a sheik in Arab royalty. You a outrank him, being a sultan. Anyway, you entertain him by putting on a dance contest. Three of your fancy-Nancy women dance for the Emir. The one he likes best gets to sleep with him for one night.

Wesley called to a young man dressed in green turban blue pantaloons and a vest glittering with rhinestones. "Randy, come over here."

As Randy walked across the stage Vance sized him up as a pretty boy with effeminate good looks. He was slim of build with a latent strength in his arms and long, slim legs.

Wesley introduced Vance and Randy to each other. "You’d better get into costume," Randy told Vance. "We’ve been rehearsing some. I’ve been rehearsing with Tandy."

"Ask for Helen over at the costume shop. She’ll fix you up," Wesley said. "And study your lines, especially the song lines. You got thirty minutes to turn yourself into a sultan. Come to think of it, we didn’t give your character a name. What'll we call you?"

"Just call me Ali Baba." Vance headed to the costume shop.

Forty minutes later the set came alive. Back- lights and arc lights glowed greenish. Three pretty girls, Lisa, Melinda and Tandy stood ready in jeweled bikinis. A pair of flimsy colored scarves hung from their shoulders.

Vance, standing by was admiring Tandy’s somewhat startling hairdo. Her long flaxen hair flared at each side of her head like a pair of golden wings. He was in the kind of attire that a genuine sultan might wear; purple turban, gold colored vest, red silken pantaloons. A fake mustache and goatee adorned his face. Randy stood by twitching restlessly.

"Okay, people," said Wesley the director. "I want a clean, fast paced piece of action done in one take. Dancers, watch your blocking, speakers, stay within voice range of your mikes. Okay? Clear the set Let’s go." Grips and other attendants faded back. "Action. Camera."

Vance stepped to stage center near a hidden microphone. In a clear baritone he sang:

The sons of the prophet are hardy and bold

And quite unaccustomed to fear.

Most fearless of all, or so we are told

Is Abul, the bul bul Emir.

Yes quite unaccustomed to fear

Right after he’s had a few beers.

To storm a redoubt they always send out

For Abul, the bul bul Emir.

When they need a man to lead the van

and harrass the foe from the rear

The man that they send

Is my trusty friend

Abul, the bul bul Emir.

Yes, quite unaccustomed to fear,

Should the enemy chance to appear

The bul bul says Joe,

You have trod on the toe

Of Abul the bul bul emir.

Is life then so dull

That you think you have nothing to fear

When by perchance you happen to dance

On the toes of the bul bul Emir.

The song stopped. Music went down as Randy steps over to face Vance,

Randy: Hail, Oh Sultan of Bagdad.

Vance, jovially: My good friend, the Emir of Kaboosh. I'm proud to be your host for a visit from your sheikdom on the other side of the desert.

Emir: Pleased to be here, your royal putrescence. Say, what’s the difference between sultan and an emir? In my own land I pull as much weight as you do here.

Sultan: Here it’s like the president and the vice president. You’re vice president in charge of the vice. Get it?

Emir: So what are you gonna offer me to make my visit enjoyable? And let’s not be a cheapskate. I gave you two elephants. What do I get from you?

Sultan: Hey, Emir, I’m very heavy on the hospitality jazz. What I’m gonna do fix you is offer you one of my choice girls from my harem to spend the night with.

Emir: Well, that’s real kind of you, Sultan. I'll do the same for you next time you pay me a visit.

Sultan: Three of my favorites will dance for you. The one you like best is yours for the night.

Emir: Only one night? I’m here for several nights to do what I came for.

Sultan: sorry, friend. Hospitality has its limits. You can find your own playmate for the rest of your visit.

Emir: Bring on the girls.

The sultan clapped his hands. Music up. Melinda appeared and performs a slinky, seductive dance using her arms, legs, torso in graceful movements. The number one camera zoomed into a close shot on Randy. His body twitches, his hands and feet tap and flutter in time with the passionate music. Melinda, a limber brunette, her black hair flowing, finishes her dance in a series of twisty steps and bends, drops to one knee, then steps off the stage.

Tandy came on next. The bikini fitted around her hips glittered with rhinestones. As the music builds and speeds into three quarter time, her movements become more twisty and frantic, arms and legs working in graceful coordination. Then the canned sound bursts into full feverish syncopation. It is The Polivitzian Dance; a wild melody in full orchestration; demanding the utmost from any dancer who tries it.

Tandy leaped and spun to the furious music. Randy leaps on stage, seizes her and swings her about, spins her right, then left. To and fro, round and about, up and down, legs, arms and mid-sections blending in perfect coordination.

Tandy’s veils fluttered around her shoulders until she unhooked first one, then the other. Then she danced covered by a couple inches of bikini around her thighs and less than that around her breasts.

As the wild music carried them along Randy flung her upwards using one arm, then whipped up his other arm to support her hips and legs. She reclined for long seconds above his head in long legged graceful exhibition.

Totally fascinated Vance sucked in his breath. This was more than he had expected to see. Never before had he seen anything like it on this stage. Both dancers had elevated flesh and the devil into pure artistry in violent motion.

The music stopped. Randy lowered his partner fast and nimbly to her feet. Both stood with arms uplifted as if savoring applause.

Randy dropped Tandy’s hand and turned to Vance, the sultan.

"Your majesty I don’t need to look any further; this is the girl for me."

Sultan: You really should look at all three.

Emir: What for? I choose this one. Observe her well. Together we will make the beautiful music.

Sultan: That line is so old it has whiskers on it. But okay, she’s yours for the night. And may Allah smile upon your union.

Randy added an improv by saying: "Yeah well, Allah is likely to come down and get in bed with us."

Wesley: "Cut!"

The director stepped forward. "Randy, we got a rule here. We don’t record remarks that make fun of the Deity. I mean we don’t use God in our jokes."

Randy: "Hey, cousin, Allah isn’t God."

Wesley: "He is, to about 600 million Moslems and Arabs. The whole Middle East with the exception of Israel worships Allah. - And they are very sensitive about it.

Randy: "So?"

Wesley: "We’re trying to sell our films to Middle East countries like Syria, Algeria and Egypt. A remark like you made could kill the whole deal. So we blot out that line and terminate on Vance’s remark. That’s it for Scene 1."

Determined to have the last word Randy said sulkily: "Personally I don’t think any Arab nation is going to buy our stuff." Vance nodded in agreement.

"Okay, that’s a wrap for Scene 1," Wesley said. "Tandy, you are some dancer. I gotta hand it to you."

She nodded her head in brief acknowledgement feeling the pain in her left arm, pain as dull as a sore tooth, ominous with warning. She had felt that pain often when exercising vigorously. Sometimes it reached the left side of her chest, and she had finally consulted a doctor. He had given her a cardiogram and other tests, then the disclosure and the advice

"You have a mild coronary artery problem," Doctor Maynard had not called it a disease, possibly to avoid frightening her. "It’s caused by high levels of cholesterol in your bloodstream which reduces the amount of blood carried to your heart.

"Is that serious? She had asked?"

Doctor Maynard’s advice flashed back to her as she stood before Wesley and listened to him praise her dancing. She had long since quit taking lessons and hoping for a career in it. Today’s dance action had been the first time she had ventured to defy her cholesterol level. Her heart had struck back as if saying 'don’t do this to me if you know what's good for you?'

Later she had to explain to Vance when he praised her dancing ability.

They were having coffee in the lounge where he had first interviewed her.

"Honey, I had no idea you were that good on your twinkly little feet. The way you pick em up and lay em down. You could probably make it on the chorus line in one of the night clubs or get on with a musical comedy routine. Ever think of trying out for the movies?"

Regretfully she had told him, finishing with, "That’s the way it is. Like the song says, I don’t like it but I guess things happen that way."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"I know you are. I’m sorry; I can’t be an exhibition dancer because that’s the way the ball bounces. But I can be a sexy nudist model. It’s not as respectable, but it pays about the same."

I'm sorry to hear that you have a--uh--heart problem.

Not so much my heart; it's the calcium deposit in arteries leading to the heart. If I'm careful I could live long enough to go back to a socially approved line of work."

Then he had told her that Andy had decided to cast her in the feminine lead for the feature length movie that was scheduled for production.

Chapter Four

The Scenario

Exterior: Daytime--Bright Sun

Long shot: Looking along a highway in the desert. Empty road to the far distant hills. Silence.

Sound up: In that distance seventeen motorcycles with riders appear. Coming over the brow of the hills. Approaching fast.

Approach long shot to medium long: Travel group (See appendix notes for costume and character detail.)

Cut to medium close on Jake, the leader. Behind him on jump seat sits a young blonde woman. (Ruth) 9 of the bikers have women sitting behind them.

Group shot on all.

Two shot on Buzz and his girlfriend, Sandy (Vance and Tandy).

Medium full: The bikers roar on past the camera.

Reverse medium to long: Showing biker gang receding rapidly into the distance.

Reading this Vance’s movie trained imagination saw the typewritten lines transformed into the complete motion picture, as it would soon appear. He saw himself sitting in the projection room watching the finished production.

Fade in: The seventeen bikers stream off the highway into a roadside rest area. They stop their machines near the washrooms and pavilion.

Jake dismounts and says loudly to all, "Hit the latrines, fill your canteens and be back here in 15 minutes ready to move out. It’s 120 miles to Needles and those of you who haven’t taken this jaunt before; we’re going on thru Needles to Colorado Junction. Big doings there tomorrow and the next day. We’ll meet our brother bikers there.

"Hey, what about a stop at Wayside Springs," a red head named Flip called to the leader. "Yeah," another chimed in. "I say we stop at Wayside Springs."

"Yeah," a chorus of agreement went up.

"You want to swim at Wayside Springs," Jake said, "Okay, we’ll do it, but you gotta remember there’s people there--swimming. It’s a regular tourist resort. I suppose all you ladies brought your swim suits?"

Three of the alleged ladies chimed in with affirmative answers. "What’s this Wayside Springs?" Sandy asked Buzz.

It's a pleasure resort. There’s a hot springs there, which makes a pool for swimming.

"I’d like to stop there?"

"Did you bring a bathing suit?"

"No. I forgot."

Can't swim at that posh resort buck naked, Sandy.

"And you studs better behave yourself at the Springs. That’s all I got to say," Jake proclaimed.

Buzz picked up two canteens from the carrier rack and walked over to the faucet while Sandy headed to the restrooms. Several hikers were filling their canteens at the gushing water faucet.

"We won’t need these if we stop at Wayside," a youth named Delroy said to Buzz.

"I dunno about that. Quite a ways there, and this desert air sucks the moisture right out of you."

"Where’d you pick up the good looking chick?" Delroy asked him.

"At the Silver Shiner cabaret in San Berdoo. I’ve known her for quite a spell. We used to date in high school, then drifted apart and I was some surprised when she said she’d go with me to this jamboree at Colorado Springs. Happy about it as well as surprised, I might add.

"She’s a lot of girl," Delroy said. About the prettiest in the lot, I’d say. In the unlikey event that you drift apart again. I’ll be glad to take your place. I’d play her sweet daddy anytime."

"I’m sure you would, but it won’t happen. I might even marry her. That’s how I feel about Sandy."

"You ain’t the marrying kind, Buzz. You been on your own too long."

"That’s a pretty good reason to get married," Buzz said. Then looking off toward the highway, his jaw tightened. "Fuzz coming in."

Delroy followed his friend’s gaze. "Yeah. What d’you s’pose...?"

A highway patrol car had entered the park, and was heading toward the bikers and their machines.

With still faces the bikers watched the patrol car stop nearby. Jake, being the leader felt that it was his duty to greet the unwelcome visitors. He strolled to within talking distance, and growled out a guarded "Hello."

"We’re looking for a man who jumped bail." one of the officers said. We have his picture, so it won’t take us long to ascertain if he’s with you folks."

"What makes you think that he might be with us?"

"Because he owns a motorcycle and...never mind. Tell your people to line up and walk past me slowly so I can do a comparison check with this photograph. He showed Jake a heed and shoulders mug shot.

Both officers left their car and stood watchfully while Jake explained to the bikers. One cop spoke up: I advise you people to comply with this order. It’ll only take a few minutes and then we’re out of here. Try and run, you’re in deep trouble."

"Step forward one by one," the other lawman said pleasantly." "You first," he added to Jake.

"Hey, I’m clean," Jake assured him.

The officer studied Jake’s bearded face then looked at the photograph, in his hand, "Far as I know you are. Okay. Pass on. Next."

Reluctantly, with sullen compliance the men stepped forward, were scrutinized, then passed on.

Buzz was fifth in line. Sandy stood with the women, off to one side. He looked at her, gave her a sad smile and a wave of his hand, and stepped forward to face the law. The officer looked at him, then examined the photograph closely.

"What’s your name, sir?"

"John Terboven."

No doubt that’s an alias. The name with this photo is John Ridgefield, and that’s who you are. Pictures don’t lie, and ever though you’ve shaved off your mustache, I’d say this is you. He handed the picture to his partner. A brief comparison, then a nod. "It’s him, alright."

"What do you say to that, John?"

John shrugged. "If you say so."

"You didn’t keep that date at Barstow Circuit Court in October. We can’t have that, John you are under arrest for jumping bail

The other officer produced a pair of handcuffs.

"You going to read me my rights?" John asked as the cuffs were snapped about his wrists. The Miranda statement was recited to him while Sandy hastened to her captured lover. "Buzz, what did you? Why is this?

"I didn’t do nuthin’ much just enough to fuck me up good.

"I’m for about a thirty day stretch, no more. Look, Sandy, I’ve showed you how to handle my bike. Looks like it’s up to you to take it over until I get back."

"Sure Buzz, I'll take care of it for you. Are you sure you’ll be out in thirty days. Officer, what’s he charged with?"

"Yeah tell her, officer. Explain it to the lady."

"Disturbing the peace and possession of cocaine."

"That last is the heaviest," the other cop said. "You ought'en count on getting out in 30 days."

Buzz leaned to ward her; his face touched hers. "Take care of my bike, Sandy. I'll be back. I'll beat this drug rap."

She looked at him sorrowfully. Her blue eyes glistened with tears. It'll be rough for me --out here without you."

"Maybe you should just go back home." "But guard my bike."

She nodded forlornly. Delroy was at her side then. "Don’t sweat it, Buzz. I’ll take care of her. She’ll be okay with me."

"Yeah, you told me you’d like to be her sweet daddy. I said it wouldn’t happen. She’s yours then, for a while."

"Let’s go to the car," one of the cops said. He nudged Buzz toward the vehicle.

Within minutes it was finished. The patrol car turned in a circle and headed back to the highway. Sandy stood alone, eyes fixed on Buzz in the back seat. She lifted one hand in mute farewell. Then she slowly walked over to the Harley Davidson which he given her and shared with her.

Delroy walked over to her. "Looks like its you and me, girl."

"Looks like it, don’t it."

***

After a short beer and a swim at Wayside Springs the gang hit the road again without Delroy and Sandy.

"I can’t keep up with y