Brooke sat in the back of the limo alone staring out the tinted window as the beautiful lights of the Manhattan skyline passed her by. Her impeccable body fit perfectly into the tight red Versace halter cocktail dress. She was gorgeous and she knew it. The problem was, she didn't feel very gorgeous. In fact, it was quite the opposite. She felt anything but gorgeous. She felt like crap.
She cursed herself for being stupid. In her mind, she had to be the dumbest woman on the planet. The day had started off normally enough. There was a movie she had been wanting to do and her agent had pulled some strings to submit her for the audition. When she had arrived, the room was filled with pretty young girls. Her confidence had taken a beating but she tried to hold her head high. The part was perfect for her and she had spent the entire night before studying the script and running lines with Peyton. When they called her name, she sauntered into the back, Colgate smile plastered on her face and gave the reading of her life. When it was over, she felt good about it, praying the casting director felt the same way. Frank Murray was his name and he had a reputation for being notoriously picky when it came to casting his parts. But Brooke had blown him away.
"Thank you, Miss Davis. We'll give you a call", his assistant had said.
Brooke sighed. She wondered if that was a good thing or a standard line that really meant the role was a no go. Of course it wouldn't be a film that would get her an Oscar but it would keep her name out there and more importantly, it was paid work. With Savannah still in a coma, she needed any job she could get.
Trying to keep positive, she rode the elevator down and walked outside. She stopped when she heard someone calling her name. Turning around, she saw the fatherly Frank Murray.
"Mr. Murray…"
"Miss Davis, I was hoping to get a word with you."
"Yes sir?"
"Regarding your audition. I just wanted to say, you were great."
"Really?" she smiled.
"Really. Fantastic reading. I think you'd be perfect for the role."
"Thanks. Um, thank you. Does that mean…does that mean I'm hired?"
"More or less. We still have to see a few more girls but I can't imagine any one of them being more talented than you…or more beautiful."
"Thanks", Brooke blushed.
"Still uh…I was wondering…actually, there are some things regarding this project I'd like to discuss with you. Are you available for another meeting?"
"Sure", Brooke smiled. "No problem, Mr. Murray, I…"
"Frank. Please call me Frank."
"Okay…Frank. Just call my agent and…"
"Would it be possible to skip the formalities? I mean, could you and I just set up an appointment?"
"Okay", she nodded. "I guess that would be okay. Um, what did you have in mind?"
"Are you available this evening?"
"Uh…um, yeah. I…I guess so."
Evening? Night meetings seemed odd but Brooke was in no position to turn down Frank Murray, especially if she wanted to be in his movie.
"Good", he said, handing her a card. "The address is my penthouse. I can send a limousine for you around nine p.m."
"Your penthouse?"
"Yes and uh…wear something sexy", he winked.
Brooke shifted uncomfortably. She had heard of the casting couch but it was her first direct experience. There was no way she was going to sleep with some old geezer even if it was for a big movie."
"Mr. Murray…uh, Frank, um, look, I don't know what you have in mind but…"
"Oh I think you know exactly what I have in mind? We're both adults, Miss Davis."
"Sorry", she said, handing him back the card. "I'm not that kind of girl."
"Okay. It's up to you but hey. Your life, your career, right? If you want to be stuck in a coma like your pathetic little soap character for the rest of your life, then that's fine with me. Pretty, young actresses come a dime a dozen, you know?"
"Look, Frank…"
"I have to get back", he said, giving her the card again. "I strongly suggest you reconsider my offer. Think about the consequences. I am a powerful man in this industry. Losing one film isn't a big deal but remember, I have the power to blackball you. Not a threat but just something to think about. So I will send my driver over tonight and hopefully, you will be waiting."
With that, he gave her a kiss on the cheek that made her literally want to puke. What a sleaze ball! How dare he try to blackmail her for sex? She was desperate but she wasn't that desperate. Still it was depressing that people in prominent positions felt like they had that power over her. It was demeaning and dehumanizing and she wouldn't stand for it. She hated it. In fact, she hated the whole business. She just wanted to go home and be normal and talk to Lucas. He would know what to say. He would know what to do.
LonelyBoy: Sounds like you're having a rough day. Hope it gets better.
SoapDish: Yeah…me too.
LonelyBoy: If you want to talk about it more, then I'm here.
She knew he was but she didn't want to talk about it. Brooke was ashamed. And he probably wouldn't understand anyway. Who would? Hell, she didn't even get it. All she wanted was to see him. See his face, hear his voice. Meet the man behind the words that had captivated her heart and calmed her fears.
SoapDish: Come to NYC tonight, Lucas.
LonelyBoy: Okay…on my way, lol.
SoapDish: No, I'm serious. Please. I'm really stressed and you've been a good friend to me. I think it's time we meet.
LonelyBoy: I'm sure it would be fun but I can't. Sorry.
SoapDish: Why?
LonelyBoy: No cash. The well has run dry. This college kid is broke as a joke.
SoapDish: I'll pay for it. I will. Bus or airfare. I don't care. I just want to see you.
LonelyBoy: Why?
SoapDish: Because you're my friend and I need a real friend right now, not just some chat buddy. Because I'm curious. Because I like you. Because we would have fun. Because I NEED to see you…
LonelyBoy: Brooke, that's not really a good idea. Besides, I can't take your money. One day, we'll meet…but just not today.
SoapDish: Okay…
LonelyBoy: I have to go…
SoapDish: Sorry if I made you uncomfortable but please don't log off. You don't have to run away.
LonelyBoy: I'm not. I'm cool. I just have stuff to do, okay? We'll talk soon.
Just like that, he logged off. Her friend, her lifeline, a man she had never even met. Brooke didn't understand. They were so close, so connected. What was the problem? Why did he bail every time the subject of face to face interaction was brought up?
A bitter tear slid down Brooke's cheek. For the girl that once had everything, now she had nothing. And in her insane world, Lucas the Lonely Boy had been her only sanity. Now he was gone. For her, it was a friendship she valued. Obviously for him, it wasn't. Maybe she was just something to do to piss away the time.
Brooke sat with her head in her hands. She had nothing…except her career. A career which was slowly dwindling away. She had the chance to save it but to do so meant a night of sex with a dirty, hairy, old man. The thought disgusted her but what other alternatives were there? Wiping her eyes, she slipped on her sexiest red dress…
"Miss Davis, so glad you could join me", Frank smirked in his silk Hugh Hefner robe.
She forced a fake smile but said nothing. His apartment was gorgeous and lavishly decorated. He tried to talk to her but his meaningless words fell on deaf ears. When he offered her a drink from his mini bar, she poured herself a glass of Vodka and downed it straight. It felt warm and fuzzy and definitely strong but not strong enough to eradicate the guilt, shame and pure disgust as she felt his grimy hands travel up her bare leg. He didn't even have the decency to undress her and take her to bed. Instead he "took" her right there on the couch. He pulled her breasts out and hiked up the dress, moving her panties to the side as he went to work. Brooke had never felt that dirty…except maybe for when he finished and threw a hundred dollar bill at her like she was a worthless peasant. Straightening her clothes, she hurried up and left, hailing a cab, which she cried in all the way home.
Once inside she showered until there was no hot water and climbed in bed and cried herself to sleep. She couldn't tell Peyton or anyone. No one could ever know. Brooke could never reveal her shame.
The next morning her cell phone rang. It was Tim Smith, her agent.
"Hey Brooke, it's me. Listen, I've got some news. Murray's assistant called."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Sorry, kiddo. They really liked you but Murray said you weren't the right girl for the part. They hired someone else."
Brooke felt her knees give out. She sank to the floor, devastated.
"Brooke, you there?"
"Uh, yeah", she managed to squeak out.
"Don't worry. There will be other roles. The Tim has never let you down before, right? I'll find something else."
Brooke nodded and hung up before burying her face in the pillow and sobbing. Sure there would be other roles. Maybe she'd even be lucky enough to get one as a prostitute or something. Why not? She had already played the "whore" part. And nothing would ever make her feel as cheap as that.
