An Excerpt From: Midnight

© Copyright Elisa Adams, 2003.  

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave, Inc.

Chapter 1

Amara walked out of wardrobe, her thigh-high, four-inch-heeled, artificial leather boots making a horrible rustling sound with every step she took. She might as well have wrapped her legs in trash bags. It would have had the same effect.

She tugged at the top of the black vinyl bustier, trying in vain to contain her breasts. When were these people going to learn that there was a huge difference between a B cup and a D cup? Whoever designed this costume ought to be shot. They seemed to get skimpier and skimpier with every film.

She’d thought it was bad enough when she’d had to stuff herself into those leather pants for the first film. By the second, the pants had been changed to a mini skirt, which was later changed to a micro-mini and a halter top. It amazed her that, as the films gained popularity and the budget skyrocketed, the material used in each costume got smaller and smaller. You’d think they could at least afford something that would cover her ass.

“You doing okay, Amara?”

She turned, her hands on her hips, ready to take out her frustrations. As it just so happened, the director, Robby Baker, appeared in the hall. “No, Robby, I’m not. I can’t even move in this getup. I don’t understand how you expect me to run around like this. I can barely walk without some part of my body popping out.”

“Come on, Amara. For your age, you have a terrific body.”

Her age? She didn’t realize that thirty-three had suddenly become over-the-hill.

 “A lot of woman have to pay to get tits like yours. They’re not naturally blessed like you, honey.”

The last time she considered herself “blessed” in the breast department was in eighth grade. Then she learned how much fun it was to walk around all day with two mounds the size of grapefruits hanging from her chest.

“I’m not going to flash my breasts for the camera. If you want that, you can find someone else.”

 “Well, that’s kind of what we need to talk about.” He pulled her into an empty room at the end of the hall, quietly shutting the door behind them. “The new producers want to take the Midnight films in a different direction.”

Shit. That was never a good sign. Were they planning to kill off her character? She certainly hoped not. It was Midnight who had made the films so popular in the first place. Well, Midnight and her human nemesis-slash-lover J.T., but without Midnight the movies wouldn’t have much of a plotline. “Go on.”

“Okay, what they want is to give the movies more of an…adult flavor.”

She snorted. “We’re not exactly making kiddie flicks here. Isn’t an R rating good enough for them?”

“Well, actually, no.”

She stared at him for a minute, trying to figure out if he was joking. He wasn’t. “Damn it Robby, I’m not going to get involved in a porn movie!”

Robby sighed and paced the room. “Listen, Amara. The Midnight franchise isn’t as popular as it was when we first started. With your face and your tits, we could make a killing if we added a little more spice. Derek agreed, the rest of the regular cast agreed. It looks like you’re the only hold out.”

“What is this sudden obsession with my chest?” She was looking for one good reason why she shouldn’t strangle him for that comment. She clenched her teeth and her hands, willing herself to keep calm. “I’m not going to have sex on camera, no matter how much money it will make.”

“Get over yourself, babe. There’s been a couple of hot sex scenes in all five of the Midnight movies. Hell, you were only twenty-four when the first one was filmed. What’s a little more skin, anyway? You’ll be protected, if that’s what you’re worried about. Derek will wear a condom, if that’s what you want. You won’t have to worry about catching any diseases.”

Did everyone think she had no morals? “There is a huge difference between simulated sex and real penetration.” She shook her head and yanked up her bustier one more time. “It’s not going to happen.”

“It’s just Derek, honey. You know, your fiancé? Please don’t tell me you two have never had sex.”

“What Derek and I do in our bedroom is none of your business, and it’s most certainly not going to be exploited for the sake of making money.”

Robby ran a hand through his dark, greasy hair. “Funny, but Derek didn’t voice a single objection.”

That stopped her cold. “He didn’t?”

“No. As a matter of fact, he seemed pretty excited about doing it on camera with you.”

Derek was a dead man the second she got home. “I’m not doing it.”

“You don’t have much of a choice.”

“Is that some kind of a threat?” She crossed her arms over her chest, but had to uncross them when the skimpy top puckered indecently. Robby didn’t miss the eyeful of cleavage she’d just unwittingly treated him to. His eyes widened and his smile grew, and she would have smacked him if he wasn’t holding her fragile career in the palm of his oily little hand. Instead she glared at him, and he had the decency to look humbled.

 “Of course not, honey. I would never threaten you. But face it, where would you be without these movies? Have you had any other offers lately?”

No.

Playing Midnight Morris in that first movie had been the best and worst thing for her career at the same time. Sure, the first movie had branched out into four sequels and a line of merchandise that involved everything from action figures to cereal to clothing, but it also killed her hopes of ever being taken seriously in Hollywood. To the entire population of casting directors, it seemed, she was the bubbly blond vampire and was therefore unsuitable for any other role.

Still, she wasn’t going to compromise her principles by getting horizontal with some beefcake on film, even if the beefcake in question was the man she was supposed to marry in two weeks. It didn’t matter how much money the film might gross. She’d learned that money wasn’t everything, especially when her dignity was involved.

Sure, she’d spent a good portion of her adult life playing a campy, comic book style vampire with more boobs than brains, but she had to draw the line somewhere.

“I’m not doing this, Robby, and that’s final.”

“What can I say to make you change your mind? What do you want, more money? A bigger house? A sports car?”

“How about none of the above?” She narrowed her eyes and looked down at the little man. She wasn’t overly tall, but the four-inch heels combined with his small stature gave her the advantage. He backed up, but held his ground.

“Is that your final answer?”

She nodded, her lips pursed.

“Well, then I’m sorry. I’m going to have to let you go.”

“I don’t think so. I have a contract.” They weren’t going to get away with this.

“By refusing to follow the director’s and the producer’s orders, technically you’re now in breach of contract.”

“That’s bullshit! Nowhere in my contract does it say I have to fuck my costar.” Right after she got out of this scrap of a costume, she was going home to call her lawyer.

“But it doesn’t specifically say you don’t have to, either.”

The nerve of that man! To think, at one time in her career, she might have considered him a friend. “You can’t do that.”

“No, I probably can’t.” He winked at her. “But I could tell the producers about the little private party you had a couple of weeks ago in the company limo.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Robby shook his head. “What would everyone think of their golden girl then? Just you and three men in a limo with God only knows what kind of drugs and alcohol.” His smile widened. “I’ll bet the tabloids would have a field day with that one.”

She sucked in a breath, trying to find some way out of this one. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be any. It wouldn’t matter that nothing had happened in the limo. It was just her, Derek, and a couple of his old frat buddies from college. She didn’t sleep with any of them at the time, and the strongest substance in the vehicle at the time had been beer.

But it was her word against everyone else’s, and she’d been known to throw a wild party or two in her day. She’d been threatened that if she had any more, she’d lose her job.

What would she be without this role? Just an aging chick with a bad dye job and a liberal arts degree from a community college back in Vermont.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Just get naked for the camera, sweetheart, and Derek will take care of the rest.”

She shook her head. There was no way she could go through with this. As much as she enjoyed her job, there would be others. It was a devastating blow, but she’d get over it. After a couple of months, the hubbub would die down and she’d be able to start auditioning again. Surely someone out there would want her for something.

“This is so not going to happen. I have to go home and talk some sense into Derek.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’re going to change his mind.”

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She didn’t want to hear what was next, but she had to ask anyway. “Why do you say that?”

Robby laughed. “He’s not as inhibited as you, I guess. Why don’t you take a look at this while you’re home wallowing in your self-pity.”

He tossed her a VHS tape. “What’s this?”

“Just Derek’s latest project. Enjoy, honey. I know I sure did.”

* * * * *

“Derek?” Amara walked through the door of the townhouse they shared. She was greeted by silence. Strange. He should have been home by now.

She shrugged and set her purse on the coffee table, glad to be rid of the vinyl bustier. Her skin would probably itch for weeks. She poured herself a glass of wine and popped the tape into the VCR, curious about what Derek had been working on behind her back. As far as she knew, the only things going on with his career were the Midnight movies and a couple of cell phone commercials.

The title “More than Friends” flashed across the screen, followed by Robby’s name as director. She blinked hard when she saw Derek’s name next. Just what the hell had he been doing? He’d always thought independent films were beneath him. Why was he suddenly starring in one, and doing so without telling her?

She learned a lot more than she wanted to when the film opened and a naked Derek strutted across the screen, obviously very aroused. Oh, he was really in for it when he got home.

What surprised her more, although she should have been expecting it after Robby’s comments, were the four naked women following him. When one of them, a tall skinny redhead with obviously fake boobs, encircled his cock in her hand Amara had to turn the movie off.

“That son of a bitch!”

If she hadn’t been so mad, she might have heard the noise sooner. But she’d been too stunned by what she’d discovered about Derek’s secret to notice. She sat on the couch, remote in her hand, for a good five minutes before the squeaking bedsprings registered as something other than the anger churning in her head.

She jumped off the couch and bolted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She threw open the bedroom door, expecting to find Derek with the redhead from the movie. Her jaw dropped when she saw he was fucking Steve, the caterer who lived next door.

“Holy shit!” She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Hey, baby.” He didn’t even have the decency to look contrite. Instead he continued to thrust his cock, a cock that would never find its way inside her body again, into Steve’s ass.

Steve, on the other hand, looked totally mortified. His entire body turned bright red and he closed his eyes, but Derek wouldn’t let him go.

“Why don’t you get naked and join us, Amara? I’ve been telling Steve all about your fabulous body.”

That was so not going to happen. “You’re never going to get the chance to see me naked again, buddy.”

“Oh, come on, Amara. Have a little fun for once. It wouldn’t hurt to spice up our sex life a little.”

“Is that why you’re with Steve, and why you made those movies? To spice things up? Geez, Derek. If you were bored you should have just said something.”

“Boring doesn’t even begin to describe you in bed, babe. I need so much more than you can give me.” Derek’s eyes rolled back and he sighed in sheer pleasure. “Steve is so much better than you are. Do you know that? He'll suck my dick whenever I want, and he doesn’t get sick at the thought of swallowing.”

He was actually getting off on this. “You’re a scumbag, Derek.”

“I just want to have fun. Come on, Amara. We could all get off together.”

Poor Steve had gone beyond red. He was now a lovely shade of purple. He squirmed to get away, but Derek’s huge hands kept him right where he wanted him.

“Are you high again, Derek?”

That got his attention. He stopped pumping and pulled out of Steve. The man scrambled to get his clothes and ran out of the room. Amara heard the front door slam a few seconds later.

Derek’s face went ashen. “How can you even ask that? You know I gave that stuff up months ago.”

And apparently he’d picked up some other bad habits. She didn’t know which one she hated more—the coke or the indiscriminate sexual encounters with anything moving “I think you should leave now. Pack your shit and go. Do not come back!”

“We’ll get through this. We’ve been through worse, and we always make it through okay.” He reached for her, but she ducked away.

Her stomach churned at the thought of his hands on her skin. “How long have you been gay?”

“I’m not gay. I like women, too.”

“Oh, yes. That’s right. I watched enough of that tape to know women get you hard, too. How many times have you cheated on me?”

He gave her a solemn look. “None. I love you too much.”

“None? What the hell did I jut walk in on, a prostate exam?”

Derek sighed, looking a lot more annoyed than he had a right to. “I’ve never slept with another woman, Amara. Not once since we got engaged.”

“What about those women in the movie?”

“They don’t count. I was getting paid for that. And the men don’t count, either. That’s not really sex.”

Was he making this up as he went along? “How many men have there been?”

She watched him count to ten on his fingers and then furrow his brow. “I’m not sure. I lost count last month sometime.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing herself not to smack him. He deserved it, but he wasn’t worth breaking a nail or two over. She didn't spend hours filing and polishing for nothing. “Get out!”

“That’s not fair. You interrupted, so you should at least give me some relief.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m still hard. Why don’t you suck me and make it better?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. No cock that’s been poking around in someone’s ass is going to be getting within two feet of any part of my body.” She lifted Derek’s robe off the floor and tossed it to him. “Get the fuck out of my house. I’ll pack up your stuff and you can hire someone to come pick it up later.”

He clicked his tongue. “Does this mean the wedding is off?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you can marry Steve or the silicone-enhanced redhead instead.”

Chapter 2

                                                        Two months later

Amara sat at an outdoor café, leafing through the classified ads for the second time that morning. Until an acting gig panned out, she had to find something. She’d gone on every single audition her agent had set up for her, and even a few she’d set up behind his back, and still she was jobless.

She took a sip of her coffee, not really tasting it. It was her fourth cup of the morning, and she was starting to feel the effects of the caffeine. Her hands were shaking as she tried to turn the newspaper page.

Or maybe the shaking was caused by the article she’d read in the entertainment

section. It seemed Derek wasn’t faring nearly as badly as she was. Not only did he get to stay on the Midnight cast, he had also recently signed on to do a major network sitcom and a string of commercials for a soda company.

She blew out a breath and crumpled the paper. Her life just sucked. Why was it that Derek, the biggest freak she’d ever met, got all the breaks when she was left all alone? He probably had sex with the producers and the film company execs, male and female. That would explain a hell of a lot in this mixed-up situation.

Not for the first time she got a prickly feeling, like someone was watching her. She looked around, but no one seemed out of the ordinary. Rather, she lived on the outskirts of Los Angeles and everyone seemed out of the ordinary. No one stuck out, though, at least not that she could tell. Still, she couldn’t shake the strange feeling that she was being watched.

In the past couple of weeks she’d had a couple of instances where she thought she was being followed. When she turned around, no one was there. She was probably being paranoid, but she had a strange knot in the pit of her stomach. It had been building for a while, but something told her today was the day. Something was going to happen.

She wasn’t going to wait around for it to happen here.

She was about to leave when a woman came up and tapped her on the shoulder. “Excuse me. I couldn’t help but notice you look just like the woman who used to play that vampire. What was her name? Twilight? Sunset?”

Amara lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the bright light of the sun. “Midnight. That’s me.”

The woman shook her head. “No. That’s impossible. That woman died.”

“What?”

“I read it in the National Gossip yesterday. That’s why she was replaced with that other girl. You know, that Mitzy Anderson. All the magazines say she’s going to star in the next movie, since the original actress is gone now.”

“No, I’m not dead. I did play Midnight Morris in the first five films.”

The woman turned to her companion, a middle-aged man. “What was her name? Emily something or other?”

This could not be happening. “My name is Amara. Amara Daniels.” A few months ago, she was the hottest thing in town. Now everyone thought she was dead? She was willing to bet that Derek and Robby had something to do with that bit of gossip.

“That doesn’t sound quite right.” The woman frowned and shook her head. “I could swear it was Emily. Emily Douglas?”

Oh, for heaven’s sake. This was getting her nowhere. “How did the Gossip say she died?”

The woman shrugged. “Something about silicone poisoning. An exploding breast implant.” Her eyes lit up. “Yes, that was it. Do you remember when we saw that movie, Peter? I told you then that those breasts had to be implants. I guess I was right.”

Now Amara was fuming. Call her names, lie about her death all they want, but don’t ever call her breasts fake. These babies were real, and she had the straining back muscles to prove it.

“I hate to disappoint you, but you’re wrong.” She glared at the woman. “They’re real.”

“Heavens, dear. I don’t know what you’re getting so worked up about.” The woman shook her head and put her hands on her hips. “You’re taking this much too personally.”

That was it. She wasn’t going to sit around and listen to this for another second. She gulped the rest of her coffee, left a couple of bills on the table, and stalked away from the couple. As she walked down the sidewalk she could hear them still talking about silicone-induced deaths and Mitzy Anderson. She wanted to scream...

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