Filming in Color

Driving home now, afterwards, and what have I done?

Am I sorry or regretful? I know I should be, but I know that I am not sorry or regretful, not in the least. No fucking way do I regret what had just occurred. I had just experienced the most wonderful and exciting fuck of my life, and how many women driving down Hollywood Boulevard right now can say that? Not very many I suspect.

It is just after midnight and there are still a lot of people on the road including other cars with only female drivers going from some secret place to another secret place that only they are aware of, or perhaps they and that secret person at that secret rendezvous, they know.

At each stoplight, I look towards the cars that pull up alongside or who pull up behind me looking to see if there is another woman who might have also just come from meeting with her lover. Like me, I am convinced that the only thing a woman like me would consider better would be if the night was young and the encounter was yet to occur.

Passing Vine Street now, another forty-five minutes and I'll be pulling into his apartment's parking lot. Please God; let Donald be asleep when I walk in. I can't face him right now. I reached back and touched the tip of my hair and as I feared, my hair was still damp. How could I explain damp hair? How could I explain being freshly showered? Maybe I should stop the car and jog for a couple of miles, no that's silly; this is Hollywood and it's nearly one in the morning. That would be asking to be raped. Although, that is a thought at least, it might be one way to conceal my deed.

I opened all of the car's windows to help in drying my hair. If there ever were a time to have a convertible, now would certainly be it. The thought of driving down Sunset or Hollywood at night in a bright yellow Mustang convertible took over my thoughts. In addition to everything else that has happened over the last three months, yellow Mustang convertibles where something that might even be within reach now. I've come a long way from Agusta.

I was remembering back to that Saturday morning last April when Jack called me on the phone. Donald and I had been out late to one of those far off the A-List parties that young actresses are supposed to attend. A-List, wouldn't that be fun just once.

"Jeannie, are you sitting down, Baby?" Jack voice resonated out at her though the phone.

"No dammit, I'm laying down, Jesus Jack, what time is it?"

Jack Sawyer was my agent and had been ever since I arrived in town three years earlier. He had been highly recommended to me but so far, all he had managed to book was some minor characters in some network shows plus a four-episode story arc in an HBO series. I was beginning to wonder if I had made a mistake signing with him.

"Okay, okay," Jack said, "Stand up for a minute, shake your head, and then you better sit down. I've got some great news."

Obviously curious and awake now, I kicked off the bed sheets and swiveled my feet down to the floor. I was surprised to find myself naked, so I guess Donald and I must have fucked when we got home. Too many margaritas last night, I thought. Just to make sure I had not really had too many margaritas, I lifted the blanket to make sure it was Donald asleep underneath the covers.

Donald and I were not monogamous, or so we told each other anyway. However, I don't think either of us has slept with anyone else for at least a year. Donald had been after me to move in with him but I had resisted him so far.

I think what worried me was that Donald wasn't in the business. His schedule was one of those wear a suit, nine to five day-jobs in an office and I had heard too many stories about failed relationships when one person was in the business and the other one was not, not that two self-absorbed, egotistical Tinsel Town hopefuls have much of a chance together either.