Seeds of Fear

HIGH CONCEPT J. N. Williamson

She wasn't necessarily the tallest woman in the world, Andy Chalminski told himself, gaping at the lady in question with scarcely concealed fascination, but it would definitely take someone special to top her —

Which was exactly what Andy meant to be and intended to do: the first man to climb the human alp named Donna Callaghan and plant his flagpole at the top of the mountain. Or more specifically, wherever his personal survey indicated Ms. Callaghan would prefer the flagstaff to be planted.

For an ambitious guy to get ahead, Chalminski thought as he studied the enormous woman at her solitary table across the restaurant, sometimes he has to get a little behind. The crude observation was not original to him but a rule of thumb in the dog-eat-dog business in which the slum-born Andy had struggled for the dozen years of his manhood. Hell, there was absolutely nothing personal about his plan for bed ding the current object of his attention.

Truth was, the midwestern giantess quietly eating soup and minding her own business had no more appeal to Chalminski than the zucchini his waitress brought along with his small steak. Her face was probably not as homely as the dictionary definition of zucchini ("a squash shaped like a cucumber") — he couldn't see much of it with that straight brown hair drooping over her ears and temples — but Andy had seen a picture of her in the newspaper before flying to Columbus, and her glasses were as thick and heavy as World War I flyers' goggles.

That photo had lured him to Ohio, or, more exactly, a caption beneath it reading: 6' 10" WOMAN REFUSES DATE WITH NBA STAR. Eddie Burgess, who'd appeared in a few of Chalminski's ultra-low-budget porn flicks be fore losing his ability to get it up on cue and retiring to the Midwest, had spotted the picture and sent the clipping to Andy. The local story with it — very short because Donna Callaghan was said to be excruciating ly shy — made it clear that six ten was just an estimate of her height, and she might clear seven feet. "I feel awkward enough around people without letting any one measure me," Donna was quoted as admitting. "Besides, I don't much care for tall men." All that in response to the local press's smart PR move of trying to arrange a date between her and one of the Cleve land Cavaliers.

The second thought crossing Andy Chalminski's mind had been I'm only five six when I really stand up straight!

And his first reaction had been the instant aware ness that a thirty-two-year-old virgin who had to stoop to enter a room — assuming she didn't look too damn awful with her clothes off — was possibly the only person alive who might save his sagging career as a movie producer!

It had started going bad when schmucks with their own cameras began making "home video" porn and marketing them with the notion that these were "real people in action," maybe the neighbors down the block. So a lot of potential customers of Andy's had decided to watch ol' Bob and Suzy get it on. Well, fuck, did they think actors in a professional flick were androids?

Worse, it had gotten harder and harder to create gimmicks that made some jack-off at an adult vid store grab a box and run to the register to take it home. Every combination of gender, position, and racial mix was already on film! Even Eddie Burgess had said, before Andy hung up and came to Columbus, "Unless you can talk some aliens from another planet into screwing our girls on camera, Andrew, skin-flick folks are going to be the blacksmiths of the twenty-first century."

Since Andy privately thought Eddie Burgess was right, he had immediately seen the latent potential in a seven-foot-tall babe — he'd definitely claim she was that tall, right on the box — and instantly other exciting promotions swarmed through Chalminski's mind. Just glancing at Eddie sitting next to him now — the actor'd come to McGarrett's Restaurant to introduce him to Donna — was a reminder of how Burgess was hung. There'd been females who were turned off by the sight of him naked, and not every actress had been able to accommodate «actors» like the guy.

But with a seven-foot dame — the hell with anatomy experts who'd say Donna's size made no difference; studs with dongs like Eddie could be billed as "Finally Meeting Their Match!" Shit-fire, flicks with her in them would go like hotcakes to broads as well as guys!

Now, persuading titanic Ms. Callaghan to earn a mint of money seemed to pragmatic Andy Chalminski the most down-to-earth and easy proposition.

"Not so, Andrew," Eddie said softly. He had nodded in the giantess's direction and hadn't looked at her again. "I've come to know her and she is shy as hell. Probably a virgin, as I said, and definitely a lady."

"I never met a woman who hated the idea of big bucks," Andy argued, and forked steak into his mouth. "All I need t'do is make my pitch and be first to break her in." Suspicious, he glowered at the still handsome Burgess. "How the fuck did you meet Madam Amazon, anyways?"

"It happens Donna and I belong to a local amateur writers' club."

"You?" Andy nearly choked on his steak. "You and the female Lurch are budding Shakespeares?" He tried to regain his control. "Sorry, babe, I just can't picture you romancin' the muse. Fucking the bitch, absolutely, but not in your mind!"

"Listen." Eddie clamped a hand on Chalminski's forearm. He had the first serious expression Andy'd seen since Burgess began his career twelve, thirteen years ago and wondered if he could have sex with a stranger and a film crew watching. "I like Donna, but I haven't touched her."

"Bull hockey."

"Andrew, she's written the story of a girl as tall as her dad by the age of ten; she was through puberty before she was eleven. Other kids saw her as a freak, so she couldn't relate to anyone. She's all alone in the world."

Andy squinted his surprise. "She's doin' an autobio? I don't see how that —»

"A retired actor moves to town," Eddie went on relentlessly, "and listens to what the tall girl reads to the class." His fingers on Andy's arm tightened. "He tells her," Burgess whispered, "he knows a film producer who's interested in finding hot properties, and he himself might introduce her to the noted Andrew Chalminski."

Andy whistled low. "Whew, that's smart! But, Ed, I don't wanta buy no fuckin' disease-of-the-week story. I wanta buy the use of her body! So how am I gonna —»

"I said," Eddie went on, his grip bringing pain, "if the famous movie guy wants to film her story, he will have a tough time finding an actress tall enough for the leading role!"

"Brilliant!" Chalminski exulted. Could Eddie-the-Meat-Man actually have a brain? "It's a great setup. But what do you expect t'get out of this, old buddy?"

Eddie's forever-photogenic eyes opened widely. "After explaining that producers are quaint fellows who enjoy testing would-be actresses who double as screenwriters, I mentioned the possibility that I, her new confidant, might be willing to serve as her. costar." He smiled. "Being timid, she liked that idea very much."

"You want a comeback?" Chalminski demanded incredulously.

"She's waiting for us, Andrew," Eddie said quietly, "so I hope you'll listen to me very closely: I didn't become an addict or spend all my money, and I didn't get any nasty diseases that will kill me. I just got out of the sleaze biz before it devoured me. I find I like a normal life, writing, and Donna — even if she is as tall as the Chrysler Building." He sat straight across from Andy. "I want you to think seriously about decently producing her life story. You might begin a chapter in your life you'd really enjoy. Even people like you, and I, can go straight."

Andy was badly shocked by what had happened to Burgess. But he considered the request, lips pursed, and nodded. "I'll think it over. But as for usin' you as a real actor, with his pants on —»

"Let me finish," Eddie interrupted. "If and when you choose to pass on doing the right thing, Andrew — if you score with the lady and get her to sign a contract — that's when I intend to collect. That's when I want my comeback to take place."

"With her," Chalminski said slowly, getting it. "You — want this broad!"

"Just this one time, in one film," Burgess said with a nod, "that I can watch over and over when I otherwise can't get Herman up even for my own pleasure. Besides," he added a bit smugly, "I think we could make a classic with a good girl like Donna."

Andy stared at him as he stood. Then, chuckling, he followed Eddie to Donna Callaghan's table. "You got a deal," he said under his breath, clapping the taller man's back. "You actors!"

Donna raised her head, and till then, Chalminski had forgotten how different she would seem to him. But at first she didn't appear extraordinary except for how she blinked repeatedly. The nearsighted eyes behind massive glasses were an oddly innocent light blue, and Andy remembered how much Monroe's eyelashes batted due to vision problems. Donna's brown hair was as straight as he'd expected, but the girls he used frequently wore wigs, and contacts would take care of the blink. On the other hand, broads who looked innocent and blinked at the actors' erect members might have considerable appeal to some viewers.

Yet Donna Callaghan, looking up, had not looked far — seated alone at her table, she was nearly as tall as Andy Chalminski was, standing!

"Hi, nice to meet ya," he said when Eddie'd introduced them. Speaking triggered his autonomic, charming smile and he sat down even as he shook her hand. Wishing he had worn a less showy sport jacket, he reminded himself Donna believed she was a writer. "Eddie says he's pretty impressed with your book."

She smiled, slouched back to minimize her height. "You two must be very good friends for you to call him 'Eddie' instead of 'Edward.'"

"Yeah, well, we go back." He'd liked the feel of her hand even if her thumb had reached around his paw to her other fingers. They wouldn't exactly feel bad on a guy's cock. She had a generous mouth (a matter of some importance in Chalminski's line), and one chipped tooth could be capped. "You're kind of young to have done an autobio."

Donna answered carefully. "It's not so much auto biography as, well, the story of any woman who learns she's going to be different. From other girls."

Andy wished she'd sit up so he could get a clue about her build. The top of her huge sweat suit was so big, he couldn't make out her tits at all. "I mentioned your youth just because I'd want ya to do a lot of TV. Interviews with Oprah and Geraldo; a ton of publicity." That was a surefire come-on, and Andy was rewarded by a flush of color in her cheeks. "I need a way, to. well, gauge whether we should shoot for feature flicks or the tube."

"I must get back to work on my current story," Eddie interjected before Donna could speak. He gave Chalminski a familiar, man-to-man studied stare they'd used before, one that meant he had done his part and now he was clearing out. "I live right around the corner, so here." He produced two car keys on a ring, dropped them in the producer's palm. "You'll want to read some of Donna's writing, so bring my car back when you two are through talking and you can stay the night with me. I'll drive you to the airport in the morning."

"You'll want to see my work," Donna asked Andy, "tonight?"

"A movie guy's work is never done," Andy said, and shook Burgess's hand. "Thanks for the wheels, 'Edward.'"

"Sure thing." Eddie paused, smiled down at Ms. Callaghan. "I left a bottle of bubbly on the front seat in case the two of you close anything. It's for you."

"Oh, Edward, you are so sweet!" Donna said, and half stood to give the former porn star an impulsive hug.

Chalminski couldn't believe his eyes. Not even stretched out to her full height, this broad he'd come to Columbus to see was at least several inches taller than Burgess, and he was surely a good five eleven. More than that, Donna's head was larger than his, and she was able to reach the guy and begin the hug from a solid yard away! The arms in the blue sweatshirt were like the branches of a tree covered by some kind of fungus!

Andy bobbed up after Eddie was headed for the door and before the huge young woman could sit down again. The ex-actor had arranged things perfectly — maybe he could get it up for one more movie after resting up more than a year. But probably he'd get the broad who'd do Donna since the studs who screwed her would have t'be in fucking shape! Now there was no reason to waste any more time in the crappy restaurant, and Chalminski wanted Miss Amazon to see he was short, no conspicuous threat — and he wanted out of there! Everyone in the joint was staring at her and how she dwarfed him.

"If ol' Eddie is as sharp a judge of talent as usual," he told Donna, "I'm really anxious to see what you got. Have, "he corrected his grammar, taking her arm.

Absolutely nothing happened as he tried to propel her toward the door; she didn't budge an inch. "Well, if you're truly interested in my work — I mean, I haven't been published anywhere." She took a wary step, so long a one, Chalminski had to skip to catch up.

"Look," he said, speaking straight ahead instead of craning his neck to see her face, "I flew in from Jersey to check you out, so it's now or never." They were already at the door, he couldn't recall when he'd walked so fast, and the sweat running into his collar told him he needed to exert his masculine sense of authority or he wouldn't be able to do anything with Lady Kong if he did get her in the sack. "Who knows, maybe what you've written so far is such terrific raw material, we can get 'Edward' to do the screenplay."

He let her think about that while he tried to remember where Eddie'd parked the car. Finding it, he was glad it wasn't a compact job. Holding the door for her and watching her squeeze inside was like seeing the shadow of a skyscraper folding itself into the front seat of the full-sized Buick.

Donna realized she had to provide him with her address and, because he was an out-of-towner, directions for getting there. She told him as if passing along state secrets.

"Why would an important man like you be interested in my life?" she asked, crammed into the seat beside Andy. Her voice was unaccented, husky enough to make him wonder suddenly if she could be a transsexual with a bad case of self-delusion. But she added, exhibiting more emotion than he had heard up to then and sounding as bitter as a babe who found less in her paycheck than he had promised, "I wouldn't mind genuine publicity, but I d-don't want to be anybody's freak-of-the-week!"

He turned right when she remembered to point, used the turn to stall. "In case you didn't notice, Donna," Andy said softly, "I'm a little guy. A real little guy."

"Around that corner, the third apartment on your left," she said. Her face turned to him and he caught a glimpse of it thanks to a streetlight. Seen that way, without considering her height, she was definitely pretty — and feminine. "I suppose you are, Mr. Chalminski. I don't understand the connection."

He had it now, and her! "We're two of a kind — and make it 'Andy,' awright? We're birds of a feather, Ms. Callaghan. Don't you get it?" He pulled into a space at the curb in front of her brown-brick building, switched off the ignition.

"Not wholly," she confessed. She opened her door but made no move to get out.

"I'm the freak here," he explained, "'cause the whole world wants guys who are six feet tall, six five — and showers goodies on them, honey; didn't you know that?" To his surprise, he heard emotion creeping into his voice — that, and a ring of honesty he hadn't heard in it for a long while. "All my life I've had t'be smarter and quicker-thinking — better — than other guys, because I sure as hell can't lick 'em!"

Donna actually laughed. And it was pretty to hear; it gave him hope she might look okay under those loose-fitting clothes. "I never thought of it that way."

"See, we're like two peas in the same pod, just at different ends." He snatched up the brown bag with the champagne Eddie Burgess had left on the seat. "You think of yourself as too tall for anyone to like, right? And I've thought of ways t' make people give me what I got a right to, 'cause I feel the same way." Boldly he put out a hand to touch her knee. It quavered but didn't pull away. "I got things t'teach you, Donna. Listen to me and you'll have half the men in the world on their knees to you!"

"I always thought I'd like men who aren't tall, like me," Donna confessed. Then, though, she was uncurling out onto the sidewalk and leading the way to her apartment.

Once inside the place and seated in a comfortable chair, Chalminski tried to remember all the polite things guests were supposed to do in a nice girl's home. When nothing much came to his mind, he studied her as covertly as possible and tried to form an opinion about her attractiveness. Meaning, by and (very) large, her body.

Through the open doorway to the kitchen he was able to detect a rising bosom as Donna brought down two ordinary water glasses; and when her back, briefly, was to Andy, her sweat-suit-concealed tush looked sort of cute. But then he was strangely relieved to be uncorking the champagne bottle and pouring out bubbly even if she had brought a meaty file folder along that doubtlessly contained her manuscript. As she carried it and her glass to her chair, Andy tried to understand why he'd begun to perspire a lot. Hell, the heat was on her, not him!

Yet it dawned on him when she was seated, crossing her impossibly long legs and sipping champagne, that he was oozing sweat for three damn good reasons: First, Callaghan was the real thing, not on the make, and it might prove harder than he'd imagined to get her out of the ugly clothes and eyeball her the way his audience would. Second, if her bod truly was in perfect proportion, the way he wanted to advertise it, Donna might not represent merely his last chance at another moneymaker, she could just earn him a fucking mint! And third, the primary reason for his sweating like a pig in heat, the biggest woman he had ever put it to was maybe five nine, and she'd been one of the squeezes in a flick he'd produced.

He sneaked out a handkerchief, blotted his forehead. While Donna went through a line of chatter meant to set the scene for reading her manuscript to him — it was obvious she wanted to do it, more obvious he wouldn't be conscious when she'd finished — Chalminski faced the total truth about his state of mind: Until this true midwestern woman was bare-ass in a position where no one was ever taller than anybody else, Callaghan was nothing more nor less than a possible gigantic hope — and the most intimidating broad one Andrew Chalminski would ever meet! She had shyly kicked off her shoes, and he decided he actually liked her, but that was not, could not conceivably be, the point.

Just as it had always been for a tough little pink-faced shrimp of a guy from Oceanside, it was up to him to twist Lady Luck like a gawdamn pretzel until she handed over the destiny he had in mind for himself. No way he wanted to hurt this sweet-tempered freak of a dame, and he'd take the responsibility to check out the health of every actor or actress who ever fucked her, but this was ol' Andy's livelihood on the line. Anyone who didn't know enough to cover their own ass was just too ignorant to survive these days anyhow, and it was only a question of time till somebody screwed 'em!

"We're interested in high concept, Donna," he broke into what she was saying.

Donna lowered her manuscript, lashes blinking behind the heavy glasses. "Sir?"

"It's a film term," Andy said grandly, waving. He fixed a squint on the ceiling. "Like, can a motion picture be summed up in no more than two sentences. Those are the pictures that sell." He took the champagne over to her, refilled her glass, smiled when she drank most of it immediately. "Movie people, at the buying and optioning level, don't read scripts or novels, y'see. Writers and agents come in and explain that concept I mentioned. If it strikes us as a bankable idea, we tell 'em to explain more of the concept to us." He shrugged very, very faintly before retreating to his chair. "Books are for publishers, readers."

"But I thought y-you wanted to know my story." She removed the glasses, rested them on a coffee table. Her blue eyes looked damp and quite pretty. "Why else would you come —?"

"Ms. Callaghan," Andy interrupted, standing as he refilled his glass, "we were discussing the concept for your movie while we drove here. And it's a very high one, indeed," he added, retracing his steps to pour more bubbly into Donna's glass. "I got t'tell you, I was very impressed." Instead of smiling, he looked as earnest as humanly possible. He straightened to his full height to appear at least slightly taller than she was sitting. "Once some other matters are cleared away, I'm prepared to write into your contract an authorization for you to do the novelization of your life story."

"A movie tie-in book?" she asked in a small, shocked, did-she-dare-hope-for-this tone of voice.

"Imagine the reader potential for a book based on a real-life film — starring the author herself!" Andy let that one sink in, then adopted an expression of concern. "Our gifted mutual pal Edward did mention that possibility, didn't he?"

Donna gulped champagne and nodded simultaneously, getting the tip of her nose wet and evoking an excited, embarrassed giggle. "He did — but I'm no actress, Mr. Chalminski, and Edward is the only one who's said my wr-writing is good enough for a book."

Andy patted her shoulder, smelled a pleasant perfume lofting to his nose. "You ever hear of editors, Donna? And I insist, I'm Andy." He put his glass next to hers, refilled each of them. "Of course, even with the finest acting coaches, there are some questions I must answer before we can go to the next step."

"I'd try to answer them, Andy," she said quickly, drying her nose.

Chalminski inhaled, shook his head slightly. "Donna — I don't even know what you look like!" He decided to let himself look as troubled as he really was. "We can use ten-year-old girls t'play you when you were five. But what about the later scenes?"

"B-b-but this is how I look!" she blurted. Whether she realized she was starting to slur words occasional ly or not was hard to tell because she was so swept up in their discussion. Again she reached for her glass, sipped from it. "I don't understand — Andy."

He took two quick steps away, patted his own face to dry it of sweat before turning back. It was time to move forward swiftly, surely, like a basketball point guard taking charge of a close game. "Donna dear, how many motion picture actresses under the age of fifty do you see in sweat suits? Not t'be rude, but I can't even see what your legs look like! It ain't necessarily a case of sex appeal; but men go to movies, rent videotapes, and they like to see actresses who look — do forgive me for this — as attractive and as, well, female as possible." He edged another inch toward the goal, cautious as hell about how he worded it. "I think you may be pretty — but even as much as an admirer of feminism as I am, I got to have a gander at how you look."

She hesitated for such a long period of time, Chalminski nearly forgot to breathe. At last, nodding, she got to her feet, her proximity — and height — once more amazing him. "I have other clothes," Donna said shortly. She went on nodding as she headed toward a hallway of the apartment. "I do see what you mean. I guess it's only fair and reasonable."

He watched her leave, noticed she staggered just a little despite the effort she put into walking with dignity. Chalminski's heart leaped with joy —

Until she added, possibly speaking as much to herself as to him, "I have a nice sweater and some hiking shorts. 'Scuse me." A door banged against a wall seconds later.

Andy clapped his forehead with his hand. A sweater? Hiking shorts? What — a sweater large enough for a baby rhino, and shorts that went down to calf-length socks? Gawd, every other broad he'd ever given that speech to had gotten the drift immediately, and half of 'em had started stripping on the spot!

He gulped down the rest of the champagne in his glass and Donna's too. At least she'd swilled it away pretty good; that would help!

Without hesitation, he strode down the carpeted hallway to her bedroom and threw the door open.

Donna Callaghan, no more than six feet away, was the most naked human being Andy Chalminski had ever seen. His eyes, his mind, and his glands described her that way to him and couldn't have listened to any quibbling about degrees of nudity if Andy's life had depended on it. There was just so much more of Donna than of any other woman he had even heard about that the sight of her simultaneously supercharged all his senses and threatened to short-circuit them — and the almost seven-foot giantess certainly fulfilled the little Chalminski's fondest hopes of being well-proportioned for her size. Gaping up at Donna, he discovered fat only where fat was supposed to be, and he was reminded of old Playboy pictures he'd seen of Jayne Mansfield — except Mansfield probably hadn't broken the tape bustwise in the low to middle fifties!

"I was lookin' for the b-bathroom," Andy stammered.

"I was trying to d-decide," Donna said, waving an arm longer than some women's legs at a sweater and pair of shorts on her bed, "whether to put these on. Or n-not to wear anything." Her words were still slurring on her, but she was definitely aware she was naked even if she made no move to cover herself. Instead she was taking a somewhat off-balance step forward, standing at the foot of the bed, raising her arms to Andy. She wasn't remotely crude about the way she added, "I definitely do like men who aren't as tall."

This was the producer's cue to produce, Chalminski knew — the time any man worth spit encircled the bare-ass girl with his arms and kissed her lips. But there was no way possible for him to wrap his arms around the part of Callaghan facing him, and —

Donna caught the small-man's hands in her enormous ones, fell back on her bed and took Chalminski along with her. One of his wide-open eyes wound up staring into her navel, and the incredibly generous breasts above him, standing straight up without a bra, made it impossible for him to see her distant face. He thought for a moment she'd passed out. That, combined with his total awareness of where his hands had fallen when they landed hard on the reinforced and ultra-king-sized bed — between her beautiful and impossibly long legs — finally directed a completely uncluttered message to Andy's brain and his body.

He got out of his clothes in record time thanks to the easy way one button on his sport jacket and two on his shirt popped away, and he didn't look down again at the warmly furry place where his hands had been. If she was virginal and everything he had read about feminine parts proved to be wrong, he might have to be Superman to help Donna Callaghan complete the rest of her audition.

After climbing her and resting with a blend of near overawe and definite readiness on Donna's impressive bosom, Andy craned his neck in order to kiss her and also learn if she was conscious. Her eyes were closed, but when he pressed his lips to hers, her tongue shot out of her mouth like a projectile at the identical instant her heavy-thighed legs ascended from the bed and crossed Andy's ass. She may be a virgin, Chalminski thought, mouth full of exploring female tongue that might become the most famous one in the world, but her instincts work like a fuckin' computer —

But he also realized he was what seemed like three miles too far north to do what she suddenly wanted him to do!

"Andy, Andy," she moaned, opening her marvelous blue eyes and staring myopically at the way he was pinned to the upper half of her body like a teddy bear in some little girl's dream of tomorrow, "go ahead! Do it! Do it to me!"

The circulation in Andy's ass, legs, and other parts was being shut off, and the passion that had let him overcome his initial sense of inferiority was slipping out of him like air from a balloon, but Chalminski was game. "I'm willing, babe," he managed, struggling against her gorgeous and powerful legs, "but you're gonna have to let go of me a minute."

Instantly helpful, Donna dropped her legs and also wriggled quietly out from under — throwing Andy heavily to the mattress on his back — and sat up straight above him, straddling his body but not touching him. She cupped her ideally proportioned breasts in hands that could palm basketballs and threw her head back as she licked her lips. They weren't yet in any contact, but Donna's girlishly pink nipples seemed nearly the size of erect boys' penises. Chalminski's organ promptly showed signs of life but primarily in the sensations he began experiencing in his mind. Callaghan's body tapered to a waist that was trim for her if wider than Andy's, and the hips swept out to the sides just as suitably and meatily matching the rest of her as he had hoped. Best of all, the sexual center of the lady giant was detectable in a modest, moist tangle of attractive light brown pubic hair and unmistakably female of nature.

"Am I pretty at all?" she asked softly, breathily. Her eyelids blinked and he wondered how drunk she was. "No one has ever seen me this way. Please, Mr. Chalminski — do you approve of what I look like?"

She was squinting down at him — at his face — in the nearsighted manner she had without her glasses, and he felt himself stiffen enough to know he was almost ready again. Andy wondered if she even knew what that long tongue of hers could do to a man, and decided that this amazing squeeze who was soon to become a money train with him playing engineer even while he rode in her caboose was definitely cherry. "Well, Donna," he grunted, reaching down to make them both ready and help her ease it down sweetly on him, "I'll know for sure in just a few minutes."

Donna rose up from the bed a good foot and a half — more than enough distance to triple what Chalminski had to offer — and powered herself down at him with the equivalent force of a locomotive crashing through a barricade of Swiss cheese. Andy had just enough time to wonder if his wrist had been the first thing to be crushed, and to know that one or more parts of his body would never function normally again.

"You bastard!" Donna said, rearing away from the producer a second time and thrusting herself down on him again — and again, till the groans she heard gave way completely to the bubbling of blood dribbling quietly from the corner of Andy's motionless mouth and onto the sheets beneath him. "Everything Edward said about you was right." She turned her head to see Eddie Burgess, video camera in hand exactly as they had planned, walking in from the bathroom with a smile. "After the ghastly life this little pipsqueak lured you into in your innocent youth, darling, it's a wonder you were able to make such pure, sweet love to me these marvelous weeks we've had together."

Eddie wrapped his arms around her from behind. It was a reach, but he did it with tenderness. He'd left the camera on her dresser. "If our Andrew had listened to what I said about your story being interesting enough to tell straight, we wouldn't have had to send him to the Big Set in the Sky — or of course, if he'd had a big set himself."

Donna giggled and let Burgess kiss her neck, then help her off the heap. "You got it all on videotape?"

"Yep, in tight close-up just like the bastard would have wanted it. If anyone ever figures out what killed Andrew, and whom, we have a record of his seduction — and your self-defense, if any prosecutor ever had the balls to bring such a graphic case to trial!" And I, Eddie thought, more or less holding Donna close, have the makings of a really different snuff film if our own collaboration doesn't fly.

Donna began pulling on a sweater and shorts. "He talked so many young people into turning the act of love — like ours — into cheap entertainment for — for losers like him."

"Yes, but you have to admit sex can be pretty entertaining," Eddie remarked, motioning for Donna to help him bundle the mess on the bed into the several sheets they had thoughtfully added early this morning. Together, they tied them at the top rather like a Hershey's Kiss.

"You're right," she agreed, pausing to lean over, down, and kiss him. Then she slung the improvised sack over one shoulder, and with Eddie opening doors for her, carried the trash out to the apartment Dumpster. "And you're right that times are changing. We'll still find somebody to produce my story, and you will play a true-life role opposite me — in the script we've written together!"

He took her hand as the heavy Dumpster lid clanged shut and squeezed it. He realized she might well fulfill the dream he'd placed in her head, and he hoped she would. He truly did. But if not, there was always the videotape with the close-up of old out-of-date Andy Chalminski's agonized expression at the very end. People today wanted a higher concept than a little guy making it with a big girl. "How many units did you say have access to this Dumpster?" he asked, casually glancing around.

Donna laughed then because her Edward did, and they used his car to drive over to his place for the night. The trash pickup was in the morning.